Richard Dorr was about to leave as he had come, when suddenly retreat was cut off. Moura-Ur-tor had entered the room undetected. He smiled coolly when he recognized in this silver-skinned man the Earthling with his blue eyes.
“Ah, so the prey has come to the hunter, eh?” he remarked jovially. “And how do you like my handiwork, Richard Dorr? I suppose you have been trying to revive her?” he said with a wave of his hand toward the couch.
“Nice of you to come calling this way. It saves my men the work of searching the city for you. I have decided to allow you to be present at the ceremony that will make Dana Gleason and myself mates. And in Tabora, you know, there is no practice of divorce. Once wed, always wed! Nice custom, eh?”
Dorr had nothing to say. He knew that behind him lay the slave-quarters and that he could escape out into the city through them. He had heard much of Moura-Ur-tor, and found he did not like him at all. He hoped that Dure could carry out her part of the contract.
“So Richard Dorr has nothing to tell me, I see,” observed Moura with a smile still on his face. “Richard Dorr does not enjoy the prospect of seeing the woman he loves take another man to mate, nor the thought of prison and death!”
At his words, a low laugh now broke from Dorr’s lips. “Quite a nice picture that, but believe me I have no idea of carrying out your plans, my villainous friend. And as for your schemes concerning Dana Gleason, I fear you have come into a ringer there.” It chagrined Moura that he could not see behind Dorr’s inscrutable eyes, for the Earthling had learned early on the planet to withhold his thoughts from another. “As to your marriage to this woman here, you are welcome to her. I have nothing to do with a lifeless thing!”
And he turned away as if contemplating some future course to take. His words, as Dorr expected, aroused a fear in Moura-Ur-tor’s mind. Quickly he was at the side of the couch. Concentrating his thoughts upon the figure lying there, he ordered her to awaken. There was no response! And he was surprised to find a blank mind into which he could not delve, facing him.
Reaching down he shook her, only to feel the lifeless, unresponsive body. He half drew her to a sitting position, and her head lolled back, her arms drooped. Dure had understood what was in Dorr’s mind, and she reacted accordingly. She would have enjoyed the spectacle of seeing Moura wroth. Now, in consternation, he faced Richard Dorr.
“What have you done to her?”
Dorr shrugged his shoulders. “I have done nothing. I found her that way. I believe she is dead.”
“You lie, you inhuman beast. Can you stand there and look with such little concern upon the woman you have professed to love? Is that the temper of your earthly heart? Can you stand there and laugh down upon the woman who has loved you these many months, even though she thought you dead?”
DORR was staring in wonder at the other. He had hated Moura, but now when he saw the look of a broken man in his eyes and heard his voice trembling with emotion, he felt pity for the man instead of hatred.
“So you do love Dana Gleason, Moura-Ur-tor?” he asked softly.
Moura looked up in surprise. “I love Dana Gleason—I—don’t know. I had not thought of her with love in my heart. I have never known love.” Then the soft mood forsook him, and he realized his position. Straightening, he got to his feet. “Well, no matter. But you are wrong, Dana Gleason still lives, and you shall see her to-night as she becomes, as you say in your language, my bride!”
Putting a whistle to his lips, Moura blew a blast. At the same time Richard Dorr headed for the doorway to the rear and soon had reached the back entrance of the house. What slaves he met hurried out of his way. They knew who he was and would have protected him with their lives. They did make the attempt, too, when he discovered that the entire house was surrounded by the Ur-tor’s guard.
The slaves gathered around him, but he commanded them to stand off, as he did not wish to implicate them in his capture. He was captured and when Dure got up from her couch to watch, she saw Moura leading the way to the palace above.
The slave-women gathered about her and she told all that had happened. Then she hurried to the room in which Dana Gleason lay. She found her with her eyes open, staring about. Moura had attempted to awaken the slave girl who lay disguised as Dana on the couch. In the adjoining bedroom Dana Gleason had heard the summons and opened her eyes. She lay listening to the talk from the other room, and made out something of what was going on there. Wisely she lay still until she made sure that Moura had gone. She understood the fact that Richard Dorr had been apprehended, and tears stood in her eyes. Dure found her silently crying.
Glad to find that Dana had been aroused out of the coma, into which Moura had flung her mind, Dure rapidly told her all that had happened. “Go, call Ubca-tor. I am sure he will do something to aid us,” commanded Dana, and Dure hastened to summon the youth.
He came, surprised at the transformation of Dana Gleason. He avowed he could do nothing to free Richard Dorr, who was now a prisoner of the state, but when the three put their heads together, a plan was concocted.
The sunset was already painting the sky when Moura-Ur-tor came to the atoll of Dana Gleason. He found Dure lying dressed in the magnificent costume that had been prepared for Dana Gleason. He now bent over her and carefully smoothed her brow, spoke to her and called her mind back to the brain-chamber. Dure had carefully been practicing the part that she knew was to come. Slowly she moved her eyelids but took care not to open her eyes wide. She gave a single glance at Moura and turned, away her head as she knew Dana Gleason would have done in the same position.
“Come,” said the man, “we shall be late!”
A slave-woman standing by spoke for her. “My mistress had not a bit to eat all day, Ur-tor.”
Impatiently the man waited until food was brought and eaten, then he slowly led the woman at his side up the broad stairs. The great square before the palace was filled with a thousand guardsmen. The setting sun bathed them in its rosy hues, tinting their flesh and metal accoutrements. The great jeweled door of the palace stood open, and they entered side by side. The Kirada himself joined their hands. The supposed Dana Gleason stood with eyes meekly downcast. Moura-Ur-tor proudly stared about him. His heart was full to overflowing. He was the acknowledged Ur-tor of all Abrui. He had to wife the bravest woman in the land. He had for prisoner the man he hated most vehemently.
Hidden by tapestries that were arranged so that he might see all stood Richard Dorr among his guards. He was slouched against the wall, taking delight in the scene before him. There was nothing downcast in his manner. His guards eyed him warily, doubtful as to what he was, doubtful as to his intentions. Not that Dorr showed he was anxious to make an attempt to escape, but he did have the air of one who knew that he would not be detained overlong by his captors.
The ceremony was over, and Dorr’s heart beat wildly, when he realized that Dure, the slave-girl, had played her part letter-perfect. He was anxious to know how Dana fared. Had she been released from her coma? He feared the worst, and he waited impatiently until his guards were ready to lead him back to his prison. Only they did not lead him back immediately.
Before the King
MOURA-UR-TOR had one more trump to play.
He was now facing Kirada Kalti, and he was telling him about a spy who had come into their midst. Dorr lifted his eyebrows as he heard himself described as a most despicable character. When he was led before the Kirada, he held his head high and his eyes flashed, but he was able to control himself and told the Kirada he had nothing to give in answer to the accusations. He listened to the long speech Walti made before sentencing the prisoner to death. He was standing within five feet of the dais where Dure sat on the throne chair especially designed for Dana Gleason. He caught the whispered words of the slave. She had been carefully drilled to say the few French words. Her message was, “She waits for you.”
With a light heart he was led away to the cells below the palace floor. Moura took his bride by the arm and they emb
arked in his plane. Moura had planned a honeymoon such as Dana Gleason had described, such as all newly-married couples took on earth. Such a procedure was unknown to Abrui.
In the mountains was a small estate that he had inherited from his family. Here in its seclusion he had planned to bring Dana Gleason and break her to his will. In the privacy of the Cof he took his wife in his arms and embraced her. She lay passive in his arms, and as he looked into her face she opened her eyes wide. They were the red eyes of Dure!
That night was rung the death-knell of Tabora, yet Tabora was unaware. That night was to go down in history as a night of the greatest terror the Taboran world had ever known. It was henceforth to be called the Revolt of the Slaves. There was no bloodshed, only desertion.
At the proper hour all Tabora succumbed to sleep and its great cities lay quiet. Just what happened none was certain, but, at the hour that is midnight, every house gave up its allotment of slaves. Like wraiths they crept forth. Noiselessly every airplane was rolled forth from its hangar, every airship was released from its moorings. What guards there were to object were silenced, each one by a hand on the throat, a gag in the mouth; hands and feet were then bound together.
There was a rustle like wind in the trees when the planes lifted their wings; their motors were silent, they soared to the heights above the cities. Every metropolis, every city, every village, every hamlet, every plantation, every farmhouse, was silently divested of its wings! The guards and soldiers were not even aroused from their games or their cat naps. People serenely slept and dreamed.
And not until morning did they know what had happened. But the few faithful slaves who remained behind would not speak. The slaves were gone bag and baggage, with every flying machine in the land. And with them had gone Richard Dorr!
Of him his guards had nothing to say. They evinced surprise when they learned that he had disappeared. Had not Ubca-tor, nephew of the Kirada, come and claimed that his majesty wished an audience with the prisoner? True, guards escorted him as far as the ante-room of the palace, but beyond that—was he not in the keeping of the king? Ubca-tor was not to be found.
EVENING found Moura-Ur-tor in Carajama. He arrived on the back of his one remaining slave, the only slave in Tabora who had a kind word for the master. It was a sorry story Moura had to tell. His bride had held him off with a devilish little weapon, the one Dana Gleason always carried with her. She had demonstrated its power to Moura; and Dure had shown him she knew how to use it. Then with the company of slaves who maintained his country house and estate she had arisen in the air in Moura’s plane, and he had seen the plane head for Gora!
Tabora was in a state of fear, disorganized, fearful of what the next hour was to bring. They blamed Moura-Ur-tor and his treaty with Kirada Yal. Yal had been but stalling for time, waiting for the return of his champion, who had promised to bring the Tabora planes to him, for Gora had no planes. In the streets people shrilled the name of Moura-Ur-tor, whom they now disdainfully called Moura-weit. They hissed, they spat.
Moura called the three Taboran Kiradas together. From Ora had come word that she would have nothing to do with the dealings. She agreed with Richard Dorr that Justice should be done. Give to the Gora the lands that had been wrested from them! Give Moata land to live in!
The Kiradas, with Moura backing them, cried no! As rapidly as it could be done, every city was prepared for siege, on every citadel was mounted the great death-ray machines with which they were certain they could wipe out any fleet of planes that should come warring. Old obsolete planes were brought out of hiding. In the airship-workshops thousands of men were put to work to build new airships and complete half-finished ones. A great activity was apparent.
At noon a voice was heard on the new radio of Dana Gleason. It was the voice of Kirada Yal. He explained that Gora was ready to do battle, but first she was giving Tabora a chance to do the sporting thing. The demands of Gora were simple enough. She only wanted her own lands back, the lands occupied at the present by Doata! For Moata she demanded Loata. Gora would be magnanimous. She would not drive Tabora back to the waste lands from out of which she had come. Gora would give Zoata to Tabora for her own, that they might all live together in peace and brotherhood, that they might all have their place in the Sun.
Tabora jeered at such terms. Gora dictating to Tabora! The ropt dictating to the sef (the Abruian lion). However, Tabora was wary enough to say she would consider the terms, and would give her answer two days hence!
Richard Dorr was with Kirada Yal. Everything was in readiness. He understood Tabora’s strategy. He knew that Tabora would agree to no terms with Kirada Yal.
For months he had been quietly working for such an end. In Gora he had found the necessary ingredients for gunpowder—saltpeter, charcoal, and sulphur. Small hand-grenades and bombs and shells had been manufactured, crude but efficient enough for their work. Men had been drilled in the practice of throwing them, and of shooting the tiny cannon that could be carried by planes. And these cannon were now distributed among the thousands of Taboran planes now in possession of the slaves. Then after these planes had been painted in the solution that Dorr had manufactured from a formula stolen from Carajama, they were sent throughout Gora to pick up the tribesmen who had already been trained to do their part.
The solution used was the only thing that could render man immune to the power of the Disintegrating Ray of Tabora. Once Doata had warred upon her sister nations, and because all three nations had possessed the same solution, the war had proved futile. Peace had come to Tabora, a peace that lasted many years until it was forgotten that the formula lay in the vaults of Carajama.
Now every piece of metal, every prop, every piece of fabric, every man, was daubed with the solution, so that the entire fleet should be immune to the Ray.
With every fleet of a hundred planes, an airship filled with the officers whom Richard Dorr had created and trained for the work was ready to lead them to battle. Under orders, a hundred of these fleets proceeded to the frontiers of Gora and lay in waiting for the command to descend upon Tabora from every direction. Every plane was provided with one of the new radios, and Dorr had evolved a system of signals by which orders could be despatched without Tabora understanding.
By his side was Dana Gleason, still in her golden disguise; and with her was Dure. Dana was not happy over the thought of this war, but she was beside her lover, and that was all she asked for.
Two days later Tabora radioed her refusal of Kirada Yal’s terms, which was the signal for the fleets of Richard Dorr to set out for Tabora. With Kirada Yal, Richard Dorr, Dana Gleason, and a great number of high-ranking officers and statesmen of Gora, in the largest airship that had been captured, set out for Carajama.
The Strange War
THERE is no need to tell what took place on that fateful day. The battle lasted only a day and part of a night before Tabora knew she was beaten. Not an enemy plane fell to the power of the Ureim, while at a signal from the flagship thousands of missile, fell upon the unprotected cities and their environs. Parties landed from the planes, and the Taboran citizens tried to do battle with the Gorans, only to find that they were armed with small metal balls that exploded and caused havoc among the citizenry.
Still no very great damage was done, outside of the killing of thousands of Taborans. A few private dwellings fell, but they could easily be rebuilt. The farmlands were left unscathed. Bombs continued to fall, but they were dropped with no precision and without doing much harm.
At midnight of the same day, the Taborans cried for peace. At Ora the three Kiradas gathered and Kirada Yal and Richard Dorr descended there. Only by his power over his armies had Richard Dorr held the Gorans from completely demolishing all the cities of Tabora, and it was, because of his counsel, that Gora did not claim all the rich lands of the planet.
He drew up the terms of the treaty, which gave to Gora her old country, to Moata half of what she had once possessed, and to Tabora the remaining section sandwiche
d in between her erstwhile enemies and her erstwhile slaves. Had Dorr been another type of man, he might not have succeeded in gaining his point; but he had made warriors of the Goras, and now he made civilized men of them. Ora approved all that he demanded.
Tabora was given time to evacuate her lands and move into the space allotted her. New cities had to be built to contain her people. Her three Kiradas were forced to divide the lands between them, and over them was placed a regent from Ora. It will take her wounds long to heal.
Moata elected a Kirada for herself, and old national lines were re-established. The golden people are still wildly exuberant over their emancipation, and Gora is overjoyed in the new wealth that has come to her.
Dorr and Dana Gleason stayed at Ora, planning to seek some out-of-the-way plantation where they could henceforth dwell in peace; but Gora and Moata would not hear of it. With one accord they elected Richard Dorr as their Ur-Kirada to see that justice was carried on.
It will take many years, no doubt, to force the three races to live on friendly terms. It will take years for the raw sores to heal; but with a man like Richard Dorr at the head, peace and understanding will grow and mature in the hearts of the people.
* * * * *
AND so our host wearily finished his tale. In his eyes we saw great depth of feeling.
“But what became of Moura?” we all demanded.
He apologized for his omission. “With the defeat of Tabora, Moura disappeared. The Taborans sang a song of hate for him. They forgot what good works he had done and remembered only that he had failed. They remembered him for the ambitious, arrogant man he was. They searched for him, but he was not to be found.
Collected Tales (Jerry eBooks) Page 20