Abruptly, from an alcove near me, a group of girls rushed out. Their cloaks and white veils fell from them as they came my way—laughing as they ran for the doorway leading outside to the pool. I was in their way and they bumped into me; one of them gripped me. I tried to jerk loose, but she clung. A slim girl, enveloped in her long, white tresses. Her eyes laughed at me; her red mouth went up alluringly to my face.
“I love you—you, Jac Hallen.” Her arms wound about my neck as she clung. I was trying to cast her off when her fingers lifted a corner of my mask.
“I was afraid you were not Jac Hallen.” Her whisper was relieved, and it had suddenly turned swift and vehement. “I am sister to Maida—my name, Alda. I am to warn you. When Tarrano dances with the Red Woman—when they go up on the raised circle—you drop to the floor! You understand? Keep down, or the rays might strike you! But be here, inside, and watch. And afterward, go quickly to join the Princess and your Elza. You understand?”
She clung to me, with her slim, white body pressed against my cloak. To anyone watching us, she would have seemed merely making love. Her eyes were provocative; her lips mocking me. But she was whispering, “Drop to the floor when Tarrano dances with the Red Woman—drop or the rays might strike you!”
Another girl was plucking at me from behind. Alda shouted: “You shall not have him!” and cast me off. But I heard her whisper, “Come outside for a moment—then come back!”—and then, aloud, she cried to the other girl, “You shall not have him! He is coming to watch me dive and swim! I am more beautiful than you—you could not win him from me!”
I let them drag me out into the grove by the scented pool.
CHAPTER XXII
Revolution!
I realize that I am, by nature, not overly observant; and in those moments, when I stood out there beside the pool, I think I came most forcibly to appreciate how little I habitually observe that which is not readily apparent. An incident now occurred to bring it home to me; and, quite suddenly, a score of things which I had seen during the past two hours at the festival were made plain.
Music, feasting, merry-making, love! In the midst of it all, an undercurrent of events was flowing. Unseen events—but I had partly seen some of them, and now, at last, I began to understand.
In the main hall of the pavilion, midway to its roof, a line of mirrors was placed along the wall facing Tarrano. A hundred small mirrors, side by side. On them were moving images of what was taking place in different parts of the festival—so that Tarrano and the others might see the merry-making, not only in the pavilion, but elsewhere, as well. It was interesting to watch the mirrors—and sometimes amusing. The scene of a gay battle of boats in a nearby lagoon; the diving girls in the pools; a view from the sky above of the whole scene; another, looking upward at the color bombs bursting overhead; a bridge on which a dozen girls were besieged by as many men, who sought to climb upward from their boats underneath, flowers for missiles, and the alcholite fumes which held off the attackers, or, perchance, caused a girl to fall into the water, to be instantly captured.
Other mirrors, eavesdropping upon the secluded islands, making public, for the amusement of the spectators in the pavilion, the furtive love-making of couples who fancied themselves alone.
All this I had seen. And now I remembered that, occasionally, a mirror had gone dark, and then turned suddenly to a scene somewhere else. I understood now. Quiet incidents against Tarrano were in progress. The mirrors were being tampered with, that none of these events should be shown.
There were, scattered throughout the festival, fully a hundred men of Tarrano’s guard. Some of them I knew by their uniforms; others were concealed by red masks and robes like myself. When first we entered the pavilion, some twenty or thirty of them had been there with us. But many of them did not stay; and now I remembered that, one by one, I had seen them slip away, lured by the slim, white shapes of girls who came from the pool to beguile them.
I realized now that these girls of the scented pool were very possibly all working for Maida. Most daring of all at the festival, these fifty girls who now disported themselves in the water at my feet. All beautiful, none beyond the first flush of earliest maturity. Slight, grey-white nymphs, laughing as they discarded their hampering veils, tossing their white hair as they plunged into the shimmering pool. Seemingly the most seductive, most abandoned of everyone.
Yet, as I stood there, I saw three of them climb from the water and, with gay shouts, rush into the pavilion. Back in a moment; and with them a flushed man—one of Tarrano’s guards—flushed and flattered at their attention. His hat was gone, his robe disheveled, as the girls fought for him. They stopped quite close to me; and I saw that one of them was Alda.
“You shall not have him!” she shouted to her companions. “He is mine! He loves me—none of you!”
From her thick hair I saw her draw a tiny cylinder, wave it in the man’s face. And, with another laugh, she flung her arms around his neck and fell with him into the water. I watched the splash and the ripples where they went down. In a moment, the girl came up—but the man did not. In all the confusion of the crowded pool, it was not very obvious.
A dozen, perhaps, of such incidents, which now, that I was alert to understand, were apparent. The mirrors might have shown some of them—but the mirrors always went dark just in time.
Tarrano’s guards were disappearing. And now I saw a slaan skulking in the shadows of the shrubbery nearby. And I noticed, too, that this pool at my feet had a stream flowing outward from it—a waterway connecting it with the main lake. And I remembered the Earth man in sub-sea garb whom I had seen. Were there many Earth men down here in the water?
“When Tarrano dances with the Red Woman, you drop to the floor.”
I remembered Alda’s words and her admonition, “Be inside the pavilion.” And presently I caught her glance as she was poised for a dive—and it seemed directing me to leave.
Wrapped in my drab cloak, I went back inside. The merry-making had increased; the place was more crowded than ever. I had been there but a moment when a gong sounded. The music stopped. In the hush Tarrano, on the balcony, rose to his feet.
“The tri-night hour21 is here.” He removed his mask; his face was grave, but a slight smile curved his thin lips. “Let us see ourselves now as we really are.”
He slipped his robe from his shoulders and stood in his festive costume. For so slight a man, I was surprised at the strength of him. Bands of gold-metal encircled his naked torso; a broad girdle of purple cloth hung from his waist. His bare limbs were lean and straight; sandals of red were on his feet. And a band about his forehead with a single feather in it.
Yet, for it all, he was no male nada, but every inch a man. Gravely smiling, as, with a gesture, he bade them all discard their masks and robes. From overhead the colored lights turned white. And in the glare, the robes and masks were dropped. Costumes grotesque, some of them; others symbolic; others merely beautiful. Vivid colors. Dancers daringly garbed, with whom the girls from the pool now mingled.
A moment of breathless silence; then ripples of applause from the spectators. And then the music and the dancing went on.
Barbaric costumes? Some frankly imitated the bygone ages of Venus, Mars and Earth. But the spirit that prompted them was decadence—nothing more.
Presently, as I stood unmasked in my effeminate garb, holding myself aloof from the girls who would have carried me off to the dancing floor, I saw the roof of the pavilion roll back. The open sky spread above us. And from it came down an effulgence of silver light, from a source high overhead. It bathed us all in its soft radiance; and, simultaneously, the lights in the pavilion went out. A single golden shaft rested on Tarrano. Elza, Georg and Maida were still there. In the golden light I could see them quite plainly—could see that Elza was flushed with suppressed excitement. Not the alcholite fumes now. Georg, too, seemed very alert. And Maida. There was, indeed, a tenseness about them all—an air of vague expectancy which made my h
eart beat faster as I realized it.
Was Tarrano totally unaware of what was about to happen? Was he unaware of this hidden, lurking menace to him, which now, to me, was so obvious? I could not believe that; yet, he was imperturbable, solemn as ever.
A shaft of golden light upon Tarrano. The darkened chamber. The silver radiance coming down upon us in a shaft from the sky. A hush lay upon the room. The music had ceased; now it began again, very soft, ethereal. Everyone in the room was gazing upward. From high overhead in the silver shaft a shape appeared, slowly floating downward. A woman’s figure. It came down, supported by what mechanical or scientific device I never knew. It seemed floating unsupported.
Within the pavilion, suspended in mid-air, I saw that it was a woman in filmy red veils. Poised on tip-toe in the air. Arms outstretched, with the red veils hanging from them like wings. A woman fully matured. White hair piled in coils on her head, with a huge, scarlet blossom in it. A face, somewhat heavy of feature, powdered white; with glowing eyes, dark lidded; and a scarlet mouth. A face, an expression in the smouldering eyes, the full lips half parted—a face and an expression that seemed the very incarnation of all that is sensuous in humans. The Red Woman! The living symbol of all that lay beneath this festive merry-making.
The Red Woman! For a moment she hovered there before us. A shaft of red light now came down from above. It caught her, bathed her in its lurid glow. On her face came a look of triumph, and a leer almost insolent, as slowly she began fluttering through the air toward Tarrano. He rose to meet her. Whispered something aside to Elza.
Close before him, the Red Woman hovered. And now a circle-dais from the floor came up to her. She rested upon it; began a slow, sinuous dance; one by one loosening the veils; the red light deepening until it painted her body red in lieu of the draperies.
No frivolous mockery here. Intense, smouldering eyes as she held her gaze on Tarrano’s face and slowly raised her arms in invitation to him. At her gesture, he rose to his feet. Yet I knew he was not under her spell, for his lips were smiling, bantering.
But he rose obediently, and stepped from the balcony to the upraised dais. Around his neck the Red Woman wound her arms—white arms stained red by the lurid light.
A flash! I did not see from whence it came; but within me some subconscious impulse made me drop to the floor. The light from overhead was out. Momentary darkness. A woman’s scream of terror. Then others. The sound of running feet; bodies falling. Panic in the crowd. Confusion everywhere.
Then light from somewhere came on. People were tramping me. I fought them off, climbed to my feet. On the dais the Red Woman lay dead. Huddled in a heap, with a brand of black searing her forehead. Slaanswere leaping about the room—huge, half-naked men—brandishing primitive knives. Flashing steel, buried in the backs of the fleeing merry-makers. Other figures—Earth men they seemed—gripping the slaans, staying their murderous fury.
Tarrano? I did not see him at first. The air above the floor of the pavilion was full of snapping sparks—a battle of some unknown rays. The mirrors were shattered: glass from them was falling about me. Then, in the semi-gloom on the balcony, Tarrano’s figure materialized. Invisible before, the hostile rays upon it now made it apparent. But Tarrano seemed proof against the rays. I could see he was unharmed; and as he stood there, no doubt using a curved, duplicating beam, the like of which I have seen used in warfare, the image of him seemed to shift. Then it doubled—two images, one here, one further down the balcony. Then still others—appearing and disappearing, always in different places, until no one could have said where the man himself really was. A dozen Tarranos, each enveloped in hostile sparks, each with his face grinning at us in mockery.
Abruptly, I heard Georg’s voice shout above the din: “Elza! Elza is gone!”
The images of Tarrano faded. He, too, was gone.
And then I saw Maida on the balcony, standing with upraised arms. Her voice rang out.
“Down with Tarrano! Death to Tarrano!” And then her pleading command:
“Slaans, no more bloodshed! Be loyal, slaans, to your Princess Maida!”
And Georg calling: “Loyalty, everyone, to your Princess Maida. Loyalty! Loyalty!”
CHAPTER XXIII
First Retreat
I must recount now what Elza later told me, going back to those moments when Elza sat upon the balcony watching Tarrano and the Red Woman. The significance of what had been transpiring at the Water Festival was not clear to Elza; she did not know what was impending, but as she sat there with Tarrano beside her, a sense of danger oppressed her. Danger which lay like a weight upon her heart. Yet several times she found herself laughing—hilarious; and from Maida’s warning glance, and the steadying odor which Maida wafted to her, she knew that Tarrano was using the alcholite fumes to intoxicate her.
The Red Woman and Tarrano were upon the dais. There came a flash; then darkness. Elza went cold with terror. She sat stiff and silent, while around her surged that turmoil of confusion. The smell of chemicals was in the air; her skin prickled as with a million tiny needles where sparks now began to snap against it.
How long she crouched there, or what was happening, Elza did not know. But presently she heard Tarrano’s voice in her ear.
“Come, Lady Elza, I must get you out of this.” In the darkness his face glowed wraith-like. Then she felt his hand upon her arm.
“Come, we must leave here. I would not have you endangered.”
With a haste and roughness that belied the calm solicitude of his words, he pulled her to her feet. There was light in the pavilion now. Elza saw dimly the turmoil of struggling figures; and then she saw the scene duplicated—saw it shift and sway in crazy fashion. Though she did not know it, she was looking out along the curved rays which Tarrano was sending from them. Sparks were snapping everywhere. A second image of Tarrano appeared to the left of her—she saw it in a mirror nearby—yet he was at her right, gripping her arm.
“Hurry, Lady Elza.”
She found herself being dragged along the balcony; stumbling over a body lying there; feeling a surge of heat and electric disturbance beat against her face. Then Tarrano had her in his arms, carrying her. She heard him curse as a sudden wave of fire seemed to strike them—hostile rays bringing a numbness to muscles and brain. Tarrano was fumbling at his belt; and through a shower of sparks he stumbled onward with his burden.
Elza’s senses were fading. Vaguely she was conscious that Tarrano was carrying her down an incline to the ground. Grateful, cool air. Stars overhead. Trees; foliage; shimmering water. The screams and confusion of the pavilion growing fainter.…
When Elza regained consciousness, she was lying in the bottom of a little boat, Tarrano beside her.
“So? You have awakened? We are quite safe, Lady Elza.”
She and Tarrano were alone in the boat. It was long and very narrow, with its sides no more than a foot above the water. Tarrano sat at its chemical mechanism. A boat familiar to us of Earth. A small chemical-electric generator. The explosion of water in a little tank, with the resultant gases ejected through a small pipe projecting under the surface at its stern. The boat swept forward smoothly, rapidly and almost silently, with a stream of the gas bubbles coming to the surface in its wake.
“Quite safe, Lady Elza.”
She saw that Tarrano’s face was blackened with grime. His garments were burned, and hers were also. He was disheveled, but his manner was as imperturbable as ever. He made her comfortable on the cushions in the boat; drew a robe closer around her against the rush of the night air.
Elza was unhurt. She saw now, with clarifying senses, that they were plying along a narrow river. Banks of foliage on each side; the auroral lights in the sky; occasionally on the hillsides along the river, the dim outlines of a house.
It was all a trifle unreal—like looking through a sunglass that was darkened—for around the boat hung always a vague pall of gloom. Tarrano spoke of it.
“Our isolation barrage. It is very w
eak, but the best I can contrive. From these hills the naked eye, now at night could hardly penetrate it.… A precaution, for they will be searching for us perhaps.… Ah!…”
A white search-ray sprang from a house at the top of a hill nearby. It leaped across the dark countryside, swept the water—which at that point had broadened into a lagoon—and landed upon the boat. It was a light strong enough to penetrate the barrage—the boat was disclosed to observers in the house. But Tarrano raised a small metal projector. A dull-red beam sprang from it and mingled with the other. A surge of sparks; then Tarrano’s red beam conquered. It absorbed the white light. And Tarrano’s beam was curved. It lay over the lake in a huge bow, bending far out to one side. Yet its other end fell upon the hostile house. The white search-ray from the house was submerged, bent outward with Tarrano’s beam. From the house, the observer could only gaze along this curved light. He saw the image of the boat—not where the boat really was—but as though the ray were straight.
Elza, staring with her heart in her throat, saw a ball of yellow fire mount from the house. It swung into the air in a slow, lazy parabola, came down and dropped into the lake. But it fell where the marksman saw the boat, a safe distance to one side. A ball of fire dropping into the water, exploding the water all around it for a distance of a dozen feet. Like a cascade, the water mounted.
Tarrano chuckled. “A very bad marksman.”
Other bombs came. It turns me cold when I think how orders like this could have come from the Great City—these bombs which had they found their mark would have killed Tarrano, but at the expense of the life of Elza. They did not find their mark. Tarrano continually changed the curve of his beam. The image of the boat shifted. A few moments only; and riding the waves of the bomb-tossed water, they rounded a bend, back into the narrow river and were beyond range.
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