by Alex Raymond
The girl glanced at Tun’s flicking tail. “I didn’t notice . . . well, let me thank both of you.”
“You needn’t be unsettled,” Tun told her. “I am aware that lion men are unpopular in the palace. We can’t always select our rescuers, though.”
“Please don’t be offended. I don’t share the prejudices of those who rule Mongo. How did you know I was from the palace? Oh, yes! You saw my fallen ship.” She looked up at Flash. “Do you think the ship can be repaired?”
He shook his head. “It’s beyond salvation.”
The auburn-haired girl bit her lip. “I wonder how I’m going to get back home.”
“Were on our way to Tintura,” said Flash. “We’re traveling on foot, but we can see you that far.”
“If you don’t mind a lion man for an escort,” added Tun.
The girl smiled at him. “I’d be very grateful if you’d both allow me to come along, and I’d feel much safer as well.”
After a second, the lion man said, “My name is Tun and this is Flash Gordon.”
The girl said, “I am Ilana. I’m a servant of Princess Aura.”
“She lets you borrow her flying ship?” asked Flash.
Lowering her head, the girl said, “Well, not exactly. I get very restless sometimes, cooped up in that palace and, well, I take what I need to liven up things. Yesterday, I borrowed an airship.”
“Will they make great trouble for you when you return without it, missy?” asked the lion man.
“Some, I expect,” she answered. “I am, fortunately, a great favorite of the princess.”
“I see,” said Flash.
Zarkov discovered the blood.
“There was some kind of brawl,” he said in his resounding voice. “Somebody got knocked into the wall right here, then fell down into the straw.”
The burly doctor, along with Anmar and Igon, was in the lopsided old barn.
The aircruiser was not there.
Igon was kneeling on the threshold. “The ship was rolled out,” he said. “Yet there is no indication outside that they took to the air from the clearing. There are no scorch marks on the ground.”
“Perhaps they rolled it down the trail a distance before taking off,” suggested Anmar. He crossed the hollow shadowy barn to study the splashes of blood Zarkov had noticed on the wall and ground.
The big scientist jumped up and caught a roof beam. He pulled himself up to scowl at a patch of wall high up. “Somebody fired off a blaster pistol,” he said as he poked at a soot-surrounded hole. “I’d guess they missed.” He let go of the beam and dropped to the ground, scattering straw. “Any idea who pulled off this caper?”
Anmar said, “There are many possibilities.”
The sunlight coming through the cracks in the walls made something suddenly sparkle in the straw near one of Zarkov’s sandaled feet. “Ha,” he said, scooping it up. “What have we here?”
It was a circle of gold.
“Earring.” Zarkov held the thing up near his nose. “First time I’ve run across an earring with part of the ear still attached.” There were bits of flesh and blood clinging to the gold ring. “Must have got yanked off during the fracas. Mean anything to you?”
Anmar took the proffered ring and glanced at Igon. “What would you surmise, brother?”
“The Scavengers,” said the other sorcerer.
While examining the gold earring, Anmar said to Zarkov, “The Scavengers are a band of ruthless looters who hang out in a river town near here. They usually restrict themselves to robbing and stealing from the ships and barges that travel the river.”
“They must have learned somehow,” suggested Brother Igon, “that an aircruiser was stored here. Such a prize would be worth a considerable fortune in the underground markets.”
“They wear trinkets like that, do they?” asked Zarkov.
“Aye, they are very fond of personal jewelry and body decoration,” replied Anmar.
“Chances are pretty good then that the aircruiser was swiped by the Scavengers?”
“That is a safe assumption.”
“You know where they hang out?”
“We have a pretty fair notion.”
Zarkov nodded. “Well, then,” he boomed, “let’s go and get the damn ship back.”
CHAPTER 17
Silver wasps buzzed above their heads in the muggy afternoon air. Sharp beaked crimson crows cawed at them from the branches of the giant trees.
With a tired sigh, the girl asked, “Could we rest again? Or are we fairly close to Tintura?”
Slowly, dropping back beside her, Tun said, “Still another five miles to cover, missy. We’ll rest now if you’ve a mind to.”
“I would appreciate it.” She spotted a fallen log and went to sit on it.
Moving closer to Flash, the lion man said, “When I told you Tintura was a half day’s journey, I did not reckon on our having a woman in our party.”
His back to the resting girl, Flash said, “This may turn into a way for me to get to the capital.”
Tun lowered his voice. “You have something in mind?”
“Will she be able to get in touch with the palace from Tintura?”
“Aye, there is a radio sending station there.”
“When an airship comes to pick her up,” said Flash, “I should be able to borrow it.”
Chuckling softly, Tun said, “I’m quite sure you’ll find a way, my friend. I may, in fact, linger in town long enough to lend a hand.” His face clouded. “Be careful with this girl, though, for I sense she may not—”
“Well, I think I’m able to push on.” The auburn-haired girl rose.
With a grunt, Tun moved on.
The girl took Flash’s arm. “May I walk alongside you for a while? I’m really not used to this much walking,” she said. “Court life spoils you after a while.”
“How long have you lived in the palace?”
“Too long,” she replied. “I often grow very weary of it all. When that happens, I wander off.”
“Doesn’t that annoy Princess Aura?”
“No. Well, not awfully much. There are a great many servants and only one princess. There are more than enough people to cater to her whims.”
“You don’t much care for her.”
“She’s all right. I don’t think she really cares for all that pomp and foolishness any more than I do. If your father is emperor, well, you’re obliged to live a certain way, aren’t you?”
“What about Ming himself?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
They trekked on in silence for a time. A scatter of bright yellow moths swirled across their path.
“I’ve only just met you,” the girl said finally. “Still I get the very strong impression you’re”—she frowned, searching for words—“that you’re unlike any of the other men I know.”
Flash grinned, saying nothing.
“What territory do you come from?” she asked him.
“A distant one.”
The girl’s frown deepened. “And why do you travel with a lion man?”
“Tun has saved my life, I’ve saved his,” replied Flash. “It’s a good reason for becoming friends.”
“Well, you’ve saved my life as well,” she reminded him, “which means we are friends, too.”
“It does, yes.”
Her hold on his arm tightened slightly. “How do you come to be in the swamp?”
“We jumped off a river barge.”
“What caused you to do that?”
Flash said, “We didn’t want to be sold into slavery.”
“Well, it was indeed fortunate for me you jumped ship where you did,” she said. “Flash?”
“Yes?”
“When we reach Tintura will you allow me to take you and Tun to dinner? There are one or two relatively decent inns there along the river. We can dine together and then I’ll make arrangements to get back home to the capital.”
“I’d be happy to join
you,” said Flash.
The dining room of the Cold Harbor Inn was large, its stone walls painted a pale gray. Copper utensils and tankards hung from pegs in the ceiling beams. A fire blazed in the red brick fireplace.
Flash, the girl and the lion man were seated at a square table near one of the leaded windows. This was the first hour after sundown, and thick fog filled the narrow winding streets of Tintura.
Tearing a chunk of brown bread off the loaf in the bread basket, the lion man said, “A pleasant enough place by all appearances. Much pleasanter than that low bistro I was so unceremoniously heaved out of the other evening.” He chomped at his bread for a moment.
The girl was watching the fireplace. “I really don’t feel like going back to the palace quite yet.”
“Don’t you think you’ve been away about long enough?” Flash asked.
“Well, yes, I suppose I have.” She smiled wistfully at him.
“Now in my home country,” Tun said after an audible swallow, “we’d call this bread a trifle bland. For real bread, with some taste to it, you have to start with cornmeal. We grow our . . . Hey!” He stood up so quickly his chair flipped over and smacked the wooden floor.
“Make no further moves, lion man!” warned the Royal Police sergeant who was striding across the room toward their table. He held a blaster pistol in his hand. Five other policemen accompanied him.
His eyes on the half dozen approaching police, Flash also got up from his chair.
“You should have stayed with your fallen ship, Princess Aura,” the sergeant said to the girl.
She remained seated, lips pressed tight together.
“What means this?” demanded the lion man, his tail switching angrily back and forth. “So we have befriended the daughter of old merciless Ming himself, have we?”
The princess kept her eyes lowered. “I’m sorry.”
“If you will but step outside, princess,” said the sergeant in an overly polite voice as he touched his left hand to his gold helmet, “you’ll find a flying machine waiting.”
“I’m not sure I want to—”
“My orders, which come from our Commander-in-Chief, the emperor himself, are to make certain you return to the palace.”
“I’d rather stay with my friends.”
Toying with the clasp of his cloak, the sergeant said, “They’ll be coming to the palace, too.”
“Nay, not without a fight.” Tun was easing one big hand down toward his borrowed pistol.
The sergeant fired his pistol.
The sizzling shot sliced the heavy dining table clean in half. One section toppled over onto the Princess Aura, tumbling dishes and utensils on her. The other half fell on Flash, sloshing him with soup and wine.
“My next shot will cut you in twain, lion man.” The sergeant, with his free hand, helped the princess to her feet. “My abject apologies to you, princess, but I had to act to demonstrate my sincerity to these two so-called friends of yours.”
“Why are you taking us to the capital?” asked Flash, using a white linen napkin to wipe himself off.
“Give all your attention to cleansing your soiled trousers,” said the sergeant. “Men, escort these two handsome fellows to the airship. Try to keep them alive, but kill anyone who makes the slightest attempt to escape.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” asked Princess Aura.
“Had I my way, princess, I would shoot them both down here and now, especially that half human lion man,” the sergeant told her. “I have, however, orders to gather recruits.”
“Recruits for what?” asked Tun.
“The tournaments,” answered the sergeant.
Most of the low wooden buildings of the little town extended over the river, supported by poles and pilings. The last traces of sunset tinted the low clouds a bloody red. A blind man in a tattered cloak was feeling his way along the muddy riverside roadway with a knobby cane. A large black dog came snarling out of one of the waterfront shacks and charged the blind man.
“Be off, mongrel,” he said as he clouted it over the skull with his staff.
The dog yelped, retreating back into the dimly lit shack.
The blind man shuffled on.
“Typical small town,” observed Zarkov. He lay hidden in a stand of huge oaks across the road from the row of buildings.
Huddled down beside him was Anmar. The rest of the men had remained with the horses a half mile distant. “The large warehouse there at the end of the row,” said the sorcerer, “is the place wherein the Scavengers usually dwell. Lights burning inside. You can make out the glow through the shutters.” He narrowed his eyes as he watched the big wooden building. It, too, was built out over the river and had a slanting roof of rough shingles.
The sunset glow suddenly left the clouds, the sky turned black and gray.
“Would they be likely to bring the thing right into their warehouse in broad daylight?” asked the doctor.
“This is a highly disreputable little town,” replied Brother Anmar. “A goodly amount of loot, plunder, and stolen merchandise passes along that road and over the river.” Anmar pressed his fingertips to his forehead. “I’ll try now to read the mind of someone inside the warehouse.”
Zarkov shifted his position, coming to rest on his side and one elbow. He smoothed his beard, watching alternately the Scavenger’s hangout and the concentrating sorcerer.
“Ah, good,” said Anmar after a moment, “I’ve contacted one of our own, Brother Orlan.”
“So your boys were grabbed by this bunch.”
Anmar didn’t reply for a time. “You see,” he said finally, “we can as yet only communicate telepathically over short distances. To get messages from far-off places, such as Ming’s capital, for instance, the information must be relayed through several minds. Thus Brother Orlan was unable to let me know of their plight until I came within range.”
“What does he have to say?”
“These Scavengers descended on our hideaway during the late hours of last night. The man on guard was napping, thus he was unable to detect their approach either physically or mentally.” Anmar’s hand remained pressed to his forehead. “All our men are alive, being held in the warehouse until the Scavengers arrange to sell them to slavers.”
“They’ve got the aircraft, too?”
“Aye, indeed they have. They intend to sell it to a rebel group in the desert to the south. A fanatical faction, I might add, whom we have nothing to do with”
“How many Scavengers are inside there right now?”
“I’ll find out.”
Across the dark road, the black dog barked once more.
“Only three at the moment,” said Anmar. “All together there are nine of them, but the rest have ventured to the other end of town to a slovenly inn. Our men are tied and in a loft above the main room of the warehouse.”
“Loft, huh?” said Zarkov. “Any of the three looters guarding them?”
“No, all three are downstairs in the vicinity of the cruiser.”
“Okay.” Zarkov stood up, thrusting a hand into his robe. Under it was his flying belt. “Wait out here. I’ll pick you up in the ship.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Go in through the roof,” replied Zarkov, “free your boys, overpower the trio of crooks, and get your aircruiser back. It shouldn’t take long.”
“So think you?”
“I guarantee it.”
As Anmar watched, the doctor left the ground, his hand on his flying belt. He drifted slowly up above the treetops. Then he flew across the street and landed on the slanting roof.
“What instrument is he using?” Anmar asked himself as he saw Zarkov kneel on the shingles and apply something small and glowing to them. A moment later, the doctor seemed to drop straight through the roof.
No sound reached Anmar from the warehouse.
On the dark river a flat barge floated by laden with bricks. A yellow lantern illuminated its prow.
Anmar m
oved a few feet forward.
The black dog, inside its shack, gave a low, mournful howl.
The side of the warehouse seemed suddenly to explode out into the night. Planks, shutters, glass went spinning, fragmenting, clacking together.
Out through the opening came the aircruiser.
“I do not have to guess who is piloting it,” murmured Anmar, starting down toward the roadway to meet the craft. “Zarkov seems to have a particular fondness for knocking down walls.”
CHAPTER 18
Down here there was no day or night. A damp darkness filled the twisting stone corridors and the low cells. On the floor of their cell was a scatter of moldy straw, and in an unseen corner, something continually dripped.
From around a dark turn in the dungeon corridor, an old man called out, “Fools, can’t you see I don’t belong here?” He repeated the question over and over.
“Aye, I feel much the same way myself,” said Tun as he paced the gritty floor. His tail snapped aside wads of straw. “What think you, Flash—were we betrayed by that red-haired miss?”
“Makes little difference.” Flash leaned his broad shoulders against their wooden cell door, arms folded.
“Aye, too true. Betrayed or not, we’re caught good and proper.”
Out in the corridor, a whip cracked. “Stay in line, you dumb brutes. Stay in line.”
Torchlight blossomed outside. Flash turned to look through the small barred window in the door. “A parade,” he said.
Two Royal Police came first, moving sideways with stun rifles aimed at the line of chained shuffling men. These men were huge, each well over seven feet tall, and stoop-shouldered. They wore only tatters of clothes and were covered with brown fur. Their faces were ape-like.
“Keep moving,” said the sergeant at the rear of the line of the seven apemen.
A thin young policeman, his cloak two sizes too large, carried a smoking torch. Noticing that Flash and Tun were watching, he said, “No need to strain. You’ll be seeing these fellows up close mighty soon.”
The last apeman in line snarled, his sharp teeth glowing dead white in the torchlight. He swung one shaggy hand at the boy.