Gahan’s mount, carrying but a single rider, gained upon that of the Manatorian, so that as they neared the palace Gahan was scarce a hundred yards behind, and now, to his consternation, he saw the fellow turn into the great entrance-way. For a moment only was he halted by the guards and then he disappeared within. Gahan was almost upon him then, but evidently he had warned the guards, for they leaped out to intercept the Gatholian. But no! the fellow could not have known that he was pursued, since he had not seen Gahan seize a mount, nor would he have thought that pursuit would come so soon. If he had passed then, so could Gahan pass, for did he not wear the trappings of a Manatorian? The Gatholian thought quickly, and stopping his thoat called to the guardsmen to let him pass, “In the name of O-Tar!” They hesitated a moment.
“Aside!” cried Gahan. “Must the jeddak’s messenger parley for the right to deliver his message?”
“To whom would you deliver it?” asked the padwar of the guard.
“Saw you not him who just entered?” cried Gahan, and without waiting for a reply urged his thoat straight past them into the palace, and while they were deliberating what was best to be done, it was too late to do anything—which is not unusual.
Along the marble corridors Gahan guided his thoat, and because he had gone that way before, rather than because he knew which way Tara had been taken, he followed the runways and passed through the chambers that led to the throne room of O-Tar. On the second level he met a slave.
“Which way went he who carried the woman before him?” he asked.
The slave pointed toward a nearby runway that led to the third level and Gahan dashed rapidly on in pursuit. At the same moment a thoatman, riding at a furious pace, approached the palace and halted his mount at the gate.
“Saw you aught of a warrior pursuing one who carried a woman before him on his thoat?” he shouted to the guard.
“He but just passed in,” replied the padwar, “saying that he was O-Tar’s messenger.”
“He lied,” cried the newcomer. “He was Turan, the slave, who stole the woman from the throne room two days since. Arouse the palace! He must be seized, and alive if possible. It is O-Tar’s command.”
Instantly warriors were dispatched to search for the Gatholian and warn the inmates of the palace to do likewise. Owing to the games there were comparatively few retainers in the great building, but those whom they found were immediately enlisted in the search, so that presently at least fifty warriors were seeking through the countless chambers and corridors of the palace of O-Tar.
As Gahan’s thoat bore him to the third Level the man glimpsed the hind quarters of another thoat disappearing at the turn of a corridor far ahead. Urging his own animal forward he raced swiftly in pursuit and making the turn discovered only an empty corridor ahead. Along this he hurried to discover near its farther end a runway to the fourth level, which he followed upward. Here he saw that he had gained upon his quarry who was just turning through a doorway fifty yards ahead. As Gahan reached the opening he saw that the warrior had dismounted and was dragging Tara toward a small door on the opposite side of the chamber. At the same instant the clank of harness to his rear caused him to cast a glance behind where, along the corridor he had just traversed, he saw three warriors approaching on foot at a run. Leaping from his thoat Gahan sprang into the chamber where Tara was struggling to free herself from the grasp of her captor, slammed the door behind him, shot the great bolt into its seat, and drawing his sword crossed the room at a run to engage the Manatorian. The fellow, thus menaced, called aloud to Gahan to halt, at the same time thrusting Tara at arm’s length and threatening her heart with the point of his short-sword.
“Stay!” he cried, “or the woman dies, for such is the command of O-Tar, rather than that she again fall into your hands.”
Gahan stopped. But a few feet separated him from Tara and her captor, yet he was helpless to aid her. Slowly the warrior backed toward the open doorway behind him, dragging Tara with him. The girl struggled and fought, but the warrior was a powerful man and having seized her by the harness from behind was able to hold her in a position of helplessness.
“Save me, Turan!” she cried. “Let them not drag me to a fate worse than death. Better that I die now while my eyes behold a brave friend than later, fighting alone among enemies in defense of my honor.”
He took a step nearer. The warrior made a threatening gesture with his sword close to the soft, smooth skin of the princess, and Gahan halted.
“I cannot, Tara of Helium,” he cried. “Think not ill of me that I am weak—that I cannot see you die. Too great is my love for you, daughter of Helium.”
The Manatorian warrior, a derisive grin upon his lips, backed steadily away. He had almost reached the doorway when Gahan saw another warrior in the chamber toward which Tara was being borne—a fellow who moved silently, almost stealthily, across the marble floor as he approached Tara’s captor from behind. In his right hand he grasped a long-sword.
“Two to one,” thought Gahan, and a grim smile touched his lips, for he had no doubt that once they had Tara safely in the adjoining chamber the two would set upon him. If he could not save her, he could at least die for her.
And then, suddenly, Gahan’s eyes fastened with amazement upon the figure of the warrior behind the grinning fellow who held Tara and was forcing her to the doorway. He saw the newcomer step almost within arm’s reach of the other. He saw him stop, an expression of malevolent hatred upon his features. He saw the great sword swing through the arc of a great circle, gathering swift and terrific momentum from its own weight backed by the brawn of the steel thews that guided it; he saw it pass through the feathered skull of the Manatorian, splitting his sardonic grin in twain, and open him to the middle of his breast bone.
As the dead hand relaxed its grasp upon Tara’s wrist the girl leaped forward, without a backward glance, to Gahan’s side. His left arm encircled her, nor did she draw away, as with ready sword the Gatholian awaited Fate’s next decree. Before them Tara’s deliverer was wiping the blood from his sword upon the hair of his victim. He was evidently a Manatorian, his trappings those of the Jeddak’s Guard, and so his act was inexplicable to Gahan and to Tara. Presently he sheathed his sword and approached them.
“When a man chooses to hide his identity behind an assumed name,” he said, looking straight into Gahan’s eyes, “whatever friend pierces the deception were no friend if he divulged the other’s secret.”
He paused as though awaiting a reply.
“Your integrity has perceived and your lips voiced an unalterable truth,” replied Gahan, whose mind was filled with wonder if the implication could by any possibility be true—that this Manatorian had guessed his identity.
“We are thus agreed,” continued the other, “and I may tell you that though I am here known as A-Sor, my real name is Tasor.” He paused and watched Gahan’s face intently for any sign of the effect of this knowledge and was rewarded with a quick, though guarded expression of recognition.
Tasor! Friend of his youth. The son of that great Gatholian noble who had given his life so gloriously, however futilely, in an attempt to defend Gahan’s sire from the daggers of the assassins. Tasor an under-padwar in the guard of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator! It was inconceivable—and yet it was he; there could be no doubt of it. “Tasor,” Gahan repeated aloud. “But it is no Manatorian name.” The statement was half interrogatory, for Gahan’s curiosity was aroused. He would know how his friend and loyal subject had become a Manatorian. Long years had passed since Tasor had disappeared as mysteriously as the Princess Haja and many other of Gahan’s subjects. The Jed of Gathol had long supposed him dead.
“No,” replied Tasor, “nor is it a Manatorian name. Come, while I search for a hiding place for you in some forgotten chamber in one of the untenanted portions of the palace, and as we go I will tell you briefly how Tasor the Gatholian became A-Sor the Manatorian.
“It befell that as I rode with a dozen of my warriors along the wes
tern border of Gathol searching for zitidars that had strayed from my herds, we were set upon and surrounded by a great company of Manatorians. They overpowered us, though not before half our number was slain and the balance helpless from wounds. And so I was brought a prisoner to Manataj, a distant city of Manator, and there sold into slavery. A woman bought me—a princess of Manataj whose wealth and position were unequaled in the city of her birth. She loved me and when her husband discovered her infatuation she beseeched me to slay him, and when I refused she hired another to do it. Then she married me; but none would have aught to do with her in Manataj, for they suspected her guilty knowledge of her husband’s murder. And so we set out from Manataj for Manatos accompanied by a great caravan bearing all her worldly goods and jewels and precious metals, and on the way she caused the rumor to be spread that she and I had died. Then we came to Manator instead, she taking a new name and I the name A-Sor, that we might not be traced through our names. With her great wealth she bought me a post in The Jeddak’s Guard and none knows that I am not a Manatorian, for she is dead. She was beautiful, but she was a devil.”
“And you never sought to return to your native city?” asked Gahan.
“Never has the hope been absent from my heart, or my mind empty of a plan,” replied Tasor. “I dream of it by day and by night, but always must I return to the same conclusion—that there can be but a single means for escape. I must wait until Fortune favors me with a place in a raiding party to Gathol. Then, once within the boundaries of my own country, they shall see me no more.”
“Perhaps your opportunity lies already within your grasp,” said Gahan, “has not your fealty to your own Jed been undermined by years of association with the men of Manator.” The statement was half challenge.
“And my Jed stood before me now,” cried Tasor, “and my avowal could be made without violating his confidence, I should cast my sword at his feet and beg the high privilege of dying for him as my sire died for his sire.”
There could be no doubt of his sincerity nor any that he was cognizant of Gahan’s identity. The Jed of Gathol smiled. “And if your Jed were here there is little doubt but that he would command you to devote your talents and your prowess to the rescue of the Princess Tara of Helium,” he said, meaningly. “And he possessed the knowledge I have gained during my captivity he would say to you, ‘Go, Tasor, to the pit where A-kor, son of Haja of Gathol, is confined and set him free and with him arouse the slaves from Gathol and march to The Gate of Enemies and offer your services to U-Thor of Manataj, who is wed to Haja of Gathol, and ask of him in return that he attack the palace of O-Tar and rescue Tara of Helium and when that thing is accomplished that he free the slaves of Gathol and furnish them with the arms and the means to return to their own country.’ That, Tasor of Gathol, is what Gahan your Jed would demand of you.”
“And that, Turan the slave, is what I shall bend my every effort to accomplish after I have found a safe refuge for Tara of Helium and her panthan,” replied Tasor.
Gahan’s glance carried to Tasor an intimation of his Jed’s gratification and filled him with a chivalrous determination to do the thing required of him, or die, for he considered that he had received from the lips of his beloved ruler a commission that placed upon his shoulders a responsibility that encompassed not alone the life of Gahan and Tara but the welfare, perhaps the whole future, of Gathol. And so he hastened them onward through the musty corridors of the old palace where the dust of ages lay undisturbed upon the marble tiles. Now and again he tried a door until he found one that was unlocked. Opening it he ushered them into a chamber, heavy with dust. Crumbling silks and furs adorned the walls, with ancient weapons, and great paintings whose colors were toned by age to wondrous softness.
“This be as good as any place,” he said. “No one comes here. Never have I been here before, so I know no more of the other chambers than you; but this one, at least, I can find again when I bring you food and drink. O-Mai the Cruel occupied this portion of the palace during his reign, five thousand years before O-Tar. In one of these apartments he was found dead, his face contorted in an expression of fear so horrible that it drove to madness those who looked upon it; yet there was no mark of violence upon him. Since then the quarters of O-Mai have been shunned for the legends have it that the ghosts of Corphals pursue the spirit of the wicked Jeddak nightly through these chambers, shrieking and moaning as they go. But,” he added, as though to reassure himself as well as his companions, “such things may not be countenanced by the culture of Gathol or Helium.”
Gahan laughed. “And if all who looked upon him were driven mad, who then was there to perform the last rites or prepare the body of the Jeddak for them?”
“There was none,” replied Tasor. “Where they found him they left him and there to this very day his mouldering bones lie hid in some forgotten chamber of this forbidden suite.”
Tasor left them then assuring them that he would seek the first opportunity to speak with A-Kor, and upon the following day he would bring them food and drink.7
After Tasor had gone Tara turned to Gahan and approaching laid a hand upon his arm. “So swiftly have events transpired since I recognized you beneath your disguise,” she said, “that I have had no opportunity to assure you of my gratitude and the high esteem that your valor has won for you in my consideration. Let me now acknowledge my indebtedness; and if promises be not vain from one whose life and liberty are in grave jeopardy, accept my assurance of the great reward that awaits you at the hand of my father in Helium.”
“I desire no reward,” he replied, “other than the happiness of knowing that the woman I love is happy.”
For an instant the eyes of Tara of Helium blazed as she drew herself haughtily to her full height, and then they softened and her attitude relaxed as she shook her head sadly.
“I have it not in my heart to reprimand you, Turan,” she said, “however great your fault, for you have been an honorable and a loyal friend to Tara of Helium; but you must not say what my ears must not hear.”
“You mean,” he asked, “that the ears of a Princess must not listen to words of love from a panthan?”
“It is not that, Turan,” she replied; “but rather that I may not in honor listen to words of love from another than him to whom I am betrothed—a fellow countryman, Djor Kantos.”
“You mean, Tara of Helium,” he cried, “that were it not for that you would—”
“Stop!” she commanded. “You have no right to assume aught else than my lips testify.”
“The eyes are ofttimes more eloquent than the lips, Tara,” he replied; “and in yours I have read that which is neither hatred nor contempt for Turan the panthan, and my heart tells me that your lips bore false witness when they cried in anger: ‘I hate you!’”
“I do not hate you, Turan, nor yet may I love you,” said the girl, simply.
“When I broke my way out from the chamber of I-Gos I was indeed upon the verge of believing that you did hate me,” he said, “for only hatred, it seemed to me, could account for the fact that you had gone without making an effort to liberate me; but presently both my heart and my judgment told me that Tara of Helium could not have deserted a companion in distress, and though I still am in ignorance of the facts I know that it was beyond your power to aid me.”
“It was indeed,” said the girl. “Scarce had I-Gos fallen at the bite of my dagger than I heard the approach of warriors. I ran then to hide until they had passed, thinking to return and liberate you; but in seeking to elude the party I had heard I ran full into the arms of another. They questioned me as to your whereabouts, and I told them that you had gone ahead and that I was following you and thus I led them from you.”
“I knew,” was Gahan’s only comment, but his heart was glad with elation, as a lover’s must be who has heard from the lips of his divinity an avowal of interest and loyalty, however little tinged by a suggestion of warmer regard it may be. To be abused, even, by the mistress of one’s heart is bett
er than to be ignored.
As the two conversed in the ill-lit chamber, the dim bulbs of which were encrusted with the accumulated dust of centuries, a bent and withered figure traversed slowly the gloomy corridors without, his weak and watery eyes peering through thick lenses at the signs of passage written upon the dusty floor.
CHAPTER XIX
THE MENACE OF THE DEAD
The night was still young when there came one to the entrance of the banquet hall where O-Tar of Manator dined with his chiefs, and brushing past the guards entered the great room with the insolence of a privileged character, as in truth he was. As he approached the head of the long board O-Tar took notice of him.
“Well, hoary one!” he cried. “What brings you out of your beloved and stinking burrow again this day. We thought that the sight of the multitude of living men at the games would drive you back to your corpses as quickly as you could go.”
The cackling laugh of I-Gos acknowledged the royal sally. “Ey, ey, O-Tar,” squeaked the ancient one, “I-Gos goes out not upon pleasure bound; but when one does ruthlessly desecrate the dead of I-Gos, vengeance must be had!”
“You refer to the act of the slave Turan?” demanded O-Tar.
“Turan, yes, and the slave Tara, who slipped beneath my hide a murderous blade. Another fraction of an inch, O-Tar, and I-Gos’ ancient and wrinkled covering were even now in some apprentice tanner’s hands, ey, ey!”
“But they have again eluded us,” cried O-Tar. “Even in the palace of the great jeddak twice have they escaped the stupid knaves I call The Jeddak’s Guard.” O-Tar had risen and was angrily emphasizing his words with heavy blows upon the table, dealt with a golden goblet.
“Ey, O-Tar, they elude thy guard but not the wise old calot, I-Gos.”
“What mean you? Speak!” commanded O-Tar.
“I know where they are hid,” said the ancient taxidermist. “In the dust of unused corridors their feet have betrayed them.”
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