HE knew the queen of the Arklans well enough to know that there was no accounting for the things she did.
Nesca was a centaur, and her mind was stranger than her body.
“Why did the Arklans who found Ann bring her here?” Alan Hunter persisted.
Jongor shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “But if the Murtos were willing to pay a price for me, they would also be willing to pay a price for her. Finding her, any Arklan would know that he had found something valuable, something for which the Murtos would pay a vast sum.”
“Pay?” the puzzled youth questioned. “How can there be talk of payment? What do the Murtos have that the Arklans would want? The Murtos are almost beasts. They have nothing to offer the centaurs!”
“If you had ever seen the treasure vaults of the Murtos, you would not ask that question,” Jongor answered. “The Murtos are almost beasts, yes, but they are the degenerate descendants of a once-great race. The colony of Murtos was originally established here, I think, to exploit the mines in this region. At any rate, they must have conducted mining. operations for centuries, for in the treasure vaults under their city is the greatest hoard of gold and gems that I have ever set eyes on.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll bet that’s the answer. Diamonds! The Arklans love diamonds more than anything else. The stone has some religious significance to them. They will go to any lengths to obtain them. The Murtos have more diamonds than they know what to do with. That is what they offered Nesca, to induce her to lure me back into their ambush. And she accepted the offer!”
Anger darkened his face. He was only guessing about the inducement the Murtos had offered the Arklans to send the lying message to him but it was a good guess.
“What is this about diamonds?” Schiller interrupted.
Jongor repeated what he had said about the treasure trove of the Murtos. Schiller’s face lit with interest as he listened. “You’ve been in these vaults?” he questioned.
“Yes,” Jongor answered.
“Did you bring any of the diamonds away with you?”
“No.”
“No? Man, do you mean to say you had a chance to pick up a fortune and didn’t do it?”
Jongor shrugged. “Diamonds are merely pretty stones,” he said. “They are good to look at. I understand, from talking to Ann and Alan Hunter, that they, are very valuable, but the last time I was in the Murto treasure vaults,
I did not know they were valuable. I did not think they were worth carrying away.”
Schiller and Morton stared in amazement at him.
DUSK fell over the ancient Arklan city. The gray stone walls merged into the darkness and became invisible. Jongor prepared for his hazardous trip.
No commando, going on a raid, ever exercised greater care in preparing his equipment. Jongor stripped himself to a breech-clout. His moccasins he retained. They had soft, pliable soles, would give forth no sound. The great bow and the quiver of arrows, he left with Alan Hunter. It was too difficult to carry. The spear, a knife at his belt, were his only weapons. The spear blade he carefully rubbed in soft dirt, to destroy its sheen, remove the possibility of a chance beam of light being reflected from it and betraying him. His face and arms he also rubbed with dirt. Then he led his three comrades to a spot where the stone wall surrounding the city showed signs of crumbling away, helped them to the top of the wall.
“Wait here on the wall,” he said. “When I return, be ready to help Ann over.”
“You seem certain you are going to bring her back with you,” Schiller whispered.
“If I do not bring her with me, I am not coming back,” Jongor answered.
“Urn,” Schiller said thoughtfully. “And if you don’t come back, what are we to do?”
“If I am not back by the time the moon is two hours high, use your own judgment about what to do,” the giant answered. He pointed to a gray stone building, one of the few structures that was two stories in height. “That is the palace of Queen Nesca. If you come after me, there is where you will find me. But give me two hours before you come after me.”
As silently as a shadow, he dropped from the wall, into the city.
AS soon as he entered this incredibly ancient town, Jongor sensed the air of excitement about the place. The Arklans, who never liked the night, should have been in their stone homes at this hour. Instead, the whole population seemed to be moving around. And they were not using the streets, as they normally would have done. They were sneaking down alleys, moving furtively, quietly, as though they did not wish to be seen. The streets of the city were not paved with Stone—pavement would have been hard on the hoofed feet of the Arklans—but were covered with a soft white sand, over which the centaurs could move as quietly as shadows. Three times Jongor had to dodge quickly out of sight to keep from being run over by a hurrying Arklan.
Normally the streets were illumined by torches set in brackets at each corner but tonight the torches had not been lighted. Nor were there any lights burning in the homes. The Arklans used fire, and in addition, they had, for use within the houses, tubes that gave out a kind of cold glow.
Tonight there were no lights burning in the houses. The whole city was dark. In that darkness the Arklans were exceedingly busy about some strange business of their own.
The only lighted structure in the city was the palace of Queen Nesca, and it was guarded!
The palace guards, like the other Arklans, seemed to be restless, inattentive. Jongor, watching from the darkness, saw that other centaurs were constantly slipping up and talking to the guards, then slipping away again. He utilized a moment of inattention to slip past the guards and into the palace.
Furtively, he made his way toward the cell where important prisoners were held. Ann Hunter would certainly be an important prisoner.
Jongor had been in this many-roomed palace as a guest. The Arklans at the time had regarded him as something of a curiosity, a strange two-legged centaur from some far-away world. Now the knowledge he had gained was useful. He knew his way perfectly about the palace.
Strangely, there were no guards inside the palace tonight. He was ready to fight or hide at the slightest whisper of horned hoofs on the sandy floors but he met no one. The most dangerous moment would come when he passed the entrance to the personal quarters of the queen. The door was open, and he paused outside, listening.
From inside the room, a voice spoke. It was the language of the Murtos. “Enter, Jongor,” the voice said. Queen Nesca’s voice! She was speaking the language of the Murto’s, which Jongor understood. She was bidding him enter her quarters!
FOR a mad instant, Jongor thought of running. He gave up the idea as soon as it occurred to him. Somehow or other, Nesca had detected his presence. If he ran, she had but to call to the guards. No, he could not run. He was caught. All he could do was enter Nesca’s rooms, to do what she asked.
He entered through the door. Nesca smiled gravely at him. There was no animosity, no anger, no hatred on her face. In spite of her smile, she looked sad.
There was a low cry from a couch on one side of the room, a flurry of movement—and Ann Hunter was in his arms. His Ann; alive, unharmed, unhurt. She was crying and laughing at the same time.
Jongor looked over her shoulder at Queen Nesca and his eyes were burning question marks.
“You are surprised?” Nesca said, and her low, sad laughter rippled through the room. “I found her roosting in a tree with a lion patiently waiting for her to fall out—”
“You!” Jongor burst out. “You were the Arklan who killed that lion, who saved Ann, who brought her here?”
“Yes,” this strange queen said. “I do not know who was the most surprised, she or I. I had never thought to see another of you humans; and she, it seemed, had never expected to see an Arklan. My surprise grew when I discovered that she could speak the language of the Murtos. Then, when I learned that she belonged to you, I was really surprised!”
Jongor’s hard brown face, dirt-encrusted, showed a flicker
of emotion. What kind of a game was Nesca thinking to play with him? What was the meaning of this talk?
“Why did you bring her here? You talked to her. You knew I was seeking her. Why didn’t you seek me instead of returning here?”
Nesca smiled at him and there was something of sad, wistful envy in the smile.
“I brought her here—” She shrugged. “The girl was almost exhausted. She was so tired she could barely cling to the tree in which she had taken refuge. I brought her here so she could have food, so she could rest, so she could wait for you.”
“Wait for me?” Jongor exploded. Nesca nodded. “You would be certain to follow her. When you found she was in Arklan, you would come here. You would find us, if I knew you, quicker than we could find you. Now, my friend, do you understand why I brought her with me?”
“Yes,” Jongor said slowly. “Is this the truth?” he whispered quickly to Ann.
“Every word of it is the truth,” Ann Hunter answered. “Oh, Jongor, how did you get so dirty? And where is Alan?” Questions bubbled on her lips.
“Shh!” Jongor said hastily. “That can wait. Let me do the talking.”
He did not want to answer questions just then. His eyes were still on Nesca, watching every move she made. He had found Ann, safe and sound. Queen Nesca had rescued her. All this was to the good. But there were other questions as yet unanswered. The fake message! Was this apparent friendliness of Queen Nesca another fake, another trick?
Jongor waited, watched. Inside, he was as tense as a cat. This situation was too good to be true. There was something wrong somewhere. There had to be something wrong.
“You are wondering how I knew you were in the corridor?” Nesca asked.
“About that, and about other things,” Jongor answered.
“I was watching through the window and I saw you slip past the guards and enter the palace.”
“Ah,” Jongor said. He still did not know what to do. Was he a prisoner here? Was Nesca playing with him? She seemed friendly, but an Arklan might seem to be one thing and be in reality something else.
“Thank you for taking care of Ann for me,” Jongor said.
“It was a privilege,” Nesca replied. Still she gave no sign of her real feelings. The only sign of emotion was the slow, sad wistful smile that came over her face when she looked at the two.
JONGOR made up his mind. If this was a cat-and-mouse business, the sooner it was stopped, the better.
“Now,” he said, “with your permission, we will take our departure.” The words were stiff and formal. Nesca was the queen of the Arklans. In her presence it was well to be formal.
Jongor’s heart was up in his mouth as he asked permission to leave. Would Nesca refuse his request? As he waited for her-to answer, he was aware that Ann was tugging at his arm.
Nesca remained silent. There was silence in the palace. The only noise was a low mutter of sound coming from outside. Jongor could hear his own heart beating.
Nesca sighed softly. “Yes,” she said, “you may go.”
She spoke softly, but the words could not have startled Jongor more if she had screamed them at the top of her voice. She had given them permission to leave!
“Do—do you really mean it?” Jongor asked huskily.
“I certainly do mean it,” the Arklan queen replied. The sound outside the palace was growing stronger. She seemed to listen to it. “In fact I order you to go—at once. Go as far as you can and as fast as you can. Travel all night and all day tomorrow, and all the next night. Keep going until you drop.”
“What?” Jongor gasped. “Nesca, if this is a game—”
“It is no game!” the Arklan queen replied. “Hurry, Jongor. Take your girl and go, before it is too late.”
There was a frantic note of anxiety in her voice as she urged him to hurry.
Jongor refused to budge. “I have always counted you as my friend,” he said slowly.
“And I am your friend. I proved it when I protected one who is dear to you. I am proving it now, when I tell you to go.”
“You seem to prove it,” Jongor said. “There is, however, the matter of a message—”
He still did not know what was going on. And before he would act, he had to know. The Arklans were a strange people and Nesca might be putting on an act. Jongor had no intention of playing into her hands.
Her face went grave. “Never mind the message,” she said quickly.
“I can scarcely forget it,” Jongor answered. “After all, it was your message. By means of it I was led into a trap. You can scarcely ask me to ignore it, Nesca. With that message behind me, you can scarcely expect me to believe you are not leading me into another trap.”
“This is no trap,” the Arklan queen insisted.
“How do I know that?” Jongor answered.
“Believe me, Jongor.” There was a pleading note in her voice.
“I believed you once. The message—”
“Was a fake!”
“A fake?”
“I did not send it. I did not know it had been sent until I talked to Ann Hunter. Please, Jongor,” again she was pleading with him, “never mind the message. Go at once.”
Jongor lowered the butt of his spear to the floor. He shook his head. “Sorry, Nesca. I blindly answered your call for help, once. It is something I shall not do twice. Before I accept your orders, I must know I am not being trapped.”
There was more sadness on Nesca’s face than Jongor had ever seen. “If you must know,” she said. “The message, as I have discovered only today, was sent by one of my trusted men, without my knowledge. Mozdoc sent that message, for the Murtos. I do not know the price he demanded for sending it, but it was a sack of diamonds. You know that we Arklans love diamonds, that we will do anything for them?”
JONGOR nodded. For the first time he was willing to believe that Nesca had not sent the message. Mozdoc could have done it easily. All that was needed was to slip into the temple of the water god, to bribe the priests. But why was the message so important to Nesca? What was back of all this?
“Mozdoc used the diamonds to bribe my people,” Nesca said. “He has raised my people against me. They are coming, now, to demand that I abdicate as their queen. That is why I want you to hurry away. You must not be found here, when my people come.” Jongor stared in amazement at this strange Arklan woman. At last he saw the whole picture. The price the Murtos had paid to trap him had been used to stir up revolt against the queen of the Arklans!
“I am sorry, Nesca,” Jongor said.
“It was not your fault. Go, now, quickly. My people are coming. The growling sound you hear is the ceremonial chant by which they demand the abdication of their ruler. They will be here, at the palace, any minute.”
“What will they do to you?”
“I have told you what they will do to me. They will force me to abdicate, to quit the throne.”
In the night outside, the sound of the chant was growing louder. At last ; Jongor understood the reason for all the furtive activity he had observed upon entering this city. The Arklans had been plotting to overthrow their queen.
I “Then we will go,” Jongor said decisively. “And you will come with us. When they reach the palace, they will find it empty—”
“No,” Nesca said.
“Why not?”
“Tradition demands that I stay. And stay I shall.”
Jongor saw the sadness on her face. She hated to give up the throne. She had been born to it and she knew no other life. But, after all, she would find other things to do, other interests to occupy her time. It was bad to lose a throne but there were worse things.
Then another thought struck him, a tradition vaguely remembered from the time he had visited here among the Arklans. He stared at Nesca. “The abdication—” he whispered.
Nesca sighed. “I see you have remembered,” she said. “I hoped you would not. Yes, the rulers of the Arklans abdicate in only one way—by dying.”
No wonder s
he looked sad! She was losing a throne, and a life!
The chant was very loud in the night. There were hundreds of voices blended in one vast chorus.
“Go quickly!” Nesca urged.
“And leave you here, to fight alone?” Jongor demanded. “What do you think I am, Nesca of the Arklans?”
“But you must go. Oh!” Footsteps sounded on sand in the corridor outside. Through the door there came in single file eight, ten Arklans. They looked curiously at the two humans, then ranged themselves beside their queen.
Jongor’s heart leaped at the sight. Here was the loyal palace guard, coming to the defense of their mistress. There were not many of them, but there were enough to put up a fight. With ten Arklans to help, there was a good chance that Nesca might escape. A swift, unexpected charge would take them through the gathering throng outside. Then—into the night. There were many places in Lost Land where Nesca might live in peace and safety “We’ve got a chance, Nesca,” Jongor said. “You may lose your throne, but with the help of these loyal subjects, we may be able to fight our way clear.”
“No, Jongor,” Nesca said. “These men did not come to fight by my side.”
“Then why did they come? Are they—are they the executioners?”
“No,” Nesca said. “They are my loyal subjects. Out of all my people, these are the only ones who have remained loyal. They come to keep the old tradition—not to fight beside me but to die by my side.”
CHAPTER IX
The Arklan Tradition
TO Jongor, the situation was senseless. He had difficulty in understanding it.
Queen Nesca could not fight for her life. It was not the tradition for the ruler to oppose the will of the people.
The ten loyal Arklans would not fight either. They would die beside their ruler—had, in fact, come to the palace for that purpose—but they would not fight for her or for themselves. That, too, was tradition.
Jongor- the Complete Tales Page 15
