L. Camp - The Exotic Enchanter

“Well!” grated Malambroso. “It seems that I am destined to encounter Doctor Sir Harold again! Reach not for your pistol, Doctor Shea. If you do, I shall shoot you dead. Or better yet . . .” Malambroso trained his gun on Voglinda. “Force me not to end the life of this winsome young lady. I have become quite fond of her in the short time that we have been traveling companions. Would you believe it, last night we stopped at a place where an orchestra was playing and couples were dancing. Voglinda insisted that I take her out on the dance floor, too. Imagine me, at my age, wheeling this tot around on the floor!

“I see that you and your wife, Doctor Shea. have adopted the local costume, or lack thereof. Thank Lucifer, I at least retain a civilized sense of decency, even though my robe causes the natives to stare!”

“And who, then, is the Barsoomian?” asked Shea. “I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of meeting him.”

“The pleasure, I am certain, will prove ephemeral,” said Malambroso. “Know that this is the honorable Spor Mopus. a leading light of the local assassins guild. He has come with me to kill you. Lady Belphebe, think not to string your bow, or you shall suffer the same fate as Doctor Shea.”

“Now why,” said Shea, “should the honorable Spor Mopus wish to kill me? I am too lean to make good eating.”

“He will slay you because I have hired him to do so. But he insists that the killing must be done in accordance with the highest ethical principles. He will not even let me shoot you, unless you draw a gun on me first. It must be done with honest face-to-face swordplay. If you will kindly draw your sword, he will set out upon his task.”

The red Barsoomian stepped forward, bringing his sword up to guard position.

“This is childish nonsense,” grumbled Ras Thavas. “So is all the elaborate politeness betwixt you twain.”

“Since,” said Spor Mopus, “you disdain our ancient and honorable principles, I shall tend to you after I have finished off this alien. Have at you, Doctor Shea!”

The Barsoomian threw himself into a lunge that would have spitted Shea had he not, almost unconsciously, drawn his saber and pained. In an instant the twain were at it, tzing, zip, clang!

Shea found Spor Mopus good but not superlative. Unless he made a stupid mistake, Shea thought, he should be able to handle this assassin. Still, them was an element of luck in these encounters, and what right had he to leave Voglinda fatherless, assuming they rescued her from Malambroso?

Back and forth they went: double, one-two, beat, and coupé. Spor Mopus was only so-so on attack but very good on defense; Shea could not penetrate his guard. Shea began to fear that Spur Mopus would keep him in play until fatigue laid him open to attack. Tzingg!

Suddenly, Spor Mopus backed up and lowered his point. crying: “That is not fair! It is unethical, to bring a squad of supporters with you. Withdraw them, or I shall refuse to continue the fight!”

“What on Earth?” murmured Shea.

Spor Mopus sheathed his sword and stamped out the open door. At that instant, Belphebe’s bow twanged. While Malambmso’s eyes had been fixed on the combatants, she had stepped aside and quietly strung her bow. The arrow pierced Malambroso’s body. Malambroso swung toward her, striving to bring the big pistol up to bear. The bow twanged again. Malambroso dropped his pistol, which struck the floor with a bright yellow flash and a deafening boom. The magician folded up, joint by joint, on the matting. Ras Thavas moved quickly to kneel over the wounded magician.

“Mummee!” screamed Voglinda, running to Belphebe.

“How did you do that?” Shea asked the scientist.

Ras Thavas looked up. “My mental superiority, that is all, I have told you that all the higher Barsoomian organisms are somewhat telepathic. I simply forced Spot Mopus and Malambroso to see, not one sword-wielding Shea, but six, all advancing upon them at once. Now, let us see about this fellow. He will soon be dead if I cannot render aid.”

The innkeeper appeared at the door. “What goes on here? Did I not hear a gunshot?”

“You did,” said Shea, “but it was an accidental discharge, when the magician dropped his pistol.”

“Find a stretcher and a pair of slaves to carry it,” snapped Ras Thavas, “and get this man to a lazaret!”

“Why try to save him?” asked Shea.

“Because I once swore an oath to John Carter himself,” barked Ras Thavas, “that I would thenceforth try to help those who needed it. Besides, if he dies of the lady’s arrows, you would be in trouble with the law, since he did not perish in a proper, legal sword duel.

“I know that he deserves to be let die, but my oath had no such qualifications. Ah, here come Master Van Larik with a stretcher and a pair of slaves. Be careful, boys. Slide him over; do not attempt to roll him!”

A man wearing the badges of the constabulary appeared, panting for breath. He said: “Is the fight already over? Was it conducted in proper accord with the laws on homicide? I must make out a report.”

Ras Thavas assured the constable that all had been done in accordance with the code, and the cop went away satisfied.

* * *

Several days later, Shea and Belphebe, with little Voglinda in tow, visited the lazaret. They found Ras Thavas sitting by Malambroso’s bed. On the other side stood plump red Barsoomian nurse. Shea said:

“Doctor, the shop assures me that the Banth will bc airworthy again tomorrow, with the buoyancy tanks full. From what I saw, I think they are right. Are you ready to go with us?”

“My patient is virtually ready for his discharge today,” said Ras Thavas. “By tomorrow I am sure it will be safe for me to leave him.”

“Either of those arrows ought to have killed him,” said Belphebe. “Unless you Barsoomians are tougher than most civilized species.”

“Either would probably have proved fatal,” said Ras Thavas, “had my patient not had the luck to fall into the hands of the greatest physician and surgeon on Barsoom.”

Shea cleared his throat meaningfully, at which Thavas looked embarrassed. Shea said:

“But I can’t go off leaving him loose so long as he pursues that crackpot idea of taking my colleague Chalmers’ wife away from him.”

“I do not think you need worry on that score,” said Ras Thavas. “How about it, Doctor Malambroso?”

“Oh,” said the magician in a weak voice. “I now have completely different plans.” He rolled an eye at the Barsoomian nurse, who tittered.

“Yes,” he said, “I have at last discovered true love. My attachment to Lady Chalmers was just a passing fancy, an infatuation. My affianced bride, here, is Mordalia, the widow of Jan Valos, who was slain last year in one of those ridiculous duels. She has promised to accompany me whithersoever I go. If you see Lady Chalmers, present her my respects and assure her that she has naught to fear from me.”

“Daddee,” said Voglinda, “when are we going home?”

“As soon as I can arrange it,” said Shea “Widow Mordalia, I am happy to have met you and wish you luck.” He silently added, you’ll need it!

“May our departure be soon,” said Belphebe. “My hair’s beginning to show its natural color at the roots. I should soon need another dye job.”

Ras Thavas said: “Are you flying back to Zodanga? If so, I am going with you.”

From his bed. Malambroso said: “Could you not save some time by working your sorites here and going directly back to Earth?

Shea grinned. “No. I must return the Banth to its owners and get our deposit back. Also, we left eight riding thoats there, which I shall want to resell. Besides, we left our Earthside clothes in Zodanga. Can you imagne the sensation if Belphebe and I, nude as we are, materialized on the grounds of the Garaden Institute? We shall have to get used to clothes again, dear.”