Edgar Burroughs: Carson of Venus

"I'll leave him with you, then," said Tofar.

I reached into my package and selected a jeweled ring which I proffered to Tofar. "Please accept this for your kindness to me," I said, "and take it to your woman with my compliments."

If he had only known that Carson Napier—Carson of Venus—was the donor!

The women of the palace gathered in the reception room, and I spread my jewels and ornaments out before them. I had known many of them and most of the men who came with them or followed them in to see what I had to offer, but not a one knew me.

There was one particularly lovely girl whom I knew to have been very close to Duare, one of her ladies-in-waiting, in fact; and her I sought to draw into conversation. She was much interested in one piece, but said that she could not afford to buy anything so expensive.

"But your man," I said. "Certainly he will buy it for you."

"I have no man," she said. "I serve the janjong, and I may have no man until she takes one; or until she dies." Her voice broke with a sob.

"Take it," I whispered. "I have sold many already. I can easily spare this piece; then, when I come again, if you can, you may pay me.

"Oh, but I couldn't do that," she cried, a little startled.

"Please," I begged. "It will make me very happy to know that this lovely piece, which I myself so much admire, has a setting worthy of its beauty."

I could see that she wanted it very badly, and when a woman wants a piece of jewelry or apparel, she will stop at little to possess it.

"Well," she said, after a pause, during which she fondled and admired the bauble, "I suppose I might pay you some time; and if I couldn't, I could give it back to you."

"I am glad that you have decided to keep it," I said. "I have another piece here that I should like very much to show to the janjong. Do you suppose it would be possible?"

"Oh, no," she said. "That would be quite impossible; and anyway, she—she—" Again her voice broke.

"She is in trouble?" I asked.

She nodded. "She is going to die!" She spoke in an awed whisper.

"Die?" I asked. "Why?"

"The council of nobles has so decreed."

"You love her?"

"Yes, of course. I would give my life for her."

"Do you mean that?" I demanded.

She looked at me in surprise. I had let my emotions get the better of my caution.

"Why do you take such an interest?" she asked.

I looked at her for a full minute, I guess, trying to read her soul through her eyes. I could see nothing in them but truth and sincerity and love—love for my Duare.

"I am going to tell you why," I said. "I am going to trust you. I am going to put my life in your hands and the life of your janjong as well. I am Carson Napier— Carson of Venus."

Her eyes went wide and she caught her breath. She looked at me for a long time. "Yes," she said, "I see now; but you have changed so."

"Suffering and a black wig make a big change in one's appearance," I said. "I have come here to save Duare. Will you help me?"

"I told you once I would give my life for her," she said. "That was no idle speech. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to get me into Duare's quarters in some way and hide me there. That is all I ask of you."

She thought for a moment. "I have a plan," she said, presently. "Gather up your things and prepare to leave. Say that you will return tomorrow."

I did as she bid, making several sales at the same time. I told the purchasers that I would take payment when I came back the next day. I almost smiled when I thought of the rage of the pirate captain could he have known that I was giving his treasure away. When I had at last gathered up what remained, I started toward the door. Then Vejara, the lady-in-waiting, spoke to me in a voice that all might hear.

"Before you go," she said, "I wish that you would bring your things to the anteroom of my apartments. I have a piece of jewelry which I should like to match if possible. I think I saw something of yours that would answer."

"Thank you," I said, "I'll come with you now;" so we walked out of the reception room, and she led me along corridors to a door which she opened with a key, after glancing quickly around to see if we had been observed. Quickly she whispered. "In here. These are the apartments of the janjong. She is alone. I have done all that I can. Goodby and good luck!"

She closed the door after me and locked it. I found myself in a very small waiting room, empty but for two long benches, one on either side. Later I learned that it was where servants waited to be interviewed by the janjong. I crossed to a door at the opposite end and opened it quietly. Before me was a beautifully furnished apartment. On a divan, reading, was a woman. It was Duare. I entered the room, and as I did so she turned and looked at me. Her eyes went wide with incredulity as she sprang to her feet and faced me; then she ran and threw herself into my arms. Of all, she alone had known me!

Neither of us could speak for a full minute; and then, though there was so much to say, I would not let her speak of but one thing, nor would I—a plan of escape.

"It will be simple, now that you are here," she said. "The council of nobles has condemned me to die. I suppose they could do nothing else. They do not wish my death. They are all my friends, but the laws that govern the jongs of Vepaja are stronger than friendship or their love for me or anything in the world—except my love for you and yours for me. They will be glad if I escape, for they have done their duty. My father will be glad, too."

"But not the jong of Vepaja," I said.

"I think he will be a little glad also," she said.

"Why couldn't you have escaped without me, if it is so easy to escape?" I asked.

"Because I have given my word not to violate my arrest," she replied. "But I cannot help it if someone takes me by force."

She was very serious, and so I did not smile—outwardly. Duare is very sweet.

We talked then and planned until after dark. When her food was brought, she hid me; and then she shared it with me. We waited until the city had quieted down; then she came close to me. "You will have to carry me out of my quarters," she said, "for I may not go of my own free will."

In the palace there is a secret shaft down the interior of the great tree to the ground. There is no lift there—only a very long and tiresome climb down a ladder. It was never intended to be used except in emergencies of life and death, and only the jong and his family know of its existence. Down this we clambered. I thought that we should never reach the ground, but at last we did.

Duare had told me that she had fastened the ship down not far from this tree, which is close to the edge of the forest. If it were still there, and unharmed, our escape would be assured. If it were not, we were lost. That was a chance we had to take, for Duare was to have died on the morrow. There was no time for me to investigate.

Leaving the base of the tree we groped our way through the darkness, constantly fearful of attack by one of the terrible beasts that roam the Vepajan forest. When I finally thought that we must have missed the anotar in the darkness, or that it had been taken away, I saw it looming in front of us; and I am not ashamed to admit that tears came to my eyes as I realized that my Duare was safe at last—safe and with me.

A few minutes later we zoomed into the Amtorian sky; and, leveling off, turned the nose of the ship out over the grey Amtorian sea toward the northwest and the kingdom of Korva—our kingdom. Toward peace and happiness and friends and love.

THE END