Edgar Burroughs - Escape on Venus

“That is close enough,” I said, pointing the pistol at them.

They halted in their tracks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Spear him!” commanded Yron.

I pointed the pistol at Yron. “When the first spear is raised, you die,” I told him. The warriors looked questioningly at him.

“Hold!” cried Yron. “Do not spear him—yet. Wait until I have gone.”

“You are not going until you have countermanded that order,” I told him. “I think that perhaps we had better discuss this matter so that there may be no more misunderstandings; they are always annoying and sometimes fatal.”

“I do not discuss anything with my slaves,” replied Yron, haughtily.

I shrugged. “It is all the same to me,” I said, “but remember this: If my mate and my friend Kandar, here, and I are not treated well, you die. I can kill you any time I wish.”

“Your mate? You have no mate here.”

“Not here, but in the palace of Tyros. She was purchased for him in the slave market. You’d better advise him to treat her well. At the same time arrange to release us and return us to the place where we were captured.”

“Such insolence!” he cried. “Wait until Tyros hears of this. He will have you killed.”

“Not before I have killed Tyros. Tell him that.” I thought I might as well play up my advantage while I could, for it was evident that he was already afraid of me.

“How can you reach Tyros in his palace?” he demanded.

“By killing every one who tries to stop me—commencing with you,” I said, twirling my pistol around my index finger.

“I don’t believe that you could do it; you are just boasting,” said Yron.

“I shall prove it,” I said, leveling my pistol at him.

At that, he dove into the pool and disappeared. I found it difficult not to laugh, he cut such an amusing figure in his fright. All the slaves and warriors were standing around watching me—at a respectful distance.

I waited for Yron to come to the surface. I was going to give him another scare, but he didn’t come up. Five minutes passed, and nothing happened—except that the warriors slowly dispersed, going back into the building. Finally only we slaves remained in the patio.

“Yron must have drowned,” I said to Kandar.

“By no means,” replied Kandar. “He may be out in the lake by this time, or in a grotto at the bottom of the pool, or back in his palace.”

“But how?” I asked.

“These people are amphibians,” explained Kandar. “They can remain under water for considerable periods of time. Also, they have underwater corridors that lead from their pools out into the lake, as well as other corridors that lead to smaller pools within their palaces; and there are usually grottos, which are really parts of the pools, far under water, where they can remain in hiding, breathing through their gills.”

Kandar told me a great deal about these Myposans, but nothing that was later to stand me in better stead than the description of these underwater corridors. He did not like the Myposans, upon whom he looked with the utmost contempt. He said that they were neither fish nor human, and their arrogant egotism irked him no end.

“They consider themselves supermen whose destiny it is to rule the world, forcing what they call their culture on all other peoples. Culture!” he snorted, and then words failed him.

“We have had peoples like that in my own world,” I said, “led by such men as Genghis Kahn and Attila the Hun who wrecked the culture and civilization of their times and set the world back many centuries; and I suppose we shall have others.”

“And what happened after them?” asked Kandar.

“Civilization struggled slowly from the mire into which they had plunged it, as I suppose it always will struggle back after each such catastrophe; but to what glorious heights it might have attained had they never lived!”

The next day dawned like any other day. The intense light of the Sun, filtering through the two cloud envelopes, imparted a brilliance comparable to that of an April day in our own northern hemisphere when the sky is lightly overcast by fleecy clouds; yet, for me, it was to be no ordinary day. It was to mark a definite, a drastic change in my fortunes.

With other slaves, I was still guarding the horrid little creatures in the pool. I daydreamed of Duare. I lived again the high moments of our lives together. I planned. I schemed fantastic schemes for our escape; but, when all was said, I was still a slave.

The major-domo came into the patio with four warriors. They were garbed differently from those I had seen on the grounds of Yron’s palace or elsewhere. Their trappings were more ornate.

Kandar was patrolling at my side. “Members of the jong’s guard,” he said. “I wonder what they are doing here.”

We were soon to learn. Led by the major-domo, they approached us. The major-domo confronted me. His gills flapped idly; and he blew a little, as befits one who addresses a low slave.

“Slave,” he said, “you will accompany these warriors.”

“Why?” I asked.

Then his gills did flap, and he blew angrily. “Because I say so,” he bellowed.

“That is not enough,” I said. “I don’t like it here, but I don’t intend going some place that may be worse.”

“Enough of this,” snapped one of the jong’s warriors. “Come, slave! and come alive, or we will take you dead.” He came toward me.

I drew my pistol, and the major-domo seized the arm of the warrior. “Careful!” he cautioned. “With that thing he can kill you—and he will.”

“He threatens one of the jong’s guard?” demanded the warrior.

“I do,” I said. “I threaten them all and I can kill them all. Ask any of Yron’s people if I speak the truth.”

“Why hasn’t that thing been taken from him?” demanded the warrior.

“Because whoever touches it dies,” said the major-domo.

“Tell me where I am going and why,” I insisted, “and then perhaps there will be no reason for killing.”

The major-domo and the warriors stepped to one side and whispered together; then the former said to me, “There is no reason why you should not know. The noble Yron, as a mark of his loyalty and high esteem, has presented you to our beloved jong.”

So! The noble Yron was getting rid of a dangerous and undesirable alien by passing him on to his ruler. The loyal Yron! I had to smile. Had the German Kaiser presented Trotsky, armed with a bomb, to the Czar of Russia the acts would have been somewhat analogous.

“Why are you smiling?” demanded the warrior spokesman.

“I am happy,” I said. “I shall be delighted to go to the palace of Tyros, and I will go willingly on one condition.”

“Slaves do not make conditions,” growled the warrior.

“I am an exception,” I said; “you have never before seen a slave like me.” I twirled my pistol about my finger.

“Well, what do you want now?” demanded the major-domo.

“I think that Yron should also present Kandar to his jong. Kandar is a much more valuable slave than I, and if Yron really wishes to demonstrate his loyalty and high esteem he should present a really royal gift to his jong—two princes instead of one; the Crown Prince of Japal and the Crown Prince of Korva.” Of course I didn’t say Crown Prince; I said Tanjong.

I made this condition not only because I had grown very fond of Kandar but because I felt that he could be very helpful to me in effecting the rescue of Duare and the eventual escape of all three of us.

“That,” said the warrior, “is an excellent suggestion.”

“But Yron only mentioned the slave Carson,” objected the major-domo.

“Should I return to Tyros with only one slave and have to report that Yron refused to give two, the jong might be very angry with Yron,” suggested the warrior.