Edgar Burroughs - Escape on Venus

“The guard at the wall said that I was loafing,” I replied.

“Were you?” he asked.

“You know that I do not loaf,” I answered.

“That’s right,” he said; “I’ll go with you the next load you carry.”

I picked up two more of the building stones, which was one more than any of the other slaves could carry, and started back toward the wall, my guard accompanying me.

When I put the rocks down by Duare, I stooped close to her and brushed my arm against her body. “Courage,” I whispered. “I will find a way.”

As I stood up the wall guard came up, swinging his whip.

“Loafing around here again, hey?” he demanded, carrying his whip hand back.

“He was not loafing,” said my guard. “Leave him alone; he belongs to me.”

“I’ll whip any lazy slave I want to,” said the wall guard; “and you, too, as far as that’s concerned;” and he started to lay the lash on my guard. I jumped him then and seized his whip. It was a foolish thing to do, but I was seeing red. I took the whip away from him as easily as though he had been a baby; and when he drew an r-ray pistol I took that from him, too.

Now Stalar came charging up. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

“This slave just tried to kill me,” said the wall guard; “he should be beaten to death.”

Duare was looking on, her eyes wide with terror—terror for what might be going to happen to me. I must say that I was considerably concerned myself, for my brief experience with these cruel, sadistic guards suggested that Stalar might order the wall guard’s suggestion put into execution. Then my guard intervened.

“If I were you, Stalar,” he said, “I’d do nothing of the sort. This guard was attacking me when the slave came to my rescue. He did nothing more than disarm the man. He offered him no harm.”

I could see that Stalar was furious, but he only said, “Get back to your work, all of you; and see that there is no more of this.” And then his eyes fell upon Duare. “Get to work, slave,” he snapped, and raised his whip to strike her. I stepped between them. “Don’t!” I said. Stalar hesitated. He will never know how near death he was then, but he was yellow all the way through, and he was afraid of me.

“Get to work,” he repeated, and turned on his heel and walked away.

I went back to my rock pile then with my guard. “That was very decent of you,” I said, “and I thank you, but won’t you get into trouble?”

“No,” he said. “Jeft, the jong is my uncle.”

I looked at him in surprise. “I must say,” I blurted carelessly, “you don’t take after your uncle.”

To my relief the guard grinned. “My mother was a Pangan slave woman,” he said. “I think I must take after her. The Pangans are not a cruel people.”

This guard, whose name was Omat, had revealed such a surprisingly sympathetic nature that I felt that I might with safety ask a favor of him, and I was about to broach the matter when he, himself, gave me an opening.

“Why did you risk your life to protect that slave girl from Stalar?” he asked. “It seems to me that you have already stirred up enough trouble for yourself without doing that.”

“She is my mate,” I said. “We were captured by the Falsans and separated. I had no idea what had become of her until I saw her laying mortar at that wall. I wish that I might talk with her.”

He thought this over for a moment and then he said, “Perhaps I can arrange it for you. You are a good worker, and I don’t think you would ever make any trouble if they left you alone. You have done twice the work for me of any other slave, and you have done it without grumbling.”

That evening, when the female slaves brought our supper to us, I noticed that Omat was in charge of them. He called my name, and when I answered and walked over to him, I saw that Duare was with him. I had not noticed her at first because she had been hidden from me by some of the other slave women.

“Here is your mate,” said Omat. “I shall let her remain here while you eat; and you needn’t hurry,” he added.

I took Duare’s hand and pressed it, and we walked off to one side, a little way from the other slaves, and sat down on the ground together. At first neither of us could speak; we just sat there holding hands.

Presently Duare said, “I never expected to see you again. What strange fate brought us together again in Jangor?”

“Providence has been so unkind to us,” I said, “that maybe it is trying to make it up to us a little now. But tell me what happened to you, and how it is that you are here.”

“It is not a very pleasant story,” she said.

“I know, dear,” I said, “but tell me what you did after you killed Vantor—and of course it was you who killed him.”

She nodded. “Yes. It was in the middle of the night. Everybody on the ship was asleep, including the sentry at the door, which had been left open. I simply walked out; it was that easy; but I didn’t know which way to go. My only thought was to get away somewhere and hide, for I knew that if they caught me they would kill me because of what I had done. And in the morning I lay down in some tall grass and slept. When I awoke I saw the battle fleet of the Falsans moving toward the east. I knew you were with it, and though I never expected to see you again, I went along in the same direction, to be as near to you as possible.

“After a while I came to a little stream where I drank and bathed; and then, refreshed, I went on again; but by this time the fleet was out of sight. And then in the middle of the afternoon I saw one of those little scout ships coming toward me and I hid, but evidently they had seen me, for they came directly to my hiding place.

“Half a dozen of these terrible Hangors got out of the ship and seized me. It would have been as senseless as it would have been futile to try to escape them.

“I soon realized that I had fallen into the hands of some very terrible people, and that it was useless to expect either sympathy or kindness from them. Like the bandits they are, they were out looking for any sort of loot or prey they could find. They send these ships out constantly and sometimes in great numbers, especially after a battle between the Falsans and the Pangans, when they prey upon disabled ships, looting them and taking prisoners.

“The ship I was on was really scouting the battle that they knew was imminent, but in the meantime looking for anything else they could pick up. They continued on to the west and presently discovered our disabled anotar. They could not make out what it was, and when I told them they would not believe me, and one of them flew into a terrible rage because he thought that I was lying to them. I sometimes think that many of them are quite mad.”

“I am sure of it,” I said. “No normal mind could be as cruel and unreasoning as some of these Hangors. But go on with your story.”

“There is not much more to it,” she replied. “They stole everything that they could from the anotar, demolished the instruments and the engine, and then came back toward Hangor; and here I am and here are you.”

“At least we are together again,” I said, “and that is something; for now we can plan on escaping.”

“You are always the optimist,” said Duare.

“I have escaped before,” I reminded her.

“I know,” she said, “but somehow this seems so terribly hopeless. Even if we escape from Hangor, we have no way of escaping from the country. Our beloved anotar has been destroyed, and from what I have been told, the mountains to the south are absolutely impassable; and the land is full of enemies.”

“I refuse to give up hope,” I said.