Tarrano the Conqueror by Ray Cummings (book club suggestions txt) 📕

in diameter. Half a million people lived on or close around that placid stretch of water.

The news of Tarrano's arrival had instantly spread. Graceful boats, all propelled by hand, thronged our course. From them, and from every house-window, balcony and roof-top, a waving multitude cheered the coming of the Master. The new Master, to whom so recently they had given their allegiance—the Master who in return was to endow them with life everlasting.

It was a gay, holiday throng—cheering us, tossing flower-petals down upon us as we passed majestically beneath the bridges. Yet among these gaudily dressed women and men with the luster of wealth and ease upon them, others mingled. Others of a lower class, poorly dressed, with the badge of servitude upon them, enthralled in a social peonage which I did not yet understand.

"Slaans," Wolfgar called them. A term half of derision, half contempt. And Wolfgar pointed one out to me. A huge grey, surly-looking fellow passing in a one-man shell or boat of tree-fibre. He gazed up at us as he went by—a furtive glance of cold, sullen fury. Unmistakable. And I saw it again on others of his kind—men, women, even children who gazed at us with big, round eyes. A dumb, sullen resentment, with a smouldering fury beneath it.

During the trip, which may have taken an hour, I remarked something also, which did not at the time seem significant but very soon I was to recall it and understand its import. Argo, of course, was still with us. As we embarked upon the barge, a man evidently an official of the Great City had paid his humble respects to Tarrano and then withdrawn to a further part of the vessel, drawing Argo with him. I saw the two in close conversation. The official evidently was telling Argo something of importance. I could see Argo growing indignant and then his eyes gleaming, a leer upon his cruel lips.

During the trip Tarrano sat calm, half reclining on his couch—sat watching with his keen expressionless eyes the applause of the multitude. It was, I think, and I believe he felt it also, the height of his career up to that time—this triumphant entry into the greatest city of Venus. He did not speak, just sat watching and listening, with a half smile of triumph pulling at his mouth. Yet I know too, that those keen eyes of his did not miss the sullen glances of the slaans.

The weather, as always in the Venus Central State, was warm—a luxurious tropic warmth. And now I felt—as I had seen from above—the languorous, sensuous quality of it all. Music, mingled with the ripple of girlish laughter and cheers, came from the houses as we passed. Soft, fragrant flower-petals deluged us. The very air was laden heavy with exotic perfumes from the flowers which were everywhere.

We arrived at last at what appeared to be a palace—a broad, low building of polished stone, on an island of its own. It was the building I had noticed when first we saw the Great City from above. Gardens were about the building, and on its roof. Flowers lined its many balconies.

We drew up to a stone landing-place.

"The palace of the Princess Maida," Wolfgar whispered.

But I had no time to question him. Attendants appeared. A queer mixture. Incongruous men of science, armed with belts of instruments. They greeted Tarrano humbly; escorted him away.

Other attendants. Natives of the city, in the flowing, bright-colored robes we had seen everywhere. A group of them—laughing young girls—descended upon us.

"The Princess Maida bids you welcome."

They hurried us into the building. I was surprised. Tarrano had seemingly ignored us. It was quite as though we were honored guests, arriving in the Central State when Maida was its ruler.

Led by the girls, we passed upward into the building past splashing fountains, cascades of perfumed water with tubes of silver light gleaming in its midst; and were thrust at last into a room.

The girls withdrew. Across the floor-polished stone, with heavy woven rugs upon it—Georg and the Princess Maida advanced upon us.

Our greetings were brief. I could have talked to them both for a day, questioning them; and they, no doubt, had as much to ask of us. But they were solemn, grave and anxious.

"Not now, Jac," Georg said to check me. "Elza dear—I have been so worried over you."

"But——" I demanded.

"Jac—the situation here—our own cause—the safety of our Earth itself—this Tarrano—"

But Maida stopped him. "The very air has ears. Not now." Her glance turned to Wolfgar; her slim hands went out to greet him. "Wolfgar, my friend. It is good to see you here."

Wolfgar knelt before her, gazed for one instant into her eyes, and then with head bowed, brushed the hem of her robe to his face.

She laughed gently. "Stand up, Wolfgar. I would not be the Princess Maida to you now. Only—your friend. Your grateful friend."

There was a sudden soundless flash. From across the room a beam of violet flame darted at us. It struck just between Maida and Wolfgar, as he rose from his knee. Both of them involuntarily stepped backward, apart from each other. And between them, breast high, the flame hung level across the room. Maida was on one side of it; all the rest of us, on the other.

I turned. At the door, Argo had appeared. From a black object in his hand, the beam was streaming. He rested the black thing on a wall ledge so that the beam hung level.

"Stand where you are, all of you." He started toward Maida, behind the beam from the rest of us.

Georg made as though to leap forward, but Wolfgar restrained him. "Wait! You don't understand—that's death!"

I saw now that the violet light had encircled us. Only Maida and Argo were outside it. He was approaching her, with a cylinder in his hand. The ray from it struck her without power of movement or speech. Her eyes, terrified, turned to us. Again Georg would have leaped, but Wolfgar shouted, "Wait! That's death! Don't you understand?"

Argo was leering. "Death? Yes! If you touch that violet light! Death, of course. But you won't touch it! You will stand and watch—stand silently for you know that if you shout, the vibrations will bring the beam upon you. You won't move—you'll stand and watch me kill your Princess Maida—not quickly—she is too beautiful for that. You, Georg Brende—you, Wolfgar, traitor from Mars. You shall see your Princess Maida die—this would-be traitoress to my Master Tarrano!"

With all the strength of his puny body Wolfgar flung Georg backward—safely away from the deadly violet beam. And then, without warning, without a cry which would endanger us, the little Mars man sprang headlong, into and through the violet beam of death.

CHAPTER XVIII Passing of a Friend

Wolfgar was not dead; but when we picked him up it was obvious that he was dying. The violet beam vanished as his body struck it—vanished with a hiss and splutter, and a puff of sulphuric smoke that mingled with the smell of burning garments and flesh.

Georg and I leaped forward. Argo was standing transfixed by surprise at what Wolfgar had done; and as the beam died, Georg was upon him.

"One moment!"

The quiet, commanding voice of Tarrano. He must have come quickly, when informed by the finders of Argo's treachery. Yet he stood now at the arcade entrance, drawn to his full height, frowning with lowered brows, but wholly without appearance of haste.

"One moment—stand aside, all of you."

Argo cowered. The rest of us moved aside. Elza came toward me, and I put my arm around her. Poor little Elza! She was shivering with fright.

Tarrano seemed not to need information as to what had transpired. His eyes, roving over us, saw the lifeless, seared body of Wolfgar lying on the floor.

"Too bad," he said. Then his gaze swung to Argo.

"Master——"

"Silence!"

There was on Tarrano's face and in his voice an expression, a tone quite new to me. A quiet grimness. More than that. A quality of deadliness—of inexorable deadliness which could well have chilled the stoutest heart that fronted it.

"Come here, Argo." Tarrano stood quite motionless. "Argo!"

"Master! Master, you——"

"Come!"

Argo was on the floor. Shaking with terror—for he, probably better than any of us, understood what was coming—dragged himself to Tarrano's feet.

"Stand up!"

"Master, have mercy——"

"Stand up! Are you a man?"

Argo's legs would barely support him, but he struggled to get himself erect. With a wrench, Tarrano tore the robe from Argo's chest.

"Master! Master! Have mercy!"

In Tarrano's hand I saw a needle-like piece of steel. A dagger, yet it was more like a needle.

"Master—Oh——"

Tarrano had stabbed it gently into the man's chest. A mere prick into the flesh, and a tiny drop of blood oozed out.

For a moment Argo stood swaying. Eyes white-rimmed with mortal terror as he stupidly looked down at the drop of blood. A moment, then the injected poison took effect. He tottered, flung his arms above his head and fell. Lay writhing an instant; then twitching; and then quite still.

Tarrano turned away, his face impassive. "Unfortunate. He was a good man in many ways—I shall be sorry to lose his services." He saw me with my arm around Elza, and he frowned.

"So?"

Instinctively, involuntarily—and I hated myself for it—I dropped my arm.

Georg exclaimed: "Wolfgar—he——"

Tarrano turned from me. "He is not dead—but he will die. There is nothing we can do. I'm very sorry—very sorry indeed."

A sincere regret was in his tone. We lifted Wolfgar up, carried him to a depression in the floor by the wall—a shallow, couch-like bowl half-filled with down.

On the floor we gathered, seated on cushions; and presently Wolfgar regained consciousness. His face was not burned. It lighted with a dazed smile; and his eyes, searching us, picked out Maida.

"You are safe—I'm—so glad."

His voice was low and labored; and at once his eyes closed again as though the effort of speaking were too great.

Maida was sitting near me at Wolfgar's head, bending over him. She had recovered from her terror of Argo; and as she leaned down, gazing at the dying Wolfgar, I think I have never seen so gentle, so compassionate an expression upon the face of any woman.

Elza whispered: "There must be something we can do. The men of medicine—the lights—the healing lights! Georg! Cannot you use father's——"

They were only an overwrought girl's excited ideas, of course. Wolfgar's lungs were seared; even as Elza spoke, he coughed, and blood welled from his mouth—blood which Georg quickly wiped away.

Tarrano was on his feet behind us, with folded arms; and as he looked down, I saw on his face also—the face which a few moments before had been grim with deadly menace—a look now of gentle compassion very much like Maida's.

"No use," he said softly. "We can do nothing. He will die."

Again Wolfgar's eyes opened. "Die—of course." He tried to raise one of his burned hands, but dropped it back. "Die? Yes—of course. In just a moment...." His eyes, already dulled, swung about. "Who is that—crying? There's no need—to cry."

It was little Elza beside me, struggling to suppress her sobs.

Wolfgar's slow, labored voice demanded: "That isn't—my Princess Maida crying—is it? I don't want—her to cry——"

"No," said Georg gently. "Maida is here—right here by you. She isn't crying."

His gaze found Maida's face. "Oh, yes—I can see you—Princess Maida. You're not crying—that's good. There's nothing to—cry about."

He seemed for a moment to gather a little strength; he moved his head and saw Tarrano standing there behind us.

"Master?" He used the old term with a whimsical smile. "I—called you that—for a long time, didn't I? You have a right to consider me a traitor——"

"A spy," said Tarrano very gently. "Not a traitor. That you would have been had you served me—a traitor to your Princess."

Wolfgar's head tried to nod; relief was on his face. "I'm—glad you understand. I would not want to die—having you think harshly of me——"

"You are a man—I honor you." Abruptly Tarrano turned away and strode across the room. And always since I have wondered if he left that scene of death because of the emotion he could not hide.

Georg said: "You should not talk, Wolfgar."

"But I—want to talk. I have—only a few minutes. Just these—last few minutes—I want to talk to my—Princess Maida. You'll—excuse us—the Princess Maida and me—won't you? Just for these last—few minutes?"

We withdrew beyond his fading sight.

"My—Princess Maida——"

His voice still reached us. She leaned closer over him. Her tears were falling now, but as she spoke she strove for calmness.

"Wolfgar——"

His eyes were glazing, but they dung to her. "Princess——"

"No," she said. "Just Maida—your friend. The woman you have given your life for." Her voice almost broke. "Oh, Wolfgar! Never shall I forget that. To give your life——"

"It is—a great honor." The gesture he made to check her words of thanks exhausted him. His eyes closed; for a moment he seemed not