The Buccaneers of Venus Collection (Three novels in one volume!) (59 page)

    By this time Heg, Rogo of the Ibbits and his warriors, were half-way to the city gate. Grandon knew that the only possible way to catch them would be for him to mount and ride the strange and formidable looking beast whose rider he had just slain. The creature was evidently well trained; for despite the fight which had brought it a change of masters, it kept its place beneath the balcony, complacently chewing its cud.

    On Earth Grandon had been accounted a good rider, but here were beast and equipment both of which were new to him. The savage-looking mount was saddled, but wore neither bridle nor halter. He had no idea how it could be guided, started, or stopped, but there was nothing for him except to climb into the saddle and investigate: This he did.

    "Go ahead," he said, in patoa. Without moving, the beast continued its contented cud-chewing. Instinctively, he dug his heels into its sides as if he had worn spurs. So suddenly that he was almost unseated, the zandar sprang forward. But it was going in the wrong direction. How to turn it was the next problem. He tried slapping its neck, first on one side, then on the other, without effect. Then he tried pressing alternately with the right and left knees with no result. Baffled, he grasped the creature's mane, determined to spring from the saddle and follow the Ibbits on foot. Instantly the beast slowed down and stopped.

    If he could only find out how to turn the creature! Once more he dug his heels into its sides and the animal sprang forward. He heard someone shout, and turned to see who it was. A group of Huitsenni had discovered the dead Ibbit beneath the balcony. But when he turned, he advanced his right foot and drew back his left. Instantly the zandar whirled to the left. Quickly he returned his feet to the normal position, whereupon the beast settled down to a straight course. He advanced his left foot and drew back his right, and the zandar turned to the right. Now able to guide his strange mount, he set off in swift pursuit of the Ibbits.

    The hoofs of his speeding zandar beat a rumbling tattoo on the planking of the broad street, and he dug his heels into its sides to urge it to greater efforts. The Ibbits, he observed, had been stopped at the city gate. The mojak of the guard was evidently suspicious because of their abrupt departure.

    Grandon wondered if the body of Yin Yin had been discovered. Probably not, he thought, as the room in which he had been slain was segregated from the others; and of those who had witnessed his death, there had been none left alive to carry the news. It would be discovered eventually, of course. But in the meantime, the Ibbits might be well away from the city.

    He was about a quarter of a mile from the party of Ibbits he was striving to catch when he saw the gates thrown open. A moment later, the boom of a mattork sounded from the direction of the palace, and a shell screamed over his head. Then he knew that the body of Yin Yin had been discovered. The firing of the mattork was evidently a signal to the mojak of the guard, who threw a party of his warriors in front of the Ibbits and tried to close the gates.

    Instantly, the Ibbits couched their long lances, and charged. There was a popping of tork fire from the thin line of guards, but they were swept away like straw before a gale. Some were trampled underfoot, some were gored by the horns of the charging beasts, and the rest impaled and swung off their feet on the long lances, to be thrown over the head of the first-line riders and trampled beneath the hoofs of the cavalcade that followed.

    In his anxiety to catch that charging column, Grandon dug his heels into the ribs of his mount with all his might. But the beast, evidently traveling at its utmost speed already, did not respond in any way except to grunt angrily.

    He arrived at the gate about a hundred yards behind the last Ibbit in the column, in a hail of mattork shells from the palace. A single man barred his way-the mojak. Evidently all the others had been slain.

    Elevating the muzzle of his tork, the officer sent a bullet uncomfortably close to Grandon's ear. Couching his lance, he pulled back the lever, and the corkscrew head began revolving with terrific speed. It struck the mojak in the middle, and instantly drilled through him, up to the knob. Not knowing how to release his weapon from the body, Grandon dropped it, and stooping from the saddle, caught up another which was lying beside a dead Ibbit. With this he experimented as he hurried forward to join the furry savages. He found that when the lever was pulled back, the head revolved clockwise, literally screwing itself into its victim. When the lever was perpendicular to the shaft, it stopped, but when it was pushed forward, the head immediately revolved in a counter-clockwise direction, thus swiftly unscrewing itself from anything in which it might be imbedded. This explained how the Ibbits were able to impale their victims and then hurl them over their heads without losing their lances.

    The last faint glow from the city lights was disappearing as Grandon caught up with the rear guard of the Ibbits. Now, at intervals of about fifty feet in the column, riders lighted torches. Muffled up as he was, however, with the hood throwing his features into shadow, Grandon did not fear recognition unless the sound of his voice or his accent should make someone suspicious. Suddenly a rider beside him turned and put him to the test: "Did you slay the strange warrior?" he asked.

    Grandon pretended to be seized with a fit of coughing. Then, in the rasping tones of a man whose vocal cords have not yet recovered from such an attack, he replied: "I ran him through the heart. He will trouble us no more."

    "Good!" exclaimed the rider, evidently unsuspicious. "His Majesty was worried about that fellow. He feared that he would find a way to follow, and come upon him by stealth. You will be well rewarded."

    Grandon smiled to himself, and made no further comment. Far up hear the front of the column he saw a rider carrying a fur-covered bundle which he believed to be Vernia. But he did not deem it advisable to ride too near the Rogo just yet. There might be questions to answer, and he felt sure that, sooner or later, his voice would betray him unless he could manage to keep from speaking.

    Presently they entered a belt of tall trees, primitive conifers, where the trail began to slant sharply upward. Here the beasts slowed down to a walk, though they did not seem greatly inconvenienced by the steepness of the ascent.

    As they climbed higher and higher, the air kept growing colder, until Grandon, who had been uncomfortably warm in his furs when on the low ground, was now thankful for them. Soon he noticed that the ground was powdered with a white substance. It was snow, the first he had seen on Venus. Also, he began to be aware of furtive, slinking forms flitting among the tree trunks, trotting beside the cavalcade. Their eyes glowed weirdly green in the torchlight, but it was some time before he could make out what they were. Then one, bolder than the rest, approached to within fifty feet of the riders, and he got a good look at it. It was a white awoo. Some time later he caught sight of a white marmelot, tearing at the carcass of some beast it had slain. And he began to wonder if all creatures, here in the Zorovian antarctic, were white.

    The snow grew deeper as they advanced, and the trees more stunted. Presently they crossed a narrow ridge and filed out onto level ground-a snow-covered plateau, its bleak surface swept by a bitterly cold wind laden with powdered ice particles that pricked the skin like needles. Here, despite the deep snow, the zandars made good progress. This was their natural habitat, and they were equipped for it. Their broad, three-toed feet kept them from sinking deeply, and with their thick, silky coats, Grandon judged that they were more comfortable than in the lower, warmer country.

    All through the night, the shaggy beasts kept up their tireless pace. But when morning dawned, the cavalcade halted in a little clump of stunted trees that afforded some protection from the wind, for rest and refreshment.

    The zandars, with their saddles still on them, were turned loose to shift for themselves. Grandon saw them eagerly devouring a species of purple moss that grew on top of the snow and sent long, thread-like roots to the soil, far below. They also browsed on such aromatic shoots as they were able to reach on the lower branches of the trees.

    Soon the Ibbits had a fire crackling. Then two huge pots were set upon it and snow was shoveled into them to melt. As soon as sufficient water was thus obtained, strips of frozen meat were dropped into the larger of the two pots, and chopped kova roots into the smaller. Vernia was placed near the fire. The rogo sat near her, endeavoring to engage her in conversation, but without success. On the other side of the fire the warriors sprawled in a semicircle, chatting, laughing, and eagerly watching the operations of two of their number who were acting as cooks.

    With the coming of the dawn, Grandon had been especially careful to keep his hood pulled forward, so that his features would not be noticed. Now, as he sat among the warriors, he kept his head bowed as an additional precaution.

    Presently the two cooks went among the men, serving the stewed meat and steaming bowls of kova. Grandon found the meat tough and rather tasteless, but welcome, nevertheless, after his long ride. The kova was well brewed, and refreshing.

    After they had eaten and drunk, the warriors stretched out in the snow to sleep. Grandon, perforce, followed their example for fear of becoming conspicuous, but managed to turn his head so that he could watch Vernia and the Rogo. The chieftain, after unsuccessfully urging his fair prisoner to get some rest, lay down himself. As soon as it appeared that he was asleep, Grandon drew back his hood, then raised one arm to attract the attention of Vernia, who sat staring moodily into the fire. Her eyes attracted by the motion of the arm, she glanced toward him, then smothered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. Instantly he whipped the hood back over his face and lowered his arm.

    Now, seeing that she was covertly watching him, he began slowly rolling away from the others, and motioned to her to edge away from beside the fire at the same time. He hoped that if they could get away from the sleepers with sufficient stealth they could catch two of the grazing zandars, and put a considerable distance between themselves and the Ibbits before the ruse would be discovered.

    But his plans were suddenly upset by an agonized bellowing from one of the zandars, followed by a tremendous hissing sound which brought every warrior to his feet. Grandon sprang erect with the others, and saw a monster with a gigantic, lizard-like body to which was attached a scaly serpentine neck and head, biting immense mouthfuls of flesh from the zandar it had just struck down, and which it was holding beneath one huge front claw. Save for its color-for its body was completely covered by gleaming white scales-it might have been a silticum one of those dangerous lizards he had first encountered in the fern forests of Reabon.

    "A posilticum! A posilticum!" shouted the warriors. Catching up their spiral-pointed spears, they charged the monster.

    Like the others, Grandon caught up his lance, and was about to join them in their attack on the monster, when another idea suddenly came to him. He noticed that the Rogo of the Ibbits, although he had sprung to his feet, had not moved from his place beside Vernia. The chieftain noticed his hesitation at the same time, and cried: "What! Does a warrior of mine fear a posilticum? Go at once with the others, or stay to receive your Rogo's blade."

    Nothing could have suited Grandon better. Flinging down his lance, he whipped out his scarbo and leaped across the dying embers of the fire. The chieftain was evidently a good scarboman as Ibbits go, for it appeared that he thought to make short work of Grandon as he struck out with his own blade. It was a cut for the head, which the Earth-man parried. Countering with the same stroke, he found the blade of the Rogo there to meet his. Leaping back to avoid a horizontal blow at the neck, he suddenly changed from the well-established Zorovian practice of using the scarbo as a cutting weapon, and presented his point, lunging for the breast of the barbarian.

    Heg was not prepared for this innovation. Nor had he time to come on guard after the terrific slash he had directed at Grandon's neck. The Earth-man's blade tore through his heart, and he toppled backward, dead.

    A quick glance around showed Grandon that his duel with the furry Rogo had not been observed by the others, all of whom were skipping about the posilticum, lunging at it with their spiral lances, and leaping back to avoid the darting of its huge and terrible head. The noise they made the hissing of the posilticum, the bellowing of frightened zandars, and the shouts of the Ibbits, had drowned all sound of the clashing scarbos.

    "Come," said Grandon, cleaning and sheathing his blade and catching up his lance. "Now is our chance."

    Hand in hand, he and Vernia ran to where a group of frightened zandars cowered together as if for mutual protection. He helped her to mount one of the shaggy beasts, and gave her swift instructions for riding it. Then he leaped to the back of another, and they were off.

    As soon as they left the shelter of the trees, the cold wind and stinging snow particles buffeted them unmercifully. They had not been gone more than a few minutes when a terrific blizzard swept down on them. Grandon laid their course in the direction he judged to be northwest, intending to circle Huitsen and make for the shore of the Azpok. He believed that a half-day's ride would take them to the edge of the plateau, and that by descending for a few miles they could find relief from the cold and snow.

    But they rode more than a half-day without seeing any sign of the slope for which they were searching. Then a steep cliff, the summit of which was invisible in the whirling cloud of snowflakes, suddenly loomed ahead. They rode up to its base, and, skirting it for some distance, came at length to a dark opening in the rock, half closed by a snow drift. By this time, the zandars, which had traveled nearly all night and half the day with only an hour's rest, began to balk, and Grandon judged that it was best to permit them to rest, and at the same time take advantage of this natural shelter.