carriers and give them a show. Go right into camp, as if you owned the place. Throw a scare into them, but don’t hurt anyone. Then, very politely, tell the Emperor, or whatever he calls himself, that I would like him to come here for dinner and a little talk.”
The two officers looked at each other, then at the commander.
“Just like that?” asked Hernan.
“Just like that,” said the commander.
* * * *
The demonstration and exhibition went well—as far as it had gone. The native warriors had evidently been quite impressed by the onslaught of the terrifying monsters that had thundered across the plain toward them, right into the great camp, and come to a dead halt directly in front of the magnificent pavilion of the Greatest Noble himself.
The Greatest Noble put up a good face. He had obviously been expecting the visitors, because he and his lesser nobles were lined up before the pavilion, the Greatest Noble ensconced on a sort of portable throne. He managed to look perfectly calm and somewhat bored by the whole affair, and didn’t seem to be particularly effected at all when Lieutenant commander Hernan bowed low before him and requested his presence in the city.
And the Greatest Noble’s answer was simple and to the point, although it was delivered by one of his courtiers.
“You may tell your commander,” said the noble, “that His Effulgence must attend to certain religious duties tonight, since he is also High Priest of the Sun. However, His Effulgence will most graciously deign to speak to your commander tomorrow. In the meantime, you are requested to enjoy His Effulgence’s gracious hospitality in the city, which has been emptied for your convenience. It is yours, for the nonce.”
Which left nothing for the two officers and their men to do but go thundering back across the plain to the city.
* * * *
The Greatest Noble did not bring his whole army with him, but the pageant of barbaric splendor that came tootling and drumming its way into the city the next evening was a magnificent sight. His Effulgence himself was dressed in a scarlet robe and a scarlet, turbanlike head covering with scarlet fringes all around it. About his throat was a necklace of emerald-green gems, and his clothing was studded with more of them. Gold gleamed everywhere. He was borne on an ornate, gilded palanquin, carried high above the crowd on the shoulders of a dozen stalwart nobles, only slightly less gorgeously-dressed than the Greatest Noble. The nobility that followed was scarcely less showy in its finery.
When they came into the plaza, however, the members of the procession came to a halt. The singing and music died away.
The plaza was absolutely empty.
No one had come out to greet the Emperor.
There were six thousand natives in the plaza, and not a sign of the invaders.
The commander, hiding well back in the shadows in one of the rooms of the central building, watched through the window and noted the evident consternation of the royal entourage with satisfaction. Frater Vincent, standing beside him, whispered, “Well?”
“All right,” the commander said softly, “they’ve had a taste of what we got when we came in. I suppose they’ve had enough. Let’s go out and act like hosts.”
The commander and a squad of ten men, along with Frater Vincent, strode majestically out of the door of the building and walked toward the Greatest Noble. They had all polished their armor until it shone, which was about all they could do in the way of finery, but they evidently looked quite impressive in the eyes of the natives.
“Greetings, Your Effulgence,” said the commander, giving the Greatest Noble a bow that was hardly five degrees from the perpendicular. “I trust we find you well.”
* * * *
In the buildings surrounding the square, hardly daring to move for fear the clank of metal on metal might give the whole plan away, the remaining members of the company watched the conversation between their commander and the Greatest Noble. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but that didn’t matter; they knew what to do as soon as the commander gave the signal. Every eye was riveted on the commander’s right hand.
It seemed an eternity before the commander casually reached up to his helmet and brushed a hand across it—once—twice—three times.
Then all hell broke loose. The air was split by the sound of power weapons throwing their lances of flame into the massed ranks of the native warriors. The gunners, safe behind the walls of the buildings, poured a steady stream of accurately directed fire into the packed mob, while the rest of the men charged in with their blades, thrusting and slashing as they went.
The aliens, panic-stricken by the sudden, terrifying assault, tried to run, but there was nowhere to run to. Every exit had been cut off to bottle up the Imperial cortege. Within minutes, the entrances to the square were choked with the bodies of those who tried to flee.
As soon as the firing began, the commander and his men began to make their way toward the Greatest Noble. They had been forced to stand a good five yards away during the parlay, cut off from direct contact by the Imperial guards. The commander, sword in hand, began cutting his way through to the palanquin.
The palanquin bearers seemed frozen; they couldn’t run, they couldn’t fight, and they didn’t dare drop their precious cargo.
The commander’s voice bellowed out over the carnage. “Take him prisoner! I’ll personally strangle the idiot who harms him!” And then he was too busy to yell.
Two members of the Greatest Noble’s personal guard came for him, swords out, determined to give their lives, if necessary, to preserve the sacred life of their monarch. And give them they did.
The commander’s blade lashed out once, sliding between the ribs of the first guard. He toppled and almost took the sword with him, but the commander wrenched it free in time to parry the downward slash of the second guard’s bronze sword. It was a narrow thing, because the bronze sword, though of softer stuff than the commander’s steel, was also heavier, and thus hard to deflect. As it sang past him, the commander swung a chop at the man’s neck, cutting it halfway through. He stepped quickly to one side to avoid the falling body and thrust his blade through a third man, who was aiming a blow at the neck of one of the commander’s officers. There were only a dozen feet separating the commander from his objective, the palanquin of the Greatest Noble, but he had to wade through blood to get there.
* * * *
The palanquin itself was no longer steady. Three of the twelve nobles who had been holding it had already fallen, and there were two of the commander’s men already close enough to touch the royal person, but they were too busy fighting to make any attempt to grab him. The Greatest Noble, unarmed, could only huddle in his seat, terrified, but it would take more than two men to snatch him from his bodyguard. The commander fought his way in closer.
* * * *
Two more of the palanquin bearers went down, and the palanquin itself began to topple. The Greatest Noble screamed as he fell toward the commander.
One of the commander’s men spun around as he heard the scream so close to him, and, thinking that the Greatest Noble was attacking his commander, lunged out with his blade.
It was almost a disaster. Moving quickly, the commander threw out his left arm to deflect the sword. He succeeded, but he got a bad slash across his hand for his trouble.
He yelled angrily at the surprised soldier, not caring what he said. Meanwhile, the others of the squad, seeing that the Greatest Noble had fallen, hurried to surround him. Two minutes later, the Greatest Noble was a prisoner, being half carried, half led into the central building by four of the men, while the remaining six fought a rear-guard action to hold off the native warriors who were trying to rescue the sacred person of the Child of the Sun.
Once inside, the Greatest Noble was held fast while the doors were swung shut.
Outside, the slaughter went on. All the resistance