followed, drawing his sword, and, as he did so, speaking a few words to the sabit in the tone language. The creature responded by vibrating its antennae and took a place between them, directly in front of the door, where it waited expectantly with its head cocked to one side, much as a terrier waits for the leap of a cornered rat.
The door fell inward with a rending crash and a shout of triumph went up from the attackers. Then the sabit leaped, snapping to right and left with its powerful forceps and shearing a man in twain with each snap. With Grandon swinging his scarbo on one side and Tholto his sharp Albine sword on the other, the landing was cleared in a twinkling.
The bloodthirsty sabit plowed on down the stairway, and the death shrieks of the fleeing guards were terrible to hear as it caught up with them one by one.
Grandon searched for Destho among the corpses that littered the landing, but he was not among them. Evidently he had escaped or was numbered among the sabit’s victims, whose shrieks still sounded from below at intermittent intervals.
A ringing cheer floated up from the courtyard, and Grandon looked down from the tower window. Far below him he saw a straggling line of Destho’s soldiers filing out from the castle, weaponless, and with their hands held out before then in token of submission. A detachment of Traveks escorted them on one side, while a company of the brown-armored soldiers of Granterra marched on the other.
“The castle has fallen,” said Grandon. “Let us descend.”
They picked their way down the blood-soaked steps while Tholto ran ahead, calling his ferocious steed in the tone language of the sabits. The mangled bodies that strewed the entire stairway mutely attested the terrible efficiency of the fighting monster.
Upon reaching the ground level they made their way toward the audience chamber, whence came the unmistakable sounds of heated argument.
Shouts of “Kill the traitor!” and “Behead the assassin!” were distinguishable above the clamor.
“Oh, what are they doing?” cried Vernia. “Let us hurry.”
When they entered the audience chamber they found it jammed with a crowd of Fighting Traveks and Granterrites, mingled indiscriminately. As they weaved their swords and scarbos aloft, Destho, the object of their hatred, stood trembling with fright before the throne in the grip of two brawny Traveks. Bordeen, on one side, and Joto on the other, were attempting to quiet the angry mob.
“Wait, fools,” roared Bordeen. He has not told us where we may find Grandon of Terra and the princess. A dead man discloses no secrets.”
“Torture him!” cried a brawny Travek.
“The secret is out,” said Joto, “for Grandon of Terra approaches, and with him is the princess!”
At sight of Grandon and his fair companion the assembled fighting men sent up a shout that dwarfed their previous clamor to insignificance. A path was speedily cleared for the pair as they made their way toward the throne. Bordeen and Joto rushed forward to greet them, followed by Oro, Rotha and Tholto.
“I thought the hahoe of Reabon had killed you,” said Bordeen huskily, tears of joy gleaming in his eyes. “We searched every dungeon and cell without a trace.”
“A hahoe slays not a warrior so easily,” said Joto, smiling broadly.
“The warrior was fairly cornered by the hahoes when you came so gallantly to the rescue,” said Grandon. “How did you learn of our plight and how could you bring such a large army here without imperiling your people? The sabits may attack them during your absence.”
“It was Tholto told us of the plight of the princess,” said Joto. “We did not know that you had come here on the same mission as our own until informed by the Traveks. Tholto traveled unarmed and alone through the forests and the great salt marsh. There he built himself a crude raft with which he navigated the underground river. I came near beheading him before he convinced me that he was telling the truth. As for the safety of our people, there is no more danger in the Valley of the Sabits. Every sabit community has been subjugated and man rules supreme. We lead indolent lives in Granterra, for our sabit slaves work for us, hunt for us and even fight for us. My only fear is that we may degenerate through inactivity.”
“And you,” said Grandon, turning to Bordeen. “How came you to disobey orders?”
“As soon as you had gone,” Bordeen said, “I thought of the odds against you and realized that your quest was hopeless. I called all the captains in council and explained the situation. To a man they voted to come to your rescue. We felt that, though we might not be able to reach you, we might at least disconcert those within the castle sufficiently to give you an opportunity for escape.”
“You did nobly,” said Grandon, “yet my heart bleeds for the gallant soldiers who have sacrificed their Byes today.”
There was a sudden outcry from the direction of the throne. The wily Destho, taking advantage of the fact that all eyes were riveted on Grandon and Vernia, had broken from his guards and bolted for the door.
A dozen soldiers ran to intercept him, but to no purpose. He ran down the hallway and disappeared from view around a corner.
Grandon, Bordeen and Tholto, in hot pursuit, were only a few seconds behind him, yet when they turned the corner no one was in sight. The hall was lined with doorways, and Grandon plunged into one while his comrades entered the others. He found himself in an empty room, lighted by a. small window which stood open. Suddenly he heard the roar of a motor vehicle in the yard outside and ran to the window. He shouted a warning to the soldiers outside, but too late. The vehicle, gathering momentum with every revolution of its huge single wheel, shot through the gate and down the road before the astonished soldiers realized what it was all about. They sent a volley of tork bullets and curses after it as it disappeared around a curve in the road.
Calling his comrades, Grandon returned to where Vernia awaited them in the throne room. “We must hurry to Reabon at once,” he said. “Destho has escaped.”
“Did he take the proclamation with him?” asked Vernia.
Bordeen spoke up. “He could not have taken the proclamation with him, because we deprived him of all papers in his possession when he was made prisoner. I have them with me now.”
He produced a bundle of papers which Grandon scanned eagerly. They were all letters from his spies and fellow conspirators. The proclamation was not among them.
“Your searchers must have overlooked it,” said Grandon, “for it is not among these papers.”
“That is possible, of course, but not probable,” replied Bordeen. “He was searched thoroughly.”
“Perhaps he disposed of it in some other way,” suggested Joto.
“We may be able to find out from some of his officers, if any of them have been captured alive,” said Grandon.
“Most of those left in the castle surrendered,” Bordeen said. “Let us see what they have to say.”
A dozen of them were produced forthwith and questioned. All declared that Destho had dispatched a messenger to the capital in a swift motor vehicle shortly before the attack by the Traveks. It was understood that the messenger was conveying an important document to Bonal, Prime Minister of Reabon.
“Copies will have been made and distributed and broadcast through the empire by this time,” said Bordeen. “What was the nature of the proclamation? No doubt it favored Destho in some way or he would not have rushed it to the capital.”
Grandon ground his teeth. “It favored Destho, all right, for it made him Emperor of Reabon and the husband of Vernia.”
Joto laid his arm across Grandon’s shoulders.
“My friend,” he said gravely, “be not so downcast, I beg of you. Your enemy has the proclamation, but you still have Vernia of Reabon, and an army that is all but invincible. Let us march to Reabon at once.”
Grandon