DESPITE the fact that the audience chamber of the imperial palace of Reabon was crowded with people, the silence was intense for the scarlet curtains which surrounded the massive throne had been drawn back, signifying the approach of the Torrogina.
Those who stood at the lower end of the hall and farthest from the throne were the slaves, the prevailing color of whose garments was gray. Next to the slaves stood the common people—tradesmen, farmers, merchants, mechanics, and the like—attired in blue. Then came the nobles and their families, who might be recognized anywhere by their purple garments; and finally members of the royal families of Reabon and her many rogats, who were privileged to wear scarlet, the universal Zarovian color of royalty, and to stand next to the throne during audiences.
All eyes were turned toward the door as four men entered, carrying a great golden palanquin with curtains of scarlet. The litter-bearers all wore heavy beards, cut off square below the chin. On their heads were jeweled golden crowns, and their scarlet garments proclaimed their royal birth. They were kings of four of the sixteen kingdoms which comprised the empire of Reabon, and were serving their allotted time in attendance on the Torrogina Vernia, as was required by law.
Behind the palanquin walked the illustrious Orthad, commander of all the armies of Reabon, and responsible only to the princess herself. He was armed with tork and scarbo, and resplendent in his magnificent uniform, which was of purple, decorated with no inconsiderable quantity of gold fringe, gold braid and jewels. On a scarlet cushion held before him he carried the great jeweled scarbo, scepter of Reabonian authority.
A hundred members of the Imperial Guard marched behind in double file, and ranged themselves at regular intervals along the wall. Their uniforms were of an olive green color, decorated with silver in lieu of the gold which adorned that of their commander.
When the four palanquin-bearers arrived at the foot of the throne which was reached by four broad steps, they gently lowered their burden to the floor, and each stepped forward and lay, face downward, on one of the steps. No sooner had they taken their places than the scarlet curtains parted, and the beautiful ruler of the greatest empire in all Zarovia, Vernia, of Reabon, emerged and ascended the four human steps to the throne.
As she took her seat with quiet dignity, everyone bowed low with right hand extended palm downward. She sat there attired in a clinging garment of scarlet material that left her white arms and shoulders bare, her jeweled crown resting lightly on her fluffy golden curls.
The first person to seek audience before the throne was a gayly-uniformed ambassador from the great western empire of Mernerum, laden with costly presents, and bringing a proposal of marriage; despite the fact that this same suitor had been refused a score of times before.
When Bonal, her prime minister, advised her that the ambassador from Mernerum sought audience, Vernia looked a trifle bored. “Are there not several other ambassadors with presents and similar messages waiting without?” she asked.
“Yes, your majesty, there are ten in all from as many empires.”
“Send them all in at once. I can say ‘No’ to all collectively; otherwise our entire day will be taken up and important business of the empire will have to be postponed.”
The ten ambassadors traversed the length of the hall with much pomp and ceremony, each followed by a concourse of slaves laden with the most costly presents a great emperor could procure, and humbly bowed before the throne. Bonal announced their ten proposals as one. Vernia promptly and courteously declined, and they sadly took their departure.
Her matrimonial offers disposed of, the Torrogina listened to the reports of the rulers of her various provinces. Last on the list came Uxpo, as it was the last kingdom conquered. Though the other provinces were ruled by princes, this one was under the control of a military commander; its people had not been completely subjugated. A captain bore tidings from his commander. He humbly approached the foot of the throne, waited for permission to speak, then announced: “Prince Thaddor has escaped from the quarries. He nearly killed two of his guards and ran away into the fern forest.”
Vernia was greatly surprised. That Prince Thaddor had found courage to escape seemed incredible to her; but that he had nearly killed two of his guards in the process seemed little short of miraculous.
“You have sent soldiers after him, I presume.”
“Men are scouring the forests and mountains in search of him, but up to the time of my departure, no trace had been found. There is another matter of which my commander bids me speak. It has been prophesied by some unknown soothsayer that a great fighter is coming from another world to lead Uxpo to victory and independence. This ridiculous prediction has spread throughout the kingdom, and as a result it is seething with unrest. The Fighting Traveks of Uxpo make nightly raids on our soldiers, and even the women and children have grown rebellious.”
Vernia frowned slightly. “This mutiny must be put down, once and for all. Orthad: assemble an army of ten thousand men at once—I will lead them in person. Bonal: my palanquin-bearers. Postpone all further hearings until my return from Uxpo.”
A half hour later two men stood on one of the smaller balconies of the imperial palace in whispered conversation. One wore the scarlet of royalty, the other the purple of the nobility and the trappings and insignia of an imperial commander.
The one in scarlet, a youth of twenty, whispered hoarsely: “Have a care, my worthy Zueppa. I hear quite well, you know. Are you sure the four men who are to constitute her personal bodyguard will not fail us?”
“Their loyalty to your highness, Prince Destho, is beyond question. If they fail they will die, rather than betray us.”
“They must not fail. After all, the task is not too difficult. They have only to hide her in the northern mountains for a year—a short year, mind you—then none will dare to question my title to the throne. And you, my faithful Zueppa: Second only to myself, you will hold the greatest office in Zarovia.”
“May I not again remind your highness that there is a much easier and simpler way to attain our ends?”
“Stop, fool! Do you take me for an assassin? My ambition is great, but my desire for this woman is greater. You must detain her for a year; then return her to me unharmed.”
Within half an hour of his capture by these men who called themselves the Fighting Traveks, Robert Ellsmore Grandon learned how quickly a man’s status could change in Zarovia. They were impressed by the fact that he wore the color of royalty and seemed captivated when he identified himself as Grandon of Earth.
After a brief consultation amongst themselves, the stranger was given a choice. He could go his way in peace, or remain with the Fighting Traveks once he demonstrated his fitness—which meant overcoming whichever of them he chose to encounter in a duel. Since the alternative would be to face the Venusian beasts alone and unarmed, Grandon challenged the leader of this band.
The man was a good fighter, but the art of fencing was unknown here. Once Grandon adjusted himself to the scarbo, and his opponent’s manner of fighting—which was roughly comparable to scimitar or broadsword technique—a well-directed lunge stretched the leader of the Fighting Traveks at the Earthman’s feet.
Then came the surprise. The band now greeted Grandon as their mojak; he had beaten the leader—he was now in command. When his second-in-command came up for orders, Grandon told him to carry on as before.
The lieutenant saluted. “Did you say your name was Grandon of Urgg? I cannot pronounce it.”
“Well, you may call me Grandon of Terra,” he suggested.
“Grandon of Terra!” the lieutenant repeated. “We salute you.”
The men prepared shelter and the evening meal; soon after, all retired. Grandon drifted off to slumber with difficulty, still marveling at the swift events; it seemed that he had slept but a moment or two when a deafening din assailed his ears. All about him men were fighting, cursing, shouting, and groaning.
“What is up?” he asked the man nearest him.
“It’s the Reabonians,” replied the man, staunching the blood from a cut in his shoulder. “We are surrounded by the soldiers of the princess.”