GRANDON and his companions, peering over the rail of the airship, saw that they had indeed arrived at the capital. Immediately below them was the procession consisting of a string of vehicles and carts now led by the one carrying Vernia, and accompanied by the two small armies of Uxpo and Granterra, the latter with its strange, fierce sabit cavalry, the like of which had never been seen before in Reabon.
From their point of vantage they could see that the city walls were lined with spectators, as were both sides of the main thoroughfare leading to the palace. The gates were slowly lifted, their powerful motors humming sonorously, as the vehicle of the princess approached.
When it passed beneath the gates a mighty cheer went up from the assemblage and the colors of Vernia flashed out suddenly, waved by a hundred thousand hands. Then, as if in obedience to a single word of command, every man, woman and child in that vast multitude bowed low, with right hand extended palm downward.
The crowd that lined the broad avenue, soldiers and civilians alike, remained on bended knees until the vehicle of the princess passed them, then rose and waved her colors once more.
As the triumphal procession approached the palace gates the throngs rose, and the inmates, from the highest to the most lowly, did homage.
A golden palanquin carried by four kings greeted the vehicle as it arrived at the palace steps. Two slaves parted its scarlet curtains and Vernia stepped within, motioning Rotha to follow. The curtains fell back in place and the multitude rose and cheered vociferously as the palanquin with its imperial burden was carried through the palace doors.
The air fleet, which had been hovering above the palace grounds, slowly descended. As Grandon and his companions reached the foot of the aluminum stairs, one at a time, they were met by a palace guard who inquired their names and titles and assigned a slave to each man to conduct him to his quarters.
Grandon had been amazed by the size and beauty of the imperial palace as viewed from without, but even that marvelous sight did not prepare him for the glory and magnificence he beheld within. As he followed his guide, a beardless youth clad in the purple of nobility and evidently serving as a sort of page while learning the customs of the court, Grandon gazed in wonder and admiration at the rich decorations and furnishings. Even the corridors through which they passed were paved with blocks of agate and jasper, polished like glass and faultlessly fitted together, while the sides and ceiling were of alabaster inlaid with designs in pure gold and set with mural panels done in oil and rimmed with platinum, each one a priceless work of art.
At length they came before a door of highly polished wood of a reddish hue, studded with bolts of gold. On each side of this door stood a soldier attired in the brilliant raiment of the imperial guard and armed with tork, scarbo, and broad-bladed spear.
Both bowed low with right hand extended palm downward, as Grandon came before them. Then one rose and flung the door wide and the other drew back a heavy scarlet curtain behind it.
Grandon entered, followed by the page. The curtain fell behind them and the door was softly closed. The room they were in had evidently belonged to a huntsman and warrior of no mean accomplishments. Its paneled walls were hung with weapons and trophies of the chase and battlefield, and skins of marmelots and ramphs, magnificent specimens, were flung on the floor. A ramph, carved from the red wood and supporting a round top of polished crystal, formed a huge table in the center of the room.
Two chairs, one on each side of the table, were cut from the same red wood to represent kneeling giants holding the curved scarlet cushions that formed the seats and backs.
The room was lighted by two large windows that reached from floor to ceiling, and opened on a private balcony overlooking the palace garden.
Immediately adjoining this room, and separated only by an arched doorway with scarlet hangings, was another, even more luxuriously furnished and elaborately decorated. It was lighted, as was the first, by two enormous windows reaching from floor to ceiling. Between them was a massive sleeping shelf over which hung a scarlet canopy with a golden fringe at its edge. Two chairs, a table smaller than the first, and three huge chests or wardrobes completed its furnishings.
Grandon’s guide led them directly through this room to a magnificent bath which formed the third and last unit of the suite.
The ablutions over, the page provided him with a suit of scarlet apparel from one of the huge wardrobes, and a slave brought a tray containing a pot of fresh-brewed kova and an endless variety of choice viands.
Grandon invited the page to participate in the feast, but he declined with thanks, saying it was not seemly that he should eat at the same table with royalty.
“You have been employed in the palace for some time, have you not?”
“For nearly two years, your majesty.”
“Ah. Then perhaps you can tell me who formerly occupied this suite.”
The page looked at him in amazement.
“Can it be possible that you do not know whose rooms these were?” he exclaimed. “This is the private suite of Emperor Margo, the mightiest of all emperors of Reabon and sire of our beloved Princess Vernia.”
Grandon was dumbfounded. “Where is the new emperor named by the proclamation of the princess?” he asked. “Where is Prince Destho?”
“The Imperial Proclamation will not be read until high noon today. Prince Destho is in the palace in his own suite.”
There was a rap at the door and the page hastened to answer it. In a moment he admitted Bonal, Vernia’s pompous prime minister. That portly individual bowed low with right hand extended palm downward, then stood stiffly erect and delivered his message.
“It is the command of her Imperial Majesty, Vernia, Princess of Reabon, that Grandon of Terra, King of Uxpo, attend her at once in the audience chamber.”
Grandon followed the officer through a maze of corridors and passageways, then through an arched doorway between two guards who saluted stiffly as he passed, and found himself in the audience chamber.
The door through which he had entered was at the right of the throne—a door which royalty alone was privileged to use. He was escorted to a position among the scarlet-clad members of Reabonian royalty, from which he had an excellent view of the entire hall.
He could see Bordeen, Vorn Vangal and Dr. Morgan standing with the purple-clad nobles. As the doctor wore a purple uniform it was apparent that he had been created a noble of Reabon.
Below them in lines of the blue-clad commoners he could make out Oro and Rotha, and the uniforms of many Fighting Traveks as well as the glistening armor of the Granterrites. Across from him, clad in the scarlet of royalty, he saw Harry Thorne, Joto, and somewhat apart from them, the triumphantly grinning Prince Destho.
The buzz of conversation ceased abruptly as the scarlet curtains that surrounded the throne slowly parted and slid majestically back to the wall in shimmering folds, announcing the coming of the princess.
Then the massive doors at the end of the hall swung open and the imperial procession entered, headed by the four kings who bore the palanquin, and followed by Orthad, Supreme Commander of Reabon, who carried on a scarlet cushion the huge jeweled scarbo that was the scepter of Reabonian authority.
After him came a hundred members of the Imperial Guard with gorgeous uniforms and shining weapons, who ranged themselves in two straight lines reaching from the foot of the throne to the end of the hall.
Then, for the first time, Grandon saw how a ruler of Reabon mounted to the throne.
Orthad presented the imperial-scarbo which she took from the cushion and rested across the arms of the throne. Her gaze swept the assemblage and her eyes rested for a moment on Grandon. But it became plainly apparent in a moment that Vernia had no intention of asking assistance, for she summoned Bonal, her prime minister, and ordered him to read the proclamation.
As Bonal faced the crowd and unrolled the document with an exaggerated flourish, Grandon looked across at Prince Destho, and noting the look of triumph in his dark eyes with difficulty restrained himself from leaping across that narrow space and throttling the man.
The prime minister stepped to the edge of the dais and read:
“A Proclamation by Her Imperial Majesty, Vernia, the Princess of Reabon.
“On the twenty-fourth day of the eighth Endir in the four thousand and tenth year of Thorth, I, Vernia of Reabon, hereby proclaim and declare to all my subjects throughout the length and breadth of the empire that I have taken for my husband, and raised to the office of emperor, to rule over me and my people, the brave and illustrious Grandon of Terra.
“It is my command that copies of this proclamation be made and distributed to all parts of the empire without delay, and that the fifth day of the ninth Endir be set aside as a day for feasting and suitable celebration in honor of this momentous event.
“Vernia, Princess of Reabon.”
Grandon could scarcely believe the testimony of his own ears; a glance at Prince Destho showed that he was no less amazed.
A ringing cheer broke from the throats of the vast multitude: “Long life to Grandon of Terra, Emperor of Reabon!”
Grandon stood still until a young prince plucked at his elbow and whispered: “Step before the throne.”
He followed this sound advice and waited, stiffly erect, while Vernia descended and gave the imperial scarbo into his keeping.
“Mount to the throne,” she bade him in a whisper, “and place the scarbo across the arms as you saw me”
Suddenly, she paused with a scream of terror. “Look behind you—quickly!”
He whirled in time to see Destho, his face contorted with rage and his scarbo descending in a shimmering arc. There was no time to parry the blow; Grandon leaped aside, then caught the blade with the imperial scarbo, twirled it and sent it clattering to the floor.
His weapon gone, Destho turned and sprinted for a side door. Soldiers ran to intercept him, but before he reached then a man attired in a bloody, tattered uniform leaped out from the ranks of the commoners and caught him by the beard. “Thus should all traitors die!”
As the words rang clear above the tumult, a knife flashed in the hand of the soldier, then thrust into the breast of Destho.
Grandon arrived to see the plotter lying on the floor with bloody froth issuing from his mouth and trickling down on his wiry beard. His assailant had fallen across his prostrate body, and Grandon recognized Zueppa. The wound inflicted on Zueppa by the man he had just slain had been reopened by his exertion. In a moment both were dead.
Four soldiers removed the bodies and order was restored with surprising celerity. Again Grandon moved to the foot of the throne where Vernia awaited him, wide-eyed and trembling. He took her hands in his for a moment, then she resolutely bade him proceed.
Upon his return the four kings had prostrated themselves on the steps leading to the throne in accordance with the customs of their ancestors. Grandon turned to Vernia. “I am emperor now, am I not?”
“Assuredly, my lord.”
“And my word is law?”
“So long as it does not conflict with the written constitution of Reabon.”
“Is this matter of mounting to the throne on the backs of one’s vassal kings written into the constitution?”
“No. It is a custom that has been observed for generations and signifies the complete submission of the heads of the various kingdoms.”
“Then it shall be abolished. I expect loyalty from my subjects, but not abject servility.”
Then, to the surprise of the four kings, he bade them rise and stand, each man on the step he occupied, two to the right and two to the left. Thus attended, Grandon mounted to the throne while the spectators looked on in amazement.
When he had taken his seat with quiet dignity and rested the scarbo across the arms of the throne, Vernia mounted and bowed before him with right hand extended palm downward—an example which was followed by the entire assemblage. It was indeed a day of surprise for the good people of Reabon, for no sooner had she knelt before him than he, in violation of an age-old custom which decreed that the empress should sit at the feet of her lord, swung the scarbo to one side and lifted her up beside him on the throne.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” she gasped. “My place is—”
“Custom be hanged!” he responded, and there, in full view of that vast multitude, he kissed his bride full upon the lips.
The crowd responded with a resounding cheer. “A long and happy reign to our emperor and his empress!”
Then the shimmering scarlet curtains crept around the throne, and Grandon forgot all else when two soft arms stole around his neck and Vernia’s fluffy head nestled on his shoulder.
“I don’t understand about the proclamation yet,” he said, at length. “How and when did you manage to change it?”
“It was changed before I affixed my signature,” she said, “else I should sooner have died than sign it. While Destho’s attention was momentarily drawn to you I crossed out his name and substituted yours. I then allowed the scroll to roll half downward, as if by accident, and when he turned he saw that I was signing and, happily, never bothered to unroll it again!”
At a loss for suitable words to express his admiration and adoration, Grandon sought refuge in banality. “You wonderful little woman,” he said.
At midnight, two weeks later, Grandon and Vernia stood on the roof of their palace watching the movement of a metal cylinder that was slowly screwing itself into place in a huge sphere of asbestos and steel.
Bordeen had left that day for Uxpo with the Fighting Traveks. Oro, Rotha, and Tholto had accompanied Joto and his Granterrites back to their people in the Valley of the Sabits, and Harry Thorne and Vorn Vangal had flown for Olba, as the former Martian was anxious to be with a certain beautiful princess who awaited him.
They had bidden Dr. Morgan good-by after helping him into his ponderous diving suit, had watched him clamber aboard, draw up the ladder and close the cylindrical door, and now waited to see his remarkable interplanetary vehicle begin its journey back to Twentieth Century Earth.
At length the cylinder clicked into place, and Grandon signaled two attendants, who flashed a powerful searchlight on the sphere.
Slowly it rose, rocking gently at first like a toy balloon on a flexible wand. Then, with a suddenness that was appalling, it shot swiftly skyward. The searchlight swung upward, groped about for a moment, making a flashing spot of light on the fleecy clouds, and then found its objective. In that incredibly short time the sphere had traveled so far as to have the diminutive appearance of an orange. A moment later it was but a tiny pin-point of white. Then it disappeared.
Grandon ordered the light shut off and turned to go, when Vernia laid her hand on his arm.
“Look,” she said. “Your world and your moon.”
He looked, and for a brief moment was vouchsafed the glorious spectacle of the Earth and her satellite, through a break in the clouds—the most brilliant and beautiful sight in the night-time of Zarovia.
Then he turned to the infinitely more lovely vision beside him, and together they descended the stairs.
THE END