 8. But why radio? Three fields of magic were open to him. Rifle-fire, aviation, and radio. The opportunity for building a workable airplane among people who knew no metal arts was obviously slight. To make a radio set should be possible if he could find certain minerals and other natural products which ought to be available in almost any country. But easiest of all would be to extract iron from the ore which he had observed on his journey across the mountains, forge rifle barrels and simple breech mechanisms and make gunpowder and bullets. Therefore it is plain why he did not attempt to build airships, but it is hard to see why he did not make firearms rather than a radio set. Firearms would have enabled him to equip the Verkings for battle against the Formians, whereas radio could serve no useful purpose at the moment. Yet he took up radio. I think the explanation lies in two facts. First, he wanted, above all, to get in touch with his home in Cupia, find out the status of affairs there and give courage to his wife and his supporters if any of them remained. And secondly, he was primarily a radio engineer, and so his thoughts naturally turned to radio and minimized its difficulties. There would be plenty of time to arm the Verkings after he found out how affairs stood at home. So he broached to Judd his project of constructing a radio set which would necessitate extended journeys in search of materials. But the Verking noble was singularly uninterested. I know you can spin interesting yarns, he said, but I do not know whether you can do magic. Why then should I deprive myself of the pleasure of listening to your stories just for the sake of letting you amuse yourself in a probably impossible pursuit? First, you must convince me that you are a magician. Then perhaps I may consent to your attempting further magic. Very well, the earth man replied. Tomorrow evening I shall display to you some of the more simple examples of my art. Meanwhile, I shall spend my time concocting mystic spells in preparation for the occasion. Then he bowed and withdrew, thanking his lucky stars that he had learned a few tricks of slight of hand while at college. Miles now recalled several of these and devoted most of the succeeding day to preparing a few simple bits of apparatus. Then he practiced his tricks before the golden furred quiven to a complete mystification. That evening he went again to the quarters of Judd the excuse-maker. The same group was there as on the evening before, and in addition several other Verking men and their wives. After an introduction by his host, the earth man started in. First he did, in rapid succession, some simple variations of slight of hand. He had wanted to perform the well-known restoration of the cut handkerchief, but unfortunately the Verkings possessed neither handkerchiefs nor scissors, and he was forced to improvise a variant. Using a piece of stick, which he had brought with him for a wand, he stuffed a small part of one of the gaudy hangings through his closed left fist between the thumb and forefinger, so that it projected in a gathered-up point about two inches beyond his hand. Then, pulling the curtain over toward one of the stone open-wick lamps which illuminated the chamber, he completely burned off the projecting bit of cloth. Evidently, this was one of Judd's choices tapestries, for the noble emitted a howl of grief and rage, and leaped from his divan scattering the reclining beauties in both directions. If he had interfered in time to prevent the burning, it would have spoiled the trick. But as it was, the confusion caused by his onrush played right into Cabot's hands. Miles stepped back in apparent terror as Judd seized his precious curtain and hunted for the scorched hole. But there was no hole there. The curtain was intact. Judd looked up sheepishly into the triumphant face of his protégé, who thereupon stated, You did not need to worry about your property in the hands of a true magician. Oh, I was not afraid, Judd the excuse-maker explained. I merely pretended fear, so as to try and confuse your magic. Please do not do it again, the earth-man sternly admonished him. The verking noble seated himself again. His guests were enthralled. This was a fitting climax for the evening. The amateur conjurer bowed low and withdrew. Quiven was waiting for him at his house, and reported that someone had torn a small piece out of one of the tapestries. Several days later she found the piece, but alas there was a hole burnt in the middle of it. The next morning Judd the excuse-maker called at the quarters of Cabot the furlous. It was a rare honour, so Cabot answered the door in person. Judd expressed his conviction that the earth-man really was a magician after all, and that therefore he, Judd, was agreeable to an expedition to the mountains in search of rocks whose mystical properties would enable the performing of even greater magic. It was soon arranged that Cabot, with a body guard of some twenty verking soldiers and a low-ranking officer, should start on the morrow. Miles was thrilled. Now he was getting somewhere at last. The rest of the day he devoted to preparing a list of the materials for which he must hunt. To make a radio telephone sending and receiving set, he would need dielectrics, copper wire, batteries, tubes, and iron. For dielectrics Wood and Micah would suffice. Wood was common, and the verkings were skilled carpenters and carvers. For fine insulation Micah would be ideal, and this mineral ought to be procurable somewhere in the mountains, whose general nature he had observed to be granitic. To make copper wire he would need copper ore, preferably pyrites, quartz, limestone, and fuel. The necessary furnaces he would build of brick. Anyone can bake clay into bricks. For cement, Miles finally hid upon using a baked and ground mixture of limestone and clay, both of which ingredients he would have at hand for other purposes. The verkings used charcoal in their open fires, and this would do nicely for his fuel. For the wire drawing dies he would use steel. This disposed of the copper questions and brought him to a consideration of iron, which he would need at various places in his apparatus. This metal could be smelted from the slag of the copper furnaces using an appropriate flux such as floor spar. Next turned his attention to his power source. For some time he debated the question of whether or not to build a dynamo. But how about the storage batteries? He wasn't quite sure how to find or make the necessary red and yellow lead salts for the packing plates. Thus by the time that Cabot reached the contemplation of having either to find or make his lead compounds he decided to turn his attention to primary cells. The jars could be made of pottery or from the glass which was going to be necessary for his tubes anyhow. Charcoal would furnish the carbon elements. Zinc could easily be distilled from zinc spar if that particular form of ore were found. Cell ammonia solution could be made from the ammonia of animal refuse, common salt, and sulfuric acid. This production of zinc carbon batteries should thus be an easy matter and they would serve perfectly satisfactorily as neither compactness nor portability was a requisite. The radioman accordingly abandoned the idea of dynamos and accumulators in favor of large quantities of wet cells. The tubes, it appeared to miles, would present the greatest problem. Platinum for the filaments, grids, and plates have been fairly common in nugget form and cupia and so presumably could be found in Fergingia. Glass, of course, would be easy to make. Alcohol for laboratory burners could be distilled from decayed fruit. But the chief stumbling block was how to exhaust the air from his tubes and how to secure magnesium to use in completing the vacuum. These matters he would have to leave to the future in the hope of a chance idea. For the present there were enough elements to be collected so that he could be kept busy for a great many days. Accordingly he copied off the following two lists. Materials readily available. Wood, wood ashes, charcoal, clay, common salt, white sand, animal refuse, decayed fruit. Materials to hunt for. Micah, copper ore, quartz, limestone, fluorospar, galena, goldcore, platinum, chalk, magnesium. But that afternoon all his plans were disrupted by a message reading, To the furlous one, you are directed to appear for my amusement at my palace to-morrow. Fail not. Thee off the grim. That puts an end to my trip, he said to Quiven. How do you suppose his majesty got wind that I am a conjurer? One of the guests at the show last night must have told him, she replied. But something in her tone of voice caused Miles to look at her intently, and something in her expression caused him to say, You know more than you tell, out with it. Where at, Quiven shrugged her pretty golden shoulders and replied, Why deceive you, though you are so stupid that it is very easy? Who brought you the note from Arkelu the night of your arrival here? You did, Cabot answered. Why didn't I put two and two together before? Then you are connected in some way with Arkelu? She laughed contemptuously. How did you not guess it? She taunted. Yes, one would rather say I am connected in some way with Arkelu, for I am her sister, set here to spy on you by connivance with the chief woman of Judd's servants, who is an old nurse of ours. I am Quiven the Golden Flame, daughter of Theof the Grim, and it is from me that he learned of your mystic abilities. What do you think of that, beast? I think, Miles said noncommittally, that although you truly are a Golden Flame, you ought to have been named Quiven the Pepper Pot. There at she suddenly burst into tears and rushed out of the room. Funny girl, Miles commented to himself as he laid aside the list prepared for his prospecting trip, and set about the concoction of some stage properties for his forthcoming command performance before the King. It was a sulky Quiven who served his meal that evening, so much so that Cabot playfully accused her of putting poison in his stew. This did not render her any more gracious, however. If I did not love my sister very much, she asserted, I would not stand for you one moment. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence during which Cabot had an idea. So when the food had been cleared away he asked the ariette Maiden, can you smuggle a note to your sister for me? Yes, she assented gloomily, and I shall tell her how you are treating me. At which he could not refrain from remarking, Do you know, Quiven, I believe that you are falling in love with me? You beast! she cried at him. Oh, I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! and she turned her face to the wall. Come, come! said Cabot soothingly. I don't mean to tease you, and we must both think of your sister. The note. How long will it take you to deliver it and return? Will I hurry? she asked guardedly. Yes. Then it will take me less than one-twelfth of a day. That would be quite sufficient for his plans. Accordingly, he wrote, Arkelu the beautiful, send word how I can see you after the performance, but beware of Judd. Cabot the Magician. This note he folded up, placed it in the palm of Quiven and closed her golden fingers over it. Whereat she sprang back with, Don't you dare touch me like that! and rushed out of the house, sobbing angrily. Really he must be more careful with this delicate creature. For although her intense hatred furnished him considerable amusement, yet it was possible to go too far. He must at least be polite to the sister of his benefactress. Yet there was no time to be given over to worrying about Quiven's sensitive feelings. For the note had been sent merely to give him a slight respite from her prying eyes, in order that he might sneak out for a conference with Judd. Of course he had no intention of any secret trist with Arkelu. Heaven forbid, when he loved his own distant lila so intensely. So he hurried to the quarters of the Vergingian noble, who received him gladly, being most interested in learning whether there was any rational explanation to be given to the various magic tricks of the evening before. But Miles blocked his inquisitiveness by the flat assertion that all were due to mystic spells and talismans alone, and then got rapidly down to business, for there was no time to be lost. Miles told Judd of the note from Theoph the Grimm, requiring his presence at the Royal Palace, and how he suspected that Princess Arkelu was responsible. Also, he related his discovery that his maidservant was Quiven the Golden Flame. But he had the decency to refrain from implicating the head of Judd's menage. I shall have her removed at once, the Verking asserted. No, no, Miles hastily interposed. That would never do. For now that we know she is a spy, it will be easy to outwit her. But a new one we never could be sure of. Then he told how he had gotten rid of Quiven for the evening by sending her with a note to Arkelu. Judd's brow darkened. But, Miles insisted, that note will serve a three-fold purpose. First, it has enabled me undetected to pay this visit to you. Secondly, it will allay Arkelu's suspicions. And thirdly, it will stir you to block my appearance before Theoph tomorrow. Oh, I would have done that anyhow, Judd insisted. My plans are all made. I shall send a runner to Theoph and warn him to search Arkelu's room for your note. When he finds the note he will certainly cancel the arrangements for your performance. Thus the note will serve a fourth purpose. He turned now to your quarters, and I will send you word of the outcome. I wouldn't if I were you, Miles admonished. For a message from you would reveal to our fair young spy the fact of my secret interview with you this evening. Let Theoph himself send the word. So be it. You may count on starting on your expedition tomorrow as planned. Good luck to you. Good luck to you, Judd, you're great, and may you win Arkelu the beautiful. So the earthman hastened back to his quarters, where Quiven, on her return, found him placidly reclining on a divan. For a few minutes they chatted playfully together, and then she suddenly narrowed her eyelids, looked at him with a peculiar expression and asked, Aren't you the least bit anxious to know what answer Arkelu made to your note? It was so. He had ridden Arkelu a note, but now that it had served its purpose he had completely forgotten about it. How could he square himself with little Quiven? By flattery? Of course I'm anxious to know, he asserted, but I was so glad to have you come back again that for the moment I neglected to ask you. Quiven the golden flame pouted. Now you're teasing me again, she said, and I won't stand for it. But I really want to know. He continued with mock eagerness. Please do tell me about your sister. I gave her the note. Just then there came a loud pounding on the gate outside, so loud in fact that the sound penetrated within the house. Quiven stopped talking. She and Miles listened intently. The pounding continued. Evidently, we're to have company this evening, he remarked, glad to change the subject. Quiven replied, Such a racket at this time of night can mean not but ill. Let us approach the gate with care and question the intruders. So saying she took down one of the hanging stone lamps and opened the outside door. It was a typical dark, silent, fragrant, Perovian evening, except for the fact that the darkness was broken by the glare of the torches beyond the wall, and that the silence was broken by the pounding on the gate, and that the fragrance was marred by the smoke of Quiven's lamp. Who is there? Quiven called. To this there came back to peremptory shout. Open quickly in the name of Theof the Grim! The golden girl recoiled. Even Cabot himself shuddered as he realized the evident cause of the disturbance. His plot with Judd had produced results beyond what they had planned, and Theof, upon seizing the note, had decided not merely to cancel the sleight of hand performance, but also to place his daughter's supposed sweetheart under arrest. I am afraid your father has intercepted my letter to your sister, Cabot explained. I tell you what, you leave by the rear door, make your way quickly to Arkelu and see if the two of you can intercede for me with your stern parent. So, saying, he released her. The slim princess handed him the light and sped into the interior of the house. "'Seize your noise,' he shouted, for I, Myles Cabot the Minorian, come to unbar the gate in person.' He strode down the path. Quickly he slid the huge wooden bolts, swung the gate open, and stepped outside, shielding the lamp with one hand to get a view of the disturbance. But his lamp was instantly dashed from him and his arms were bound behind him. His captors were about a dozen verking soldiers in leather tunics and helmets, some carrying wooden spears and some holding torches, while their evident leader was similarly clothed but armed with a sharp wooden rapier. As soon as the prisoner was securely bound the guard hustled him roughly off down the street. Thus were his plans rudely dashed to the ground. On the preceding night all had been arranged for his trip to secure elements for the construction of a radio set with which to communicate with Cupya and his Lilla. That morning he had been forced to postpone his trip, in order to perform before Theof the Grim. And this evening he was Theof's prisoner, slated for—what—end of Chapter 8. CHAPTER IX OF THE RADIO PLANET This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Alexie Duclos of the French podcast Citizen Cage. THE RADIO PLANET by Ralph Miles Farley, a prisoner. The squad of verking soldiers, with Miles Cabot as their prisoner, had traversed nowhere near the distance to the palace, when they turned from the street through a gate. Where are they going to check me now? Miles wondered. This question was soon answered for the party entered a building which was evidently a dwelling of the better class. The hole was well lighted, so that Miles blinked at the sudden glare. The leader of the party placed himself squarely in front of his prisoner, with hands on his hips, and remarked with apparent irrelevance. Well, we fooled Quiven, didn't we? The prisoner stared at him in surprise. It was Judd. Judd, disguised as a common soldier. Cabot laughed with relief. You certainly gave me a bad 144th part of a day, he asserted. I didn't recognize you in your street clothes. What is the great idea? The great idea, the noble replied, to quote your phrase, is that I did truly represent the tear of the grim. He authorized me to arrest you in his name. The pretty little spy will report to capture to our killer, and her father will stonely refuse to reveal where you are imprisoned. Meanwhile, I shall give the golden one time to escape, and shall then send a second squad to seize your effects. Your expedition will start immediately. Come, unbind the prisoner. As soon as his bonds were loosed, Miles warmly grasped the hand of his benefactor. You are alright, he exclaimed. You have completely succeeded without leaving anything to explain. I always succeeded, and I never have to explain anything. Judd replied a bit coldly. And so, late that night, the radio man, dressed in leather tunic and helmet, and armed with a tempered wood rapier, set out with his bodyguard for the western mountains. In silence, and with the minimum of lights, they treaded the streets of Judd's compound and then the streets of the city until they came to the west gate, where a pass signed by a thief of the Grimm gave them free exit. Thence they moved due westward across the plain, with scouts thrown out to guard against contact with any roving roes. By daybreak, they had reached the cover of the wooded foothills, and there they camped for a full day of much needed rest. Finally, on a second morning following their stealthy departure from Verkingi, their journey really started. The commander of the bodyguard was an intelligent youth, named Crota. During the meals at the first encampment, Miles described to Crota in considerable detail the particular form of copper period, which furnished the bulk of the copper used for electrical purposes on the continent of Coupier. After listening intently to this description for about the fifth time, Crota smiled and said, We, Verkings, place no stock in pretty stones, except as plaything for children. But I do recall the little golden cubes with which the children of one of the hill villages are accustomed to play tom-tom. This village, sir by name, is only a day's journey to the southward. Let us turn our steps tither and learn from the children where they get their toys. Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, the earth man quoted to himself. And so they set out to the southward following a trail which wand'd in and out between the fertile silver-green hills, which were, for the most part, candidly wooded. Toward the close of the day, Crota's scouts established contact with the outpost of the village which they were seeking, and after an exchange of communications by runner, the expedition was given free passage to proceed. Shortly thereafter they came in sight of the village itself. From among the surrounding verdant rolling terrain there arose one rocky eminence with precipitous sides, and with a flat summit on which stood the village of sir, surrounded by a strong wooden paddicide. Up the face of the cliff there ran a narrow zigzag path, cut in the living rock, and overhung by many a bastion from which huge stones could be tumbled or molten pitch poured on any invaders so rash as to attempt the ascent. Along this path the expedition crawled in single file with many poses to draw their breath, and before they reached the summit, Cabot realized full well how it was that sir, the southernmost outpost of Verkyrgyan civilization, had so long and so successfully withstood the onslaughts of the wild and savage roys. The inhabitants, furry verkings, turned out in large numbers to greet the visitors, and especially to inspect the furthest body and the much over third chin of the earth man. Guides led the expedition to a large public hall where, after a speech of welcome by the headman of the village, they were fed and quartered for the night. Between the meal and bedtime the visiting soldiers strolled out to see the sights by the pale pink light of the unseen setting sun. Cabot and crota together walked to the west wall to observe the sunset. As the two of them leaned on the parapet, a rattling noise on the rocky walk beside them disturbed their reverie. Looking down, they saw three furry children rolling some small objects along the ground. With a slight exclamation of surprise and pleasure, the verking soldiers swooped down upon the youngsters, scooped up one of the toys, and handed it to the earth man. Tom Tom, crota laconically announced, and sure enough it was one of the small game cubes which he had described to his companion. But before the latter had had the slightest opportunity to examine it, the bespawned infant let out a howl of childish rage, and commenced to assail Miles with fists and teeth and feet. Stop that! Crota shouted, grabbing him by one arm and putting him away. We don't want to keep your Tom Tom. We merely want to look at it. This gentleman has never seen a Tom Tom. Gentleman? The boy replied from a safe distance. Come and sold you. But Miles' cabot was too engrossed to notice the insult. The small cube in his hand was undoubtedly a metallic crystal, but whether child-coprit or not he could not tell in the fading light. In fact, it might be the sunset which gave the stone its coppery thing. Taking a small fleet knife from a leather sheet that hung from its belt, Miles offered it to the child in exchange for the toy, in spite of Crota's gasping protest at the extravagance. The boy eagerly accepted the offer, remarking, Thank you sir. You should take off those clothes. It was a very neat and subtle compliment. Gentleman Verking's never wore clothes. Cabot was impressed. Your name? My son. He asked. Padding the fury little creature on the head. Tom other brief was the reply. I shall remember it. Then he hurried back to the public hall, eager to examine his purchase by the light of the old flares. Sure enough, it turned out to be really pirates. And by its deep color probably are pirates rich in copper. To the radio man, it meant the first tangible step toward the accomplishments of the greatest radio fit ever undertaken on two worlds. Namely the construction of a complete sending and receiving set out of nothing but basic materials in their natural state without the aid of a single previously fabricated man-made tool, utensil or chemical. To this day, Miles wear this cube as a pendant charm in commemoration of that momentous occasion. As he lay on the floor of the public building that night, the Earthman reviewed the event of the day until he came to the episode of the purchase of the cubicle pirate crystal from little Tomo. Your name, my son? Cabot had asked him. My son, thought Cabot. I have a son of my own across the boiling seas on the continent of Coupier. And a wife, the most beautiful and sweetest lady in Poros. They are in dire danger or were many months ago when I received the SOS which led me to return through the skies to this planet. Oh, I wish that I could learn what that danger was and what has happened to them since then. Thus, he mused and yet when he came to figure out the time since his capture he was able to account for less than three weeks of Earth time. Perhaps there was still a chance of rescue if you would but hurry. The danger which had inspired his Lila's call for help was undoubtedly due to the return of Prince Yuri across the boiling seas. For all that Miles knew, Princess Lila and her loyal coupions were still holding out against their renegade prince. The message which Cabot has ticked out into the ether from the radio station of the Anse had been sent only a few days after the SOS. If received by Lila or any of her friends, it had undoubtedly served to encourage them to stiffen their resistance to the Yerserpa. And if received by Yuri, it had undoubtedly thrown into him the fear of the great builder. Musing and hoping thus, the earth man fell into a troubled sleep through which there swirled a tangle fantasmagoria of ant men, coupions, whistling bees and verkins with occasional glimpses of a little blue eye blonde head, sometimes surmounted by golden curls and two dainty antennae but sometimes completely covered with golden fur. Shortly after sunrise he awoke and a roused crotter and no time must be lost. The Princess Lila must be saved but there was nothing they could do until their host brought the food for the morning meal. From the bearers they now are certain that the tam-tam cubes were gathered in a cleft in a rock only a short distance from the village and that although the perfect cubes were rare and quite highly prized, the imperfect specimen were present in great quantities. In fact, hundreds of cartloads had been mined and picked over in search of perfect cubes and thus all this ore would be available in return for the mere trouble of shoveling it into carts. As soon as arrangements could be made with the Edmund of Sir, Cabot and his party accompanied by guides crept down the narrow zigzag path through the plain below the village and proceeded up Ravine to the quarry where they verified all that had been told them. It was a beautiful site, a rocky wall out of a cleft in which there seemed to pour a waterfall of gold but on close inspection every cube was seen to be nicked or bent or out of proportion or jammed partway through into some other cube. The soldiers, both those from Verkingi and those from Sur, scrambled up the golden casket and started hacking the crystals out of the solid formation in search for perfect cubes while their two leaders watched them with amusement from below. All at once there came a shriek and once of the Verking's toppled the whole length of the pail almost at Cabot's feet where he lay perfectly still the wooden shaft of an arrow projecting from one able. Roy's croters shouted instantly every member of the party to cover with military precision behind some rock or tree. They had not long to wait for a shower of missiles from up the valley soon apprised them of the location of the enemy so the Verking's thereafter remained alert. Those who had bows drew them and discharged a flint-tipped arrow at every stir of grass or bush in the locality once the missiles of the enemy had come. We know not their number, croters whispered to Cabot. And since we have accomplished our mission let us return to Sur as speedily as possible. Agreed, the Earthman replied. Her withdrawal was accomplished as follows. Crota first dispatched runners to the village to inform the inhabitants of the situation. Then, leaving a small rearguard of archers and slingers to cover their retreat he formed the remainder of the expedition in open order and set out for Sur as rapidly as the cover would permit. The enemy kept pretty well hidden but it was evident from the increase of arrows and pebbles that their numbers were steadily augmenting. Noting this, Crota sent another runner ahead with this information. It now became necessary to replenish and relieve the rearguard of which several were dead, several more wounded, and the rest tired and out of ammunition. This done, Crota ordered the main body of his force to leave cover and take up the double quick. The result wasn't expected. A hundred of more roys charged yelling down the ravine through the rearguard and straight at Cabot's men who at once ran to cover again and took deadly toll to the incoming enemy. But a roys so greatly unnumbered, the Verkings, that the tide could not be stamped and soon the two groups were mingled together in a thin mass. The first rush was met, spare on spare, then a sharp wooden sword were drawn and Cabot found himself lunging and parrying against three naked fury warriors. The neck was the vulnerable spot of the Verkings, and it was this point which the roys strove to reach, as Cabot soon noted, that simplified matters. For guarding one's neck against such crude swordsmen as his fury or boring jeans was easy for his kill-fencers such as he. Accordingly, one by one, he ran three antagonists through the body. Just as he was withdrawing his blade from his last victim, he noted that Crota was being hard-pressed by a burly roys swordsman, so he asked him to his friend's assistance. And it was just in time, for even as Cabot approached, the naked roy knocked the letter clad Verkings' weapon from his hand with a particularly dexterous side swipe, and thus had Crota at his mercy. But before the naked one could follow up his advantage, the earthman hurled his own sword like a spear, and down when the roy impaled through the back, carrying Crota with him as he fell. Cabot paused to draw breath, and was just viewing with satisfaction the lucky results of his chance throw, when a preemptory command of yield behind him caused him to will about and confront a new enemy. The utter of the shout was a massive fury warrior with a placid, almost bovine face, which nevertheless be tokened considerable intellect. And to whom would I yield? If I did yield, Miles asked, facing unarmed, the poised sword of his new enemy. Grot the silent, king of the roys, was the dignified reply. I thought that at the terrible was king of your people, the earthman returned, sparring for time. That is what at things too, the other answered with a slight smile. But the smile was short-lived, for Miles Cabot, having momentarily distracted his opponent's attention by this conversation, stepped suddenly under the guard of the furry grud, and planted his fist square on Grot's fat chin. Down crashed the king, his sword clattering from his nervous hand. In an instant, Miles snatched up the blade and bestrew this prostrate foe. Just as he was about to plunge its point into Grot's vitals, there occurred to him the proverb of publath, while enemy dispute, the realm is at peace. With Grot the silent and at the terrible both contending for the leadership of the roys, Verkinga might enjoy respite from the depredations of this wild and lawless race. He would leave the fallen roy for dead, rather than put him actually in that condition. Accordingly he sprang to the aid of his companions. Grota was already back in the fray, his own sword in his hands once more, and a sword of his late birdy opponent slung at his side. Quite evidently, he did not intend to be disarmed again. Three Verking common soldiers, and Grota and Miles, now confronted seven roys. This constituted a fairly even match. For the superior intelligence and the leather armor of the men of Verkinga and Sir have set the greater numbers of their aboriginal antagonists. What the outcome would have been can never be known, for at that moment the reinforcements from the village came charging up the ravine, and at the same instant the top of the cliffs were lined with roys, who sent a shower of arrows upon those below. The contending twelve immediately separated. Cabot and his followers passed within the protection of his rescuers, and the return to Sir was renewed. The commander of the rescue party threw out a strong rear guard, and the Verking archers on both flanks peppered the cliff tops with slingshots and arrows. But the marauding roys harassed every step of the retreat. There was some respite when Cabot's party reached the plain where stood the rocky peak with the village of Sir on its summit, for arrows could not carry from the cover of the surrounding woods to the foot of the rocks. But as the tired party began the ascent of the narrow path on the face of the cliff, they noted that the roys were forming solid banks of wooden shields and were advancing across the plain. Arrows now began to fly from below at the ascending Verking party, several of whom toppled and fell down the face of the cliff, and then the warrior just above Miles on the narrow path clutched his breath with a gasp and dropped square upon the earth man, who brazed himself and caught the body, thus preventing it from being dashed to pieces at the foot of the rocks. Whether or not the furry soldier was dead could not be ascertained until Miles should have reached the summit, so up he toyed with his burden until he gained the protection of the parasite, where he laid the Verking gently on the ground and tore open his leather tunic to see if any life were present. The wounded man still breathed, though hoarsely, and his heart still bit, but there was a gaping hole in one side of his chest, no harrow protruding from this hole. Miles tenderly turned the man over to see if the wound extended clear through, it did, almost, and from the man's side there projected the tip of a bullet, the still shattered tip of a leaden rifle bullet. End of Chapter 9 A Prisoner Recording by Alexie Duclos of the French podcast Citizen Cage Chapter 10 of the Radio Planet This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in a public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Alexie Duclos of the French podcast Citizen Cage The Radio Planet by Ralph Marlon Farley Chapter 10 The Siege of Sir Miles quickly extracted the bullet from the back of the wounded Verking, then tender furry female hands bore the victim away, as the earth man stood in thoughtful contemplation of this find. There could be no doubt of it. This was a still-jacketed bullet, identical with those used in the rifles of the ant-man. How came such a weapon in the hands of the savage and untrained Royce? It was inconceivable that these uncultured brutes had overwhelmed new formula and captured the weapons of the ant-man. No, the only possible explanation was that the Formians had formed an alliance with the Royce and were either fighting beside them or at least had furnished them with a few firearms, the use of which they had taught them. But this last idea was improbable, due to the well-known shortage of rifles and ammunition at Uriana, capital of the new ant empire. No. If the ant-man were in alliance with these furry savages, there must be ant-man present with the besiegers, and the shot in question must have been fired by the cloth of Formian. This opened up new terrors for the village of Sir and its inhabitants. Miles glanced apprehensively at the southern sky, half expecting to see and hear the approach of a Formian plane. But the radiant silver expense was unmarred by any black speck. Sir was safe for the moment. He is musing thus completed. Miles hurried to the public hall to communicate this discovery to Crota and the village authorities. He found the headman already there in conference with Crota. Said Miles, exhibiting the bullet. Here is one of the magic stones thrown by one of my own magic slingshots, which is capable of shooting from the ground to the top of your cliffs and even penetrating your palisade. It is big magic. With its aid, the roys can overcome us. Without it, I am powerless. Therefore, we must secure possession of it. What do you suggest? Crota replied. It is now sunset. Let us select a squad of picked scouts and try to stalk the camp of the enemy. No, no, the headman of Sir exclaimed in horror. Never have our men dared to attack the roys by dark. Do the roys know this? Miles asked with interest. Most certainly was the reply. Then he said, all the more reason for attempting it, they will be unprepared. The magistrate shrugged his furry shoulders with. If you can persuade any men of Sir to attempt anything so foolhardy, I shall interpose no objection. Within a twelfth of a day, Crota had enrolled 20 scouts. And with Miles' cabot, they had all begun a stealthy descent of the narrow winding path down the face of the cliff. Before starting, they had observed the direction of the roy campfires on one of the surrounding hills. So now they crept quietly toward that hill, and then slowly up to its crest. In spite of the dense blackness of the Porovian night, they were able to find their way. First by starting in the correct direction, and then by keeping the lights of their own village always behind them. As Cabot had expected from the remarks of the headman, there were no sentinels on posts. For the enemy were quite evidently relying on the well-known verking fear of the unknown terrors of the dark. Indeed, it spoke volumes for the individual courage of the 21 members of this venture, and for their confidence in their earthman leader, that they had there to come. Finally, the party emerged from the underbrush at the top of the hill, a few score feet from the tents and campfires of the roys. There, methioning the other to remain where they were until he gave a signal, miles crawled forward, always keeping in the shadow of some tent until he was able to pick through a small bush beside one of the tents, directly at the group around one of the campfires. Just as Cabot arrived at this observation post, a royal warrior was declaiming, I told you it would work, for had I not seen it demonstrated fully to me, you yourself saw it kill. Now will you not believe me? Another spoke, I cannot understand its principle. How can a weapon kill a foe, and yet not resemble either a sling or a bow? And another, show us how it works, friend? Then perhaps we may be persuaded. And a third, I do not believe that it has it. Where it's the original speaker, Nettled, spoke again. It is in my tent there, you doubters, indicating the one beside which Cabot crouched. Quick as a flash, Cabot wriggled beneath the back of the tent into its interior. The campfire light, penetrating through the slit opening in front, revealed nothing but rumpled blankets on the floor, and ordinary weapons slung to the tent pole. So the intruder commenced rummaging among the bedding. The conversation outside continued. Prove, or be silent, said a voice. You saw the verking fall, did you not? The original speaker replied, true. But I did not see you sling any pebble. Meanwhile, Cabot continued his frantic search. At last it was rewarded. In one corner of the tent, his groping fingers closed upon a foaming rifle and a bandolier of cartridges. A trail ran through him at the touch. To prove it to you, the voice outside was saying, angrily, I will get it for you. And if you do not believe me, I shall slingshot you with it. That ought to be proof enough, even for a stupid one like you. I have said it. The signal for my exit, Miles said to himself, as he hastened to crawl out through the back of the tent, but then he reflected. No, I want more than his gun and ammunition. I want information. So he remained. As the Roy entered the tent and felt for the rifle, the crouching earthman flung himself upon him. And before the start of 31 could utter even a gasp, strong fingers closed upon his windpipe, throttling off all sound. The struggle was over in a few moments. When Miles Cabot finally crept out of the enemy tent, it was with a limp form under one arm, and a bandolier and a rifle slung across his shoulders. The conversation at the campfire continued. One of the warriors was saying, our friend takes long to find his wonderful slingshot. Methinks he was lying and does not dare to face us. Said another voice, let us pull him from his tent and confront him with his perfidy. At this, Miles praying to his feet and ran to the cover which concealed his followers. Rushing among them as we planned, he urged, while you two come with me. Then, on his pet down the hillside towards the lights of Sir with his captive and trophies and two previously picked member of the band. While Crota and the remaining 18 charged yelling into the midst of the Roy camp, upsetting tents, scattering campfires, and laying about them with their swords. Straight through the camp they charged, shouting, make way for at the terrible. Then they circled the hill under cover of the darkness and rejoined Miles. The startled Roy's were taken completely by surprise. From the cries of Crota and his followers, they assumed that the intruders were Roy's, partisans of at the terrible, attacking them for being partisans of grud the silent. As they came rushing out of their standing tents or crawled from beneath such tents as had been wrecked, they met others of their own camp. Similarly rushing or crawling and mistaking them for enemies started to fight. The confusion was complete and never for a moment did the naked furry savages suspect that the whole trouble had been caused by a mere handful of their kings. Truly, as Poblath the philosopher had said, while enemies dispute, the realm is at peace. While the Roy followers of grud the silent fought among themselves until they gradually discovered that there was no one there except themselves, Miles Cabot and his very kings safely regained the village of Sir with the rifle, the ammunition and the still unconscious Roy warrior. In the public hall, under the tender administrations of the king maidens, who would far rather have plunged a flint knife into him, the captive finally regained his senses and looked around him in bewilderment. Where am I? he asked, rubbing his eyes. In Sir, someone replied. Then are we victorious? For never before has a Roy set foot in Sir. No, your forces are not victorious, Crota answered. You are a prisoner. And it is only by the grace of Cabot the Minoan that you are permitted to come here even as a prisoner. For the men of Sir take no prisoners and give no quarter. In reply, Miles himself stepped forward. I myself am Cabot the Minoan, he said, to which Crota added impressively, the greatest magician of two worlds. The prisoner shook his head. I know of only one world, he asserted, and this man before me is dressed as a mere common soldier, as are all of you. No then, O scum of Poros, the earthman admonished, that there are other worlds beyond the silver skies, and that in a world from which I come, all soldiers are gentlemen. But the Roy warrior was not to be subdued by language. How did I come here? he asked. You did not come here, Miles answered. You were brought. I brought you. But how? By magic. What magic? My magic caught which swims through the air as a reptile swims through the waters of a lake. True, the Roy mused, there be such aerial wagons, for I have seen them near the city of the beast of the south. Mark well, Miles interjected to the assembled workings, then to the prisoner again. I captured you because you possessed the magic slingshot, and presumed to use it on one of my own men. This effrontery could not be permitted to go unpunished, hence your capture. The offending weapon is now mine, and you are my prisoner. What do you propose to do with me? the captive asked. I propose to ask you some questions, Miles evaded. First, where did you get the magic slingshot? The great magician knows everything, the Roy replied with a sneer. Why then should I presume to tell him anything? But the earthman remained unruffled. You are correct, he counted. I asked. I asked, not because I do not already know, but because I wish to test whether it is possible for one of your degraded race to tell the truth. Why test that? came back the brazen Roy. For doubtless you, who know everything, know that too. Miles could not help admiring the insulting calm with which this furry man of inferior race confronted his relentless captors. Who are you, rash one? he asked. The prisoner drew himself up proudly, with folded arms and answered. I am Otto the Bald, son of Grot the Silent. Ah, Miles said. The son of a king. And I am the father of a king. Well then, as one man to another, tell me where you got this gun. Gun, Otto queried, is that the name of this weapon of bad omen. Know then that I got it from you yourself, when I wounded you beneath the tree beside the brook at the foot of the mountains. Before the virgins of Judd the excuse maker drove me off. I have spoken. And spoken truly, Cabot replied, conceding his surprise with difficulty. Of course, why had he not guessed it before, but there were still some more points to clear up, so it continued. Why did you shoot those two arrows at me in the house at the top of the mountains? Because we wished to explore the house. But you killed my companion. Whereupon I resolved to kill you in revenge, and to capture the noisy gun. And is that the right word, so I trailed you. The rest you know. Remember, I know everything, Miles said, grinning. But did you ever see anyone but me shoot the gun? You know I never did, was the reply. No one on Poros, save Cabot the magician and Otto the bold, has ever done this big magic. I saw the results, but not the means, when you killed my companion. So I experimented for myself after I had stolen your gun, and soon I learned how, after which I carefully conserved the magic stones until last night when I shot one of the virgins of Sir, so as to give visible proof of my magic powers to my doubting comrades. The earth man heaved the sigh of relief. There existed as yet no alliance between the Formians and the Royes. Pray heaven that such a calamity would never suggest itself to the minds of either race. For if so, then woe to their king. Son of a king, he said. Return to your people and your father. Give him my greetings, and tell them that you are the friend of a great magician. Who lends you his gun? Who transported you through the air within the walls of Sir, where no Roy has ever stood or will ever stand? And who last night caused phantom warriors to attack your camp under the guise of followers of at the terrible? Go now. My men will give you safe conduct to the plane below. And what is the price of this freedom? Otto disdainfully inquired. The friendship of a king's father for a king's son, Miles Cabot replied with dignity. The two drew themselves up proudly and regarded each other eye to eye for a moment. It is well, Otto the bull declared. Goodbye. And he departed under the escort of a virkin guard. The master knows best, Krota remarked, sadly shaking his head. But I should have run the wretch through the body. The next morning, Cabot thanked the headman of Sir for his hospitality, and took up the return trail for the king. The vacancies in his ranks being filled by the loan of soldiers from Sir. The party had gone but a short distance when they found the way barred by a formidable body of Roy's. But before this came within Bullshot, a bullet from Cabot's rifle brought two of them to the ground, whereupon the rest turned and fled precipitately. Later in a day, a bend in a road brought them suddenly upon a furry warrior. Miles fired, and a man instantly fell to the ground. But when they reached the body, there was not even a scratch to be found on it. The bullet had missed. Dead of fright, Miles thought, but no, for the road was still beating, although faintly, and the lungs were still functioning. Sit up there, Miles ordered. The royal replied, I'm dead. Then I'll make you alive again, his captor declared, placing his hand on the head of the royal. There it the soldier sat up with a sigh of relief, and opened his eyes. Stand up, Miles ordered, for he replied the royal jumped to his feet and started running for cover. Halt, the earthman commanded. Halt, or I'll kill you again. The man stopped. Return. The man returned, like a sleepwalker. What do you mean by running away? Now, listen intently. Are you one of the men of Grodd? Yes. Then go to Otto, the son of Grodd, and tell him that it is the order of Cabot the magician that verking expeditions into these mountains, in search of golden cubes and other minerals, be unmolested. Tell Otto that he can recognize my expedition by the blue flags which they will carry hereafter. Now go. I have spoken. The royal warrior ran up the trail, and this time was not halted. Another mistake, Krota remarked, half to himself. The rest of the return to Verkingi was without event. On the way, the radio man made notes of the best deposits of quartz, limestone, and furospore. Also he carried with him a few large sheets of mica. But he found no traces of galina, zinc ore, or plutinium. These would require at least one further expedition. Krota spared no extravagant language in relating to Judd the exploits of Cabot the Minorian in raising the siege of the village of Sur. And Judd repeated the story with embellishment to tear off the grim. Also the long deferred sleight of hand performance was held at the palace, to the great mystification of the white third king. Orchilu did not show up to mar the occasion. In fact, little Quiven reported that her sister was very indignant at the earthman for trifling with her affection, and had turned to Judd in her peak. Needless to say, Judd had taken every possible advantage of Cabot's absence to reinstate himself with the chestnut third princess. But neither Mars nor Quiven appeared to exhibit any very great sorrow at this turn of affairs. So long as Orchilu's hostility did not become active, the support of Judd and Theoth ought to prove quite sufficient. The standing of Cabot the Minorian as a magician was now well established. And accordingly Judd the excuse maker and even Theoth the Grim were willing to accord him all possible assistance in the gathering of the materials, with which he was to perform his further magic, namely radio. Theoth made a levy upon all the nobles, and turned over to the earthman upward of 500 soldiers with their proper carts and equipment. Judd himself, Quiven, still unknown to her father, and Crota, the soldier who had demonstrated on the expedition an intelligence far above his social class, were enrolled as laboratory assistants. Several enclosures adjoining Cabot's yard were vacated and converted into factories, in one of which were mounted a pair of huge millstones, such as the workings used in grinding certain of their food. Miles divided his men roughly into three groups. One group under Crota, he established at the clay deposits to the northeast of the city, to make bricks and charcoal. The second group and the Judd were engaged in the mining operation, digging copper ore, quartz rock, furospore, limestone and sand, at various points in the mountains, and carting some of the limestone to the brickyard. And the rest with the other products to Verkingi. The cart has carried back with them to the mountains all the necessary supplies for the expeditions. The third group under Quiven were engaged in setting up the grist mill and in other building and preparatory operations. At the clay pits, the first operation was to scrape off the surface clay and spread it out thin in the open air so it would age fast. The limestone, upon its arrival at the brickyard, was burned in a raw brick ovens and then carted to Verkingi to be ground at the mill. It was then shipped back to the brick plant, where it was mixed with the age clay. First screened, molded into bricks, baked, burned and carted to Verkingi to be ground into cement. Some of the ground limestone was retained at Verkingi for using later glass making and some of the underground for smelting purposes. Other age clay was screened, moistened, molded and baked to form ordinary brick. Fire brick was similarly made by the addition of white sand finely ground at Verkingi, but this kind of brick had to be baked much more slowly. Thus, only a week or two after this whole huge industrial undertaking had begun, the radioman was in possession of fire brick and fire clay with which to start the building of the smelting furnaces. Meanwhile, Miles Cabot, with a small bodyguard, kept traveling from one job to another, giving general superintendence to the work and when everything was well underway, he set out on another exploring expedition in search of galina, zinc ore and platinum. Quiven had furnished the inspiration for this trip by suggesting that the sparkling sands of a large river which ran from west to east, about a day's journey north of Verkingi, might contain the silver grains which he saw. So, theater is set out one morning with camping equipment and a detachment of soldiers. All day they marched northward across the blevel plains. Toward evening they reached a small estuary of the main stream and there they camped. As the silver sky pinkened in the west, Miles Cabot ran quickly down this brook to inspect the sands of the river which lay but a short distance away. The pink turned to crimson and then purple. The darkness crept up out of the east and plunged the whole face of the planet into velvet and impenetrable black. But Miles Cabot did not return to the camping place. End of chapter 10. The Siege of Sir, recording by Alexie Duclos of the French podcast Citizen Cage. Chapter 11 of the Radio Planet. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Brandon. The Radio Planet by Ralph Milne Farley. Chapter 11. When Miles Cabot left his encampment beside the little brook he hastened downstream to where the brook joined the big river. Along the edge of which there stretched a sandy beach. Falling on his knees he picked up handful after handful of the silver sands. There were still plenty of daylight left for him to examine the multitude of shiny metallic particles. There could be no doubt of it these sands held some metal which could be separated out in much the same manner as that in which the California gold miners of 1849 used to wash for gold. But only time would tell whether or not this metal was the much-to-be-desired platinum which the radio man needed for the grids, filaments, plates, and wires of his vacuum tubes. On the morrow he would wash for this metal using the wooden pans which he had brought for that purpose. The precious dust he would carry back to their Kingie melted into small clumps if possible and then tried to analyze its composition in his laboratory. As he sat on the sandy beach and thus laid his plans, his thoughts gradually wandered away from scientific lines and he began again to worry about Lilla. It was many days since she had sent the SOS which had recalled him from earth to poros. Whatever she had feared must have happened by now. It was possible that he would never be able to effect a return to Cupia. Why not then accept the inevitable, settle down permanently among the Bear Kings, and solace himself as best he could? Even an ordinarily stalwart soul would have done his best and have been satisfied with that. But mild-standish Cabot possessed that indomitable will, which had given rise to the Perovian proverb, You cannot kill a Menorian. To such a man defeat was impossible. He would rescue the Princess Lilla in the end. That was all there was to it. So he laid his plans with precision as he sat on the sandy shore of the Perovian river in the crimson twilight. Before the velvet darkness completely enveloped the planet, the earth men arose from the sands and began to return up the valley of the little estuary. But as he was hurrying along and was passing through a small grove of trees, a dark form noiselessly dropped on him from above. The creature lit squarely upon his back, wrapping its furry legs around his abdomen and its furry arms around his neck. Although taken completely by surprise, Cabot wrenched the creature's feet apart and then threw it over his head as a bucking bronco would throw a writer, a jujitsu trick which he had learned from one of the Jap gymnasts at college. The roi, for that is what Cabot's assailant proved to be, scrambled quickly to his feet. Although a bit stunned and crouched, ready to spring at him again. The earth men planted his feet firmly apart, clenched his fists, and awaited the onslaught. Then when the creature charged, he met him on the point of the jaw with a well-aimed blow. Down, crashed the furry one. Cabot was rubbing his bruised knuckles and viewing his fallen antagonists with some satisfaction when suddenly he was seized around the knees from behind and was hurled prone by one of the neatest football tackles he had ever experienced. Squirming quickly to a sitting position, he dealt the roi, who held his legs, a stinging blow beside the ear. The grip on his knees loosened. And he was just about to scramble a wrecked when a third assailant caught him around the throat and pulled him over backward. Then scores of these furry savages swarmed upon him from every side. Yet still he fought until his elbows were pinioned behind his back, his eyes were blindfolded, and a gag was placed between his teeth. Thereupon he ceased struggling. Not because there was no fight left in him, but rather because he wisely decided to save his strength for some time when he might really need it. So he offered no further resistance when he was picked up and thrown across a pair of brawny shoulders and carried off. He knew not wither. Finally, after what seemed many hours, he was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground and then jerked roughly to his feet. His bandage was snatched off, and he found himself standing in the center of a circle of flares, confronting a large, squat, and particularly repulsive gray, furred, roi, who sat with some pretense of dignity upon a round boulder in front of him. Beside him stood another roi, evidently the one who had brought him thither. This one now spoke. See the pretty Vair King, which I have brought you. If that's a Vair King, the fat one remarked, then I'm my own father. If he isn't a Vair King, the other countered, then why does he wear Vair King leather armor? Answer me that. Vair King or not, the fat one declared, he will do very nicely to string up by the heels and shoot arrows at. For quite evidently he is no roi. What say you to that, my fine target? The guard removed the gag. I say, Miles evenly replied, that you had better not take any such liberties with me. And why not, furlous? The seated roi sneered. First let me ask you a question, Miles said. Who is king of the roi's? Grod the silent or ought the terrible? Grod the silent, most assuredly, why do you ask? And do you know Prince Otto, his son? Otto the bold? Most assuredly. Know then, the captive asserted, that I am no Vair King, but rather a Menorian, which is a sort of creature I venture you have never met before. Furthermore, I am a particular personal friend of Otto the bold. He will not thank you to string up Capit the Menorian by the heels and shoot arrows into him. I demand that I be taken before Prince Otto. There at the fat roi smiled a crafty smile. I shall take you before ought the terrible, he said. It thus became evident that the fat chieftain had falsely asserted his belief in the kingship of Grod for the purpose of securing from Miles an admission as to which side the earth man favored. The rest of the night, Miles spent on a pile of smelly bedding in a tent. He was still bound and was kept under constant surveillance by a frequently changing guard. By mourning his arms below the elbows had become completely numb. In spite of his having loosened his bonds somewhat by straining against them. When the velvet night had given place to silver day, the guard brought some coarse porridge in a rough stone bowl, which he held to the prisoner's lips until it was all consumed. Miles thanked him politely and then asked if he would mind chafing the numbed arms. For reply the soldier kicked him savagely. Get up, he ordered. The time is here to start the march. You'll wish the rest of you were numb too, when not the terrible, start shooting arrows into your inverted carcass. Presently Miles was driven into the open, the tents were struck and loaded onto carts, probably stolen from the Vair Kings, and the furry warriors took up the march with their prisoner in their midst. The fat chief alone rode in a cart, all the others walked. By straining at the thongs, which bound his arms, Miles further loosened them sufficiently to relieve the pressure on his blood vessels and then by wiggling his fingers he managed finally to restore the circulation. After that he began to take some interest in his surroundings. His captors were a coarse-looking lot of brutes with long, gankling arms, thick-set necks, low foreheads, and prognathous jaws. In general they more closely resembled the anthropoid apes of the earth than they resembled the really human, although furred Vair Kings. Their weapons, wooden spears and swords, and flint knives, were like those of the Vair Kings, only crouter. They marched without any particular order or discipline, and gestured coarsely with each other as they ambled along. After taking in all this, Miles next turned his attention to the country through which they were passing. The trail led upward into mountains. This at once aroused his interest. Here and there he noted what he felt sure must be zinc blend. Yes, and cropping out of the rocks on the left was an unmistakable rosette of Galena Crystal. The radial man was sincerely glad that he had been captured, and so he even joked jovially with the soldiers around him, until they became quite friendly. At one point their route lay across a foaming mountain stream, by means of a log bridge. As they were crossing over, one of the furry soldiers had the misfortune to stumble, and in another instant completely lost his footing and plunged headlong into the stream below. He happened to be one who had recently become particularly chummy with a captive. Poor fellow, one of the guard casually remarked, it's too bad he can't swim. I can, Miles shouted. Quick, someone cut my cords. And before anyone could interfere, a young and impetuous roi had drawn his knife and severed the earth man's bonds, thus permitting him to dive after the poor creature, who was rapidly being washed downstream by the swift current. It had all happened in an instant. A few swift strokes brought Miles up to the other, but it became no easy matter to reach the shore. However, the troop of Royce showed much more interest in regaining their captive than they had shown in rescuing their comrade, and thus by the aid of their spears, finally dragged the two ashore. Then Cabot was bound again, and the march resumed. The carts had detoured, and so the fat chief had not seen the episode. Better not tell him any one, one of the guard admonished, or it will go hard with the youngster. Our leader would not relish any chance of not being able to present this furlough's air-king to ought the terrible. And will ought shoot arrows into me, Miles asked. Most assuredly, Miles thought to himself, I guess they are right, especially if ought knows how I was befriended by Archie Lu, whom he covets. Then he asked, and when am I to see the terrible one? Tomorrow morning was the reply. However, Miles Cabot fell asleep at the encampment that night, wondering when he would get that radio set finished for a talk with Lilla, and wondering whether that really was Galena Crystal, which he had passed on the road. But Galena Crystal wasn't going to help him any, with ought the terrible. CHAPTER XII. COMPANIONS IN MISERY In the morning, Miles Cabot was to be brought before ought the terrible King of the Roy's, for execution in the diabolical manner common to those furry aborigines, namely by being strung up by the heels, and then used as a target for the archery of the king. In spite of this he slept soundly and dreamed of radio sets, and blast furnaces, and Galena minds, until he was awakened by a soft furry paw shaking his shoulder, a voice spoke close to his ear, a life for a life. So you have that proverb on this continent as well as in Coupia, was his reply. Who are you and what do you want? I am the soldier whom you saved from the raging mountain torrent. And what I want is to repay that favor. It is really true that you are a friend of Otto the Bold? Yes. Then come, the forces of Grodd the Silent, Prince Otto's father, are encamped but a short distance from here. I am unguard over you for the moment. Come, while there is yet time. Cabot arose in haste. The other promptly severed the cords which bound his elbows. Oh, how could it fell to have his arms free once more? He held them aloft, and flexed and reflexed the lame and bloodless muscles, excruciating pain shot through the nerves of his forearm. But it was pleasant pain easy to bear, for it portended peace and rest to his tired members. He wriggled all his fingers rapidly and the pain gave way to a prickly tingling which in turn gradually faded off as the blood coursed freely through his veins and arteries once more. He drew a deep sigh of relief. Come, the guard commanded. Together the two left a tent, and threaded their way among the other tents out of the camp, and down a rocky hillside path, the Roy in advance with Miles following, holding the other's hand for guidance. Miles lost all sense of direction in the jet-black starless night, but the other, born and reared on poros, hence used to the daily recurrences of twelve hours of absolute darkness, walked sure footedly ahead, and seemed to know where he was going. Finally, after about two hours of this groping, treadmill progress, lights appeared ahead, and presently there came the century's challenge. Halt! Who is there? Two messengers with word for Grod the Silent, Cabot's conductor replied. In and aside, Cabot interestingly inquired, how does it happen that this camp is guarded, whereas the camp which besieged the village of Sur was not? There was no need to post sentinels when fighting against the Verkings, for Verkings never go out in the dark, but we Roy's are different. Why, then, did we meet no sentinels when leaving your camp? Because we were going out. We passed one, but he did not challenge us. Coming back would be different. At this point the hostile guard interposed. Stop that whispering among yourselves. Oh, there! A light! Where at, a small attachment arrived on the double quick, with torches. The leader shaded his eyes with one palm and inspected Miles and his companion carefully. This is of Verkings. He said in surprise, noting the leather trappings of the earthman, you are spies, seize them. In an incident they were seized and bound, and thrown into separate tents under guard. When morning came, Miles was fed, and then led before Grodd the Silent. The earthman smiled ingratiatingly as he entered, but there was no sign of recognition on the stern face of the king of the Roy's. Who are you? the latter asked. And what are you doing here? I am Cabot the Minorean, was the reply, a recently escaped prisoner of aunt the terrible. Do not mention that accursed name in my presence thundered the king. Then I do not seem to recall your name, but your face looks familiar. Where have I seen you before? In the ravine near Surre. Grodd's brow clouded. I remember, you felled me with your fist, said he darkly, then brightening a bit. But you spared me, why? Because your death would please the Roy, whose name you do not permit me to mention. You improve! Grodd declared smiling. Know then that we Roy's hold to the maxim, a life for a life. You give me a life, or a life unconditionally? Asked Miles. Yes. Then give me the life of the poor soldier who saved me from the unmentionable one. Shoot your arrows into my body instead. Very magnanimous of you, Grodd said, and really it makes but little difference to me just whom I practice archery upon. Oh, guard! bring the other prisoner in. One of the soldiery, accordingly, withdrew and presently returned with Quiven, Quiven, of all persons. Cabot gasped, and so did the golden-furred, verking maiden. Then both uttered simultaneously the single word, you. The savage chief smiled, said he a slight mistake, guard. I meant you to bring the Roy soldier, who was captured with the furlest one, early this morning. But evidently it's turned out to be a fortunate mistake, for it has brought to my attention the fact that this common verking man and this noble verking lady are acquainted. While the Roy was speaking, an idea occurred to Cabot. He was entitled, by the code of honor of this savage race, to save a life. Chivalry demanded that he save the life of this maiden, rather than that of himself, or even the soldier who had rescued him from out the terrible. Yet what would Lila think? Did he not owe it to Lila to save his own life, in order that he might someday return across the boiling seas to save her from the unknown peril which menaced her? For him to sacrifice himself and her, or even merely himself, for the sake of some strange woman, would fill Lila with consuming jealousy. Luckily Lila was not here to see him make his choice. He was an officer and a gentleman, to whom but one course lay open, and if he decided in the way that would displease Lila, then that very decision would forever prevent Lila from knowing. So his mind made up, he spoke, O King, you still owe me a life. Inasmuch as your guard has made the mistake of substituting this young lady for the Roy warrior whose life I had elected to save, I now accept the substitution, and elect that you shall spare her life in place of mine. Quiven the golden flame stared at him with tears of gratitude and appreciation in her azure eyes. Groud the silence smiled knowingly in a matter which infuriated Miles, but fortunately Quiven did not notice this, so Miles let it pass. Then the Roy King spoke. We shall see about that later. Meanwhile guard, bring in the right prisoner. The guard sheepishly withdrew, and soon returned with the soldier who had befriended Miles. Why did you rescue this furlous Vair King, who was a prisoner of your forces? Groud asked the newcomer. Because he rescued me from a mountain torrent, O King, was the reply, a life for a life. Quite true, Groud admitted, knotting his head contemplatively. But was it altogether necessary to that end that you leave your own forces? No, O King, the soldier replied. But a feign would battle on your side. I have had quite enough of the fat one who commands our outfit. Good, cried Groud, clapping his hands. We shall need every man we can muster. Thus have you bought your own life and freedom. Unbind him, guards, and give him weapons, so that he might fight for us. As for you, you yellow minx, the quicker you get out of here the better it'll suit me. We are at war, and women have no place in warfare. Therefore I gladly give you your life, which this furlous one had purchased. Do not think, he continued, that I do not know who you are. Or that I do not realize, that I could hold you for high ransom. But for the present it suits my purposes to release you. For my mind is a one-cart road, and at present I am engaged in an important and highly personal war. Besides, if I were to keep you, my enemy might get hold of you, and collect the ransom himself. Which would never do. Twelve days from now, if I be in need of carts, a messenger from me will call at the palace of Theoth the Grimm. And if you are at all grateful, he will make me a present of about twenty sturdy wagons. As for you, turning to Miles, your life is mine, since you failed to redeem it. Someday I may call upon you for it. But for the present I wish to use it. You are detailed, as my personal representative, to escort this lady safely to Varrakinge. Now, both of you get out of here. For I have more important things to do. I must put my army on the march. One of the guards stepped up to Miles and cut his bonds. Gweevan had not been bound. May I have arms, O King, so that I can fulfill your mission with credit to you, Miles asked, with a twinkle in his gray eyes. You keep on improving, Grot replied. Yes, you may, here, take my own sword. You are a brave man and an able warrior, as my chin, well remembers. May the builder grant that some day we shall fight side by side. This gave Cabot an idea. Why can that not be now, he suggested. Why not form an alliance with Varrakinge against the unmentionable one? But Grot the Silent shook his head. No, he said positively. It cannot be. In the first place, the unmentionable one is himself seeking to make such an alliance against me. And in the second place, this is my own private fight. I have spoken. Then Cabot had a further idea. About the wagons, he said. Would you mind sending for them in my birkyard north of Varrakinge? That would be more convenient. Very well, Grot replied. Roy warriors then supplied the two prisoners with portable rations and escorted them for quite a distance from the camp until they struck a mountain trail. This the escort informed them led to Varrakinge. There the Roy's left Miles and Quiven alone. The first thing that she asked was, with all these mountains full of warring Roy's, do you believe that we shall be safe? I think so, Miles reported. The very fact that they are at war will keep them much too busy to bother about us. Come on. As they hurried down the trail, each related his or her adventures to the other, Cabots have already been set down. As for Quiven, she had gone with a few soldiers to hunt for Miles after his prospecting party had returned and reported his disappearance by the river, but her party had been killed and she had been taken prisoner. Did Grot treat you with respect, Miles asked, with clenched fists? Absolutely, she replied, tossing her pretty head. I never knew a man so impersonal. I am accustomed to have men recognize my presence and pay some attention to my existence. With this brute, why I might just as well have been a piece of furniture or one of his servants. I don't believe he knows now what color my eyes are, or whether I'm pretty or not. And you're just as bad as he is, she added somewhat irrelevantly. Your eyes are blue. And you are very pretty, Cabot replied. In fact, you closely resemble my own wife, the beautiful Princess Lila, who waits for me far across the boiling seas. Which reminds me to ask, Quiven said abruptly, how successful was your expedition, apart from your being captured and getting yourself into all kinds of trouble. So he told her about the glistening metallic particles in the sands of the river, also how he had found what were probably zinc blend and galena. Then they discussed in detail his plans for his various factories. From time to time they munched some of the food which had been given them. The day quickly sped, an evening drew near, yet still they were upon the mountain road with no sight of Vera Kingi, or of any familiar landmark to either of them. Quiven was for stopping and resting, but Miles urged her on. No matter how tired you are, he said, it is not safe to stop in this strange country. So still she struggled on. The sky darkened without the usual pinkening of the west. All too well they knew what that poor tended. One of the heaven-splitting tropical storms so common on Poros. And they were right. The storm broke, the thunder roared, in one continuous volume of sound. The lightning and the rain alike poured down in continuous sheets. The trail became a mountain torrent, so that they had to cease their journey and crawl upon a huge boulder in order to avoid being engulfed by the water. The rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Again the silver sky appeared overhead. The extemporary brook rapidly disappeared, but left in its wake a wet, muddy, and slippery trail, down which the two took up their journey once more. Several times Quiven stumbled and fell until at last her companion had to help her in order to keep her going at all. But in spite of his assistance, she finally broke down and cried, I shall not go one step farther, she asserted. Miles seated himself beside her and talked to her as one would soothe a child. And that was what she was, a tired little child. You can't stay here, he urged. The ground is damp, the night is coming, and your fur is sopping wet. I don't care anything about anything, she sobbed. All that I know is that I positively cannot go on. So he decided that it would be necessary to change his tactics. I am ashamed of you, he replied. You the daughter of a king, and can't stand a little exercise. Why, I believe you are just plain lazy. For reply she jumped to her feet in a sudden rage. Oh, you beast! she cried. You insulting beast! You common soldier, you! I'll show you that I can stand as much hardship as the pampered women folk of Yorkupia. Though the men of my country, even our common soldiers, would be gentlemanly enough not to force a lady to endure any more than is absolutely necessary. Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. You are not being forced to endure more than is necessary, her escort harshly replied. In the first place it is necessary to go on. And in the second place, I am not forcing you. You can go on or not, just as you see fit. But as for me, I don't intend to spend the night here in this wet valley. Goodbye. For reply, Quivan raced ahead of him with, Oh, how I hate you! And disappeared round a turn in the trail.