We mounted a flight of steps, walked between two uniformed guards who saluted stiffly, and entered a large circular door, where a slave took charge of the ikthos and led him away. After following a broad hallway for some distance we came to a huge pillar. It was in the center of the building, and was decorated on one side with a large oval plate of burnished silver on which was embossed what appeared to be a coat-of-arms. As we stepped before it the plate slid back, revealing a small room within.
At Vangal’s invitation I stepped into the small room inside the huge central pillar of the tower, and he followed. As soon as he stood beside me the silver plate slid back across the entrance, a concealed light flashed on somewhere above our heads, and the floor moved upward.
We were in an elevator, of course, but what had started the thing and how was my companion going to stop it when we reached our destination? There were no levers or buttons of any sort. The thing seemed almost human in its movements. Perhaps there was a hidden operator. I voiced my question to Vorn Vangal.
“It is moved by a mechanism which amplifies the power of telekinesis,” he said.
I had often heard Dr. Morgan use the word “telekinesis,” and knew that it described that mysterious power of the mind which enables psychics to tip tables and lift imponderable objects without physical means. In short, it referred to the direct power of mind over matter.
“I have heard of small objects being moved or lifted by telekinesis,” I marveled, “but to lift an elevator! Why, this is amazing!”
“We lift far heavier things than this little car,” said Vangal, smiling slightly. “Huge cranes and derricks are operated in the same way. Airships of all sizes from small one-man flyers to huge battleships are moved by it— propelled through the air at speeds ranging from two hundred to one thousand miles an hour.”
“But how is that possible?”
“It was made possible by that wonderful invention, the mechanism that amplifies the mind’s power. The manufacture of this mechanism is the exclusive secret of the Olban government, and constitutes our defense against aggression from the warlike torrogats—or empires—surrounding us. If those governments knew the secret, they would build aircraft and use them for conquest. The Olbans, however, are committed to a policy of ‘live and let live: We use our wonderful power only for commercial purposes and as a defense against aggression.”
We stopped before a metal plate which slid back noiselessly. I stepped out of the car and Vorn Vangal came after me, whereupon the plate slid back in place.
We were in a small, circular hallway around whose walls were metal doors at intervals of about twenty feet. Vangal led the way to one of these doors, pressed a button, and when it slid open, bowed me into a luxuriously furnished suite lighted by enormous circular windows that reached nearly from floor to ceiling.
“This is to be your retreat until my return from Uxpo,” he said. “I have been preparing for your coming these many months.”
He walked to a beautifully carved table of red wood, and took a thick scroll from a pile neatly stacked on its polished top.
“These are your lessons in Patoa, the universal language of Venus. Our Patoan name for Venus is Zarovia. Some twenty thousand Patoan words are listed here with their pronunciations and English translations. If you will study them carefully until my return it will perhaps be safe for you to leave the Black Tower. Then I can take you to the Red Tower, the Imperial Palace of Olba.”
“Am I to infer that it would be unsafe for me to leave the tower at present?”
“The tower and grounds are well guarded,” Vorn Vangal replied; “but do not under any circumstances wander beyond the walls. In the course of your walks in the garden, always keep the ikthos with you. He will warn you of lurking assassins, and will fight in your defense.”
“He certainly wasn’t on the job a short time ago,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
I told him of the two assassins.
“The beast must have been lured away by his keeper!” cried Vangal, when I had finished. “The traitor will be dealt with in due time. And those two ruffians—they would be in the pay of Taliboz, of course.”
“Who is Taliboz?”
“A man whom I suspect, but against whom I can prove nothing. Nothing! You see—in the course of preparation for your coming, I cast about for an excuse to bring your predecessor here in order that His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Hadjez, might not learn that his son Zinlo was changing places with an Earthman. A ready-made excuse presented itself when word came through the intelligence department of the government that there was a plot on foot to assassinate the male members of the imperial family.
“I immediately suggested that Prince Zinlo be brought here until the plotters could be taken and executed. His majesty readily consented, thus making it possible for me to obtain a quiet retreat for you in which you could learn something of the language and customs of Olba, and at the same time be guarded from danger.
“The plotters have not been apprehended, but I am firmly of the opinion that Taliboz is the ringleader. They have already made an attempt on the life of the Emperor and escaped with the loss of a single man. You can see how you would be exposed by going out unguarded.”
“I’m willing to stay here for a while,” I replied, “for there is no question about my having to learn this language, Patoa, sooner or later. But once I learn your language you won’t catch me staying behind walls on account of a few assassins. I was born on Mars, where men do not stay indoors to avoid their enemies; and though I am not familiar with your weapons, I believe I can give some account of myself with this cutting implement at my side if attacked.”
“No doubt you can,” replied Vangal, “although the two ruffians you killed were probably clumsy fighters. But please bear in mind that you are the Torrogi of Olba—the crown prince—and that your life is not yours to throw away heedlessly.”
“Don’t ever think I’m going to throw it away,” I said. “The man who gets it will have to put up a scrap.”
“You might be shot from ambush with a tork.”
“A tork?”
“You are wearing one attached to your belt.”
Vangal explained the use of the oblong instrument at my side. It was about two feet long and shaped like a carpenter’s level. A rivet passed completely through it, about eight inches from the top, fastening it to the belt in such a way that it could be tilted at any angle or pointed in any direction by moving the body.
He pressed a small lever on the side and removed two clips, explaining that one was a gas clip containing a thousand rounds of condensed explosive gas, while the other was a bullet clip which held a thousand rounds of needle- like glass projectiles. These projectiles, he said, were filled with a poison that would paralyze man or beast almost instantly, though the paralysis was only temporary. Other projectiles, he explained, were filled with deadly poison, and still others with explosives. The effective range, he stated, was equal to about ten Earth-miles.
He led me to a window which was open.
“I have prepared a target for you,” he said. “You will need to practice with the tork if you are to be able to defend yourself on this planet. Do you see that large white plate against the wall at the other end of the garden?”
Yes.”
“I had it erected for your use. It is coated with a substance that will combine with the poison in your tork bullets, emitting a green