A quick examination proved his statement correct. The magnet, which is fastened to the rear deck of all Olban airships to counteract the strong magnetic pull of the motive mechanism, had been snapped off by one of the mattork bullets. Now the needle pointed to the front of our craft no matter which way we turned.
A sudden glare of light at our backs, followed by the rending impact of a mattork shell on our hull, warned us that the enemy had sighted us. This time we dived into the stratum beneath us and then with level keel, hurtled forward at a pace that held me breathless with wonder.
“How fast are we traveling, Raboth?” I asked, trying to adjust my senses to the sight of cloud masses made iridescent by our lights, and moving past the cab in swift, bewildering kaleidoscopic display.
“This ship is rated at three-quarters of a rotation,” he replied. “We are moving at top speed.”
“What do you mean by three-quarters of a rotation?”
He seemed astonished at my question. “Why, a rotation is the speed at which Zarovia rotates on her axis. We are traveling three-fourths of that speed.”
I made a rapid calculation. As the circumference of Venus is slightly less than that of Earth, and her day twenty-three hours and twenty-one minutes, Earth time, she rotates on her axis at a speed of more than a thousand miles an hour. Roughly, then, we were traveling at seven hundred and fifty miles an hour.
My companion held the ship to her course through the clouds for a considerable period, then dipped beneath them. This move almost resulted in our undoing; the second enemy craft, which had evidently been flying below us all the time, opened fire. I replied with our stern mattork—whether effectively or not, I could not tell—while Raboth again shot our craft up to the concealment afforded by the clouds. Once more we hurtled forward on a level keel.
“Our would-be assassins are certainly persistent,” I remarked casually to my companion.
“And well they may be. This is the first time their leader has been recognized. No doubt we are the only two survivors of the fight in the tower, and consequently the only ones able to expose Taliboz.”
“Who is this Taliboz?” I asked thoughtlessly.
“Is it possible that Your Highness does not remember Taliboz? He is the most powerful noble in Olba. For some time it has been hinted that he was conspiring against the throne, but there was no direct evidence. Now he must kill us all—both to do away with the heir to the throne, and to silence the witnesses of his perfidy.”
We sped along for some time in silence. I calculated that if we had traveled in a reasonably straight line we were at least a thousand miles from our starting point. At length, feeling that we must have shaken our pursuers, Raboth once more descended beneath the lower stratum, taking the precaution of switching off all lights as he did so.
He looked about carefully, saw no sign of pursuit, and made the fatal mistake of turning on the lights. Scarcely had he done this ere a missile crashed through the back of the cab and exploded with a deafening noise. It struck on Raboth’s side and killed him instantly, tearing his body to shreds.
Our lights were extinguished by the explosion, but a powerful searchlight played on us from behind and another shell carried away our stern. Then the craft lurched violently and fell, turning end-over-end while I clung desperately to my seat.
Chapter 3
As the wreck hurtled downward it gathered momentum each instant, and I expected nothing less than a terrific crash. To my surprise, however, the craft plunged nose first into water and sank rapidly. The cabin filled instantly through the great hole, torn by the mattork shell; but this same hole proved to be my salvation, for after the first cold shock of immersion was past I managed to scramble through it.
For several seconds I continued to sink in spite of my frantic efforts, due to the downward momentum of the craft I had just left. Then I stopped, and slowly began to make some progress upward, though it seemed at every stroke that my lungs must burst for want of oxygen.
After what seemed an age of lung-straining torture, my head bobbed above the surface, and I trod water while inhaling great breaths of the moist, salt air.
In the blackness of the Zarovian night, broken only at infrequent intervals by the momentary twinkle of a star or two through a rift in the ever- present cloud envelope overhead, I was unable to see in any direction. But I heard a familiar sound, far to my right—the roll of breakers on a windward shore. Toward this sound I swam slowly.
The sound grew louder as I progressed, and presently I lowered an exploring foot to find the bottom. Not reaching it, I swam onward once more. The second test proved more successful, and I stood erect, only to be knocked flat by a huge wave. I scrambled to my feet and, half wading, half swimming, at length dragged my weary body up on a sandy beach beyond reach of the breakers.
After a brief rest I arose and walked still farther inland, where I soon ran into a thick copse of bush-fern. The ground beneath the curved fronds was covered with moss, and on this I stretched, thankful for so soft a couch. In a short time, I was asleep.
I was awakened by the sound of voices quite near me. It was broad daylight and promised to be an exceptionally warm day. My silky scarlet garments had long since dried, as had my leather trappings, which bad stiffened as a result of their soaking.
I judged from the tones that two people were conversing—a man and a girl. At first I did not hear what they said as I lay there on the soft moss only half awake, looking drowsily up through the rustling, wind-shaken fern leaves. Then the man raised his voice.
“Well you know, Cousin Loralie, that your parents desire the marriage as much as mine,” he said in mincing Patoa. “Is this not enough for you? Are you so lacking in respect for the wishes of your father and mother that you would set them aside for an idle whim?”
“Not for an idle whim, Cousin Gadrimel,” replied the girl in a clear, musical voice. “I do not love you. What more need be said?”
“How do you know?” he demanded. “Yesterday we saw each other for the first time. We had but a few moments alone. I have not more than touched your hand. I could make you love me as I have…”
“As you have countless others, no doubt. Understand me, once and for all. No man can make me love him, nor could I make myself love any man, even if I desired to do so as a matter of filial duty.”
Not wishing to play the part of an eavesdropper, however unintentional, I stood up, intending to offer my apologies and take my departure. As I did so I heard a muttered, “We’ll see,” from the man, followed by the sound of a struggle and a little scream of fear.
Pushing my way through the shrubbery, I came out on a moss-covered sward in the middle of which played an ornate fountain. Just beyond the fountain I saw a girl struggling to free herself from the embrace of a tall blond youth, whose yellow beard had just begun to grow. Both wore the scarlet of royalty.
“Let me go, you beast!” The girl’s big brown eyes were flashing— her disheveled, dark brown ringlets flying as she struggled to free herself. Even in anger she was beautiful—more beautiful than any woman I have seen on three planets.
I sprang forward, seized the youth by the collar, and twisting it said, “If you are bent on wrestling this morning, Prince Gadrimel, permit me to offer you a more even match.”
He released the girl and tried to turn, whereupon I twisted his collar the tighter. Then he reached for his tork, but I seized his wrist and bent it up behind his back. At this he began to bellow for the guard, whereupon I sent him crashing headfirst into the fern-brake.
I turned and bowed to the girl, who was still flushed and panting from her struggle. “Your Highness’s pardon, if I intrude. It appeared