Ironically, Portox had never been captured.
Now as the tall gray tower came into view, Bontarc’s mind was filled with thoughts of Portox, the Ofridian wizard. It was said that Portox had been able to travel through space to other planets that were known to exist, that he had left Tarth and found safety somewhere across space, first building his tower which would never be destroyed; that a great clock within it was measuring off one hundred years—the time on the planet Tarth of an infant’s development into manhood—and that at the end of that span the clock would toll and there would come forth a man to avenge the slaughter of the Ofridians.
Bontarc turned suddenly upon the dour Retoc. “Tell me,” he said, “is there any truth to the legend that the clock in the tower will toll the end of one hundred years?”
“None whatever,” the sadistic Abarian snapped. “A rumor passed from the lips of one old woman to another.”
Bontarc smiled. “Then why are you here? The hundred years are up today.”
Retoc’s hand moved toward his whip-sword. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Bontarc watched alertly as the blade came partly from its scabbard. “If we fight we may miss the tolling of the clock,” he said evenly.
With an oath, Retoc pushed the sword back into its scabbard and put sharp heels to his stad’s flanks. The animal screamed indignantly and rocketed ahead. Bontarc smiled and turned his car back toward his own group.
And now they were assembled and waiting, the curious of the planet Tarth. Would the clock toll as it was rumored Portox had said? Would an avenger come forth to challenge Retoc and his Abarian hordes?
There was not much time left. Swiftly the clock ticked off the remaining moments and the end of one hundred years was at hand. Silence settled over the assembled Tarthans.
Then a great sound boomed over the plains; a single ringing peal that rose majestically into the air, reverberated across the empty land that once had been the site of a thriving, prosperous nation. The first part of the legend had been fulfilled.
Then, suddenly, chaos reigned. With a great thundering that shook the ground upon which they stood, the gray tower exploded in crimson glory; a great mushrooming blossom of red fire erupted skyward hurling the assembled Tarthans to the ground where they lay in numbed stupor.
The thunderous report echoed across the plain ten thousand times louder than the tolling of the clock. But aside from the initial dulling shock, no Tarthan was injured because the crushing power rose upward.
There was an expression of mute wonder on Bontarc’s face. And he thought: We have not seen the end of this. It is only the beginning. But the beginning of what? Only Portox could have known. And Portox was—where?
Bontarc started his car and moved across the plain sensing cosmic events but not knowing.…
Not knowing that the sound of the tolling clock had gone with more than the speed of light across the void, had been flung arrow-straight to a brooding mansion in the heart of a thick forest upon another planet; to the door of a cavern deep in the rock beneath the mansion.
That even now the lock of this door had responded to the electronic impulse and the huge panel was swinging slowly open.
CHAPTER III
The Man in the Cavern
As the sound of the tolling clock died out across the Plains of Ofrid, a man opened his eyes on the planet far away and saw for the first time the place in which he had spent one hundred years.
He awoke with neither fright nor surprise but rather with a sense of wonder. He arose slowly from the great bed upon which he had lain and allowed his attention to roam about the strange place in which he found himself.
In the wall opposite the bed there was set a full length mirror and as the man turned he saw himself for the first time; a tall, broadly-muscled figure of heroic proportions. Completely naked, his body was reflected as masculine perfection in every detail.
For a few moments, the man stared at the body as though it belonged to someone else. Then he spoke musingly. “You did your work well, Portox, my friend.”
The sound of his own voice startled him but not so much so as the content of the words. A baffled expression touched his handsome face. Who was Portox? And what work had he done? What place was this—and for that matter, who was he himself, this naked figure which looked back at him from the glittering mirror?
The questions were annoying because he felt that he knew the answers. Yet they would not come within reach of his conscious mind.
He had little time to ponder this enigma however because at that moment he became aware of a second presence in the room. He turned. A man stood just inside the open door.
The naked one stared at the other with an interest that left no room for self-consciousness nor shame. “Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is John Pride,” the man answered. He was a man of erect bearing and though there was wonder and surprise in his voice he bore himself with a quiet dignity. “And now,” he added, “may I ask you the same question?”
The naked man looked down at his own body and for the first time seemed conscious of its nudity. He glanced around the room and saw a robe of royal purple lying across a chair by the bed. He stepped over and lifted the robe and put it on. As he was tying the rich purple cord around his waist he looked frankly back at John Pride and said, “I do not know. I honestly do not know.”
John Pride said, “I have wondered what I would find in this cavern—wondered through the years. Only in my wildest fancies did I tell myself that a fellow human—or even a living creature—awaited me here. But now I find this is true.”
The younger man regarded his visitor with a calmness that belied any wariness between them. John Pride noted this with admiration and respect. The young man said, “Won’t you be seated?” and when his guest was comfortable, regarded him with a smile. “Perhaps there are some things we should talk over.”
“Perhaps there are. You say you do not know your own name?”
“That only begins to sum up my ignorance. I am not only unaware of my identity but I haven’t the faintest notion of what this place is—where it is—or how I came here.”
It was John Pride’s turn to stare. While doing so, he analyzed the younger man keenly. He saw honesty and an inner warmth that attracted him. There was something almost godlike in the clean lines of the body he had seen and in the face. These things coupled with what he already knew, intrigued him mightily and he resolved to approach this strange affair with an open mind and not play the role of the unbelieving cynic. It was time to go ahead.
* * * *
John Pride said, “First, are you aware that there is another in this mansion—or was?”
“I did not even know this was a mansion. It seems only one room.”
“It is an enormous structure set deep in the forest.”
“This other one—?”
“A very old man. He died as I arrived here tonight.”
“You do not know his name or how came he here?”
“I have a vague idea.”
The young man’s dazzling blue eyes narrowed in thought. “A while ago you said you have wondered through the years as to what you would find in this room. That indicates you were aware of its existence.”
“True. Perhaps at this point I had better