Weapons, gear and provisions were stored in the capacious hold and Klygon, Parimus and his war-party came aboard; at the appointed time, the aerial vessel arose from the palace rooftop of the science wizard and took to the skies.
The yacht passed above a jungled isle shortly thereafter. Chancing to peer into the mirror-table which, by a cunning arrangement of lesser mirrors, afforded occupants of the cabin a clear, unimpeded view of whatever lay directly beneath the sky yacht, the Tharkoonian savant was surprised to see a human being upon the desolate beach.
“How peculiar!” he murmured to the stalwart young bowman named Zorak, who stood watch on the bridge of the flying ship. “I had considered the isle of Narjix completely uninhabited, save for savage beasts, till now.”
“Perhaps, lord, yonder person is a hapless castaway,” the bowman suggested.
Parimus shrugged. ” ‘Tis not unlikely; these waters are rendered hazardous at this season by sudden storms. Instruct the pilot, Zorak. Let us descend to the strand and discover whether we can render assistance to the unfortunate young person who may have been cast ashore by a shipwreck, or even washed overboard in a squall…”
Klygon’s ears pricked at these words. Scarcely daring to permit hope to enter his bosom, the bandy-legged little Assassin came over to where they stood and peered down into the luminous mirror. He strained his eyes to discern any recognizable features in the stranger whose miniature figure was reflected in the depths of the glass screen.
Was it merely his old eyes playing tricks upon him—or did he fancy the half-naked figure was that of someone he knew? His heart thudded against the cage of his ribs like a prisoned bird; he hovered over the mirror in an agony of suspense.
The sky yacht halted its progress, hovered weightlessly, then began to descend to the sandy beach where a small and lonely figure stood staring skywards.
Chapter 17.
THE MIND-QUESTING
Ever nearer came the spider-monster, down the long, quivering strand of its gigantic web. With frantic haste Prince Janchan, Nimbalim of Yoth, and Zarqa the Kalood searched through their garments or belongings for a fire-making implement. Nimbalim shrugged philosophically with empty hands, for his robes concealed no such device. Zarqa, like all his sexless, tough-skinned race, had no use for clothing and wore none. And Janchan’s pocket-pouch was empty!
“The xoph approaches,” observed the thousand-year-old sage, tranquilly. His companions looked up to see, still at some distance, the horrible scuttling shape of the Brobdingnagian spider. The brute was essentially the same many-legged creature identical with Earth spiders; but, as is the way with all insects on the World of the Green Star, one grown to the proportions of an elephant. Clad in albino fur, with monstrous glittering compound eyes like clustered black crystals, it rapidly narrowed the gap between itself and its helpless prey. Feeding-mandibles clacked and rasped with horrid eagerness; black crystal eyes glared with mindless hunger; the obscene mouth-orifice drooled a stinging slime. The thick anchor-cable swayed like a ship’s hawser under its ponderous, scuttling weight.
The Prince of the Phaolon had carried off his weapons when they had departed from the Flying City of Calidar. He now drew forth his longsword and stiletto from their scabbards and took up a stance at the edge of the sled, facing the rapidly approaching monster.
“Young sir, what is it that you would do?” inquired the philosopher. Janchan shrugged and replied that he meant to fight the xoph as best he could. “You but prolong the inevitable,” said Nimbalim gently.
“Perhaps; but it shall never be said of Janchan of Phaolon that he died without fighting for his life,” responded the young warrior briefly.
Were it not for the after-effects of the bolt, which have temporarily numbed the muscles of my wings, I could perchance bear us to safety through flight, came the cool, serene thoughts of Zarqa. But I fear our adventures are at an end, my friends. It has been a privilege to share in your perils and exploits; I, who have outlived the last of my race, have known an end to the unendurable loneliness that was my lot, in your companionship. I do not fear death, but I regret only that we shall not live to discover the fate of our lost friends.
“And I, who have passed dreary centuries in the captivity of the black immortals, have at least had a taste of freedom,” said the old Yothian quietly. “It pleases my heart that, even if I must end my days here at this time, at least I shall die as a free man.”
They stood together, watching the approach of the albino spider-monster. The immense arachnid descended the long cable-strand more cautiously now; for its glittering compound eyes had observed the strangeness of the flying thing its adhesive web had captured. Never before had the giant xoph snared such curious prey; it approached on jointed legs hesitantly, sensitive antennae testing the air for the presence of danger.
Now do I regret that we departed from the burning temple of Ardha in such haste, came the cool thought of Zarqa. For in my haste to be gone, I abandoned the death-flash which the temple guards stripped from me. Had I the weapon with me now, ‘twould be simplicity itself to blast the spider-monster from its aerial perch…
Suddenly reminded of the store of weapons they had carried off when they had departed from the Pylon of Sarchimus, at the termination of the previous adventure, Janchan gasped and stiffened. Hope suffused his grim features.
“The vial of Liquid Flame!” he exclaimed.
‘Twas carried of by young Karn, with the Witchlight and the coil of Live Rope, said Zarqa listlessly, when he left the skysled to enter Ardha on his own, and was slain by the zzumalak—
“But there were two vials,” cried Janchan. “I brought one of them aboard the sled myself!”
They stared at each other in blank astonishment for a moment. Then, galvanized into action, Janchan sprang into the rear storage compartment of their craft, rummaging frantically through the food supplies.
As fate would have it, at the same moment the giant spider, deciding these puny manlings were too small and feeble to be any danger, flashed down the cable on flickering stalked limbs, and sprang upon its prey!
Snatching the precious vial from amongst the bundles in the tail compartment of the skysled, Janchan gave the cap a twist and hurled it directly into the path of the on-coming monster.
Straight and true the crystal bottle traced its flight, striking the very breast of the charging xoph—
And exploded!
Instantly, the monster spider was enveloped in a sheet of flame. Rivulets of burning fluid ran down its stalked lags; the liquid flame soaked into its befouled albino fur. Its vicious mandibles clicked and snapped, closing on empty air, as its tiny brain sought to slay the unseen enemy which had attacked it. It swayed drunkenly, on fire with agony, claws snatching at the elusive, invisible foe. Then, a blackened husk, withering in the fury of the searing flames, its agonized struggle stilled; it loosed its hold on the web-strands and fell into the lightless abyss below.
But now, the web itself was afire. The sticky, adhesive substance which coated the gummy strands was as flammable as oil-soaked wood or cloth. Streams of fire ran in every direction. Within another moment, flames shot up around the entrapped skysled and the heat became unendurable.
Janchan, by this time, had climbed back into the vehicle. Now, as the portion of the web which held them fast in its grip began to shrivel and flake away in burning cinders, the Winged Man thrust forward the control levers. The burning strands stretched—snapped—and parted! The skysled burst free and rapidly ascended to a level above the burning web. And the three adventurers breathed a vast sigh of relief at their narrow escape.