They broke and fled, first in two and threes, and finally in a great rout. Down to the harbor they fled, harried by the bowmen of Parimus. There they made their last stand, holding the Komarians at bay while, clan by clan, they climbed aboard the ships moored to the long stone quays.
It was evidently their hope to set sail and escape to sea. Parimus could, of course, have destroyed the heavily-crowded galleys with his electric ray, but debated with himself the wisdom of this. It was not the way of Tharkoon to slaughter helpless men in their thousands; although the Prince of Komar might well determine the wholesale destruction of the Horde a fitting, just retribution for the horrors of conquest and occupation.
The air yacht returned to float above the many-tiered citadel, so that Prince Andar could decide upon this question. Andar’s loyalists now held the royal fortress securely; the last surviving remnants of the Barbarians within the palace walls were prisoners. The Prince harkened to the older man’s pleas to permit the Barbarians to flee with their lives, and agreed that magnanimity in a great victory was only right. So long as the Barbarians fled to the mainland, without taking refuge on one or another of the islands of the Komarian realm, they should be permitted to live.
Parimus departed to observe the escape of the survivors of the Horde. It was just about over.
The last stronghold of Barbarian resistance within the city had been destroyed; the last stragglers of the Horde who had been left behind when their comrades fled to sea were hunted down, seized and made captive by the people of the city. These captives, somewhat battered and bloody, very cowed and crest-fallen, were delivered in chains to the gates of the citadel to be locked in the dungeons.
It was a touch of poetic justice, thought Prince Andar with satisfaction, that those who had lorded it over a captive and enslaved populace should henceforward serve that populace as their slaves. The neatness of this final stroke of justice pleased him heartily, although Eryon and some of the older barons grumbled that it was foolishness to permit so much as a single foe to continue living, when so many Komarians had been murdered or executed.
Andar grinned soberly. “There remains much hard work to be done,” he pointed out, “to restore our capital to its former beauty. There are streets to be cleared of rubble, wreckage to be removed, and burnt or gutted buildings to be rebuilt. Personally, I see no reason why these onerous tasks should fall upon my people, who have already suffered so much at the hands of their Barbarian conquerors. Let them regain their pride and self-esteem, watching their former masters groan and sweat beneath the burden of this labor… Besides, it is only fitting that those who wreaked such damage to our city should do the work of repairing that damage!”
Eryon grumbled, but a reluctant grin tugged at his bearded lips. He had to admit the decision of his Prince was only right and certainly just.
We stood there on the rooftop of the citadel overlooking the city of Komar. Klygon was with me, and Janchan, and Zorak the bowman of Tharkoon. But Zarqa was absent, flying the skysled over the sea, assisting Parimus in harrying the Barbarian ships. Andar and his lords conferred some little distance away. Bloody, dishevelled and bone-weary from their long night of battle, they were flushed and jubilant with the heady wine of victory.
Morning was upon us; the Green Star had risen to flood the world with its light. Even as a new day brightened the world, a new day had dawned for the island kingdom of Komar; the long night of savagery and subjugation was ended.
We had each a thousand questions to ask the others. Zorak was fascinated to hear of our adventures among the albino cannibals at the bottom of the world; and how we had escaped from the subterranean burrows of the primitive troglodytes and found our way to sea.
I told the bowman how I had been blinded by a great explosion of light, in my battle with the Nithhog, the monster god of the troglodytes. Even as I spoke of these things, I found myself rubbing the bandages Parimus had placed across my eyes at the termination of my last exposure to the healing rays of his miraculous lamp.
My eyes had not pained me now, for a long time—not since the swelling had gone down and the inflammations had ceased to be raw and tender. But now my blinded eyes itched annoyingly, as a numb limb tingles with the excruciating return of life and vigor.
“Perhaps, lad, your dressings need changing,” said homely little Klygon. “In all the fuss and worry of this long night, we have had no opportunity to renew the ointment. Be you certain, Zorak, his wizardship left you no fresh dressings for the lad’s poor eyes?”
The tall bowman slapped the leather pouch at his side.
“Dressings and bandages I have aplenty, friend Klygon,” he said. “We each carry emergency medical supplies with us on such an expedition as this.”
“Then, by all the Avatars and Saints, lad, sit you down here. Let me take off these dirty rags and fit you out afresh.” I seated myself on a block of stone and leaned back, gratefully yielding to his ministrations. Those gnarled and knotted hands, which had learned each one of the hundred skills of sudden death in the grim House of Gurjan Tor, were as tender and gentle as the hands of a woman.
He stripped away the old bandages, and cleansed the dried ointment from my eyes with a clean rag and fresh water from the canteen in Zorak’s battle-gear. And as he did so I cried aloud, in wonderment and joy—
For I saw the Green Star, rising!
For the first time in an endless eternity, or so it seemed, a ray of light had penetrated the unendurable blackness that surrounded me!
The heavens were a vault of silver mists, through which the shafts of emerald brilliance struck as the mighty orb climbed up the arch of the sky. And I could see the marvel of it!
Dim and vague at first—a mere blur of emerald and silver—but gradually, as I blinked my eyes into focus, the vision steadied and grew clearer, until at last every detail was as sharp and vivid as before the explosion of light had robbed me of my eyesight.
To this day, to this very hour, I cannot explain the miracle.
Perhaps it was only that my eyes were stunned and paralyzed for a time, by the unshielded explosion of brilliance. That they were not truly blinded at all; but that the optical nerves were merely strained beyond endurance by the light and shielded themselves for a time in darkness, as a mind strained beyond endurance will seek refuge in unconsciousness.
Or was it the beneficial action of the sea-water upon my injuries, acting as a natural antiseptic? Or, again, the miracle may be explained by the wonder-working art of Prince Parimus himself, and of his marvelous lamp; that was but one of the science marvels salvaged from the wreckage of the lost wisdom of the prehuman Kaloodha.
Whatever the explanation—I could see!
And almost in the same moment as I experienced the bliss and ecstacy of regaining my sight—those very eyes beheld a scene of mystery, horror and revelation.
Andar shouted; Eryon snatched up his sword and stared about. Then all eyes were turned upon the inexplicable thing above us, dark and ominous against the silver sky.
Out of the heavens, a weird and alien craft came floating down. It was like, and yet unlike, the skysled and the air yacht—a flying vehicle such as none of us had ever seen before.
In the clear luminance of dawn, we were able to see within the crystal shield of the cockpit, two persons struggling together.
One of these persons was a magnificently built, beautiful black man, whose noble features were distorted by a furious rage. Even as I stared at this unknown and mysterious being, Janchan at my side cried out his name in a mighty yell