Bent over the glowing crystal, his features transformed, their classic regularity and cold beauty twisted and distorted into a mask of unbelieving horror, the black man stared and stared, while his thoughts chased round and round in an ever-tightening, ever-smaller circle … They are men… And we have tortured them and experimented upon their helpless bodies for thousands of years … They are men, and the Council is wrong … I am a heretic for thinking them men… I am mad for thinking them rational …
Poor Clyon of Calidar! He had schemed to betray both Kalistus and Ralidux into the tender mercies of the Inquisitors, and by thus to weaken the prestige of the Thallian faction while strengthening the prestige of the Pallicratian. But now he, himself, was the heretic, and, when his taint was discovered, as it would eventually be discovered, it would be the Pallicratian prestige which would suffer. Heresy! The abominable taint which poisoned the intellect and insidiously sapped and weakened the purity of established doctrine.
It was better to be mad than a heretic, the mind of Clyon whispered to itself.
I am mad.
I am mad.
Mad.
Mad!
MAD…
When they found him in the morning, hunched over the burned out vision screen, he was smiling to himself, eyes vacant, the spittle drooling down his chin from the corners of his mouth.
He was mad. Quite mad.
They did not manage to escape from the Flying City unobserved after all.
Janchan cursed as immense winged shapes hurtled upon them from the night skies. It would seem the ebon supermen of Calidar maintained some manner of sentry-system after all, for before they had descended very far beyond the vicinity of the floating metal metropolis, swift-winged hunting hawks swooped from above. Leaning from the saddles were black Skymen armed with tubular weapons. Zarqa sprang to the controls, sending the sky-sled into a steep dive.
But the zawkaw were even swifter. Azure wings folded, the giant birds hurtled downward on the track of the fugitives. Black men leaned forward over the pommels of their saddles and tubular weapons spat fire.
A refinement of the zoukar, Zarqa observed dispassionately. The death-flash emits bolts of electric fire capable of destroying matter. But these tubular weapons seem more akin to the pain-inflicting rods used upon us while in captivity. That is, the electric force is weaker, and attuned to the wavelengths of the nervous system, inflicting pain but not disintegration.
“Can we elude the guards?” demanded Janchan.
It is very dark; if we can reach the high terraces unattacked, we can gain concealment amid the foliage, Zarqa replied calmly.
It was a race against time. Weaving from side to side to avoid the agonizing bolts of electric force, the sky-sled darted down into the treetops, closely followed by the zawkaw upon which Arjala and Niamh and Ralidux rode. But the hawk-mounted guards were also aware of the possibility, and flashed at furious speed to intercept the escaping prisoners.
Hoping to confuse their pursuers, and perhaps divide them, the Winged Man directed the captive mind of Ralidux to divert his flight to one side. In a wide curve, the zawkaw on which the two women rode fell away on a diverging path.
The ruse served its purpose by momentarily checking the pursuit. The guard-birds paused, hesitated, and in that fateful moment the bird on which the Goddess and the princess rode was lost to their view in the impenetrable darkness of the moonless night.
Vengefully, the Calidarians redoubled their efforts to blast the sky-sled out of the air. Now all four of the pursuing zawkaw arrowed down on the trail of Zarqa, Janchan, and Nimbalim. The sky-sled had by this time almost reached the topmost level of the trees. Bolts of glittering fire flashed about the swaying, wobbling craft. They missed by feet—by mere inches—but now the sentries had got the range and could direct their nerve-paralyzing weapons with dangerous accuracy. Janchan realized it was only a matter of seconds now before one of the dazzling shafts connected with its target
And then it happened!
As fate would have it, the bolt struck Zarqa. The Kalood was hunched over the controls, partially sheltered behind the curve of the crystal windshield. As the beam struck him, catching him in a halo of radiant force, he uttered a mental cry of agony and fell back from the controls, either dead or unconscious.
Without his hand at the levers, the sky-sled angled away crazily. It was this factor of chance alone saved the other occupants of the craft from a similar fate. For, veering madly to one side, the wobbling sled shot into a mass of foliage and vanished from the sight of the pursuers.
The Skymen jerked back on the reins, checking the downward plunge of their hawks. As great leaves whipped by, slapping the shuddering sled, Janchan tore loose from the restraining straps and seized the controls, bringing the craft back to an even keel. A few moments later, darting into the heavy foliage of the middle terraces, he checked the headlong velocity of the sled, causing it to float into a place of concealment. All the hunting hawks of Calidar could not find them now, he knew.
Safe now from pursuit, the sled hovering motionlessly within an impenetrable screen of massed leaves, he hastily unstrapped the Winged Man and examined his body. It was much too dark to see, for not the slightest ray of light could pierce the thick foliage that screened their place of concealment, but by touch alone Janchan was able to perceive that, at very least, Zarqa was still alive. Pressing his fingertips against the naked chest of the Kalood, the prince could feel his heart beating; placing the back of his hand against Zarqa’s half-open mouth, he perceived that the Winged Man was still breathing. A gust of relief went through him as he crouched above the motionless form of the alien. The bolt of pain had shocked Zarqa into unconsciousness, but had not been sufficient to slay him.
And then another thought occurred to Janchan, and he gasped in horror at its implications.
For when Zarqa had lost consciousness, had he not also lost his control over the mind of Ralidux? Now free of mental restraint, was not the black savant in full and conscious command of his wits again?
With Arjala and Niamh his helpless captives?
Their hurtling flight angled into a steep dive. Arjala and Niamh clutched at each other as the great zawkaw fell downward into the bottomless Abyss that yawned between the giant trees. All pursuit was lost far above, as whipping leaves closed in their rear to conceal them from any scrutiny. Stiff and motionless as an automaton, the figure of Ralidux let the reins hang loosely as an expression of pain contorted his beautiful features.
And then his features cleared and the light of intelligence returned to his empty eyes. For a moment, Ralidux stared about him blankly. Then, observing the frightened Arjala shrinking against him, a glare of maniacal triumph lit the face of Ralidux of Calidar.
He caught up the loose reins, bringing the hurtling zawkaw under control once more. All that had transpired while he had been a mere automaton under the mind power of the Kalood became known to him in a flash of realization. And, as for the first time he felt the warm, yielding body of the Goddess pressing against his naked chest, an insane desire fully awoke within him. He uttered a peal of mad laughter and his arms tightened about the voluptuous form cradled against him.