“And what is that?” asked Duare.
“Escape.”
“You think that that is impossible?” I asked.
“Well, let us say improbable,” Kandar replied; “for after all nothing is impossible to the man of imagination and initiative, such as I assume you to be.”
“And may we count on your co-operation?” I asked.
“Absolutely. I do not intend remaining a slave here indefinitely. Death would be far preferable.”
“You have been here longer than we,” I said. “You must have given much thought to escape. Perhaps you already have a plan.”
“I wish I had,” he replied, “but you will find it difficult to plan, where one is not the master of one’s simplest acts and where one is constantly under the watchful eyes of armed warriors and traitorous spies.”
“Spies?” asked Duare. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that among the slaves there are always those who will inform against their fellows in the hope of currying favor with their masters. You cannot be too careful with whom you discuss even your hopes. You do not even know that I am not a spy,” he added with a smile.
“I’ll take a chance on that,” I told him. “I think I am a sufficiently good judge of human nature to know a man of honor even upon only short acquaintance.”
“Thank you, but don’t be too sure,” he laughed; which made me all the surer of him.
I liked Kandar, and so did Duare. He was quite genuine—the sort of fellow you might meet in the officers’ club at Schofield or San Diego. Had he not been captured by the Myposans he would one day have been jong of Japal; and he probably had a family tree the roots of which reached way back into antiquity, as did those of most of the royal families of Amtor with which I was acquainted.
Unlike the Polynesians, whose genealogies were handed down by word of mouth for hundreds of years and are all mixed up with myth and legend, these people had a written language; and the records were true and exact for ages. On my mother’s side, I can trace my ancestry back to Deacon Edmund Rice, who came to Sudbury, Massachusetts, about 1639; and from him to Cole Codoveg, who was King of Briton in the third century; yet, by comparison with Duare or Kandar or Taman, I am a parvenu.
These people are extremely proud of their ancestry, yet they can still accept others at their face value, regardless of their background.
About mid-forenoon of the day following my encounter with Volmer, he came swaggering into the compound with a number of warriors—his bodyguard, I called them; for I was quite sure that, hated as he was, he dared not come alone among the slaves.
In a loud voice he summoned Duare to step forward. Instantly I was alert and antagonistic. I didn’t know what he wanted of Duare; but whatever it was, I was against it; so I stepped up beside her.
“I didn’t call your name, slave,” growled Vomer in the most insulting tone of voice he could conjure. I said nothing. “Back to your kennel, slave!” he shouted.
“Not until I know what you want of my mate,” I told him.
His gills flapped, and he pursed his hideous lips and blew out air like a spouting whale. The flapping of the gills by these Myposans has an almost obscene sound, and the blowing of air when they are angry is equally disgusting. But, disgusting or not, it was quite evident that Vomer was angry; and I could endure his obnoxious manifestation of anger for the pleasure that it gave me to have made him angry. As you may have gathered, I did not like Vomer.
He took a step toward me, and then hesitated; then he looked at his warriors; but they were looking the other way. Evidently they had heard of or seen the lethal possibilities of the r-ray.
Between his flapping gills and his blowing, he had difficulty in controlling his voice; but he managed to scream, “Carson of Venus, step forward!”
“I am already here,” I said. This he ignored.
“Kandar of Japal, step forward!” he wheezed. He would probably have liked to bellow; but his gills were still flapping, and he was still blowing spasmodically, which would, naturally, interfere with bellowing. I had to laugh.
“What are you laughing at, slave?” It was only a gurgle.
Duare laid a hand upon my arm before I could reply. She has far more sense than I. I wanted very much to say that I had seen moon fish seined off the Florida Keys; but that I had never before seen moon fish with whiskers; and that I thought them very amusing.
Vomer called a couple of more names, and the slaves stepped forward and took their places beside us; then he told us to fall in and follow him. The warriors formed before and after us, and we left the slaves’ compound and marched out into the narrow streets of the city. Where were we going! To what new scenes, what new adventures, what new dangers were we being conducted?
VII
The streets of Mypos are narrow and winding. As the Myposans have neither wheeled vehicles nor beasts of burden, their streets need not be wide; and the fact that they are narrow and winding would make the city easier to defend in the event of invasion. A single stalwart Horatius might hold any one of them against a greatly superior force.
In many places our little party of slaves and warriors were compelled to move in single file, the pedestrians we met flattening themselves against the walls of the buildings as we squeezed past. And so we progressed to an open plaza near the water front. Here there were a number of Myposans surrounding a small platform, near which we were halted. Immediately a number of the Myposans congregated there came among us and commenced to examine us, and one with a huge beard mounted the platform. One of those who moved among us attracted his attention and touched Duare on the shoulder.
The bearded one caught Vomer’s eye. “Bring the woman to the platform,” he directed.
I waited as Vomer led Duare up the three or four steps to where the other man stood. What was going to happen? I did not know, but I had my suspicions.
“What do you know of this woman?” asked the man of Vomer.
The fellow who had touched Duare’s shoulder moved forward to the platform, and the others crowded about him.
“She was captured beyond the forest with a man who says that she is a janjong in some country of which no one ever heard,” replied Vomer. “Beyond that I know nothing of her. She has behaved well, but the man is insubordinate and dangerous. He is down there,” and he pointed to me. The man with the large beard fixed his fishy eyes upon me, while Vomer whispered to him earnestly. They spoke together thus for a moment, and then Vomer left the platform.
The man standing beside Duare looked down on the little crowd below him. “Who wishes to buy this fine female slave?” he asked.
So that was it! Well, I had guessed correctly; but what was I going to do about it?
“I will buy her,” said the man who had touched Duare.
I could kill many of them with my pistol; but eventually they would overpower me; and Duare would be, if anything, worse off.
“What will you pay?” demanded the auctioneer.
“One hundred kloovol,” replied the man.
A vol has about the same purchasing power as our fifty-nine-cent dollar. Kloo is the prefix forming the plural. So this creature had dared to appraise Duare, daughter of a thousand jongs, at fifty-nine dollars! I fingered the butt of my pistol longingly.
“And who will pay more?” asked the auctioneer.
“Yes, who?” grumbled a Myposan standing near me. “Who would dare bid against Kod, who buys for Tyros?” He spoke in a very low voice to one who stood near him.