Before us stretched the endless plains, dim in the vague moonlight. The herd kept on straight in the direction in which it had first headed, although the herd began to thin out along the edges as groups of bird-horses detached themselves from the main body of the stampede, peeling off in all directions, obviously for the purpose of making their recapture more difficult.
We five managed to stay together, but with considerable difficulty, for our unruly mounts desired to veer off in this or that direction. To enforce discipline we freely used the little knobbed olos.
We flew along like the wind. Our beasts were wild with joy at freedom, and sped straight out into the shadowy plains with every ounce of speed their wiry, lean-muscled bodies possessed. They could not for very long manage to sustain this dizzying sprint, but while they could, they put the encampment behind them further and further with every instant of time that passed.
These were not the only thaptors the Horde owned, of course. There were many such pens scattered about the camp, each containing between twenty-five and two hundred beasts, depending on the rank and importance of the clan chieftain to whom each pen belonged, and to the size of his retinue. But by the time the Yathoon saddled up and rode out into the plains to start trying to round up the runaways, we should be long gone.
Or so we hoped.
I leaned over the stiff ruff of bristling feathers my thaptor wore for a mane, feeling exultation rise in me, heady in my veins like rare champagne. The taste of freedom can make you drunk with joy, if you have not sampled the beverage for some time. Ahead of me, riding like the wind, my Princess turned to laugh joyously, her magnificent eyes smiling into mine. For the millionth time I gave thanks to whatever fate had made so glorious a woman mine.
By contrast with Darloona’s wild excitement, the Princess of Tharkol clung fearfully to her steed, her face white with terror. The events of the last couple of days must have seemed like a nightmare to Zamara, for seldom could the proud and pampered Princess of Tharkol have been used with such rudeness.
We had snatched her from her bed, bundled her bound and gagged into her own balloon, carried her off for a wild ride through the skies, endangered her with pterodactyls, crashed her unceremoniously into the plains, gotten her captured and enslaved by a wandering army of savage and inhuman nomads, and now thrust her into the midst of a wild and giddy stampede of maddened thaptors!
The divine right of kings―or whatever silly philosophy she believed governed her incontrovertible right to do what she alone wished―must have become severely bruised in the recent succession of events. To say nothing of a tender and overinflated royal ego.
When one is carried off in the night by one’s own captives, it must be difficult to sustain the belief in ode’s divinely decreed destiny to rule the world!
As for Glypto, the little rogue was also white with terror and retaining his place astride the galloping thaptor with the very greatest difficulty imaginable. In fact, I expected the little rascal to go flying at any moment, from the way he was bouncing about in his saddle. But he wrapped both arms around the arched neck of his thaptor and clung on with every atom of strength his wiry little body could muster. But he was tough, the little bantam, and displayed unsuspected reserves of what I can only describe as guts. Life in the gutters and alleys of Tharkol thins out the weaklings early on, I surmised: to survive at all, he must have been tough and resilient and adaptable.
Glypto had survived. And he might even survive this wild, nightmarish gallop through the windy dark. But―from the way he was bouncing up and down in his saddle―I presumed he would not feel like sitting down for some days to come.
The headlong pace of our steeds slowed now as the beasts lost their wind. They began to stumble and stagger, gasping for breath, froth dribbling from the gaping beaks.
The larger moons soared up, one by one, over the edges of the world, flooding the plains with beautiful colored light.
We were lost and alone and unarmed in an unknown world.
But at least we had regained our freedom.
Book Four
SHAPHUR OF SORABA
Chapter 13
Lost on the Great Plains
After a time our beasts became exhausted and could no longer sustain their speed. We permitted them to come to a halt, and dismounted stiffly from the saddles. No sign of pursuit was either visible or audible, and, as we had ridden a considerable distance from the Yathoon encampment, we assumed it unlikely that any of the nomads were on our trail. Doubtless they had their hands too full of the problem of rounding up as many of the escaping thaptors as they could to bother about us. If indeed our own escape had been noticed, which was not likely.
Although we were by now completely lost on the Great Plains, without food or provisions or much in the way of weapons, save for the two poignards Glypto had discovered amid the hoard of Gorpak, one of which I had and Ergon the other, we were unafraid. In fact, we faced the unknown future with great confidence: we were free, we were together again, and we had a fighting chance of finding our way home.
In fact, our chance was better than that, for we knew our friends were searching for us, as an aerial galleon such as the Jalathadar can cover an immense tract of land very swiftly.
We camped where we were. None of us had extra clothing or anything in the way of bedding, but the night was warm and the grasses were deep and we were exhausted from the strain and exertion of our escape and our wild ride over the plains, and knew we could sleep soundly. Luckily we had all been fed earlier in the evening, and thus did not suffer from hunger, although I for one could certainly have done with a drink of water, and so, doubtless could my companions, especially the women.
Of the two women, Darloona was a tower of strength but Zamara, predictably enough, was a continuous headache. My Princess was too delighted to be free again to bother much about bedding down amidst the grasses, and viewed the entire experience with a boyish delight as an unexpected adventure. Her high spirits and enthusiasm were an inspiration to us all, and I loved her all the more for her humor, bravery, and cheerful willingness to endure discomfort.
The self-styled Empress of Callisto, on the other hand, could not stop complaining. She raved and ranted on about the affront to her imperial rank, cursed the Yathoon as unfeeling savages, and even had the nerve to protest about the undignified manner in which we had arranged our escape. The rest of us paid little attention to her fuming display of temperament, and Ergon, sprawled out beside me listening to her curse and complain, grinned sourly.
“It has been like this ever since Gorpak found us in the wreckage of the balloon,” he grunted. “She was astounded that the Yathoon warriors did not know who she was, or what she was, I should say. And it enraged her that they paid not the slightest attention to her protestations that she was the Empress of the world and that by taking her prisoner, they tempted the wrath of the Lords of Gordrimator, whose anointed vicar on Thanator she was.”
He chuckled. “The ultimate insult, which left her gasping and in tears, was that Gorpak’s warriors chained her together with Glypto and your lady and myself. For an Empress to be chained with common slaves was a shock to her self-esteem from which she has not yet recovered!”