We decided to come down over the Corund Laj and take on fresh supplies of water sufficient to carry us the additional distance we must travel. There was no particular hazard involved in doing this, for we were not likely to encounter another aerial vessel of the Sky Pirates in this part of the world, and although the folk of Narouk and the other Perushtarian cities about the shores of the Corund Laj were the avowed foes of Zanadar, we could easily avoid descending in the vicinity of the cities and elude any risk of trouble without much problem. And thus we resolved.
By late morning we were well out over the Corund Laj. It glittered below us like an immense shield of hammered brass, dented by shallow waves, mirroring the golden splendor of the daylit sky. We had circled around Narouk to avoid discovery, and made our descent over the open sea.
It was not, of course, necessary for the Jalathadar to actually make a landing on the waters in order to take on fresh supplies. The flying galleons are not meant to land and might well break up from their own cumbersome dimensions if they ever came to rest on the land surface of the jungle Moon. In Zanadar they are more or less permanently aloft, although securely tethered to mooring masts, and only come to rest when they are in urgent need of repair and then only in special dock-facilities designed to deal with their fragile structure.
We brought the aerial vessel down so that her keel floated only twenty yards above the rippling waves. At that point, holding her as steady as possible, waxed waterbags were lowered over the side on long lines. They were dipped into the sparkling waves and teams of crew members hauled them up, full to overflowing, to the deck again. It was a slow and time-consuming process, but easy enough.
I was lounging idly against the deck rail, watching the men dragging up the waterbags, without a thought of danger in my mind. Our captive, Ulthar, came sauntering over to where I leaned against the rail and engaged me in casual conversation. I thought nothing of this, and certainly had no reason to suspect the smooth-tongued Zanadarian of any ulterior motive, although I did not like Ulthar or enjoy his company. But he had been given the freedom of the deck, and had, in fact, the run of the ship, except for certain key areas, such as the wheel room or the signal cabin, where he might just possibly have injured our mission through a bit of adroit sabotage. I did not really trust the Sky Pirate, although I must confess he had thus far given me not the slightest reason to regret my decision to bring him along.
By a little after noon the last waterbags had been drawn aboard, dripping and full. The duty officer in the forward control cupola, receiving the signal from the deck officer, gave the command to come about and go aloft. With an immense creaking groan the enormous jointed wing-flaps began their ponderous motions, sending booming gusts across the deck, drowning out Ulthar’s soft tones. We were ascending rapidly now, and I waved him to silence, as it was not possible to continue our conversation over the slow, steady beat of the huge wings.
He nodded, understanding, and half-turned away as if to leave the deck. Then he glanced out over the waters of the sea, now rapidly dwindling beneath our keel, and his eyes widened with amazement and disbelief. He gave voice to an involuntary cry of surprise, and, as I turned to see what it was that he had seen which had so startled him, Ulthar acted.
He had chosen the perfect moment to strike. While one or two men were still on the deck, none of them were anywhere near us and no one was looking in our direction. I had turned away to search sea and sky for whatever it was that he had seen, and thus my back was to him. As swiftly and unobtrusively as if he had carefully rehearsed the act―which he may well have done, in the privacy of his quarters, for all I know―he bent swiftly, caught me about the waist, kicked my legs out from under me, and, rising, threw me over the side!
It was done so swiftly and smoothly, that before I even knew what was happening, I was falling through the air.
There was no time to catch hold of anything, to cry out―and I fell like a stone.
I had a confused vision of sea and sky wheeling giddily about as I fell. There was one fleeting glimpse of the Jalathadar above me―an enormous, darkwinged shape, blotting out the sky.
And the next instant I struck the waves of the Corund Laj with the force of a battering ram.
The impact knocked the air out of my lungs. I sank under the blue waves in a rush of foaming bubbles, halfconscious, stunned, gasping for air. I would doubtless have drowned in my semiconscious state, had not the shock of plunging so precipitously beneath the icy waters brought me to consciousness again.
With that hair-trigger instinct of self-preservation that is part of the equipment of the fighting man, I shut my lips against the icy flood, ignoring the lancing agony that blazed through me. My starved lungs cried out for air, but I clenched my jaws tight-shut with every atom of willpower I could summon.
In a wild spasm of threshing limbs, I struck out wildly. A moment later my head broke through the waves and I treaded water mechanically, gulping delicious air into my aching lungs.
I was stunned and dazed, shaken by the unexpected calamity, but unharmed.
Far above me, all but lost against the strange gold glare of the noontide sky, the Jalathadar had dwindled to a minute fleck. I watched helplessly as it hovered for a moment, and then turned its prow due west in the direction of Zanadar.
In a moment it was out of sight. And I was lost, alone and helpless, amid the waters of the unknown sea.
Chapter 5
I BECOME A SLAVE
There was no time for me to indulge myself in the luxury of cursing Ulthar for his treachery Every breath of air is a precious commodity to a man who has just narrowly escaped drowning, and not to be idly squandered on futile imprecations.
And I was not out of danger yet. The frigate had come down to take on new stores of water quite some considerable distance from shore, so as to insure against the possibility of being seen. Thus I had quite a distance to swim before I could hope to feel dry land under my feet.
I suppose I am as good a swimmer as any other man, and, like most, I suppose I tend to think of myself as being more proficient in the art than is actually the case. In any event, I came perilously close to not reaching dry land at all. For one thing, I was still groggy from the fall from the Jalathadar; for another, I was fully dressed in the traditional garments of a Thanatorian fighting-man. The costume, I need hardly stress, was never designed with a lengthy swim in mind.
Thanatorian warriors generally wear high-necked, sleeveless, thigh-length tunics of supple leather over blouselike shirts and loincloths. Together with gauntlets, a heavy leathern girdle about the midsection, sometimes thickly encrusted with noble metals and precious stones, cloak, boots or buskins, sword and dagger and purse, the basic costume is common wherever the warriors of Thanator may chance to dwell. The only exception to this is among the arthopodes, the chitin-clad insect-men who roam the great Haratha plains in mighty hordes. They, of course, go devoid of any raiment save sword-belt or baldric.
As you can readily imagine, the prospect of swimming the considerable distance to shore encumbered by such garments is not a pleasant one. I tore away my cloak first, kicked off my boots, and ere long was forced to struggle out of the heavy girdle and swordbelt or be drowned. Naked save for a water-soaked leather tunic and clout, I staggered ashore, collapsing in the wet gray sand, and lay there panting and spitting up seawater for a time, before I felt able to drag myself farther up the land.