Broad, well-paved avenues radiated from the palace, which stood encircled by parks and gardens at the very heart of the walled stone metropolis. The broad, tree-lined boulevards extended in every direction from the palace like spokes from the hub of a wheel.
Above, the strange skies of Callisto were a glowing canopy of golden mists, illuminated by no visible source of light. The distance of Callisto from the sun is so great that the sun is but a very brilliant star from the viewpoint of the dwellers upon the jungle Moon. The mystery of the light source is but one of the numerous enigmas of this weird world to which I have never found the key.
The council chamber was cut from massy stone, faced with softly golden marble sculpted into a fantastic frieze of godlike forms. The floor was carpeted with glowing tapestries of ancient work and the oval table was one glistening slab of dark green malachite. At the head of the table sat the kingly form of an older man whose noble frame, molded in the image of heroic strength, was draped in superb robes which glittered with gems and crystals unknown to me. This was the Lord Yarrak, Darloona’s loyal uncle and regent of the domain in her absence.
About the curve of the table sat five personages. First was the ancient Ku Thad sage and philosopher, Zastro, his lined face and snowy cataract of beard giving mute testimony to the many years of his service to the throne of Shondakor.
Next to him sat the Yathoon chieftain, Koja. The gaunt, skeletal limbs of the giant arthopode were folded uncomfortably in a chair designed for a human occupant, but the glistening horny ovoid of his expressionless visage, with its black, gemmy, compound eyes, revealed no sign of discomfort.
A noble young warrior was seated next to the chitin-mailed insect-man. His frank and open face, keen, alert eyes, and breadth of brow showed him for one of high birth and gentle rearing. This was the
Prince Valkar, a lord of the Ku Thad betrothed from childhood to Darloona. I had made his acquaintance while serving incognito in the Black Legion, as, indeed, was he. Both of us had enlisted in the bandit army under false identities, and both with the same purpose in mind―to bring about the freedom of Princess Darloona.
A lean, elderly man was seated beyond him, a man whose clear, tanned features and alert dark eyes denoted him as a member of another race than the amber-skinned, crimson-maned, emerald-eyed Ku Thad. Although his seniority was evident, this man held himself erectly, and his slender, well-knit limbs, disposed gracefully, revealed extraordinary strength and suppleness for one of his years. This was Lukor the Swordmaster, a Ganatolian, whose friendship I had won in the streets of Zanadar and from whom I had learned the most hidden secrets of the art of fence.
The last person at this council was myself. A grateful populace had awarded me with the high title of komor of the Ku Thad in recognition of my daring attempt to rescue Darloona from the clutches of Arkola, warlord of the Legion.
To this small circle I revealed my wild scheme whereby the freedom of Darloona might be achieved, with luck. In all candor, and although they desired to rescue their princess with a fervor no less intense than that which flamed within my own bosom, my comrades at first thought me mad with grief over Darloona’s loss. For surely, said they in commiseration, only one driven beyond the extremities of reason would have seriously suggested so ludicrous and dangerous a plan.
I was forced to admit that my scheme did savor of extreme desperation, if not madness, at first thought. But I begged them to consider further, for it was my firm opinion that upon closer consideration it would reveal some glimmer of a chance for success.
The basic problem was a simple one. The City in the Clouds, you see, was most aptly named.
The Zanadarians had constructed their fortresslike capital upon the peak of a great mountain north of the Grand Kumala jungles. This soaring summit of solid granite had sheer cliff walls so smooth and unbroken as to preclude even the possibility of our leading a land-based army of invasion against it.
In fact, it was my considered opinion that it was a feat beyond human powers to climb that mountain. Neither one man nor a thousand could achieve the summit alive. The precipitous walls climbed sheerly from the dizzying abyss for thousands of feet without a break, a ledge, even a handhold. The greatest alpinist on earth would have quailed before attempting to scale that soaring pillar of rock.
It was this inaccessibility that rendered the city of Zanadar invulnerable to attack. From their mountaintop eyrie, the Sky Pirates could descend to strike at merchant caravans and defenseless towns at will, and their foes could not carry the battle back to Zanadar, for only the Sky Pirates held the secrets of construction of their remarkable flying ornithopter galleons, and only from clefts in the peak of the mountain on which their capital was constructed did the natural levitating gas escape―the gas which, pent under pressure between the double hulls of their sky ships, made it possible for their fleets to navigate the clouds.
These facts were widely known and were accepted instantly by my associates in this mad venture.
I then pointed out my contention that, trusting to the remote height of Zanadar to render their dominion impregnable, the Sky Pirates doubtless neglected strict guard and surveillance in other regions. And were an enemy force, disguised as Zanadarian corsairs, riding a Zanadarian vessel, to attempt to land in the Cloud City, it should logically find little opposition or even suspicion.
My associates were forced to agree to the logic of this supposition. It seemed indeed highly likely, although very dangerous.
“But Jandar,” my friend Valkar objected, “what do you know about flying one of these sky ships?”
“Rather a bit,” I replied calmly. “Koja and I served as wheel slaves on the Zanadarian flagship Kajazell during a flight from the great plains to Zanadar itself―we flew across the entire length of the Grand Kumala jungles. I thoroughly understand the mechanism of the wings, and as for navigation, doubtless that will prove a minor problem. The captain’s cabin will, I assume, have charts aplenty.”
“This is true,” Koja assured our comrades solemnly. “But even I am forced to admit, Jandar, that there are more problems ahead of your venture than merely maintaining the vessel in flight and navigating it.”
“What further problems, then, do you foresee?”
“Landing the vessel,” he said. “While I think I remember the method well enough, from observations performed during our slavery at the wheels, we shall doubtless do a sloppy job of it, lacking the extensive training and superior experience of the Sky Pirates themselves. Will not it seem suspicious if we land our vessel in a blundering and amateurish manner―as we can hardly help but do?”
“Doubtless it would,” I answered, `but my plan contains further details I have not yet imparted to you. It is my intention to deliberately fake superficial damage to the craft and, when landing, to pretend the ship is more greatly damaged than is strictly true. Thus we shall disarm any suspicions our clumsy landing maneuvers might arouse.”
Koja pondered thoughtfully, his great black jeweled eyes inscrutable. “There is merit in the plan,” he said at last. “It should be easy to break away fragments of figurehead, ornamental scrollwork, deck rails and rigging and thus create the appearance of considerable damage. It just might work … .”
Old Lukor the Swordmaster spoke up next.
“Lad, my heart goes out to you, and I will join the venture nonetheless … but have you thought all of this out carefully? When the flying galleons circle for a landing, they signal with colored flags, if it is day, and with colored lamps, if by night, giving their registry number, captain’s name, and squadron designation. Surely you cannot know the code upon which these signals are based? And surely to attempt a landing without it will arouse suspicion?”