1. — THE THEFT OF VERNIA

PERHAPS THE FURNITURE AND DECORATIONS of the personal apartment of Robert Grandon would have appeared bizarre to earthly eyes. Its paneled walls were hung with strange weapons and still stranger trophies of the battlefield and chase—prized treasures of a soldier and a hunter. Skins of marmelots, fiercest cats of the Zorovian fern forests, and tremendous bear-like monsters known as ramphs, magnificent specimens all, were flung on the floor. Cloud- filtered sunlight entered through two immense windows that reached from floor to ceiling, opening on a private balcony which overlooked the palace gardens.

A marmelot, carved from red wood and supporting a round top of polished crystal formed a table in the center of the room. Around it, in chairs carved in the representation of kneeling giants holding scarlet cushions which formed both seats and backs, were four men.

“The power of the Huitsen must be broken, and broken forever,” cried Aardven, brawny, bull-necked ruler of Adonijar. And he banged his huge fist on the table for emphasis, causing the kova cups to dance and rattle.

Robert Grandon, former Chicago clubman who had fought his way to the throne of Reabon, mightiest empire of Venus, grimly nodded his assent, as did his two other guests, Ad, ruler of Tyrhana, and Zinlo, ruler of Olba. For the sake of privacy and comfort, he had dispensed with the rigid formality of the throne room, and received them in his own drawing room.

Ad of Tyrhana stroked his square-cut, jet black beard meditatively. Then he turned to Grandon. I fear we have disturbed you at a most inopportune time. A man about to start on a honeymoon should not be annoyed with affairs of state. It was only after we learned of the latest outrage perpetrated by the yellow pirates, that Aardvan and I, who were awaiting Zinlo’s return to Olba, decided to hurry here in one of his swift airships.

“When he heard that one of my ships of war, crippled by a storm and half sinking, was set upon by these yellow fiends, part of its crew massacred and the rest carried off prisoners, and my daughter Narine taken to I know not what fate, we felt that something must be done, and done quickly.”

“And I heartily agree with you,” said Grandon. “The imperial navy of Reabon is at your disposal. Do you have any plan of action to suggest?”

“I felt sure you would come in with us,” said Ad, “especially after my talk with Zinlo this morning. As I have intimated previously, we must make our plans in secret, and carry them out as unobtrusively as possible. The Huitsenni have spies everywhere. They have the treasure to hire the vile traitors among our people who will sell their honor for personal gains, but because of their peculiar physical characteristics they can do no eavesdropping among us themselves.”.

“We should have two main objectives: to sink or capture every pirate ship that sails the seas of Zorovia, and to find and take the secret port of Huitsen. It is a port of missing ships and treasure, of slaves who were once citizens of our own and other lands, a port of peril to every man, woman, and child on this planet.”

“Have you any idea where to look for this hidden port?” asked Grandon.

“We have no definite knowledge of its location, but the belief that it lies to the south has arisen from the fact that pirate fleets, leaving a scene of pillage, have almost invariably been observed to sail southward.”

“I believe my flyers can locate it,” said Zinlo, toying with his kova cup.

“It’s a big world,” boomed the gruff Aardvan, “and it will take a deal of flying, sailing, and marching to explore it all.”

“Perhaps Mernerum will help us,” suggested Ad.

“I take it,” replied Grandon, “that you are unaware of the strained, or rather severed relations between Mernerum and Reabon. This morning I ordered diplomatic relations severed with Zanaloth of Mernerum, because of his affront to my wife when she passed through his dominions some time ago.”

“We can do well enough without that dissolute, old rake,” said Zinlo. “But we’re keeping you from that honeymoon trip, Grandon. I understand that your expedition was ready to march when Ad and Aardvan arrived.”

“We’ll give it up,” Grandon assured them. “I’m sure Vernia won’t mind for such, a worthy cause.”

“See here,” Ad protested. We don’t want any such sacrifice. Allow us to take a few of your ships for the present, and perhaps some warriors and munitions in case a landing party is required. Go on your honeymoon. Later, when we’ve discovered the port of peril, we’ll notify you, and let you in at the kill.”

“But your daughter has been stolen. Every man on this planet, worthy of the name, should be willing to assist in the search.”

Ad sighed deeply, musingly. “Alas,” he replied, “I fear all search for her will be vain. She has been gone for so long now that I can only hope to avenge her. But, of course, I, her father, shall continue to search.” He arose, and continued: “My friends and allies, we have imposed long enough on this patient, young bridegroom. I’m sure you will all agree with me when I say that we don’t want his help until after the honeymoon. Let him lend us a few ships and men now, and we’ll call on him later.”

“Those are precisely my sentiments,” roared the deep-voiced Aardvan, also rising.

“And mine,” echoed Zinlo. “And so, Grandon, we’ll go down and join the group outside that’s waiting to see you off. By the way, where are you bound?”

“It was a toss-up whether to go to the wild mountain fastness of Uxpo, or enjoy the bathing, fishing, and boating of the Azpok coast. But the seashore won, and we chose a camping-place on a wild and unfrequented part of the coast.”

“Splendid! We’ll see you outside.”

A half-hour later, speeded by an immense multitude that had lined the streets of Reabon to see them off, Grandon and his young bride, Vernia, Princess of Reabon, stepped into the waiting, one-wheeled motor vehicle, and with their guard of Fighting Traveks, left for the coast.

In the imperial tent of scarlet silk, decked with cloth-of-gold insignia and edged with golden fringe, Grandon opened his eyes as the first faint dawnlight appeared, for he had planned an early morning fishing-trip. He arose and dressed silently, so as not to disturb the slumber of his bride, but she heard the slight clank of his sword as he was about to step through the doorway, and wakened.

“Bob.”

He turned as she softly pronounced the name by which he had been known to his friends on Earth, the name he had taught her to call him and which he loved to hear her say with her quaint, Reabonian accent.

With three steps he was at her bedside. She smiled up at him the pink and white oval of her face framed in the wealth of golden ringlets that all but concealed her silken pillow. Then she held up both arms.

“Would you leave without kissing me good-bye?” she asked reproachfully.

Contritely, he knelt beside the bed and took her in his arms.

“I did not wish to disturb your morning sleep my dear,” he said, and added: “I was only going out for a little while—to have a try at a killer-norgal. I’m told they bite best at daybreak.”

She took his face between her palms, drew it down to hers, and their lips met.

“Never leave me,” she said, “without first kissing me good-bye. Who knows how long any separation may be? Even though we may expect to be parted for but a few moments, the hand of Providence may intervene and separate us for a long time—perhaps for eternity.”

He buried his face in the soft curve of her neck as she ran her fingers through his black curls. Nor did he dream, as he held her thus for a few moments, how soon the dire prophecy in her words was to be fulfilled.

“Ill be back in a jiffy,” he said, as he stood erect a few moments later.

She watched him, love and pride in her eyes, as he strode through the door. Handsome, strong, and gentle, he was an emperor—every inch of him.

Throwing a shimmering wrap of scarlet material around her, she went to the door of her tent to watch him depart. Two guards saluted stiffly as she appeared. They were members of a company of Grandon’s crack troops, the Fighting Traveks from Uxpo. Each was armed with a tork, a rapid fire weapon that shot needle-like glass projectiles, a scarbo a cutting and thrusting weapon with a basket hilt and a blade curved like that of a scimitar, and a long-bladed spear.

Vernia watched him for a few moments as he stood beside his small fishing- boat in earnest conversation with Huba, mojak or captain of the company of Traveks who were guarding the camp. Six men stood on each side of the little craft, holding it’s nose into the breakers. In the prow of the boat was Kantar the Gunner, carefully shielding his mattork—a weapon resembling a tork, but of considerably heavier caliber and longer range, and mounted on a tripod —from the spray that was...