Duhor was, at that time, at war with Helium and all her forces were far
afield in the south, with the exception of a small army that had been left
behind to guard the city. Jal Had, therefore, could not have selected a more
propitious time for an attack. Duhor fell, and while his troops were looting the
fair city Jal Had, with a picked force, sacked the palace of the Jeddak and
searched for the princess; but the princess had no mind to go back with him as
Princess of Amhor. From the moment that the vanguard of the Amhorian fleet was
seen in the sky she had known, with the others of the city, the purpose for
which they came, and so she used her head to defeat that purpose.
"There was in her retinue a cosmetologist whose duty it was to preserve the
lustrous beauty of the princess' hair and skin and prepare her for public
audiences, for fêtes and for the daily intercourse of the court. He was a master
of his art; he could render the ugly pleasant to look upon, he could make the
plain lovely, and he could make the lovely radiant. She called him quickly to
her and commanded him to make the radiant ugly, and when he had done with her
none might guess that she was the Princess of Duhor, so deftly had he wrought
with his pigments and his tiny brushes.
"When Jal Had could not find the princess within the palace, and no amount of
threat or torture could force a statement of her whereabouts from the loyal lips
of her people, the Amhorian ordered that every woman within the palace be seized
and taken to Amhor; there to be held as hostages until the Princess of Duhor
should be delivered to him in marriage. We were, therefore, all seized and
placed upon an Amhorian war ship which was sent back to Amhor ahead of the
balance of the fleet, which remained to complete the sacking of Duhor.
"When the ship, with its small convoy, had covered some four thousand of the
five thousand haads that separate Duhor from Amhor, it was sighted by a fleet
from Phundahl which immediately attacked. The convoying ships were destroyed or
driven off and that which carried us was captured. We were taken to Phundahl
where we were put upon the auction block and I fell to the bid of one of Ras
Thavas' agents. The rest you know."
"And what became of the princess?" I asked.
"Perhaps she died – her party was separated in Phundahl – but death could not
more definitely prevent her return to Duhor. The Princess of Duhor will never
again see her native country."
"But you may!" I cried, for I had suddenly hit upon a plan. "Where is Duhor?"
"You are going there?" she asked, laughingly.
"Yes!"
"You are mad, my friend," she said. "Duhor lies a full seven thousand, eight
hundred haads from Toonol, upon the opposite side of the snow-clad Artolian
Hills. You, a stranger and alone, could never reach it; for between lie the
Toonolian Marshes, wild hordes, savage beasts and warlike cities. You would but
die uselessly within the first dozen haads, even could you escape from the
island upon which stands the laboratory of Ras Thavas; and what motive is there
to prompt you to such a useless sacrifice?"
I could not tell her. I could not look upon that withered figure and into that
hideous and disfigured face and say: "it is because I love you, Valla Dia." But
that, alas, was my only reason. Gradually, as I had come to know her through the
slow revealment of the wondrous beauty of her mind and soul, there had crept
into my heart a knowledge of my love; and yet, explain it I cannot, I could not
speak the words to that frightful old hag. I had seen the gorgeous mundane
tabernacle that had housed the equally gorgeous spirit of the real Valla Dia –
that I could love; her heart and soul and mind I could love; but I could not
love the body of Xaxa. I was torn, too, by other emotions, induced by a great
doubt – could Valla Dia return my love. Habilitated in the corpse of Xaxa, with
no other suitor, nay, with no other friend she might, out of gratitude or
through sheer loneliness, be attracted to me; but once again were she Valla Dia
the beautiful and returned to the palace of her king, surrounded by the great
nobles of Duhor, would she have either eyes or heart for a lone and friendless
exile from another world? I doubted it – and yet that doubt did not deter me
from my determination to carry out, as far as Fate would permit, the mad scheme
that was revolving in my brain.
"You have not answered my question, Vad Varo," she interrupted my surging
thoughts. "Why would you do this thing?"
"To right the wrong that has been done you, Valla Dia," I said.
She sighed. "Do not attempt it, please," she begged. "You would but rob me of my
one friend, whose association is the only source of happiness remaining to me. I
appreciate your generosity and your loyalty, even though I may not understand
them; your unselfish desire to serve me at such suicidal risk touches me more
deeply than I can reveal, adding still further to the debt I owe you; but you
must not attempt it – you must not."
"If it troubles you, Valla Dia," I replied, "we will not speak of it again; but
know always that it is never from my thoughts. Some day I shall find a way, even
though the plan I now have fails me."
The days moved on and on, the gorgeous Martian nights, filled with her hurtling
moons, followed one upon another. Ras Thavas spent more and more time in
directing my work of brain transference. I had long since become an adept; and I
realized that the time was rapidly approaching when Ras Thavas would feel that
he could safely entrust to my hands and skill his life and future. He would be
wholly within my power and he knew that I knew it. I could slay him; I could
permit him to remain for ever in the preserving grip of his own anaesthetic; or
I could play any trick upon him that I chose, even to giving him the body of a
calot or a part of the brain of an ape; but he must take the chance and that I
knew, for he was failing rapidly. Already almost stone blind, it was only the
wonderful spectacles that he had himself invented that permitted him to see at
all; long deaf, he used artificial means for hearing; and now his heart was
showing symptoms of fatigue that he could not longer ignore.
One morning I was summoned to his sleeping apartment by a slave.
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