21
Their escort was dismissed upon their arrival at Hakon’s quarters, by his aid, who recognized Robert and Taggert at once.
“The governor will see you at once, I’m sure,” he told them. They waited in a small, sumptuously furnished anteroom, while he went to summon Hakon.
A few minutes later Hakon stepped into the room. He wore a long, loose garment which he had thrown over his sleeping clothes. His face was pitifully haggard. He seemed to have aged terribly since they had seen him last. A faint, sad smile softened his features as his eyes fell upon them.
“Ah, my young friends, I am glad to see you safely back and out of the enemy’s clutches. First, I want to thank you with my whole heart for the timely aid of the Sphere, which really turned the tide of the battle in our favor at a most critical time. Now I am grieved to hear that, through no fault of yours, it has fallen into the hands of the enemy. But, I, too, have a sorrow. My beloved daughter has been tricked into captivity.”
“A captive!” gasped Robert, clutching at his heart. His Zola a prisoner of that ogre, Kharnov!
“Here is an ultimatum just received from the beast,” resumed Hakon, dully, handing Robert a folded document.
Robert unfolded the paper.
“Your daughter will come to no harm provided you capitulate by noon tomorrow,” it read in effect.
“The dog!” cried Robert. “How did he contrive to get her into his possession?”
“This was found in her room,” said Hakon, handing him a small crumpled piece of paper.
To his surprize it had his name at the bottom, although it was written in Martian. Zola did not understand his own tongue. On the paper was written: “I am a prisoner. Unless you come to intercede for me with the emperor, I shall be put to death at dawn. Robert.”
Surely love is blind! Else she would have known that he could not have written such a wantonly selfish plea.
“This is a false message, of course,” said Robert, wondering whether Hakon believed him the author of such a note.
“I know it, my boy.”
“We must strike quickly,” said Robert. “Let me lead an attack at once. Nothing short of a complete routing of their entire army will satisfy me.”
Hakon smiled at his fierce enthusiasm.
“Even now an attack on a tremendous scale is organized,” he said. “It will take place just before dawn at a signal to be given all divisions simultaneously. You may direct the center.”
“Say, where do I come in?” broke in Taggert.
“Come along with me, old man. We’ll scrap together.”
“Fair enough. We’ll knock his Nib’s royal block off.”
Sleep that night was out of the question. As dawn approached, Robert absorbed the details of the gigantic offensive at a conference with several of the leaders. Everyone was on the alert. The governor’s daughter was a great favorite and greatly admired for her character and beauty. Every man knew of her danger and, with such an incentive to success they would be all but invincible.
When finally the signal for the general advance came over the wires, ths big army started forward in three giant columns, cautiously at first until their attack should have been observed. The absence of aircraft—because of the thin Martian atmosphere which made them impracticable—made it possible for them to make considerable progress before the enemy was aware of their supposed victims’ offensive.
It was agreed that upon the discovery of the advance of any column, that column would at once fire a rocket as the signal for a general rush upon the enemy from all points.
Robert’s column had advanced unobserved well over half-way to the enemy’s lines. Suddenly a rocket flashed heavenward from the right column. His men needed not Robert’s shouted command as they dashed madly after him toward the startled enemy less than a mile ahead.
With the rapid pace made possible on Mars by the weak gravity, they covered the intervening distance in about two minutes.
The dull drumming of the enemy’s awakened fire was punctuated by occasional thuds near by as their bullets found marks in the onrushing column.
The Svergadians met a brief check as they encountered the outpost. Then onward they swept like a great wave upon the dismayed besiegers.
The growing flush in the east bathed the battlefield in pale rose, touched here and there with purple dusk. Overhead the fading stars twinkled faintly as if shrinking from this scene of wicked strife.
In spite of their surprize the enemy rallied to a stiff defense. They had the advantage of greatly superior numbers, and knew it. And Robert’s column had charged directly into the main body of their forces.
The morale of few armies, however, could have withstood the fanaticism with which the Svergadians charged that morning. Their long, slender bayonets flashed viciously as they plunged forward fearlessly again and again. Every man was fighting to avenge his princess, whom the leader of these men had abducted. The enemy was dismayed. They were given no time to rally. Surely these were fiends who attacked them with no care for their own lives! Dismay became consternation—rout!
In vain did the enemy’s officers struggle to stem the mad retreat. The front ranks turned in panic from the vicious line of steel, and stampeded over the troops supporting them.
Side by side fought Robert and Taggert. Long since, they had emptied their automatics. Armed with bayonet guns picked up from fallen Martians, they charged blindly with the rest. That they both continued unwounded in the foremost ranks was a miracle.
But the goddess of chance is a capricious deity. She selected a moment of comparative safety to strike. It came as Robert and Taggert were vigorously following up the rout.
“Keep them on the run, men,” shouted Robert, turning and setting the example.
As he sprang forward, a thud at his right caused him to turn sharply. He was just in time to catch Taggert as he swayed and pitched forward!
“Where is it, Tag, old man?” he sobbed.
A crooked smile struggled to the reporter’s livid lips. He fumbled at the right side of his breast. A fleck of bright-colored foam showed on his lips as they moved feebly. Robert stooped close to listen.
“Running like—hell, ain’t they—Bob?”
“Like hell,” Robert assured him, choking.
Feverishly he ripped open Taggert’s shirt to reach the wound, but the latter restrained him with his last remnant of strength.
“No use, Bob. I’m—done. Please listen—closer. That’s better. Take papers—inside coat pocket—send them—The Chronicle—if you get back. Let money go—to Mother. Picture here. Tell her—and Sarah—good-bye.”
His body went limp. The last word was barely audible. His gallant spirit had flown.
Robert let Taggert’s body down reverently. Poor, happy-go-lucky fellow! Three weeks ago he had been a stranger, a stowaway, an outsider prying into their affairs. Now he seemed like a lifelong acquaintance—a brother!
The swift tide of battle had swept on ahead. Near by a large, officers’ tent reared high its peak. Strangely it had survived the fierce struggle, which, but a few minutes before, had raged round it. To this tent Robert carried Taggert’s body, and placed it softly upon a cot inside. Choking back a lump in his throat, he drew a cover up over the cot and turned away. A bright blue sash caught his eye—one of the rare, brilliant-hued bits of apparel which only the most well-to-do Martians can afford because of the scarcity of minerals for dyes. This he tied conspicuously on the outside of the tent to identify it.
With these precautions for later recovery of Taggert’s body, Robert dashed on after the receding line of battle. So hot was the chase and so overwhelming the enemy’s rout, that he had difficulty in gaining the front again.
Once more in the front rank he fought furiously, for to his original grievance was now added that of the death of a pal. The resistance of the enemy’s center was completely broken. Its officers no longer had any control over it. Whole companies surrendered rather than be slaughtered.
Suddenly, however, the headlong retreat of the enemy was checked. Those in the rear still scattered in consternation, or abjectly surrendered, but ahead there was a confusion and congestion—some obstacle against which the retreat floundered, swirled—and finally rallied.
Once more Robert found himself in the thick of the fray. Somehow, unaccountably, the enemy’s retreat had been halted. Those in contact with what had been the rear of the retreat, were now actually on the aggressive, fighting like rats, with their backs to a wall.
Goaded by the thought of Zola’s danger, Robert fought furiously. His gun he had discarded in lieu of a saber, which he now wielded with terrible destruction. His strength, superior to that of the slightly smaller-statured Martians, was augmented by his passion to destroy, to kill, until he should reach the very heart of this resistance which was keeping him from her. His very fierceness was a protection, his whirlwind attack striking terror into the hearts of the opposing Martians near him. His followers, too, inspired by his example, fought with great vigor. Like the head of a wedge they hewed their way steadily into the enemy’s ranks.
Once more their opponents were routed. Like chaff they were swept back, leaving but the core of their temporary resistance—a small knot of picked men round whom they rallied briefly though bravely.
Against this group Robert charged with his followers.
A terrific struggle ensued. By their uniforms Robert knew the stubborn group to be the emperor’s picked guardsmen. His heart leaped with fierce exultation as he realized that he was probably about to face the crafty, deceitful ruler.
It was at this juncture that Kharnov himself appeared suddenly from out a sumptuous tent!
In a belated effort he attempted to rally his remaining guards in a futile counter attack. By an almost superhuman effort Robert fought his way through the ring of defenders to the false emperor. A blaze of intense hatred leaped into the latter’s eyes as he recognized his former captive. Eagerly he sprang forward to meet him.
Because of his unusual stature among his own people, Kharnov was an equal match for Robert. In skill, with the saber, he was Robert’s superior. Both men were fired by an intense passion, but Robert’s wrath had the advantage of a righteous cause.
Warily they circled each other, the tempered blades clashing as they parried each other’s vicious thrusts. In their furious aggressiveness, both men were quickly wounded, though lightly, several times. Their shuffling feet thrashed the loose sand into spume as they circled each other swiftly. Their breath whistled hoarsely in their throats as they lurched back and forth, each eager to cut the other down.
As their first fierce vigor became dulled somewhat by their terrific exertions, both men settled down to deliberate, crafty fighting, each keenly watching for an opening which might prove fatal to the other.
Robert was handicapped by his unfamiliarity with the saber. Fortunately he was a skilled fencer. Only his skill with the foils enabled him to parry the slashing attacks of his opponent.
His eluding of Kharnov’s furious attacks only enraged the latter the more. He was overtaxing his endurance. It began to dawn upon Robert that, if he could successfully withstand Kharnov’s attacks a little longer, he would soon have a big advantage over the berserk ruler.
His opportunity came unexpectedly. Missing his footing, he all but lost his balance. Quick to take advantage of his misfortune, Kharnov launched a terrific blow at him. Had it struck home it must surely have rent Robert in twain! Fortunately, however, it missed him—but narrowly. The tip of the razorlike blade whined through the air but a fraction of an inch from Robert’s throat.
The delivery of this terrific swing momentarily unbalanced Kharnov. Recovering at this moment, Robert lunged swiftly. Precipitated upon the blade partly by the unchecked force of his wild swing, Kharnov was mortally wounded, the broad blade piercing his breast deeply. With a dreadful oath he dropped to the sand.
Robert quickly knelt at the emperor’s side to render assistance. But it was clear to him at the first glance that the unfortunate man was done.
With a supreme effort Kharnov raised himself upon his elbow. His lips twitched as he tried to speak. Then suddenly he slumped back lifeless upon the sand.
Having convinced himself that the hapless man was beyond need of aid, Robert looked to his own wounds. The battle line had swept far ahead during their private struggle. He found himself unmolested and unaided.
His cheek was bleeding profusely, but the wound proved to be superficial. The cloth of his coat, too, was wet from a wound in his arm which pained him cruelly. An attempt to remove this garment resulted in a twinge of pain almost unbearable. He swayed faintly, gritting his teeth in an effort to retain his senses.
Once more he tried to take off his coat. His head swam. Then everything went black before his eyes.