"Poh! Mortgaged to the hilt, my boy―the Academy never really brought in sufficient funds to be a paying concern. As for my belongings, well, I shall regret a painting or two, perhaps a statuette, but there is nothing else that cannot be replaced in time. I shall regret that old Irivor and I shall never again share a bottle and boast about the good old days, but that's about it. And now, no more arguments. I shall need my wits about me to get out of these cursed updrafts."
The spires of the Upper City swung about us as Lukor manipulated the controls with finesse. At this altitude the air was biting and thin, but the winds were furious and gusty, screaming like so many banshees. I ducked down behind the cowling of my cockpit, shivering and wishing I had not so recklessly tossed aside my warm woolen cloak.
After a bit Lukor found a steady downdraft and rode it in wide circles. The tiers of the Middle City swung below our hurtling keel and I caught a flying glimpse of the slums and squalid alleys of the Lower City before they were whipped from sight. One swift look and I recognized the slave pens where the wheel slaves were immured and remembered the dreary days Koja and I had spent behind those beetling walls.
How strange a thing is a man's life! A twist of fate, a turn of the balance, and he is thrust from one situation to the next, with very little say in the matter. Never had I thought to escape that frowning fortress ―but, once out of it, wandering the windy streets of the Middle City in garments stolen from the man I had killed, I had wondered where I should find a haven of safety. And then I had seen an unknown gentleman fighting for his life against a gang of street thugs!
Had I not impulsively―even rashly―sprang to his side to set my blade with his, I should not at this hour be hurtling through the wind in this flying contraption, on my way to new adventures in strange lands.
Cause and effect rule the universe, say the philosophers. Well, that may be. But I would cast my vote for blind Chance as the most significant factor in human affairs, if not in the very cosmos itself. For it was Chance that I stumbled upon the Lost City there in the trackless jungles of Cambodia, Chance that Koja spared my life because of the unusual color of my hair and eyes, Chance that I should have encountered the Princess battling against the vastodon when I was escaping from the Yathoon camp through the jungles, and Chance that I had made a friend of Lukor the Swordmaster.
Before long we left the City in the Clouds behind us and were flying through the White Mountains. It was with a curious mingling of nostalgia and relief that I watched the turrets of Zanadar fall away behind our stern. There I had known not only the grim squalor of slavery and the terror of being a hunted fugitive, but also the snug safety of a home and the kindness of a friend. But now that chapter in my adventures was fading behind me.
To either side lay some of the most spectacular scenic wonders imaginable: soaring cliffs and jagged peaks of snowy marl, crumbling plains and boulder-strewn plateaus, riven weirdly with the clefts of terrific ravines and gorges. We were traveling at truly fantastic velocity now, riding a gale that blew due south towards the foothills and the black and crimson carpet of the Grand Kumala that lay beyond.
We had descended a couple of thousand feet by now, but the screaming winds were still as biting cold as the edge of a knife. I huddled low in the cockpit, clutching my shoulders in an effort to keep warm. But despite the cold, this was certainly a better way to travel than on foot. It would have taken us days, perhaps weeks, to make our way through the desolate mountains of Varan-Hkor. And here we were coasting far above them in style, if not exactly in comfort.
I paused to reflect on the marvels I had seen. Such a fantastic flying contraption as this aerial outrigger canoe denoted an extraordinary technology. The civilization of the Zanadarians was the highest I had seen or heard of in all my months on Thanator. How could it be that one people, like the Sky Pirates, possessed stone cities, flying ships―even that tripod―like television crystal I had seen when Prince Thuton had conversed with Arkola of the Black Legion―while another, like the Yathoon Horde, were so far down the scale of culture that they could not even read or write?
Such enormous cultural differences were common enough on Earth, I reflected, where supersonic jet liners hurtled over the jungles of New Guinea, whose inhabitants are still scarcely out of the Stone Age. But this is due, in part, to the enormous distances involved. On Earth, vast oceans and entire continents separate such widely different cultures, but such is not the case on Thanator, which as a moon is much smaller than a planet. Indeed, Thanator measures only four thousand three hundred and fifty-one miles from pole to pole. The Zanadarians and the Yathoon are virtually neighbors―why then are they so vastly apart in the scale of cultural development?
And these ruminations brought me to another mystery. How was it possible a people such a Koja's, obviously evolved from some species of insect, probably one of the so-called "social insects" like ant, termite, or bee, could have grown to the rudiments of civilization on the same world with human inhabitants―the Sky Pirates, the Ku Thad, and the Perushtarians?
On Earth the insects evolved to a certain level and stopped, entering a stage of cultural stasis millions of years ago. Terrene insects were not truly intelligent beings, were not self-aware, but possessed a rudimentary intelligence called "the hive mind." Man alone had fully evolved into a rational being, and yet both species shared all those millions of square miles, surely room enough for both to develop intelligence!
Yet here on Thanator, which was only a fraction of Earth's size, two completely independent civilizations had come into being, and two widely different species had evolved to rationality side by side.
Apart, and yet close.
Dwelling only two thousand miles from each other in spatial terms―yet millions of years apart, culturally.
The arthropods had learned nothing from the Zanadarians, not even the rudiments of technology, the use of the alphabet, or the simplest of humane emotions.
Yet both races spoke the same language!
It was a mystery, all right. And a baffling one.
And I had a hunch that when at last I found the answer it would prove an astounding one!
Darloona swam groggily back to consciousness while we were still flying out of the White Mountains.
As might have seemed natural, she was wildly furious at me, and at my companions as well. Her anger at me was understandable―after all, I had knocked her unconscious in order to get her into the flying machine, which was an action hardly conducive to bettering our personal relations. But her rancor towards the gallant old Swordmaster was also virulent, and with less cause.
"I beseech you, sir, as you are a gentleman, to give over this attempt to flee and return to Zanadar. If you will take me back to the citadel, I will intercede with Prince Thuton on your behalf, and I can assure you that you will not be punished for your crimes," she vowed.
Lukor fixed her with a courteous gaze, but firmly shook his head.
"My lady," he said gently, "you are suffering from a most extreme misapprehension. Prince Thuton is not your friend, but one of your most active enemies ―and we here with you are truly your friends."
"How can it be a friendly action to kidnap me from the company of a powerful prince who has vowed to lend his forces to assist me in regaining my throne?" she demanded.
Lukor again shook his head. "No, my lady, that, too, is a misapprehension. For, while Thuton may be suave and charming, his charm lies entirely on the surface―underneath he is wily, scheming, and treacherous. Regardless of what he may vow to you, I know it for a fact that behind your back he was negotiating with your arch foe, the Lord of the Black Legion."