Twice they confronted groups coming downward by the return walk, two brilliantly-jeweled white women and a laughing, swarthy naval captain in one; two grave gray officials in the other. All of them bowed in deep respect to Gordon.
The motowalk switched off down a shimmery, pearl-walled passageway. A door ahead slid softly open of its own accord. Gordon followed through it into a high chamber with pure white walls.
The gray servant turned inquiringly toward him. “Yes, highness?”
How to get rid of the man? Gordon cut that problem short by taking the easiest method.
“I find I won't need you after all,” he said carelessly. “You may go.”
The man bowed himself out of the room, and Gordon felt a slight relaxing of his tension. Clumsy, his stratagem-but at least it had got him to the temporary refuge of Zarth Arn's apartments.
He found himself breathing heavily as though from exhausting effort. His hands were shaking. He had not realized the nervous effort his impersonation cost him. He mopped his brow.
“My God! Was any man ever in a position like this before?”
His tired mind refused to grapple with the problem now. To evade it, he walked slowly through the rooms of the suite.
Here was less splendor than he had seen elsewhere in the great palace. Apparently, Zarth Arn had not been of luxurious tastes. The rooms were comparatively austere.
The two living rooms had silken hangings and a few pieces of metal furniture of beautiful design. There was a rack of hundreds of thought-spools and one of the thoughtspool “readers.” A side room held much scientific apparatus, was in fact a small laboratory.
He glanced into a small bedroom, then went on toward tall windows that opened on a terrace gay with green verdure and flooded by sunlight. Gordon went out onto the terrace, and then froze.
“Throon City! Good Lord, who ever dreamed of a place like this.”
The little garden-terrace of his suite was high in the west wall of the huge, oblong palace. It looked out across the city.
City of the great star-empire's glory, gathering in itself an epitome of the splendor and power of that vast realm of many thousand star-worlds. Metropolis of grandeur so great that it stunned and paralyzed the eyes of John Gordon of little Earth.
The enormous white disk of Canopus was sinking toward the horizon, flashing a supernal brilliance across the scene. In that transfiguring radiance, the peaks and scarps of the Glass Mountains here above the sea flung back the sunset in banners and pennons of wild glory.
And outshining even the stupendous glory of the glassy peaks shone the fairy towers of Throon. Domes, minarets, graceful porticoes, these and the great buildings they adorned were of shimmering glass. Mightiest among the structures loomed the gigantic palace on whose high terrace he stood. Surrounded by wondrous gardens, it looked out royally across the great metropolis and the silver ocean beyond.
In the radiant sunset out there over the glittering peaks and heaving ocean there flitted swarms of fliers like shining fireflies. From the spaceport to the north, a half-dozen mighty battleships rose majestically and took off into the darkening sky.
The full grandeur and vastness of this star-empire hammered into Gordon's mind. For this city was the throbbing heart of those vast glooms and linked stars and worlds across which he had come.
“And I am supposed to be one of the ruling house of this realm!” he thought, dazed. “I can't keep it up. It's too vast, too overpowering-”
The enormous sun sank as Gordon numbly watched. Violet shadows darkened to velvet night across the metropolis.
Lights came on softly all through the glittering streets of Throon, and on the lower terraces of this giant palace.
Two golden moons climbed into the heavens, and hosts of countless stars broke forth in a glory of unfamiliar constellations that rivaled the soft, throbbing lights of the city.
“Highness, it grows late!”
Gordon turned jerkily, startled. A grave servant, a stocky man with bluish skin, was bowing.
One of Zarth Arn's personal servants, he guessed. He would have to be careful with this man.
“Yes, what of that?” he asked, with an assumption of impatience.
“The Feast of Moons will begin within the hour,” reminded the servant. “You should make ready, highness.”
Gordon suddenly remembered what Jhal Arn had said of a Feast. A royal banquet, he guessed, to be held this night.
What was it Jhal had said of some announcement that Arn Abbas was to make? And what had been the talk of “Murn” and “Lianna” and his duty?
Gordon braced himself for the ordeal. A banquet meant exposing himself to the eyes of a host of people-all of whom, no doubt, knew Zarth Arn and would notice his slightest slip. But he had to go.
“Very well, I will dress now,” he told the servant.
It was at least a slight help that the blue-skinned servitor procured and laid out his garments for him. The jacket and trousers were of silky black, with a long black cloak to hang from his shoulders.
When he had dressed, the servant pinned on his breast a comet-emblem worked in wonderfully-blazing green jewels. He guessed it to be the insignia of his royal rank in the Empire.
Gordon felt again the sense of unreality as he surveyed his unfamiliar figure, his dark, aquiline face, in a tall mirror.
“I need a drink,” he told the servant jerkily. “Something strong.”
The blue servant looked at him in faint surprise, for a moment.
“Saqua, highness?” he asked, and Gordon nodded.
The brown liquor the man poured out sent a fiery tingle through Gordon's veins.
Some of the shaky strain left his nerves as he drank another goblet of the saqua. He felt a return of reckless self-confidence as he left the apartment.
“What the devil!” Gordon thought. “I wanted adventure-and I'm getting it.”
More adventure than he had bargained for, truly. He had never dreamed of such an ordeal as was now ahead of him-of appearing before the nobility of this star-flung Empire as its prince.
All the mammoth, softly-lit palace seemed astir with soft sound and laughter and movement, as streams of brilliantly-garbed men and women moved along its motowalks. Gordon, to whom they bowed respectfully, noted their direction and went forward casually.
The gliding walks took him down through the lofty corridors and halls to a broad vestibule with wonderful golden walls. Here councilors, nobles, men and women high in the Empire, drew aside for him.
Gordon nerved himself, strode toward the high doors whose massive golden leaves were now thrown back. A silk garbed chamberlain bowed and spoke clearly into the vast hall beyond.
“His highness, Prince Zarth Arn!”
Chapter VI. The Feast of Moons
GORDON stopped stock still, shaken by an inward quaking. He stood on a wide dais at the side of a circular hall that was of cathedral loftiness and splendor.
The vast, round room of black marble held rows of tables which themselves glowed with intrinsic light. They bore a bewildering array of glass and metal dishes, and along them sat some hundreds of brilliantly-dressed men and women.
But not all these banqueters were human! Though humans were dominant, just as they were throughout the galaxy, there were also representatives of the Empire's aboriginal races. Despite their conventional garb, those he could see clearly looked grotesquely alien to Gordon-a frog-like, scaly green man with bulging eyes, a beaked, owl-faced winged individual, two black spidery figures with too many arms and legs.
John Gordon's dazed eyes lifted, and for a moment he thought this whole vast room was open to the sky. High overhead curved the black vault of the night heavens, gemmed with thousands of blazing stars and constellations. Into that sky, two golden moons and one of pale silver hue were climbing toward conjunction.