toward a white portico that gave entrance to this southern face of the palace, a building of magnificent simplicity set among its trees and fountains. Banning studied it with a kind of nervous curiosity. Here, ten years ago, the Valkar had been brought a prisoner, to lose all memory under Jommor's scientific magic. Now, ten years later, there came another man, Neil Banning of the far-off planet Earth. They could not be the same man, and yet—
There was a cold chill on him, though the night was warm.
'Jommor's laboratory,” whispered Rolf, with his head close to Banning's “is in the west wing — there.'
'No talking among the prisoners” said Landolph officiously, and Horek cursed him. They passed in under the broad white portico. Just before they did so, Banning managed to glance over his shoulder, and he thought he glimpsed two shadows moving where the night was darkest among the ornamental trees.
There was a long, wide hall, severe and beautiful in some pale stone, with a floor of polished marble as black as some mountain tarn in winter, and seeming quite as deep. Tall doors opened at intervals along the walls, and, at one side, a splendid staircase sprang upward in one flawless curve. A man stood waiting in the hall, and on the staircase, caught halfway by their entrance, a woman looked down upon the prisoners and guards.
Banning saw the man first of all, and an ugly sense of hate leaped up inside him. He kept his face half covered with the edge of his cloak, and looked at Jommor, half surprised that he should be so young, and not at all the bent and bearded councilor, the scientist worn with years and study. This man was tall and muscular, with a high-boned face more suited to the sword than to the test tube.
It was only in the eyes that Jommor betrayed the scientist and statesman. Looking into them, grey and steady and bright, Banning understood that he was facing a massive intellect — possibly, quite probably in fact, far beyond his own.
That thought was like a challenge, and something inside Banning snarled, we'll see!
Then the guards halted with a clang of weapons and a thunder of boot heels on the marble floor, and Banning lifted his gaze to the stairway and saw the woman. He forgot Jommor. He forgot the guards, the plan, the whole object of his being here. He forgot everything but Tharanya.
He stepped forward, so abruptly that he broke through his own men and almost through the palace guard before they caught him. He had let his mantle drop, baring his face, and he heard Jommor start and cry out under his breath. And then Tharanya had taken two steps down the stair and said a name.
She was beautiful. And she was angry. She seemed almost to glow with her anger and her hate, as though they were lamps inside her to gleam through her white flesh and put sparks in her blue eyes. And yet somehow Banning felt that underneath that hate was something else—
She came the rest of the way down the stairs, and she moved in just the way he had thought she would, with a strong free grace that was more than touched with arrogance. He would have gone forward to meet her but the guards held him back, and he too became angry, and full of hate. Hate that blended somewhere into a quite different emotion.
But he was Neil Banning, and what could Tharanya of the stars mean to him?
'You fool,” she said, “I gave you your life. Why couldn't you be content with it?'
Banning asked softly, “Is a man in my position ever content?'
She looked at him, and he thought that if she had had a knife at her girdle she would have stabbed him on the spot. “This time,” she said, “I can't save you. And this time I would not, if I could.'
Jommor moved. He came to stand beside Tharanya, and suddenly Banning remembered things that Rolf had told him, enough that he could see how matters stood with them, with all three of them — not the details, but the broad outlines, the basic situation. And he laughed.
'But you did save me before, little Empress, when you should not have. And you've waited for me all these years. Hasn't she, Jommor — in spite of all your urging that she take a consort? In all these ten long years, you still haven't quite managed to get your hands on her, or her throne!'
He moved fast, then, almost before the look of cold fury in Jommor's eyes told him that he had hit home — and yet not quite home, at that. There was something about the man, something striking and inescapable, and Banning recognized it. It was honesty. Jommor was sincere. It was not the throne he loved, it was Tharanya.
With a feeling very like respect, Banning launched himself at Jommor's throat.
He did it so swiftly and so violently that the guards, caught off balance, let him thrust them hard behind him with an outward sweep of his arms — and Banning's own men received them and pulled them off. Banning shouted, and the cry was echoed savagely under the vault of pale stone — Nalkar! Valkar!” The close-packed group of palace guards and prisoners and Sunfire's armed escort exploded suddenly into furious confusion. Banning saw Jommor's face go momentarily slack with astonishment. Then he cried out, “Go, Tharanya — it's you they're after! We can hold them — get help!'
Banning was on him, then, and he didn't say any more.
Tharanya turned and ran like a deer for the stairway. Her face was white and startled, but she was not afraid. She bounded up the steps, calling imperiously for more guards. At intervals along the stair, in wall niches, were small heavy vases of sculptured stone. Tharanya picked one up and threw it, and then another. Banning laughed. Her hair had come loose from its gauzy net and was flying wild over her shoulders. It was as red as flame. He wanted her. He wanted to catch her himself, quickly, before she could vanish into those upper corridors and fetch more guards. He wanted to be done with Jommor.
But Jommor was strong. He had no weapon on him, and he was determined that Banning should not use his. They were struggling now for the shocker Banning had pulled from beneath his tunic, and it was an even match, especially when Banning dropped the shocker entirely. The fight was swirling around them, breaking up into smaller struggling groups, and Banning saw that he was going to be cut off completely from the stair. From outside came a turbulence of shots and cries as the main body of Banning's forces from the cruiser swept in and secured the grounds. Everything was going well, better than he could have hoped, but they must have Tharanya. Without her, their whole plan fell apart, and in another moment she would be gone. It would be a long task to search the whole palace, and who knew what secret ways there might be out of it? Monarchs usually took care never to be trapped.
But Jommor's powerful arms held him, and Jommor's voice said fiercely in his ear, “You're a madman, Valkar. She's beyond your reach!'
Banning arched his back and got one arm free. He hit Jommor, hard. Blood came out of the corner of his mouth and his knees sagged, but he did not let go. Tharanya had reached the top of the stair.
Jommor said, “You've lost.'
Raging, Banning struck again, and this time Jommor stumbled and went down. But he pulled Banning with him, and he got his hand on Banning's throat, and they rolled among the trampling boots of the guards. And a blind fury came over Banning, something so deep and primitive that it had never heard of plans or reason. He got his own hands on Jommor's sinewy neck, and they tried to kill each other there on the marble floor until Rolf and Horek pulled them forcibly apart.
The hall was full of Banning's men now. The palace guards were laying down their arms. Gasping painfully for breath, Banning looked toward the stair.
Tharanya had disappeared.
'We'd better find her,” Rolf said. “Fast.'
'The Arraki,” Banning said, and shouted hoarsely. To Rolf he added, “Get some men together. And bring Jommor. We may need Him.'
He ran up the steps, and the two Arraki came racing to join him, down along the edge of the hall. “Find her,” he said to them. “Find her!” And he sent them on ahead, like two great hounds to course an Empress.
The upper corridors were still. Too still. There must be guards, servants, some of the numberless, nameless people it takes to run a palace. Banning ran, his ears strained against the silence, and Keesh and Sohmsei, the many-footed shadows, sped far faster than he up and down the branching ways.
'Not here,” said Sohmsei eagerly. “Not here, nor here. Not — yes! Here!'
There was a door. Closed and quiet, like all the doors.
Banning flung himself toward it. Keesh reached out and caught him fast.
'They wait,” he said. “Inside.'
Banning drew the pistol he had hoped he would not have to use. There was a window at the end of the corridor, close by. He looked out of it. The grounds were all quiet now below. Sunfire lay peacefully on the landing field. There was another window some twenty feet along the wall. He thought it must belong to the room.
