The Chieftan

“The Otung?” said the officer.

“I know not the meaning of that word,” said the gladiator.

“You are the one Pulendius calls ‘Dog’?”

“Yes,” said the gladiator.

“You may be an Otung,” said the officer. “Surely you are not of the empire.”

“I have brought the capsule to the lock,” said the gladiator.

“My thanks,” said the officer.

“How are we to escape?”

The officer threw a quick glance at the needle.

“I have no time to trust you, or disarm you,” he said. He then, twice, pulled the trigger on the fire pistol, and the gladiator staggered backwards, the armor black with heat. He then, spinning about, fell to the side of the shaft, near the ladder. Another shot blasted him back into the open area of the shaft, by the ladder.

Janina screamed.

“I am sorry,” said the officer.

He regarded both the distraught Janina and the princess, who had scrambled back as she could, bound, and was now to the left of the lift entrance, as one might enter it from the corridor. She jerked madly at the bonds, but, of course, was held, perfectly.

“You will remain here, slaves,” said the officer to Janina and the princess.

Then he hastily leaped through the lock port a moment before it shut. He slid through the hatch on the capsule and secured it. A moment later the outer portal opened, and, an instant after that, the capsule burst free of the Alaria.

CHAPTER 14

The gladiator lay at the bottom of the lift shaft.

Janina fled to the ladder and climbed down, to crouch beside him.

He half sat up, then fell to the side.

“Master! Master!” she wept.

There was the sound of racing feet, approaching. The gladiator crawled from the bottom of the shaft, across the tracks on which the escape capsule had been moved, to the flooring of the hold.

Faces appeared at the opening to the lift shaft, above.

“Princess!” called a man. “Are you all right? Commander! Answer me!”

The gladiator sat up, awkwardly. The chest plate of the armor had taken three charges, two at almost point-blank range. It was loose on the left, half-unhinged. The gladiator tried to rise, but fell back.

“She lied,” he said. “She gave her word. But she lied.”

“Master!” whispered Janina, frenziedly.

“Princess? Commander?” called the voice again.

“She lied,” said the gladiator.

The gladiator slipped loose the fire pistol from its holster.

“We are lost!” wept Janina.

“Courage, Princess!” called the voice. “We are coming down immediately!”

“Stay where you are!” screamed Janina.

“That is not the voice of the princess!” said a man, from somewhere above.

“Commander! Commander!” called another voice.

“My helmet, remove my helmet,” said the gladiator, weakly.

Janina struggled to lift the helmet, and then put it to the side.

Within the collar of the armor, where it had been pressed back, under the helmet, there was blood.

The blaze of electric torches, from above, darted about the shaft.

The gladiator lifted the fire pistol weakly.

Then he put it down, beside him.

“She lied,” he said.

“Oh, Master, Master,” moaned Janina.

“Who are you, woman?” called a voice from above.

“Commander!” called a man, from above.

“It may not be a commander,” said another.

“Who is the captain of the Gelstane?” called down a man.

“Who is the subcaptain of the Borsa?” called another.

“Can you speak, Commander?” asked a man.

“Answer our questions, female,” demanded a voice.

“Here,” said another, “ungag this slave and beat her. She will speak!”

“Hurry!” said a voice, with authority.

The men drew away from the opening above.

“She is a beauty,” said a man.

“A not unattractive slut,” said another.

“I saw her earlier, in the corridors,” said another.

“I, too!” said another.

“She walked well on her leash,” said another.

“That she did!” laughed a man.

“Kneel her here, before me. Strike her,” said a voice.

There was in a moment the sound of a blow and a soft cry of muffled pain.

“Do you wish to be struck again, slut?” asked a man.

There was a muffled whimper of protest, of denial.

“When you are ungagged,” said a man, “you will speak instantly, clearly and truthfully.”

“Get the gag out of her mouth,” said the authoritative voice.

“Master, what are we to do?” whispered Janina.

The gloved hand of the gladiator reached out, groping, for the fire pistol, and then he had it, again, in his hand.

“I am Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, sister of Ortog!” cried the princess above, in misery, and pain.

“Hear the slave!” laughed a man.

“The commander of the Gelstane is Surogastes, the subcaptain of the Borsa is Tethgutha, the commander of the Vorgaard is Bradow, son of Astarax! Bring me clothing, now!”

“Bring sheets,” said a man.

“Cover her,” said another voice, startled.

“Hurry the princess away,” said a man, frightened.

“Fools, fools, fools!” wept the princess.

“Sever her bonds! Carry her from this place!” said the authoritative voice.

The gladiator had now crawled to the foot of the shaft, and lifted the fire pistol. With one bolt he melted the ladder from the top of the shaft.

“Who are these others?” asked a man.

One of the men above leaped to the foot of the shaft, but there, for a moment, lost his footing, and then took the charge of the gladiator full in the chest of the armor, which blasted him back against the side of the shaft, and he sank down there, unconscious. Another man followed, but the gladiator, shaking his head, steadying the fire pistol with both hands, struck him full in the belly. A shot ripped above his own head. The gladiator, pulled the trigger again. The fellow spun about and then, drunkenly, seized the ladder and began to climb, but, in a moment, he had come to the melted termination of the ladder, feet from the top, and could go no further. He clung to the ladder, and then, struck by a third charge from the pistol, was thrust from it, and then, in a moment, fell sideways,