“It shall be tomorrow night,” was Moura’s words when he left Dana Gleason. She sat in her atol with folded hands and downcast eye, while at Moura’s command her slave women were busy getting materials ready to fit her into her wedding dress.

  Her first visitor that day was Ubca-tor, who had already heard the news. She confessed to him all that had happened. “By your God, Dana Gleason, if I myself have to murder the man who so presumptuously calls himself Ur-tor, I will do so!

  “Hear? The people are rejoicing over the news of the new treaty signed by Kirada Yal, and the news that you are to be wed to Moura. I won’t have it! I won’t!”

  “Who says he won’t?” the voice was that of Moura-Ur-tor. “Ah, it is you, my erstwhile friend.” And reaching out he gave the tor a cuff that sent him reeling.

  Dana Gleason was on her feet, her eyes blazing. “You beast,” she muttered between closed teeth. “Be gone. I don’t care to see you until tomorrow night, and then perhaps no more. For,” she added turning to the youth who had slowly crawled to his feet, “I will declare myself the mate of this man, but henceforth he will have to seek me in Ora!” And again to Moura, “Go, now, go!”

  Surprised by the ire he had aroused in the woman, he departed. He laughed to himself when he thought of her threat. She was not done with Moura-Ur-tor yet!

  A LONELY TRYST

  That night Richard Dorr waited hours in the bower for Dana Gleason. He did not know that after Moura had left Dana Gleason fell into a dead swoon from which the slave women could not arouse her. She lay as if dead, and only by holding a glass over her face were the women able to see that she breathed. Ubca-tor had carried her to a couch, knowing that Moura was the cause of her condition. He had seen him practice the same thing upon slaves.

  Dorr had heard the proclamations that day concerning the treaty with Gora, also the one that Moura-Ur-tor and Dana Gleason had avowed their betrothal that day. Of the treaty he had been aware, advising Kirada Yal, on leaving Gora, to accept any terms that the ambassador from Tabora might present to him; but he could not account for the second announcement. Nor for the intended ceremony the following night. Possibly Dana Gleason was wisely playing for time. Yet he could not understand why she did not appear at their trysting place.

  Suddenly his heart quickened. Coming toward him was the slender form of Dana Gleason. Only it was not Dana. It was Dure, her slave girl. Breathlessly the girl hastened to tell him all that had happened. She had heard the words that Moura had spoken to Dana Gleason, heard him force her to mate him, else to have her lover die, and she told him what state she was in now.

  Dorr swore under his breath. Then he recalled that Dana had spoken of a slave girl who resembled her. This then was the girl. He asked her if she thought she could disguise herself as Dana Gleason, and quickly outlined his plan, for he knew that all the slaves of Tabora were with him and anxious to do his bidding.

  “Do you love your mistress enough,” he asked, “to die for her, perhaps?”

  “Yes, I love Dana Gleason and Richard Dorr enough. And in dying, I can be happy in knowing that you two are saving my people—and mayhap I shall not die”; and she laughed. “No, I do not fear to pit my wits against those of Moura-Ur-tor.”

  “Is anyone with her now?”

  “Only the slave women and Ubca-tor, who swears that Moura-weit (curse his name) shall never have her. It was through his love for Dana Gleason that Ubca-tor went into Gora to discover if you lived.”

  “One can be brave for love; a pity that he loves one who is not for him. However, I should be afraid to trust him. I must not be captured.”

  “I will see if I can send the tor away. Wait here until I return …”

  She was back shortly and motioned for the Earthling to approach the house. He found Dana supine upon the couch, her face white and drawn, eyes closed; she was scarcely breathing. He tried such methods as he knew early hypnotists to use, slapping her cheeks gently, snapping his fingers and breathing in her face, but to no avail. He could not arouse her.

  No one else was about. Dure had sent the other slaves to their quarters, for as her mistress’s favorite, she ruled them all. She hurried away to return with a box containing various paints. “We Boatans, as well as the Taborans, paint our bodies and faces when our color is sallow or spotted. Hence I already have the proper paint to make Dana Gleason as golden as I am.” So with Dorr’s help she applied the paintbrush on the face, arms, hands, and feet of the unconscious woman, though first she mixed other paints to the exact shade of the Earthling’s complexion. At her direction, Dick rubbed in the oils that gave the right polish to Dana’s disguised skin.

  With that done, Dure proceeded to daub herself. She knew that on the following day they would come to dress her in new garments so that her entire body would need to be painted. She divested herself of the dress that marked her for a slave, and began covering herself with the paint. Abruians have no false modesty for the body, so that she thought nothing of appearing before the man without clothing. He was surprised when that was done to see how much she resembled Dana Gleason. She rouged her lips and applied a dye to her hair, and, but for her eyes of red, she was a twin sister of the Earthling.

  Between them they changed Dana Gleason’s clothing, dressing her in the slave’s garments and redressing Dure in Dana’s discarded suit. They were too busy to see that the day was already dawning when they at last completed their task. Then Dure ordered Dorr to carry Dana Gleason into another bedroom. He must leave her lying there until the night, when he could come for her and carry her to Gora. Dure did not doubt that Moura’s spell would lose its hold in a few more hours. She now prevailed upon Richard Dorr to leave ere he was discovered there. She threw herself upon Dana Gleason’s couch, closing her eyes and assuming the same deathlike pose.

  Richard Dorr was about to leave as he had come, when suddenly retreat was cut off. Moura-Ur-tor had entered the room undetected. He smiled coolly when he recognized in this silver-skinned man the Earthling with his blue eyes.

  “Ah, so the prey has come to the hunter, eh?” he remarked jovially. “And how do you like my handiwork, Richard Dorr? I suppose you have been trying to revive her?” he said with a wave of his hand toward the couch.

  “Nice of you to come calling this way. It saves my men the work of searching the city for you. I have decided to allow you to be present at the ceremony that will make Dana Gleason and myself mates. And in Tabora, you know, there is no practice of divorce. Once wed, always wed! Nice custom, eh?”

  Dorr had nothing to say. He knew that behind him lay the slave quarters and that he could escape out into the city through them. He had heard much of Moura-Ur-tor, and found he did not like him at all. He hoped that Dure could carry out her part of the contract.

  “So Richard Dorr has nothing to tell me, I see,” observed Moura with a smile still on his face. “Richard Dorr does not enjoy the prospect of seeing the woman he loves take another man to mate, nor the thought of prison and death!”

  At his words, a low laugh now broke from Dorr’s lips. “Quite a nice picture that, but believe me I have no idea of carrying out your plans, my villainous friend. And as for your schemes concerning Dana Gleason, I fear you have come into a ringer there.” It chagrined Moura that he could not see behind Dorr’s inscrutable eyes, for the Earthling had learned early on the planet to withhold his thoughts from another. “As to your marriage to this woman here, you are welcome to her. I have nothing to do with a lifeless thing!”

  And he turned away as if contemplating some future course to take. His words, as Dorr expected, aroused a fear in Moura-Ur-tor’s mind. Quickly he was at the side of the couch. Concentrating his thoughts upon the figure lying there, he ordered her to awaken. There was no response! And he was surprised to find a blank mind into which he could not delve facing him.

  Reaching down he shook her, only to feel the lifeless, unresponsive body. He half drew her to a sitting position, and her head lolled back, her arms drooped. Dure had understood what was in Dorr’s mind, and she reacted accordingly. She would have enjoyed the spectacle of seeing Moura’s wroth. Now, in consternation, he faced Richard Dorr.

  “What have you done to her?”

  Dorr shrugged his shoulders. “I have done nothing. I found her that way. I believe she is dead.”

  “You lie, you inhuman beast. Can you stand there and look with such little concern upon the woman you have professed to love? Is that the temper of your Earthly heart? Can you stand there and laugh down upon the woman who has loved you these many months, even though she thought you dead?”

  Dorr was staring in wonder at the other. He had hated Moura, but now when he saw the look of a broken man in his eyes and heard his voice trembling with emotion, he felt pity for the man instead of hatred.

  “So do you love Dana Gleason, Moura-Ur-tor?” he asked softly.

  Moura looked up in surprise. “I love Dana Gleason—I—don’t know. I had not thought of her with love in my heart. I have never known love.” Then the soft mood forsook him, and he realized his position. Straightening, he got to his feet. “Well, no matter. But you are wrong, Dana Gleason still lives, and you shall see her tonight as she becomes, as you say in your language, my bride!”

  Putting a whistle to his lips, Moura blew a blast. At the same time Richard Dorr headed for the doorway to the rear and soon had reached the back entrance of the house. What slaves he met hurried out of his way. They knew who he was and would have protected him with their lives. They did make the attempt, too, when he discovered that the entire house was surrounded by the Ur-tor’s guard.

  The slaves gathered around him, but he commanded them to stand off, as he did not wish to implicate them in his capture. He was captured and when Dure got up from her couch to watch, she saw Moura leading the way to the palace above.

  The slave women gathered about her and she told all that had happened. Then she hurried to the room in which Dana Gleason lay. She found her with her eyes open, staring about. Moura had attempted to awaken the slave girl who lay disguised as Dana on the couch. In the adjoining bedroom Dana Gleason had heard the summons and opened her eyes. She lay listening to the talk from the other room, and made out something of what was going on there. Wisely she lay still until she made sure that Moura had gone. She understood the fact that Richard Dorr had been apprehended, and tears stood in her eyes. Dure found her silently crying.

  Glad to find that Dana had been aroused out of the coma into which Moura had flung her mind, Dure rapidly told her all that had happened. “Go, call Ubca-tor. I am sure he will do something to aid us,” commanded Dana, and Dure hastened to summon the youth.

  He came, surprised at the transformation of Dana Gleason. He avowed he could do nothing to free Richard Dorr, who was now a prisoner of the state, but when the three put their heads together, a plan was concocted.

  The sunset was already painting the sky when Moura-Ur-tor came to the atol of Dana Gleason. He found Dure lying dressed in the magnificent costume that had been prepared for Dana Gleason. He now bent over her and carefully smoothed her brow, spoke to her and called her mind back to the brain chamber. Dure had carefully been practicing the part that she knew was to come. Slowly she moved her eyelids but took care not to open her eyes wide. She gave a single glance at Moura and turned away her head, as she knew Dana Gleason would have done in the same position.

  “Come,” said the man, “we shall be late!”

  A slave woman standing by spoke for her. “My mistress had not a bite to eat all day, Ur-tor.”

  Impatiently the man waited until food was brought and eaten, then he slowly led the woman at his side up the broad stairs. The great square before the palace was filled with a thousand guardsmen. The setting sun bathed them in its rosy hues, tinting their flesh and metal accoutrements. The great jeweled door of the palace stood open, and they entered side by side. The Kirada himself joined their hands. The supposed Dana Gleason stood with eyes meekly downcast. Moura-Ur-tor proudly stared about him. His heart was full to overflowing. He was acknowledged Ur-tor of all Abrui. He had for wife the bravest woman in the land. He had for prisoner the man he hated most vehemently.

  Hidden by tapestries that were arranged so that he might see all stood Richard Dorr among his guards. He was slouched against the wall, taking delight in the scene before him. There was nothing downcast in his manner. His guards eyed him warily; doubtful as to what he was, doubtful as to his intentions. Not that Dorr showed he was anxious to make an attempt to escape, but he did have the air of one who knew that he would not be detained over-long by his captors.

  The ceremony was over, and Dorr’s heart beat wildly when he realized that Dure, the slave girl, had played her part letter perfect. He was anxious to know how Dana fared. Had she been released from her coma? He feared the worst, and he waited impatiently until his guards were ready to lead him back to his prison. Only they did not lead him back immediately.

  BEFORE THE KING

  Moura-Ur-tor had one more trump to play. He was now facing Kirada Kalti, and he was telling him about a spy in their midst. Dorr lifted his eyebrows as he heard himself described as a most despicable character. When he was led before the Kirada, he held his head high and his eyes flashed, but he was able to control himself and told the Kirada he had nothing to give in answer to the accusations. He listened to the long speech Kalti made before sentencing the prisoner to death. He was standing within five feet of the dais where Dure sat on the throne chair especially designed for Dana Gleason. He caught the whispered words of the slave. She had been carefully drilled to say the few French words. Her message was, “She waits for you.”

  With a light heart he was led away to the cells below the palace floor. Moura took his bride by the arm and they embarked in his plane. Moura had planned a honeymoon such as Dana Gleason had described; such as all newly married couples took on Earth. Such a procedure was unknown to Abrui.

  In the mountains was a small estate that he had inherited from his family. Here in its seclusion he had planned to bring Dana Gleason and break her to his will. In the privacy of the cof he took his wife in his arms and embraced her. She lay passive in his arms, and as he looked into her face she opened her eyes wide. They were the red eyes of Dure!

  That night was rung the death knell of Tabora, yet Tabora was unaware. That night was to go down in history as a night of the greatest terror the Taboran world had ever known. It was henceforth to be called the Revolt of the Slaves. There was no bloodshed, only desertion.

  At the proper hour all Tabora succumbed to sleep and its great cities lay quiet. Just what happened none was certain, but, at the hour that is midnight, every house gave up its allotment of slaves. Like wraiths they crept forth. Noiselessly every airplane was rolled forth from its hangar, every airship was released from its moorings. What guards there were to object were silenced, each one by a hand on the throat, a gag in the mouth; hands and feet were then bound together.

  There was a rustle like wind in the trees when the planes lifted their wings; their motors were silent, they soared to the heights above the cities. Every metropolis, every city, every village, every hamlet, every plantation, every farmhouse was silently divested of its wings! The guards and soldiers were not even aroused from their games or their catnaps. People serenely slept and dreamed.

  And not until morning did they know what had happened. But the few faithful slaves who remained behind would not speak. The slaves were gone, bag and baggage, with every flying machine in the land. And with them had gone Richard Dorr!

  Of him his guards had nothing to say. They evinced surprise when they learned that he had disappeared. Had not Ubca-tor, nephew of the Kirada, come and claimed that his majesty wished an audience with the prisoner? True, guards escorted him as far as the anteroom of the palace, but beyond that—was he not in the keeping of the king? Ubca-tor was not to be found.

  Evening found Moura-Ur-tor in Carajama. He arrived on the back of his one remaining slave, the only slave in Tabora who had a kind word for the master. It was a sorry story Moura had to tell. His bride had held him off with a devilish little weapon, the one Dana Gleason always carried with her. She had demonstrated its power to Moura, and Dure had shown him she knew how to use it. Then with the company of slaves who maintained his country house and estate she had arisen in the air in Moura’s plane, and he had seen the plane head for Gora!

  Tabora was in a state of fear, disorganized, fearful of what the next hour was to bring. They blamed Moura-Ur-tor and his treaty with Kirada Yal. Yal had been but stalling for time, waiting for the return of his champion, who had promised to bring the Tabora planes to him, for Gora had no planes. In the streets people shrilled the name of Moura-Ur-tor, whom they now disdainfully called Moura-weit. They hissed, they spat.

  Moura called the three Taboran Kiradas together. From Ora had come word that she would have nothing to do with the dealings. She agreed with Richard Dorr that justice should be done. Give to the Gora the lands that had been wrested from them! Give Moata land to live in!

  The Kiradas, with Moura backing them, cried no! As rapidly as it could be done, every city was prepared for siege, on every citadel was mounted the great death ray machines with which they were certain they could wipe out any fleet of planes that should come warring. Old obsolete planes were brought out of hiding. In the airship workshops thousands of men were put to work to build the new airships and complete half-finished ones. A great activity was apparent.

  At noon a voice was heard on the new radio of Dana Gleason. It was the voice of Kirada Yal. He explained that Gora was ready to do battle, but first she was giving Tabora a chance to do the sporting thing. The demands of Gora were simple enough. She only wanted her own lands back, the lands occupied at the present by Doata! For Moata she demanded Loata. Gora would be magnanimous. She would not drive Tabora back to the wastelands from which she had come. Gora would give Zoata to Tabora for her own, that they might all live together in peace and brotherhood, that they might all have their place in the sun.