Chapter 13 The Land of Hidden Men by Edgar Rice Burroughs
Farewell For Ever!
For the first time since Gordon King had entered the palace of Beng Kher as a guest he was confronted with the realisation that the ornate apparel and trappings that had been furnished him had included no weapons of defence; and now as he saw the hanging bulging mysteriously before his eyes he stepped quickly toward it, prepared to meet either friend or foe with his bare hands. He saw the bulging fold move slowly behind the fabric toward its outer edge, and he followed, ready for any eventuality. With a quick movement the margin of the fabric was pulled aside as Hamar, the slave, stepped into the room, and at the same instant King seized him by the throat.
Recognition was instantaneous and, with a smile, the American released the slave and stepped back. “I did not know whom to expect, Hamar,” he said.
“You were well to be prepared for an enemy, master,” said the slave in low tones, “for you have powerful ones in Pnom Dhek.”
“What brings you here, Hamar, in secrecy and in such mystery?” demanded King.
“Are you alone?” asked Hamar in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“Then my mission is fulfilled,” said Hamar. “I do but ensure the safety and the secrecy of another who follows me.”
Again the hanging bulged as someone passed behind it; and an instant later Fou-tan stood before Gordon King, while the slave, Hamar, bowing low, withdrew.
“Fou-tan!” exclaimed Gordon King, taking a step toward the girl.
“My Gordon King!” whispered Fou-tan as his arms closed about her.
“What has happened that you come to me in this way?” asked King. “I knew that there was something wrong because neither Hamar nor Indra Sen came to-day and there were warriors posted at my door to keep me prisoner. But why talk of such things when I have you? Nothing else counts now, my Fou-tan.”
“Ah, Gordon King, but there is much else that counts,” replied the girl. “I should have come before, but guards were placed to keep me from you. The King, my father, is mad with rage. To-morrow you are to be destroyed.”
“But why?” demanded King.
“Because yesterday I went to my father and confessed our love. I appealed to his gratitude to you for having saved me from Lodivarman and to his love for me, believing that these might outweigh his determination to wed me to Bharata Rahon, but I was mistaken. He flew into an uncontrollable rage of passion. He ordered me to my apartment and he commanded that you be destroyed upon the morrow; but I found a way, thanks to Hamar and Indra Sen, and so I have come to bid you farewell, Gordon King, and to tell you that wherever you may go my heart goes with you, though my body may be the unwilling slave of another. Indra Sen and Hamar will guide you to the jungle and point the way toward the great river that lies in the direction of the rising sun, upon whose opposite shore you will be safe from the machination of Beng Kher and Bharata Rahon.”
“And you, Fou-tan—you will go with me?”
The girl shook her head. “No, Gordon King, I may not,” she replied sadly.
“And why?” he asked. “You love me and I love you. Come away with me into a land of freedom and happiness, where no one will question our right to love and to live as the gods intended that we should; for you, Fou-tan, and I were made for one another.”
“It cannot be, Gordon King,” replied the girl. “The thing that you suggest offers to me the only happiness that can be possible to me in life, but for such as I there is an obligation that transcends all thoughts of personal happiness. I was born a princess, and because of that there have devolved upon me certain obligations which may not be escaped. Had I brothers or sisters born of a queen it might be different, but through me alone may the royal dynasty of Pnom Dhek be perpetuated. No, Gordon King, not even love may intervene between a princess of Pnom Dhek and her duty to her people. Always shall my love be yours, and it will be harder for me than for you. If I, who am weak, am brave because of duty, how can you, a man, be less brave? Kiss me once more, then, and for the last time, Gordon King; then go with Hamar and Indra Sen, who will lead you to the jungle and point the way to safety.”
As she ceased speaking she threw her arms about his neck and drew his lips to hers. He felt her tears upon his cheeks, and his own eyes grew dim. Perhaps not until this instant of parting had King realised the hold that this dainty flower of the savage jungle had taken upon his heart. As fragile and beautiful as the finest of Meissen ceramics, this little, painted princess of a long dead past held him in a bondage beyond the power of steel.
“I cannot give you up, Fou-tan,” he said. “Let me remain. Perhaps if I talked with your father—”
“It would be useless,” she said, “even if he would grant you an audience, which he will not.”
“Then if you love me as I love you,” said King, “you will come away with me.”
“Do not say that, Gordon King. It is cruel,” replied the girl. “I am taught to place duty above all other considerations, even love. Princesses are not born to happiness. Their exalted birth dedicates them to duty. They are more than human, and so human happiness often is denied them. And now you must go. Indra Sen and Hamar are waiting to guide you to safety. Each moment of delay lessens your chances for escape.”
“I do not wish to escape,” said King. “I shall remain and face whatever consequences are in store for me, for without you, Fou-tan, life means nothing to me. I would rather remain and die than go away without you.”
“No, no,” she cried. “Think of me. I must live on, and always, if I believe you to be alive, I shall be happier than I could be if I knew that you were dead.”
“You mean that if I were alive there still would be hope?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not in the way you mean,” she replied; “but there would be happiness for me in knowing that perhaps somewhere you were happy. For my sake, you must go. If you love me you will not deny me this shred of happiness.”
“If I go,” he said, “you will know that wherever I am, I am unhappy.”
“I am a woman as well as a princess,” she replied, “and so perhaps it will give me a sad happiness to know that you are unhappy because I am denied you.” She smiled ruefully.
“Then I shall go, Fou-tan, if only to make you happy in my unhappiness; but I think that I shall not go far and that always I shall nurse hope in my breast, even though you may have put it from you. Think of me, then, as being always near you, Fou-tan, awaiting the day when I may claim you.”
“That will never be, Gordon King,” she replied sadly; “yet it will do no harm if in our hearts we nurse a hopeless hope. Kiss me again. It is Fou-tan’s last kiss of love.”
An eternity of love and passion were encompassed in that brief instant of their farewell embrace, and then Fou-tan tore herself from his arms and was gone.
She was gone! King stood for a long time gazing at the hanging that had moved for a moment to the passage of her lithe figure. It did not seem possible that she had gone out of his life for ever. “Fou-tan!” he whispered. “Come back to me. You will come back!” But the dull pain in his breast was his own best answer to the anguished cry of his stricken soul.
Again the hanging moved and bulged, and his heart leaped to his throat; but it was only Hamar, the slave.
“Come, master!” cried the man. “There is no time to be lost.”
King nodded. With leaden steps he followed Hamar to an opening in the wall behind the hanging, and there he found Indra Sen in the mouth of a corridor, a flickering torch in his hand.
“In the service of the Princess,” said the officer.
“May the gods protect her and give her every happiness,” replied King.
“Come!” said Indra Sen, and turning he led the way along the corridor and down a long flight of stone steps that King knew must lead far beneath the palace. They passed the mouths of branching corridors, attesting the labyrinthine maze that honeycombed the earth beneath the palace of Beng Kher, and then the tunnel led straight and level out beneath the city of Pnom Dhek to the jungle beyond.
“That way lies the great river, Gordon King,” said Indra Sen, pointing toward the east. “I should like to go with you farther, but I dare not; if Hamar and I are suspected of aiding in your escape, the blame may be placed upon the Princess, since Hamar is her slave and I an officer of her guard.”
“I would not ask you to go farther, Indra Sen,” replied King, “nor can I find words in which to thank either you or Hamar.”
“Here, master,” said Hamar, “is the clothing that you wore when you came to Pnom Dhek. It will be more suitable in the jungle than that you are wearing,” and he handed King a bundle that he had been carrying. “Here, also, are weapons—a spear, a knife, a bow and arrows. They are gifts from the Princess, who says that no other knows so well how to use them.”
The two waited until King had changed into his worn trappings, and then, bidding him good-bye, they entered the mouth of the tunnel, leaving him alone in the jungle. To the east lay the Mekong, where he might construct a raft and drift down to civilisation. To the south lay Lodidhapura, and beyond that the dwelling of Che and Kangrey. King knew that if he went to the east and the Mekong he would never return. He thought of Susan Anne Prentice and his other friends of the outer world; he thought of the life of usefulness that lay ahead of him there. Then there came to him the vision of a dainty girl upon a great elephant, reminding him of that moment, now so long ago, that he had first seen Fou-tan; and he knew that he must choose now, once and for all, between civilisation and the jungle—between civilisation and the definite knowledge that he would never see her again or the jungle and hope, however remote.
“Susan Anne would think me a fool, and I am quite sure that she would be right,” he murmured, as with a shrug he turned his face squarely toward the south and set off upon his long and lonely journey through the jungle.
In his mind there was no definite plan beyond a hazy determination to return to Che and Kangrey and to remain there with them until it would be safe to assume that Beng Kher had ceased to search for him. After that, perhaps, he might return to the vicinity of Pnom Dhek. And who could say what might happen then? Thus strongly is implanted in the breast of man the eternal seed of hope. Of course, he knew that he was a fool, but it did not displease him to be a fool if his foolishness kept him in the same jungle with Fou-tan.
The familiar odours and noises of the jungle assailed his nostrils and his ears. With spear in readiness he groped his way to the trail which he knew led toward the south and his destination. When he found it, some caprice of hope prompted him to blaze a tree at the spot in such a way that he might easily identify it, should he chance to come upon it again.
All night he travelled. Once, for a long time, he knew that some beast was stalking him; but if it had evil intentions toward him it evidently could not muster the courage to put them into action, for eventually he heard it no more. Shortly thereafter dawn came and with it a sense of greater security.
Shortly after sunrise he came upon a herd of wild pigs, and before they were aware of his presence he had sunk an arrow into the heart of a young porker. Then an old boar discovered him and charged, its gleaming tusks flecked with foam, its savage eyes red-rimmed with rage; but King did not wait to discuss matters with the great beast. Plentiful and inviting about him grew the great trees of the jungle, and into one of these he swung himself as the boar tore by.
The rest of the herd had disappeared; but for a long time the boar remained in the vicinity, trotting angrily back and forth along the trail beneath King and occasionally stopping to glare up at him malevolently. It seemed an eternity to the hungry man, but at length the boar appeared to realise the futility of waiting longer for his prey to descend and trotted off into the jungle after his herd, the sound of his passage through the underbrush gradually diminishing until it was lost in the distance. Then King descended and retrieved his kill. Knowing the cunning of savage tuskers of the jungle, King was aware that the boar might return to the spot; and so he did not butcher his kill there, but, throwing it across his shoulder, continued on for about a mile. Then, finding a suitable location he stopped and built a fire, over which he soon was grilling a generous portion of his quarry.
After eating, he left the trail and, going into the jungle a short distance, found a place where he could lie down to sleep; and as he dozed he dreamed of snowy linen and soft pillows and heard the voices of many people arguing and scolding. They annoyed him, so that he determined to sell his home and move to another neighbourhood; and then seemingly in the same instant he awoke, though in reality he had slept for six hours. Uppermost in his mind was his complaint against his neighbours, and loud in his ears were their voices as he opened his eyes and looked around in puzzled astonishment at the jungle about him. Then he smiled as the dream picture of his home faded into the reality of his surroundings. The smile broadened into a grin as he caught sight of the monkeys chattering and scolding in the tree above him.
Another night he pushed on through the jungle, and as morning came he guessed that he must be approaching the vicinity of Lodidhapura. He made no kill that morning and built no fire, but satisfied himself with fruits and nuts, which he found in abundance. He had no intention of risking discovery and capture by attempting to pass Lodidhapura by day, and so he found a place where he could lie up until night.
This time he dreamed of Fou-tan and it was a pleasant dream, for they were alone together in the jungle and all obstacles had been removed from their path, but presently they heard people approaching; they seemed to be all about them, and their presence and their talk annoyed Fou-tan and angered King; in fact, he became so angry that he awoke. As the figure of Fou-tan faded from his side, he kept his eyes tight shut, trying to conjure her back again; but the voices of the intruders continued, and that seemed strange to King. He could even hear their words: “I tell you it is he,” said one voice; and another cried, “Hey, you, wake up!” Then King opened his eyes to look upon twenty brass cuirasses upon twenty sturdy warriors in the uniform of Lodivarman.
“So you have come back!” exclaimed one of the warriors. “I did not think you were such a fool.”
“Neither did I,” said King.
“Where is the girl?” demanded the speaker. “Lodivarman will be glad to have you, but he would rather have the girl.”
“He will never get her,” said King. “She is safe in the palace of her father at Pnom Dhek.”
“Then it will go so much the harder for you,” said the warrior, “and I am sorry for you, for you are certainly a courageous man.”
King shrugged. He looked about him for some avenue of escape, but he was entirely surrounded now and the odds were twenty to one against him. Slowly he arose to his feet. “Here I am,” he said. “What are you going to do with me?”
“We are going to take you to Lodivarman,” replied the warrior who had spoken first. Then they took his weapons from him and tied his wrists behind his back. They were not cruel nor unduly rough, for in the hearts of these men, themselves brave, was admiration for the courage of their prisoner.
“I’d like to know how you did it,” said a warrior walking next to King.
“Did what?” demanded the American.
“How you got into the King’s apartment unseen and got out again with the girl. Three men have died for it already, but Lodivarman is no nearer a solution of the puzzle than he was at first.”
“Who died and why?” demanded King.
“The major-domo, for one,” said the warrior.
“The major-domo did naught but obey the orders of Lodivarman,” said King.
“You seem to know a lot about it,” replied the warrior; “yet that is the very reason that he died. For once in his life he should have disobeyed the King, but he failed to do so, and Lodivarman lay bound and gagged until Vay Thon came to his rescue.”
“Who else died?” asked King.
“The sentry who was posted at the banquet door with you. He had to admit that he had deserted his post, leaving you there alone; and with him was slain the officer of the guard who posted you, a stranger inside the King’s palace.”
“And these were all?” asked King.
“Yes,” said the warrior. And when King smiled he asked him why he smiled.
“Oh, nothing of any importance,” replied the American. “I was just thinking.” He was thinking that the guiltiest of all had escaped—the sentry who had permitted Fou-tan to beguile him into allowing them to pass out of the palace into the garden. He guessed that this man would not be glad to see him return.
“So even now Lodivarman does not know how I escaped from the palace?” he demanded.
“No, but he will,” replied the man with a sinister grin.
“What do you mean?” asked the American.
“I mean that before he kills you he will torture the truth from you.”
“Evidently my stay in Lodidhapura is to be a pleasant one,” he said.
“I do not know how pleasant it will be,” replied the warrior; “but it will be short.”
“Perhaps I shall be glad of that,” said King.
“It will be short, man, but it will seem an eternity. I have seen men die before to satisfy Lodivarman’s wrath.”
From his captors King learned that his discovery had been purely accidental; the party that had stumbled upon him constituted a patrol, making its daily rounds through the jungle in the vicinity of Lodidhapura. And soon the great city itself arose before King’s eyes, magnificent in its ancient glory, but hard as the stone that formed its temples and its towers, and hard as the savage hearts that beat behind its walls. Into its building had gone the sweat and the blood and the lives of a million slaves; behind its frowning walls had been enacted two thousand years of cruelties and bloody crimes committed in the names of kings and gods.
“The mills of the gods!” soliloquised King. “It is not so remarkable that they grind exceedingly fine as it is that their masters can reach out of the ages across a world and lay hold upon a victim who scarce ever heard of them.”
They were rapidly approaching one of the gates of Lodidhapura, at the portals of which King knew he must definitely abandon hope; and all that King found to excite his interest was his own apathy to his impending fate. He knew that his mind should be dwelling upon thoughts of escape, and yet he found himself assuming a fatalistic attitude of mind that could contemplate impending death with utmost composure, for, indeed, what had life to offer him? The orbit of his existence was determined by that shining sun about which his love revolved—his little flaming princess. Denied for ever the warmth and light of her near presence, he was a lost satellite, wandering aimlessly in the outer darkness and the cold of interstellar space. What had such an existence to offer against the peaceful oblivion of death?
Yet whatever his thoughts may have been there was no reflection of them in his demeanour, as with firm stride and high-held head he entered once again the city of Lodidhapura, where immediately he and his escort were surrounded by curious crowds as word travelled quickly from mouth to mouth that the abductor of the dancing girl of the Leper King had been captured.
They took him to the dungeons beneath the palace of Lodivarman, and there they chained him to a wall. As if he had been a wild beast they chained him with double chains, and the food that they brought was thrown upon the floor before him—food that one would have hesitated to cast before a beast. The darkness of his cell was mitigated by a window near the low-ceiling—an aperture so small that it might scarcely be dignified by the name of window, since nothing larger than a good-sized cat could have passed through it; yet it served its purpose in a meagre way by admitting light and air.
Once again, as it had many times in the past, a conviction sought foothold in King’s mind that he was still the victim of the hallucinations of fever, for notwithstanding all his experiences since he had entered the jungle it did not seem possible that in this twentieth century he, a free-born American, could be the prisoner of a Khmer king. The idea was fantastic, preposterous, unthinkable. He resorted to all the time-worn expedients for proving the fallacy of mental aberration, but in the end he always found himself double-chained to a stone wall in a dark-foul-stinking dungeon.
Night came and with it those most hideous of nocturnal dungeon dwellers—the rats. He fought them off, but always they returned; and all night he battled with them until, when daylight came and they left him, he sank exhausted to the stone flagging of his cell.
Perhaps he slept then, but he could scarcely know, for it seemed that almost instantly a hand was laid upon his shoulder and he was shaken to wakefulness. It was the hand of Vama, the commander of the ten who first had captured him in the jungle; and so it was neither a rough nor unfriendly hand, for the brass-bound warrior could find in his heart only admiration for this courageous stranger who had dared to thwart the desires of the Leper King, whom he feared more than he respected.
“I am glad to see you again, Gordon King,” said Vama, “but I am sorry that we meet under such circumstances. The rage of Lodivarman is boundless and from it no man may save you, but it may lessen the anguish of your last hours to know that you have many friends among the warriors of Lodidhapura.”
“Thank you, Vama,” replied King. “I have found more than friendship in the land of the Khmers, and if I also find death here, it is because of my own choosing. I am content with whatever fate awaits me, but I want you to know that your assurances of friendship will ameliorate whatever pangs of suffering death may hold for me. But why are you here? Has Lodivarman sent you to execute his sentence upon me?”
“He will not finish you so easily as that,” replied Vama. “What he has in his mind I do not know. I have been sent to conduct you to his presence, a signal honour for you, attesting the impression that your act made upon him.”
“Perhaps he wants to question me,” suggested King.
“Doubtless,” replied Vama, “but that he could have delegated to his torturers, who well know how to elicit whatever they wish from the lips of their victims.”
Vama bent and unlocked the padlock that fettered King to the wall and led him into the corridor upon which his cell opened, where the rest of Varna’s ten awaited to escort the prisoner into the presence of Lodivarman. Kau and Tchek were there with the others with whom King had become familiar while he served as a warrior of the royal guard of Lodivarman, Leper King of Lodidhapura. Rough were the greetings that they exchanged, but none the less cordial; and so, guarded by his own friends, Gordon King was conducted toward the audience chamber of Lodivarman.