Chapter 16 The Land of Hidden Men by Edgar Rice Burroughs
In the Palace of Beng Kher
Lodivarman, the King, was resting after the battle that had brought victory to his arms. Never had he been in a happier mood; never had the gods been so kind to him. Free from the clutches of the loathsome disease that had gripped him for so many years and now victorious over his ancient enemy, Lodivarman had good reason for rejoicing. Yet there was a shadow upon his happiness, for he had lost many brave soldiers and officers during the engagement, and not the least of these was the new prince, Gordon King, whom he looked upon not only as his saviour, but as his protector from disease in the future. At his orders many men had searched the battlefield for the body of his erstwhile enemy, whom he now considered his most cherished captain; but no trace of it had been found, nor of his elephant nor his mahout; and it was the consensus of opinion that the beast, frenzied by wounds and terrified by the din of conflict, had bolted into the forest and that both men had been killed as the elephant plunged beneath the branches of great trees. A hundred warriors still were searching through the jungle, but no word had come from them. There could be but slight hope that the new prince lived.
While Lodivarman lay upon his royal couch, grieving perhaps more for himself than for Gordon King, a palace functionary was announced. “Admit him,” said Lodivarman.
The courtier entered the apartment and dropped to one knee. “What word bring you?” demanded the King.
“The prince, Gordon King, seeks audience with Lodivarman,” announced the official.
“What?” demanded Lodivarman, raising himself to a sitting position upon the edge of his couch. “He lives? He has returned?”
“He is alive and unhurt, Your Majesty,” replied the man.
“Fetch him at once,” commanded Lodivarman, and a moment later Gordon King was ushered into his presence.
“The gods have been kind indeed,” said Lodivarman. “We thought that you had fallen in battle.”
“No,” replied King. “I pursued the enemy too far into the jungle, but in doing so I discovered something that means more to me than my life, Lodivarman, and I have come to you to enlist your aid.”
“You have but to ask and it shall be granted,” replied the King.
“The prince, Bharata Rahon, of Pnom Dhek, assassinated Beng Kher and is now hastening back to Pnom Dhek to force the Princess, Fou-tan, to wed him; and I have hastened to you to ask for men and elephants wherewith I may pursue Bharata Rahon and save Fou-tan from his treachery.”
Perhaps this was a bitter pill for Lodivarman to swallow, for no man, not even a king, may easily forget humiliation—perhaps a king least of all—and he did not like to be reminded that Fou-tan had spurned him and that this man had taken her from him. But more powerful than his chagrin was his sincere gratitude to Gordon King, and so it is only fair to record that he did not hesitate an instant when he had heard the American’s request.
“You shall have everything that you require—warriors, elephants, everything. You have heard?” he demanded, turning to an official standing near him.
The man nodded. “It is the King’s command, then,” continued Lodivarman, “that the prince be furnished at once with all he requires.”
“A hundred elephants and five hundred men will answer my purpose,” said King, “the swiftest elephants and the bravest warriors.”
“You shall have them,” said Lodivarman.
“I thank Your Majesty,” said King. “And now permit me to depart, for if I am to be successful there is no time to lose.”
“Go,” said Lodivarman, “and may the gods accompany you.”
Within the hour a hundred elephants and five hundred warriors swung through the north gate of Lodidhapura along the broad avenue beyond and into the jungle.
Far to the north, hastening through the forest to Pnom Dhek, moved Beng Kher’s defeated army; and in the van was the Prince, Bharata Rahon, gloating in anticipation over the fruits of his villainy. Already was he demanding and receiving the rights and prerogatives of royalty, for he had spread the word that Beng Kher had been killed in battle and that he was hastening to Pnom Dhek to wed the Princess Fou-tan.
Early in the forenoon of the second day following the battle, Fou-tan, from her palace window, saw the column of returning elephants and warriors emerge from the forest. That the trumpets and the drums were mute told her that defeat had fallen upon the forces of the King, her father, and there were tears in her eyes as she turned away from the window and threw herself upon her couch.
Perhaps an hour later one of her little ladies-in-waiting came to her. “The Prince, Bharata Rahon, awaits you in the audience chamber, my Princess,” she said.
“Has not my father, the King, sent for me?” demanded Fou-tan.
“The Prince brings word from your father,” replied the girl, and there was that in her tone more than in her words that sent a qualm of apprehension through the heart of the little Princess.
She arose quickly. “Send word to Bharata Rahon, the Prince, that the Princess comes,” she said. Quickly her slaves attended to her toilet, removing the traces that the tears had left and replacing the loosened strands of her hair.
In the corridor outside of her apartment awaited the functionaries that would accompany her to the audience chamber and Indra Sen in command of a detachment of the warriors of her guard, for the little Princess Fou-tan moved only with pomp and ceremony.
Through her own private entrance she came into the audience chamber, where she saw congregated the high officers of Pnom Dhek, the priests of the temple, and the captains in their burnished cuirasses and helmets; and as she came they knelt until she had reached the foot of the empty throne, where Bharata Rahon stood to receive her.
“Where is the King, my father?” she asked in a frightened voice.
“Beloved Princess,” replied Bharata Rahon, “I bring you sad news.”
“The King is dead!” cried Fou-tan.
Bharata Rahon inclined his head in assent. “He fell in battle bravely,” he said, “but before he died he entrusted to me his last command to you.”
“Speak,” said the girl.
“It is believed that Lodivarman will follow up his victory and attack Pnom Dhek, and in addition to this we are threatened by enemies within our own walls—conditions which require a king upon the throne; and so it was your father’s dying command that you wed at once, that Pnom Dhek may be ruled and guided by a man through the dangers which confront her.”
“And the man that I am to marry is you, of course,” said Fou-tan coldly.
“Who other could it be, my Princess?” asked Bharata Rahon.
“This is a matter which I do not care to discuss in public audience,” said Fou-tan. “After a suitable period of mourning for my father, the King, we may perhaps speak of the matter again.”
Bharata Rahon quelled the anger that arose in his heart and spoke in soft tones. “I can well appreciate the feelings of Your Majesty at this time,” he said, “but the matter is urgent. Please dismiss everyone and listen to me in patience for a moment.”
“Send them away then,” said Fou-tan wearily, and when the audience chamber had been cleared, she nodded to Bharata Rahon. “Speak,” she said, “but please be brief.”
“Fou-tan,” said the Prince, “I would that you would wed me willingly, but the time now has passed for all childishness. We must be wed to-night. It is imperative. I can be King without you, for I have the men and the power. But there are others who would rally around you, and Pnom Dhek would be so weakened by civil war that it would fall an easy prey to Lodivarman. To-night in this hall the high priest shall wed us, if it is necessary to drag you here by force.”
“It will be by force then,” said Fou-tan, and, rising, she called to her guard that stood waiting just beyond the doorway.
“By force then,” snapped Bharata Rahon, “and you will see how easily it may be done.” As he spoke he pointed to the guardsmen entering the audience chamber to escort Fou-tan to her quarters.
“These are not my men,” she cried. “Where is Indra Sen? Where are the warriors of my guard?”
“They have been dismissed, Fou-tan,” replied Bharata Rahon. “The future King of Pnom Dhek will guard his Queen with his own men.”
The Princess Fou-tan made no reply as, surrounded by the soldiers of Bharata Rahon, she left the audience chamber and returned to her own apartment, where a new surprise and indignity awaited her. Her slaves and even her ladies-in-waiting had been replaced by women from the palace of Bharata Rahon.
Her case seemed hopeless. Even the high priest, to whom in her extremity she might have turned for succour, would be deaf to her appeal, for he was bound by ties of blood to the house of Bharata Rahon and would be the willing and eager tool of his kinsman.
“There is only one,” she murmured to herself, “and he is far away. Perhaps, even, he is dead. Would that I, too, were dead.” And then she recalled what Bharata Rahon had said of the great danger that menaced Pnom Dhek, and her breast was torn by conflicting fears, which were lighted by no faintest ray of hope or happiness.
All during the long hours that followed, Fou-tan sought for some plan of escape from her predicament; but at every turn she was thwarted, for when she sought to send a message to Indra Sen, summoning him to her, and to other officials of the palace and the state whom she knew to be friendly to her, she found she was virtually a prisoner and that no message could be delivered by her except through Bharata Rahon, nor could she leave her apartment without his permission.
She might have melted into tears in her grief and anger, but the Princess of Pnom Dhek was made of sterner stuff. Through the long hours she sat in silence while slaves prepared her for the nuptial ceremony; and when at last the hour arrived, it was no little weeping queen that was escorted through the corridors of the palace toward the great audience chamber where the ceremony was to be performed, but a resentful, angry little queen with steel in her heart and another bit of shining, sharpened steel hidden in the folds of her wedding gown; and on her lips was a whispered plea to Siva, the Destroyer, to give her the strength to plunge the slim blade into the heart of Bharata Rahon or into her own before morning dawned again.
Through the dark forest from the south moved a hundred elephants, their howdahs filled with grim, half-savage warriors. At their head rode Gordon King chafing at the slow pace which the darkness and the dangers of the jungle imposed upon them.
Riding the howdah with King was an officer who knew well the country around Pnom Dhek and he it was who directed the mahout through the night. Presently he caused the elephant to be halted.
“We are nearing Pnom Dhek now,” he said, “and are very close to the point upon the trail which you described to me.”
“Bring the torch then and come with me,” said King, and together the two men descended to the ground where the officer lighted the flare and handed it to King.
Moving slowly along the trail, the American carefully examined the trees at his left, and within a hundred yards of the point at which they had left the column he halted.
“Here it is,” he said. “Go and fetch the warriors, dismounted. Direct the mahouts to hold the elephants here until we return or until they receive further orders from me. Make haste. I shall await you here.”
In the great assembly hall of the palace of Beng Kher were gathered the nobles of Pnom Dhek. The captains and the priests were there in glittering armour and gorgeous vestments, their women resplendent in silks and scintillating gems. Upon a raised dais the Prince Bharata Rahon and the Princess Fou-tan were seated upon thrones. The high priest of Siva stood between them, while massed in a half-circle behind them stood the nobles of the house of Bharata Rahon and the glittering warriors, who were their retainers. Among these was none of Fou-tan’s allies. Neither Indra Sen nor any other officer or man of her personal guard was in the audience chamber, nor had she seen or heard aught of these since she had been conducted to the audience chamber in the morning. She wondered what fate had befallen them, and her heart was filled with fear for their safety, realising as well she might the extremes to which Bharata Rahon might go in his ruthless greed for power.
Before the dais the apsarases were dancing to drum and xylophone, cymbal and flute. The little dancers, nude above the waist, stepped and postured through the long ritual of the sacred dance; but Fou-tan, though her eyes stared down upon them, did not see them. All that she saw was the figure of a warrior in battered brass—a warrior with bronzed skin and clear eyes, who had held her in his arms and spoken words of love into her ear. Where was he? He had told Indra Sen that he would never leave the jungle, that always he would be near; and Indra Sen had repeated his words to Fou-tan—words that she had cherished in her heart above all the jewels of memory. How close he seemed to-night! Never since he had departed had Fou-tan so felt his presence hovering near, nor ever had she so needed him. With a quick, short sigh that was half a gasp she shook herself into a realisation of the futility of her dreams. Now she saw the apsarases. Their dance was drawing to a close. When it was over the high priest and his acolytes would initiate the ceremony that would make Fou-tan the wife of Bharata Rahon and give Pnom Dhek a new king.
As the girl shuddered at the thought and her fingers closed upon the hilt of the dagger beneath her gorgeous robe, a man stumbled through the darkness of the night toward the outer walls of Pnom Dhek; and behind him, silent as spectres from another world, came five hundred brass-bound men-at-arms.
No light guided them now, for they were approaching the guarded walls of the city; but so indelibly fixed in the memory of Gordon King was this way which he had traversed but once before that he needed no light. Into the mouth of a shallow ravine he led his warriors; and toward its head, where the wall of Pnom Dhek crossed it, he found a little doorway, well hidden by shrubbery and vines. So well hidden was this secret passage, planned by some long dead king, that no bar secured the door that closed its entrance—a precaution made necessary, doubtless to satisfy the requirements of a king who might find it necessary to enter as well as to leave the city in haste and secrecy. But whatever the reason it was a godsend this night to Gordon King as he led his spearmen and his archers beneath the city of Pnom Dhek toward the palace of Beng Kher.
Once safely within the corridor, they lighted their torches; and in the flickering, smoky flame the column moved noiselessly toward its destination. They had gone a considerable distance passing the openings to other corridors and to dark chambers that flanked their line of march, when Gordon King was confronted by the disheartening realisation that he had lost his way. He knew that when Indra Sen and Hamar had led him from the palace they had not passed through any corridor resembling that in which he now found himself. For the moment his heart sank, and his high hopes waned.
To be lost in this labyrinthine maze beneath the palace and the city was not only discouraging but might well prove fatal to his plan and, perhaps, to the safety and the lives of his command. He felt that he must keep the truth from his followers as long as possible, lest the effect upon their morale might prove disastrous; and so he moved boldly on, trusting that chance would guide him to a stairway leading to the level of the ground above.
His mind was harassed by unhappy apprehensions concerning Fou-tan. He was obsessed by the conviction that she was in dire and imminent peril, and the thought left him frantic because of his helplessness.
Such was his state of mind when, as he was passing along a corridor flanked on either side by dark and gloomy doorways, he saw that the passageway he was following ended at a transverse corridor. Which way should he turn? He knew that he could not hesitate, and at that moment he heard a voice calling his name from the interior of a dark cell beyond one of the gloomy doorways.
King halted as did the men near him, startled and apprehensive, their weapons ready. King stepped toward the doorway from which the voice had come.
“Who speaks?” he demanded.
“It is I—Indra Sen,” replied the voice, and with a sigh of relief that was almost a gasp King stepped quickly to the low doorway.
The light of his torch illuminated a narrow cell, upon the floor of which squatted Indra Sen, chained to the wall.
“May the gods be thanked that you have come, Gordon King,” cried the young Khmer officer; “and may they grant that you are not too late to prevent a tragedy.”
“What do you mean?” demanded King.
“Fou-tan is to be forced to wed Bharata Rahon to-night,” replied Indra Sen. “Perhaps the ceremony already has been performed. All those whose duty it is to defend Fou-tan have been chained in the dungeon here.”
“Where is the ceremony to be performed?” demanded King.
“In the great audience chamber,” replied Indra Sen.
“Can you lead me there by the shortest route?”
“Take off my fetters and those of my men and I will not only lead you, but we will strike with you in the service of our Princess.”
“Good!” exclaimed Gordon King. “Where are your men?”
“Along both sides of this corridor.”
To release them all was the work of but a few moments, for willing hands and strong struck off the fetters; and then, directed by Indra Sen, the party moved quickly on to its work. The warriors of Fou-tan’s guard had no weapons other than their bare hands and the hatred that was in their hearts, but once within the audience chamber they knew that they would find weapons upon the bodies of their antagonists.
The high priest of Siva stepped forward and, turning, faced Bharata Rahon and Fou-tan. “Arise,” he said, “and kneel.”
Bharata Rahon stepped from his throne half-turning to await Fou-tan, but the girl sat rigid on her carved chair.
“Come,” whispered Bharata Rahon.
“I cannot,” said Fou-tan, addressing the high priest.
“You must, my Princess,” urged the priest.
“I loathe him: I cannot mate with him.”
Bharata Rahon stepped quickly toward her. His lips were smiling for the benefit of those who watched from below the dais; but in his heart was rage, and cruel was the grip that he laid upon the gentle wrist of Fou-tan.
“Come,” he hissed, “or by the gods you shall be slain, and I shall rule alone.”
“Then slay me,” said Fou-tan. But he dragged her to her feet; and those below saw his smiling face and thought that he was merely assisting the little Princess, who had been momentarily overcome by the excitement of the occasion.
And then a great hanging parted at the rear of the dais behind the throne, and a warrior stepped out behind the semicircle of those that half-surrounded Bharata Rahon and his unwilling bride. Perhaps some in the audience saw the tall warrior; perhaps at the instant they were moved to surprise, but before they could give an alarm, or before they could realise that an alarm was necessary, he had shouldered his way roughly through the cordon of warriors standing between him and the three principals at the front of the dais, and behind him the doorway through which he had come spewed a torrent of hostile warriors.
Cries of alarm arose simultaneously from the audience and from the warriors of Bharata Rahon who stood upon the dais, and above all in sudden fury burst the war-cry of Lodidhapura.
Simultaneously Bharata Rahon and Fou-tan wheeled about and instantly recognised Gordon King, but with what opposite emotions!
With a curse Bharata Rahon drew his sword. A dozen spearmen leaped toward the rash intruder only to be hurled back by the warriors of Lodidhapura and the unarmed soldiers of Fou-tan’s guard, led by Indra Sen.
“Dog of a slave!” cried Bharata Rahon, as the two men stood face to face, and at the same time he swung a heavy blow at King’s helmet—a blow that King parried and returned so swiftly that the Khmer prince had no defence ready.
It was a fearful blow that Gordon King struck, for love of a princess and to avenge a king. Down through the golden helmet of the false prince his blade clove into the brain of Bharata Rahon; and as the body lunged forward upon the dais, King swung around to face whatever other antagonist might menace him. But he found himself entirely surrounded by his own warriors, and a quick glance about the audience chamber showed him that his orders had been followed to the letter. So quickly had they moved that at every entrance now stood a company of his brass-bound soldiers.
There had been little resistance, for so sudden had been the attack and so overwhelming the surprise of the men of Pnom Dhek that those in the audience chamber had been completely surrounded by a superior force before many of them had realised what was happening.
Indra Sen and his warriors had succeeded in wresting weapons from the men of Bharata Rahon, and with them King now dominated the situation, at least in the audience chamber; though in the city without were thousands of warriors who might easily overcome them. But this King had foreseen and had no intention of permitting.
Turning toward the surprised men and women in the audience chamber, he raised his hand. “Silence!” he cried. “Let no man raise a weapon against us, and none shall be harmed. I came here not to attack Pnom Dhek but to avenge her King. Beng Kher did not fall in battle; he was stabbed by Bharata Rahon. He is not dead. Beng Kher is still King of Pnom Dhek.”
A cheer arose from Indra Sen and his warriors, in which joined many in the audience chamber, for with Bharata Rahon dead they no longer feared him and quickly returned their allegiance to their King.
Fou-tan came close to the tall warrior standing there beside the body of Bharata Rahon and facing the officers and the dignitaries of the court of Beng Kher. She touched him gently. “My Gordon King!” she whispered. “I knew that you were near. I knew that you would come. But tell me again that my father is not dead and that he is safe.”
“He is wounded, Fou-tan; but I have left him with honest people who will nurse him, the same who nursed me when I was lost and ill in the jungle. He sent me here to save you from Bharata Rahon, though I would have come without the sending. Here is the priest, Fou-tan, and you are in your wedding-gown. Is it in your heart to deny me again?”
“What would my father say?” she murmured, hesitatingly, and then suddenly she raised her head proudly. “He is not here, and I am Queen!” she exclaimed. “I care not what any man may say. If you will have me, Gordon King, I am yours!”
King turned toward the audience. “The scene is set for a wedding,” he said in clear tones. “The priest is here; the bride is ready. Let the ceremony proceed.”
“But the groom is dead!” cried one of Bharata Rahon’s lieutenants.
“I am the groom,” said King.
“Never!” cried another voice. “You are naught but a Lodidhapurian slave.”
“He is neither slave nor Lodidhapurian,” said Fou-tan. “He is the man of my choice, and to-night I am Queen.”
“Never! Never!” shouted many voices.
“Listen!” exclaimed the American. “It is not within your power to dictate, for to-night the Princess Fou-tan is Queen; and I am your conqueror.”
“You are already surrounded by the soldiers of Beng Kher,” said the partisan of Bharata Rahon who had before spoken. “Several escaped the audience chamber when your men entered, and already they have taken word to the warriors in the barracks. Presently they will come and you and your warriors will be destroyed.”
“Perhaps,” assented King; “but with us, then, shall die every man in this room, for I hold you as hostages to ensure our safety. If you are wise you will send a messenger at once to order your warriors to return to their barracks.” And then to his own warriors he cried: “If a single warrior of Pnom Dhek enters this apartment without my authority, you will fall upon those here and slay them to a man, sparing only the women. And if my word is not sufficient I bring you the authority of your own King,” and with that he displayed the King’s ring, where all might see it.
Beaten at every turn, the followers of Bharata Rahon were forced to accept the inevitable, while those who had hated him were secretly delighted now that they were assured that both the Princess and the King had vouched for this strange warrior. Then in the great audience chamber of the Khmer King, Beng Kher, Fou-tan the Princess, dancing girl of the Leper King, was joined to the man she loved.