WARRIOR-MAID of MARS
By ALFRED COPPEL
The Terran Barbarians have landed! Already they
plunder a dying, helpless planet! And a whisper
rustles through the cold, thin air, across
the rust-red sands: "Give us a leader—and we
will fight! Give us back our ancient glory!"
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1950.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The small room was dark but for the flickering light of a singleef-lamp that burned on the bare table between the two long rowsof black-hooded figures. The thin dry air was surcharged with thetenseness of a tautly drawn cord ... a strangler's cord. A sentence ofdeath had been passed in silence. Now, the executioners balloted, stillin silence, to select from their number a leader.
The High Council of the Maldia was in session. Behind the dark,enigmatic sable masks and robes lurked all the might and hate of aproud, ancient and dying culture. The might of a warlike world'saristocracy. The hate that was the unreasoning, distilled essence of adoomed world's bitterness....
Beneath the black cowl that shadowed his face young Telis of Lars' eyesshowed fierce pride as member after member pointed silently toward hisend of the table. It seemed that the vote would be overwhelmingly inhis favor, and a tremor of anticipation ran through him. At the farend of the board he could see his rival candidate's eyes glitteringfuriously. The Maldia would not be led by Brand, that much was certain.The assembled nobles were quite plainly repudiating his leadership forthat of the young Lord of Lars.
Outside the tower room, the icy wind shrieked and gamboled through thecrenels of the ancient fortress like a harbinger of doom. The draughtsset the candle flame to dancing crazily, and long shadows leapt fromwall to wall.
Telis stretched his long legs out under the table. To him, the votingseemed unnecessarily prolonged and ritualistic, but he knew better thanto voice opposition to customs that had been accepted in the Maldiasince long before the Laurrs, the dictator-kings who took the name ofthe very planet for themselves, had driven the society underground.
The young warrior was forced to admit that ritual and trappings were animportant part of the superstitious hold the Maldia had on the greatmasses of Laurr. And, with the populace cowed, anything was possible.Even the Laurr himself would not care to face the unanimous disapprovalof this masked hierarchy. Too many Laurrs, down through the aeons ofthe planet's history, had fallen before the blades of Maldia assassins.
Telis watched the glittering eyes that peered out from behind thepeaked mask that hid Prince Brand's handsome face. The mart knew he wasdefeated, and rage seemed to surround him like a malign auriole. Brandwould never be satisfied with the deputy command that would be his forhaving been second in the balloting. The man wanted full authority,not command of troops in the field as Telis had had. Brand was fartoo concerned with his own safety for that; he wanted command of thestriking force of assassins that would murder the handful of invadersout in the desert. The victory over a few scientists from another worldwould give Brand the renown he craved and at negligible risk, for allhis dark talk about mystery weapons and his pleas for caution.
The only need for caution that Telis could see was the possibleintervention of the Temple or the Laurr. And the Temple knew n