CHAPTER VI

_Man of Destiny_

Tarrano! He rose slowly to his feet, his gaze on us for an instant, then

turning to Argo.

"So! You took them? Well done, Argo!"

His gesture dismissed his subordinate; Argo backed from the room. From a

disc, an announcer was detailing dispatches. Tarrano frowned slightly.

He advanced to us as we three stood together. I had heard Elza give a

low, surprised cry as we entered. She stood with a hand upon my arm. I

could feel her trembling, but her face now was impassive.

Georg whispered to me: "This Tarrano----"

But our captor's voice checked him. "Come this way, please." He

signalled, and three men came forward. To them he issued short commands;

they took their places at the instrument tables. Then he led us from the

room through an arch, over a small trestle, into a tiny inner courtyard.

A tropical garden, surrounded by blank circular walls of the building. A

patch of blue sky showed above it. A garden secluded from prying eyes,

with only a single spider bridge crossing overhead. Vivid flowers and

foliage made it a bower. Brown bark paths laced it; a tiny fountain

splashed in the center.

Tarrano sat on the rim of the fountain; he gestured to a white stone

bench where we three sat in a row, Elza between us. It made me feel like

a child.

"Your father is dead." He was addressing Elza; and then Georg. "That is

unfortunate. He was a good man. I'm sorry."

His voice was soft and musical. He sat there on the fountain rim, an

elbow on his crossed knees, chin resting in his hand, his eyes studying

us. A small, slight figure of a man, no more than thirty-five. Simply

dressed; white trousers of the tropics, with a strip of narrow black

down the leg-fronts; a girdle of gold; ruffled white shirt, with sleeves

that flared a trifle, and a neck-piece of black. From his belt dangled a

few instruments and several personal weapons--beautifully wrought,

small--almost miniatures--yet deadly-looking for all that.

He was bareheaded; black hair closely clipped. A face smooth-shaven.

Thin, with a nose hawk-like, and black eyes and heavy brows. His mouth

was thin-lipped, though smiling now, disclosing even, white teeth. Yet a

cruel mouth, with the firm jaw of determination and power under it. The

familiar gray Venus skin, but with that bronze cast of the people of the

Central State.

At first glance, not an unusual or particularly commanding figure. Yet

the man's power of personality, the sheer dominant force of him,

radiated like a tower code-beam. No one could be in his presence an

instant without feeling it. A power that enwrapped you; made you feel

like a child. Helpless. Anxious to placate a possible wrath that would

be devastating; anxious--absurdly--for a smile. It was a radiation of

genius, humbling every mediocre mortal it touched.

I felt it--felt all this from the moment I came into his presence. Felt

like a child, sitting there on that bench. Vaguely frightened; sullen,

with childish resentment at my superior. And over it all, my man's

mentality made me angry at myself for such emotions; angry at the

consciousness of my own inferiority, forced upon me now more strongly

than ever anything or any one had made me feel it before.

Tarrano was smiling gently. "... killed your father. I would not have

had it so. Yet--perhaps it was necessary. The Lady Elza----"

I could feel Elza trembling again. Georg burst out: "What do you want of

us? Who are you?"

Tarrano's slim gray-brown hand came up.

"The Lady Elza remembers me----" He seemed waiting with his gentle smile

for her to speak.

"They called you Taro then," she said. Her voice was the small, scared,

diffident voice of a child.

"Yes. Taro. A mere sub-officer of the Central State. But destined for

bigger things than that, as you see. They did not like what they called

my ambitious ways--and so they sent me to the Cold Country. That was

soon after I had met you and your father, Lady Elza. You hardly remarked

me then--I was so insignificant a personage. But you--I remembered

you----"

Still there was in his voice and on his face nothing but kindness and a

queer whimsical look of reminiscence. He broke off at the buzz of a disc

that hung from his belt by a golden chain. He jerked it loose from its

snap, and to his ear clasped a small receiver. Like a mask his

gentleness dropped from him. His voice rasped:

"Yes?..." The receiver murmured into his ear. He said: "Connect

him--I'll listen to what he has to say."

A moment; then on the tiny mirror fastened to his wrist with a strap, I

saw a face appear--a face known throughout our Earth--the face of the

War-Director of Great London. Tarrano listened impassively. When the

voice ceased, he said without an instant's hesitation: "No!"

A decision irrevocable; the power almost of a deity seemed behind its

finality. "No! I--will--not--do--it!" Careful, slow enunciation as

though to make sure an inferior mentality could not mistake his words.

And with a click, Tarrano broke connection. The mirror went dark; he

hung his little disc and ear-piece back on his belt. Again he was

smiling at us gently, the incident forgotten already--dismissed from his

mind until the need to consider it should again arise.

"I remember you, Lady Elza, very well." A vague wistfulness came into

his voice. "I wish to speak with you alone--now--for a moment." He

touched two of the metal buttons of his shirt-front together. A man

appeared in the narrow tunnel-entrance to the garden. A small man, no

more than four and a half feet tall; a trim, but powerfully made little

figure, in the black and white linen uniform worn also by Tarrano. Yet

more pretentiously dressed than his superior. A broad belt of dangling

weapons; under it, a sash of red, encircling his waist and flowing down

one side. Over his white ruffled shirt, a short sleeveless vest of black

silk. A circular hat, with a vivid plume. A smooth-shaven face; black

hair long to the base of the neck; a deep, red-brown complexion. A

native of the Little People of Mars, here in the service of Tarrano. He

stood stiff and respectful in the tunnel entrance.

Tarrano said crisply: "Wolfgar, take these two men to the fourth tower.

Make them comfortable."

I met Georg's eyes. Leave Elza here alone with this man? Georg burst

out: "My sister goes with me!"

"So?" Tarrano's heavy brows went up inquiringly. A quizzical smile

plucked at his lips. "You need have no fear. The Lady Elza----" He swung

to her. "Not--afraid, are you?"

"I--no," she stammered.

"She'll come with us," I declared; but the stoutness of my words could

not hide my fear. Tarrano was still smiling; but as I took a protecting

step toward Elza, his smile died.

"You--will go--with Wolfgar--both of you." That same slow finality. His

face was impassive; but under his frowning bushy brows, his eyes

transfixed me. It was as though with his paralyzing ray he had rooted me

to the spot. And Georg beside me. Yet he had not moved from his careless

attitude of ease on the fountain-rim; the little conical golden weapon

dangled untouched at his belt.

Elza was frightened. "Jac! You must do what he says. I'm--not afraid."

Again Tarrano was smiling. "No--of course not." His gaze went to Georg.

"You are her brother--your fear is very natural. So I give you my

word--the honorable word of Tarrano--that she shall come to no harm."

Elza murmured: "Go, Georg." Afraid for us, and doubtless she had good

reason to be. It struck me then as queer that Tarrano should waste these

words with us; but I realized, as did Elza and Georg, that we were

treading very dangerous ground. Georg said, with a sudden dignity at

which I marveled:

"Your word is quite enough." He gestured to me. With a last glance at

Elza, standing there frightened, but for our sakes striving not to show

it, we let this Wolfgar lead us away.

Elza later told us what occurred. With her father, she had been twice to

the Venus Central State--the visit of two years ago Dr. Brende had

mentioned to me, and a former one. It was upon this first trip Elza had

met Tarrano. He was an under-officer then, in the Army of the Central

State--his name then was Taro. She--herself no more than a slip of a

girl at that time--remembered him as a queerly silent young

man--insignificant in physique and manner. He had escorted her once to a

Venus festival; in a strange, brooding, humble, yet dignified fashion,

he had spoken of love. She had laughed, and soon forgot the incident.

But Tarrano had not forgotten. The daughter of the great Dr. Brende had

fired his youthful imagination. Who knows what dreams even then--born of

the genius as yet merely latent--were within him? He had never crossed

Elza's mind from that time, until today she saw and recognized him.

When they were alone, still without moving from his seat, he signed her

to come to him, to sit on the carpet of grass at his feet. She was

frightened, but she would not show it. He made no move to touch her; he

gazed down to meet her upturned, fascinated stare, still with his

gentle, whimsical smile.

"Queer that I should meet you again, Lady Elza. Yet, I must admit, it

comes not by chance, for I contrived it. My prisoner! Dr. Brende's

daughter, held captive by little Taro!"

It seemed to amuse him, this whimsical reminiscence of those days when

he was struggling unknown. "I want to confess something to you, Lady

Elza. You were so far above me then--daughter of the famous Dr. Brende.

Yet, as you remember, I aspired to you. And now--I have not changed. I

never change. I still--aspire to you."

He said it very softly, slowly. She flushed; but for that moment fear of

him dropped from her.

"Oh," she said. "I--I thank you for such a compliment----"

"A compliment? Yes, I suppose it is that now. You wondered, didn't you,

why I was so lenient with your brother and that Jac Hallen when they

would have refused me obedience? That is not my way--to be lenient." He

said it with a sudden snap of crispness, but his eyes were twinkling.

"It was because of you, Lady Elza."

"Me?" she murmured.

"You--of course. Because I--want you to like me." His fingers

involuntarily touched a stray lock of her hair as she sat there at his

feet, but when she moved her head away he withdrew his hand. His slow

voice went on:

"Back in those other days, Lady Elza, the little Taro had strange

dreams. A power within him--he could feel it--here----" His gaze was far

away; his fist struck his breast. "He could feel it--the urge to fulfill

his destiny--feel it within him, and no one else knew it was there.

"Then--you came. A shy, rather pretty little girl, he realizes now, is

all you were. But then--you seemed a goddess. A new dream arose--a dream

of you ... I frighten you, child?" His tone was contrite. "I do not mean

to do that. I am too hasty. Queer, isn't it, that I can make men,

nations, worlds, obey me--but I have to bide my time with a fragile

little woman?"

His mood changed; he stirred. "I could bend you to my will--break

you--like that!" His lean fingers snapped. Then his hand dropped, and

again he relaxed. "But of what use?... Your respect? I have it now.

Respect and fear come to me from everyone. It is something more than

that I want from you."

She would have spoken, but his gesture stopped her. "Queer that I should

want it? Yes, I think perhaps it is. The little Taro was very queer,

perhaps very impressionable. He knew he had nations and worlds to

conquer--a destiny to fulfill. Not alone because of you, little Elza. I

would not make you think that. But for you to share. The great Tarrano,

master of the universe, and his Lady Elza! Worlds for you to toy with,

like gems on a thread adorning your white throat----"

He must have swayed her, the sheer power of him. Impulsively she touched

his knee. "I am not worth----"

His face clouded with a frown. "I would not try to buy your love----"

"Oh," she said. "No, I did not mean----"

"I would not try to buy you. I want to share with you--these worlds--as

your due. To make myself master of everything, so that you will look to

me and say, 'He is the greatest of all men--I love him'.... Soon I will

be the greatest of all men throughout the ages. And very gentle always,

with you, Lady Elza----"

A buzz came from the disc at his belt. He answered the call--listened to

a voice.

"So? Bring him here." He disconnected. "...very gentle with you, my

Elza----"

His voice drifted away. He seemed waiting; and Elza, her head whirling

with the confusion of it all, sat silent. A moment; then Argo appeared,

driving a half-nude man before him. A native official of Venia, stripped

of his uniform. Argo flung him down in the garden path, where he

cowered, his face ashen, his eyes wild, lips mumbling with terror.

Tarrano barely moved. "So? You tell me he was asleep at the mirrors,

Argo?"

"Master, I could not help it! Since first you made your move in Greater

New York at Park Sixty, I have sat there. Two nights and a day----"

"And you fell asleep without asking for a relief?"

"Master, I----"

"Did you?"

"Yes. I did not realize I was sleeping----"

A gesture to Argo, and the man was flung closer to Tarrano's feet. Elza

shrank away.

"Left a mirror unattended. So?... The wire, Argo." He took the length

of wire, gleaming white-hot, as the leering, gloating Argo turned the

current into it--Tarrano took it, lashed it upon the poor wretch's naked

back and legs. Welts arose, and the stench of burning flesh. A measured

score of the passionless strokes made him writhe and scream in agony.

It turned Elza sick and faint. Shuddering, she crouched there, hiding

her face until the punishment was over and the half-unconscious culprit

was carried away.

"Very gentle with you, my Elza...."

She looked up to find Tarrano smiling at her; looked up and stared, and

wondered what might be her fate with such a man as this.