Free Garan the Eternal by Andre Norton Page A

fighting men for many years. He, at least, made no pretense of desiring my friendship, but he scowled so belligerently that the knotted skin of his forehead drew his eyebrows together to form one bushy bar.
    “Our worthy Lord Gar an,” purred Kepta. “May we venture to congratulate the victor of Tarnan upon his exploit? Japlan developed a severe attack of jealousy when the news of your success reached our poor backwater. I marvel yetat his full recovery. It is full, is it not, Japlan?” he baited his surly officer.
    “Oh, aye,” growled that one, all the while making very plain to read upon his face his true opinion of me and all my works.
    My training as a soldier had not fitted me for the tongue- and thought-twisting ways of court speech where one can praise a man fairly to his face when you despise him heartily. So, as my speech was apt to be as blunt as my thoughts, I did not care to play the courtier more than was necessary.
    “You do me too much honor, my Lord,” I answered, with all the courtesy I could summon. “A word of praise from the Master of Koom is not to be lightly dismissed.”
    His drooping eyelids lifted a fraction and his smile grew more pronounced.
    “Your days at court have polished the soldier to produce the finished courtier, Lord Garan,” he observed, and now the sneer was broad and ill-concealed.
    A man of my own caste and rank would have felt my fist grate against his teeth for less. His position held him above my resentment, as well he knew, yet never before had his hostility been so open. I wondered, my blood quickening in my veins, if he had uncovered some trace of my active and inquisitive distrust of him. His mask of good fellowship had cracked and I had seen the real man who was using that mask for his own purposes.
    So, though my muscles tensed, I controlled my rising anger. But someday, On willing, I would face that sneering devil man to man,
    “I give thanks to the Master of Koom.” My reply was as chill as I could make it but still formally polite.
    He gathered his cloak closer about his broad shoulders and turned away abruptly with Japlan at his heels. I waited a moment or so, allowing them a start before following them down the ramp.
    As I hesitated there, the sleek lines of the Koomian’s flier caught my eye and interest. Ships were my life and new designs always held me enthralled. Though I dared not linger to examine it closely, I knew that its shape, especially the outward appearance of its motor compartment, suggested some startling new development, something very different from our most modern product
    Apparently the workmen of the dark northern island hadchanced upon some new form of propulsion, producing as a result an engine much smaller and more compact than any I had ever seen.
    Reluctantly I tore myself away, knowing that Kepta would suspect if I lingered too long. But I determined, as I set foot upon the ramp, to discover the secret of the trim craft before its master whisked it away from Yu-Lac again.
    The ramp ended in a single broad step and then I was out upon the green and amber pavement which led to the Hall of the Nine Princes. Towering columns of burnished copper supported the roof of the covered passage but the sides were open to the scented winds. To my left, four deep steps of dull green stone cut into the first of the wonder gardens which made the inner hold of the sprawling citadel a place of marvels and delights.
    To the right, the steps leading down were steeper, giving access to a bronze landing where a half dozen or so gaily painted skiffs bobbed on the yellow, petal-strewn water of one of the five canals. As it was yet early, none save a solitary guard paced the passage. No lady, in spite of my daring hopes, swayed along the garden paths, or floated petal-wise on the canal. There was only a gentle brooding quiet.
    But the Hall of the Nine Princes was occupied when I entered. One of the smaller council chambers and reception rooms of the palace,