ALTHOUGH Gunnar had spent most of the past four days in grumbling and polishing his sword, there had been hours and hours when Odin had not seen him. The little man had a secret, but what it was he would not tell. “For,” he said to Odin, “then it would not be my secret. It would be mine and yours, and I would own but half of it. Does a man give half of his flocks away?”

Odin was a bit hurt over his friend’s behavior. He even wondered if Gunnar had taken a liking to one of the white-skinned slave-girls—for they were beautiful. Still, that did not seem like Gunnar. But you could never tell. After all, he found himself quoting, there’s no fool like an old fool.

Mixed up in this secret was a buckskin bag that Gunnar had brought with him from the ship. When Odin had inquired about it, Gunnar had replied: “Magic. A very old magic.”

That too was not like Gunnar. He relied upon his sword, since the Norse gods were usually busy with their own affairs. Those gods ate their rejuvenating apples every day and then went out like healthy boys to see what was happening; and though they meant well they usually were somewhere else when they were needed. Therefore, the use of magic bags and incantations was a lot of foolishness. But here was Gunnar fondling a tightly-drawn buckskin bag as though it held eternity’s secrets.

“You ought to get yourself a witch-doctor’s mask and a couple of hollowbones to whistle through,” Odin had told him scathingly.

“Never mind. Never mind. Old Gunnar will be there when they put out the fire and call the dogs. Now, you stay here in this room, Odin. And don’t go looking after any of these slave-girls. They are too pretty. And you are young. After all, there’s no fool like a young fool. So don’t go wandering off. Just stay here and polish your sword and wait until I return. I think my magic will do a great deal this afternoon.”

“TouchÉ!” Jack Odin thought as Gunnar departed. “So he’s been worrying about me and the girls, has he?”

Odin polished his sword and looked at the paintings. But the entire palace seemed to be whispering. An air of tension hung over it. The halls were quiet, where servants usually were busily going back and forth.

Once he heard shouts and the sound of fighting far off. There was a loud shot and a scream of pain. After that, the unusual quiet returned.

This was the sixth afternoon that he had spent on this enslaved world. Odin did not enjoy it. He tried to make plans to rescue Maya, but he had gone over those same plans many times before. The Taj Mahal was well-guarded. There was an unshaded road that went from the city to it. Also, the road was usually crowded with pilgrims. He never knew whether they went out there in some strong belief that here was a goddess from outer space, or whether they were forced to go. After all, Grim Hagen was clever—

He took a bath and changed clothes. Then Jack Odin read one of those books that Grim Hagen had stolen. It was a first edition of the Rubaiyat, the one with the jeweled peacock cover, and it would have been worth a fortune back home. But here it was just another of Grim Hagen’s treasures—it was dusty and neglected, and Odin wondered if he were not the first to take a look at it since Hagen had brought it here.

The windows were dark when Gunnar returned. Jack Odin sat by a single tiny light, and greeted his old friend in a glum and sour fashion. But Gunnar was in a gay mood.

“Look, I told you that my magic would do great tricks. See, the bag is nearly empty.” He held the buckskin bag high and it was much thinner than before. “You waited, did you? Good, Nors-King. I had to make sure that no one came here while I was gone.”

“Just myself,” Odin replied. “Now what—”

“Oh, I told you I had great magic in that bag. You shall see.” Gunnar returned to the door, opened it, and led a tall white-skinned slave into the room. A man of about thirty dressed in white uniform with some sort of insignia upon his shoulders. Odin had never bothered to learn the different gradations in Grim Hagen’s slave-world.

“This man goes by the name of Piper,” Gunnar announced simply.

The man bowed and smiled nervously.

“And he is a Bro-Stoka among the slaves,” Gunnar continued.

Odin was about to reply that he didn’t give a damn if the man were a colonel or a two star general. But Gunnar hurried on to explain. “A Stoka is a captain of a hundred. But a Bro-Stoka is a captain over ten Stokas and all their men. Not often does one advance so at an early age—”

Gunnar seemed to be buttering up the man for some reason or other so Jack Odin decided to go along. “I have never seen a Bro-Stoka so young,” he admitted. This was true, Odin thought, since this was the first Bro-Stoka who had ever been identified to him. And he wondered if maybe Bro-Stoka were not a local term for “Ninety Day Wonder.” God knows he had seen too many of them.

Gunnar seated himself comfortably and swung the nearly empty bag to and fro. “Ah, I told you that I carried great magic in the bag. With Piper’s help, Maya will be ours before midnight.”

Odin’s lethargy was gone now. “Gunnar, old friend! What magic was in that bag of yours?”

“The oldest magic in the world. Pieces of gold, diamonds, and rubies. When we left the Nebula I said to myself that if Grim Hagen owned everything here, it was quite possible that many would be eating very little. Knowing Grim Hagen, I said to myself, there will be a mad scramble for money and position. It would be the only kind of a world that Grim Hagen could fashion.”

Odin slapped him on the back. “Gunnar, you are a genius, a sheer genius.”

“Not at all. When I was a young man I learned such strategy from studying the world above me.”

Odin winced.

Gunnar continued. “Well, it has turned out even as I figured. Only more so. When traveling in far countries you should try to learn how the people live, Odin. It is enlightening. I had an old uncle who always said that travel broadens one. It must have, for he weighed nearly two-hundred when he died.”

“Please, Gunnar. When will we see Maya—”

“So, I have been working ever since we arrived. A jewel here. A bit of gold there. It is amazing how a diamond can make a man see just what you tell him to see. Much better than ordinary glasses. Then I found Piper here. And Piper is ambitious. Do you know what it costs to become head-man and chief tax-gatherer of a town of five-thousand, Odin?”

“Gunnar, I know nothing of these matters. Tell me about Maya—”

“Well, Piper has been paid. The town will be his if our plan works out tonight. Otherwise, I will twist his neck.” And Gunnar paused to scowl at the young man in the white uniform until poor Piper began sweating.

“Many others have been paid. They are to stay away from their posts. They will see nothing and hear nothing at certain times tonight. Here, hand me your book.”

Odin obliged and Gunnar produced a ragged bit of pencil and started drawing a map upon the fly-leaf. “Here,” he said, “is the city. And here is the river. Now, if you remember, there is a deep bend in the river, and this tomb that Grim Hagen has built is within the bend of the river. There is a good road that goes from the city to the tomb, but it is guarded. The Nebula is on the other side of the bend. So the answer is quite simple. We go up the river. Piper has a boat waiting for us—”

“I have already paid many and have sworn them to silence,” Piper interrupted. “But it will be a dangerous business. I would not dare it at all except that it will be five years before I am eligible for tax-gatherer, and the waiting is killing me. A city of my own—”

Piper, Jack Odin gathered, was a very ambitious man.

The boat moved up-river in darkness. There were beacons upon the shore, turning this way and that, but they seemed to be trained a bit high this night.

Once a motor-boat passed them, going at a fast clip, and somebody called out that he saw a shadow over toward the far side of the river. And another voice answered. “You’re always seeing things. A log, maybe. Didn’t I tell you that I found some money in the street? And aren’t we going to have the best meal that money can buy? Do you want to stay here with an empty belly on this cold river all night? Our watch is nearly over. I’m tired. Let’s get along—”

Later, some one hailed them from the bank and threatened to shoot if they did not pull in. Then there was a loud scream that died in a weltering gurgle. They heard a splash as something hit the water—and then all was still. They waited. A peculiar little whistle sounded three notes from the darkness.

As though reassured, Piper took up his oars.

“That was the last guard,” Gunnar whispered. “It took a ruby the size of a sparrow’s egg to get him killed. Oh, well, blame Grim Hagen. He shouldn’t have gouged these people so hard—” And then, to Piper: “You’re bright enough, I guess, but you don’t know how to row a boat. Give me the oars.”

He took them and slid them into their hole-pins. “Now, give Gunnar room.” He bowed his broad head, leaning forward almost to his toes. Then he dug the oars into the water and straightened up and bent backward like a machine. Noiselessly the oars came up again. He bent forward and dipped them into the river again. And as he worked faster he began to count to himself in a panting whisper: “Huh—huh—huh—huf!”

The boat streaked across the river’s surface like a water-bug.

At last they slid into some thick cat-tails. Gunnar got a hand-hold and propelled them forward until the prow grounded in the shallows.

“This is as far as I can go,” Piper told them in a sweating voice. “Over there is the tomb.”

Odin and Gunnar scrambled ashore. Piper pushed the boat back into the river and was gone. Three thin sickles of moons were cleaving their way across the sky. A few unfamiliar stars were out. There was enough light now for them to see Maya’s tomb not far away. It seemed to be fashioned of moonbeams. It was such a perfect copy of the Taj Mahal that here both death and sleep were brothers—and a nirvana of peace hung over it in an aura of silver light.

“That Piper is a smart lad,” Gunnar whispered. “He knows what he wants. He’ll go far—maybe.”

They approached. Odin knew that four guards were stationed here at all times. They were all gone. The two went in, Gunnar turned on a little flash.

Had there been time, Odin might have grudgingly given Grim Hagen a few kind words for the work he had done and the tribute he had paid Maya. The best of a planet’s treasures and art had been brought here. But all he could see was Maya, lying upon a golden, diamond-set couch. A silk embroidered coverlet was drawn over her, and it too seemed to have been spun from moonbeams. She looked no older. Odin could see no sign of breath. But he touched her hand and it was warm. He knelt beside her.

“Here,” Gunnar handed him the light. “Hold this while I get busy. Here now, Nors-King. No blubbering.”

He opened his buckskin bag and took out the last of its treasures—a small hypodermic case. He filled the hypodermic from a little vial that glittered in the light of the lamp. “Turn the light upon her forearm, now,” he instructed.

Gunnar slowly counted to sixty after he had given her the shot. Maya’s breasts moved. She sighed and raised a hand to her dark curls. Then her eyes opened—in fear and wonder as a child opens its eyes in a strange place.

Then her vision cleared and she recognized them.

“Jack—Gunnar—” she gasped. Then she was in Odin’s arms. And Gunnar, the strong one, was standing over them—sniffling.

It was one of those moments that seem to last forever. And then it was over and she drew her hand through his light hair, “What happened? Where are we? I dreamed the strangest dreams.”

“Never mind,” Odin comforted. “We will explain later. Can you walk now?”

“Walk? Of course I can walk.” But when Maya tried to sit up, she moaned in pain. “My whole body is stiff and sore. Have I been sick?”

Odin helped her to her feet. As he did so, hundreds of precious stones that had been heaped upon the couch rolled unnoticed to the floor.

Maya winced as she stood up. Reaching down, she rubbed the calves of her legs and then stood straight with a little gasp of pain.

“Carry her, Nors-King,” Gunnar muttered. “The night grows old and we must make our way to the Nebula.”

Odin lifted her easily. She put her arms around his neck and clung to him. The perfume of her hair was as faint as the ghost of autumn flowers. Her breath was warm and caressing against his throat.

Then the mausoleum turned into a blinding glare of lights. Gunnar dropped the flash and his broadsword shrieked against the scabbard as he drew it. Odin set Maya’s feet upon the floor. Still holding her with one arm, he drew his sword and made ready to stand beside Gunnar.

A dozen cloaked figures came into the room. The first was Grim Hagen, smiling sardonically. The others were Brons. The last to enter was carrying poor Piper’s dripping head by a handful of hair.

“So.” Grim Hagen bowed. “The Princess awakens. And here is Prince Charming. And here is the last Neebling that I shall ever kill. I would like to kill you very slowly, but I am afraid I do not have time. Hell is bubbling over in that fair city of mine tonight. I thought I paid my captains well, but some of them wanted more. Or they wanted what I could not give them. It doesn’t matter. Let them fight it out. We have the Old Ship with the New Drive. Out there at the edge of space a desperate people are waiting for me. And now I have Maya. Gunnar, that was a mean trick. You used the science that your people stole from us to cheat me of my bride and my slave.”

Gunnar had heard enough. The huge sword flashed in a circle as he swung it above his head with both hands. A Bron stepped forward and Gunnar slashed him from shoulder to stomach-pit.

Odin thrust Maya to the couch as he came forward to help.

But Grim Hagen had merely stepped back. Now he was holding a deadly little tube in his hand. A cold light winked on and off. Odin felt his muscles harden as though a hundred charley-horses had struck him at once. He froze, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Gunnar standing like a statue, his sword still upraised, a look of agony upon his face.

“One more flash and you will be dead.” Grim Hagen mocked. “But before you plunge into the night, remember that I watched you so I could get Maya back. You were not clever at all, Gunnar. Ato can have these worlds if he wants them. I have the ship and Maya. And space is mine to ravage as I please.”

Then, at last, while Maya watched with fear-struck eyes, the tube flashed once more. Gunnar and Odin stood there for a second. They fell like unbalanced things of stone.

A Bron stepped forward and drew his sword. But Grim Hagen waved him aside as he bent over the two silent forms. “Put up your sword,” he said quietly. “They are dead.”

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