“He is no Kalkar, Jemadav,” replied the messenger. “He is one from another world, who says that he knows you well and that he has loved you long.” “His name,” snapped Nah-ee-lah impatiently. “He is called Or-tis, Jemadar of Jemadars.” Nah-ee-lah turned toward me with elevated brows and a smile of comprehension upon her face. “Or-tis,” she repeated. “Now, I understand, my Jemadav,” I said, “and I am commencing to have some slight conception of the time that must have elapsed since I first landed within Va-nah, for even since our escape from the Va-gas Orthis has had time to discover the Kalkars and ingratiate himself among them, to conspire with them for the overthrow of Laythe, and to manufacture explosives and shells and the guns which are reducing Laythe this moment. Even had I not heard the name, I might have guessed that it was Orthis, for it is all so like him—ingrate, traitor, cur.” “Go back to your master,” she said to the messenger, “and tell him that Nah-ee-lah, Jemadav of Laythe, would as leave mate with Ga-va-go the Va-gas as with him, and that Laythe will be happier destroyed and her people wiped from the face of Va-nah than ruled by such a beast. I have spoken. Go.” The fellow turned and left us, being accompanied from Nah-ee-lah’s presence by the guardsman who had fetched him, and whom Nah-ee-lah commanded to return as soon as he had conducted the other outside the palace gates. Then the girl turned to me: “O, Julian, what shall I do? How may I combat these terrible forces that you have brought to Va-nah from another world?” I shook my head. “We, too, could manufacture both guns and ammunition to combat him, but now we have not the time, since Laythe will be reduced to a mass of ruins before we could even make a start. There is but one way, Nah-ee-lah, and that is to send your people—every fighting man that you can gather, and the women, too, if they can bear arms, out upon the plateau in an effort to overwhelm the Kalkars and destroy the guns.” She stood and thought for a long time, and presently the officer of the guard returned and halted before her, awaiting her commands. Slowly she raised her head and looked at him. “Go into the city,” she said, “and gather every Laythean who can carry a sword, a dagger, or a lance. Tell them to assemble on the inner terraces below the castle, and that I, Nah-ee-lah their Jemadav, will address them. The fate of Laythe rests with you. Go.” CHAPTER XIV BACK TO “THE BARSOOM”