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Slaans were leaping about the room huge, half-naked men brandishing primitive knives. Flashing steel, buried in the backs of the fleeing merry-makers. Other figures Earth men they seemed gripping the slaans, staying their murderous fury. Tarrano? I did not see him at first. The air above the floor of the pavilion was full of snapping sparks a battle of some unknown rays.
Amid all this laughter and music pleasure of the senses reigning supreme here in the Great City tonight I could not miss a sense of impending evil. The slaans propelling the boats were stolid and grim. Not for them, this dalliance. Not for their women, this music and laughter, these daring costumes to display their beauty. The slaan women, drab with work, were slinking about unnoticed.
He shouted above the tumult words not in the universal language, but in the dialect of the slaans. His command carried throughout the building. Other slaans took it up; we could hear it echoed outside as others shouted it over the waters. The bloodshed abruptly ceased. The slaans leaped away from the Earth men, who were glad enough to let them go rushed for the archways of the pavilion.
Yet I know too, that those keen eyes of his did not miss the sullen glances of the slaans. The weather, as always in the Venus Central State, was warm a luxurious tropic warmth. And now I felt as I had seen from above the languorous, sensuous quality of it all. Music, mingled with the ripple of girlish laughter and cheers, came from the houses as we passed. Soft, fragrant flower-petals deluged us.
The slaans along the fringe of shore began hurriedly to embark. The groups huddled at the palace steps were trying to shove the others back. In a rout they tumbled into their boats and scurried away. Maida's voice, striving to reassure them, was unheard. And presently the scarred, trampled garden was empty and silent. The rebellion, checked thus at its start, was quelled.
Boats crowded with slaans. Disheveled, unkempt men and women with primitive weapons of steel and wire brandished aloft. They surged into the lagoon. A murderous, frenzied mob thoughtless of itself, suicidal to attack us, yet daring everything in its frenzy. Soon the lagoon was crowded a chaos of pushing, shoving boats.
And then her pleading command: "Slaans, no more bloodshed! Be loyal, slaans, to your Princess Maida!" And Georg calling: "Loyalty, everyone, to your Princess Maida. Loyalty! Loyalty!" First Retreat I must recount now what Elza later told me, going back to those moments when Elza sat upon the balcony watching Tarrano and the Red Woman.
But out of the chaos was coming a comparatively orderly menace. We could sense it at first; and then in a few brief minutes so swift that we had no time to prepare the menace became obvious and was at hand. The slaans had withdrawn from the festival for a greater, more organized effort. Their revolt against Tarrano in which Maida had joined, was bigger, more deep-rooted than a mere revolt.
Tarrano was guiding his destiny cleverly. Yet underneath it all, unseen forces were at work. We sensed them. The slaans submissive at their menial tasks, but everywhere with sullen, resentful glances. Perhaps Tarrano realized his danger; but I do not think that he, any more than the rest of us, realized what the Water Festival was to bring forth.
Georg stood with the cylinder in his hand, waving it. The palm foliage was freezing. Down through the swirling snow fell the frozen bodies of the slaans who had climbed into the gigantic palm fronds. The thuds as the bodies struck the ground sounded horribly plain in the stillness. Georg was still waving his cylinder. Snow and ice were gathering everywhere.
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