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arose.
        "Comrades," he began, "your mighty commander has just addressed me as Prince Thaddor. I have come among you to do the work of your prince, not to assume his name, for I am not Thaddor, nor is he any longer an inhabitant of this world. While he lives my life on the planet Earth—or Terra—it shall be my endeavor to lead you to victory. I therefore assume leadership of your armies, men of Uxpo, not as Prince Thaddor, but as Grandon of Terra."
        This speech spread consternation in the ranks of the Fighting Traveks. As he resumed his seat there was no applause—only an ominous silence. Grandon resolved to tender his resignation, when Bordeen stood up, flushed with the fever of inspiration.
        "My countrymen, a prophecy has been fulfilled. Some time ago I learned that a wise man, a prophet and seer from the distant land of Olba, was in this vicinity. In my extremity and worry I sought him out. This is what he told me:
        "Go back to your people and tell them to be of good cheer, for your royal leader will soon be with you. He will be young and strong, and expert with the scarbo, but his first request will be for a weapon which he calls a sword. He will resemble a prince of Uxpo who will have, by that time, journeyed to another world. Reject him and you will see him no more. Accept him, and he will lead you to victory."
        There was a brief instant of awed silence as Bordeen finished his discourse. Then, as if by a prearranged signal, a thousand scarbos flashed on high and a thousand voices thundered: "Long live Grandon of Terra, Prince of Uxpo!"
        Ere the tumult had ceased, the armorer threaded his way through the crowd, holding before him a scarlet cushion on which reposed a weapon new and strange to all Zarovians. He deposited it before Grandon, just as the tumult was subsiding.
        Grandon drew it from its scabbard and held it aloft, saying: "This is the sword of which your prophet spoke. I pledge it with my life to the cause of Uxpo."
        Grandon, exalted as he was, found time to marvel at the clever planning of Vorn Vangal—or whatever agent of Dr. Morgan's had put across this prophecy. Then a courier dashed breathlessly into the hall.
        "The Reabonians!" he gasped. "They are coming, a great army of them, led by the princess herself! We are hemmed in on three sides!"
        By this time more runners were arriving from different directions, all with descriptions of a mighty army encircling the camp.
        Grandon marshalled his men for a retreat toward the north—the only direction left open to them—urging the utmost speed; for to have those converging wings meet ahead of them meant almost certain defeat.
        As it was, they were barely in time for a swift charge between them under a heavy fire of tork bullets which exacted a heavy toll from their ranks. They were still far from safety, however, for the Reabonians followed in swift pursuit.
        Grandon held council with Bordeen and they decided to make for a narrow mountain pass nearly four miles distant, which led to a valley beyond.
        After a running fight lasting more than two hours, they reached their objective with their numbers sadly depleted. They had reckoned, however, without the military genius of Princess Vernia; she had anticipated this move and filled the narrow pass with armed men.
        The Uxpo troops were in a trap from which escape seemed utterly impossible. The pass was out of the question, for with even a small body of men defending it, it was practically invulnerable. On either side of the entrance rose sheer precipices, which even a monkey-man could not have scaled, while in front of them there was an army of between eight and nine thousand men.
        Grandon kept to the front ranks, shouting encouragement to his men, and using his sword to such good advantage that at times the Reabonians fell away from him in sheer wonder at his prowess.
        But the