PRELUDE -- John Carter
Comes to Earth 7
I Tara in a Tantrum 11
II At the Gale's Mercy
20
III The Headless Humans
28
IV Captured 39
V The Perfect Brain 49
VI In the Toils of
Horror 57
VII A Repellent Sight
68
VIII Close Work 78
IX Adrift Over Strange
Regions 82
X Entrapped 96
XI The Choice of Tara
105
XII Ghek Plays Pranks
114
XIII A Desperate Deed
122
XIV At Ghek's Command
131
XV The Old Man of the
Pits 141
XVI Another Change of
Name 150
XVII A Play to the
Death 160
XVIII A Task for
Loyalty 169
XIX The Menace of the
Dead 179
XX The Charge of
Cowardice 187
XXI A Risk for Love 197
XXII At the Moment of
Marriage 206
SHEA had just beaten me
at chess, as usual, and, also as usual, I had gleaned what questionable
satisfaction I might by twitting him with this indication of failing mentality
by calling his attention to the nth time to that theory, propounded by certain
scientists, which is based upon the assertion that phenomenal chess players are
always found to be from the ranks of children under twelve, adults over
seventy-two or the mentally defective -- a theory that is lightly ignored upon
those rare occasions that I win. Shea had gone to bed and I should have
followed suit, for we are always in the saddle here before sunrise; but instead
I sat there before the chess table in the library, idly blowing smoke at the
dishonored head of my defeated king.
While thus profitably
employed I heard the east door of the living-room open and someone enter. I
thought it was Shea returning to speak with me on some matter of tomorrow's work;
but when I raised my eyes to the doorway that connects the two rooms I saw
framed there the figure of a bronzed giant, his otherwise naked body trapped
with a jewel-encrusted harness from which there hung at one side an ornate
short-sword and at the other a pistol of strange pattern. The black hair, the
steel-gray eyes, brave and smiling, the noble features -- I recognized them at
once, and leaping to my feet I advanced with outstretched hand.
"John
Carter!" I cried. "You?"
"None other, my
son," he replied, taking my hand in one of his and placing the other upon
my shoulder.
"And what are you
doing here?" I asked. "It has been long years since you revisited
Earth, and never before in the trappings of Mars. Lord! but it is good to see
you -- and not a day older in appearance than when you trotted me on your knee
in my babyhood. How do you explain it, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, or do you
try to explain it?"
"Why attempt to
explain the inexplicable?" he replied. "As I have told you before, I
am a very old man. I do not know how old I am. I recall no childhood; but
recollect only having been always as you see me now and as you saw me first
when you were five years old. You, yourself, have aged, though not as much as
most men in a corresponding number of years, which may be accounted for by the
fact that the same blood runs in our veins; but I have not aged at all. I have
discussed the question with a noted Martian scientist, a friend of mine; but
his theories are still only theories. However, I am content with the fact -- I
never age, and I love life and the vigor of youth.
"And now as to
your natural question as to what brings me to Earth again and in this, to
earthly eyes, strange habiliment. We may thank Kar Komak, the bowman of Lothar.
It was he who gave me the idea upon which I have been experimenting until at
last I have achieved success. As you know I have long possessed the power to
cross the void in spirit, but never before have I been able to impart to
inanimate things a similar power. Now, however, you see me for the first time
precisely as my Martian fellows see me -- you see the very short-sword that has
tasted the blood of many a savage foeman; the harness with the devices of
Helium and the insignia of my rank; the pistol that was presented to me by Tars
Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark.
"Aside from seeing
you, which is my principal reason for being here, and satisfying myself that I
can transport inanimate things from Mars to Earth, and therefore animate things
if I so desire, I have no purpose. Earth is not for me. My every interest is
upon Barsoom -- my wife, my children, my work; all are there. I will spend a
quiet evening with you and then back to the world I love even better than I
love life."
As he spoke he dropped
into the chair upon the opposite side of the chess table.
"You spoke of
children," I said. "Have you more than Carthoris?"
"A daughter,"
he replied, "only a little younger than Carthoris, and, barring one, the
fairest thing that ever breathed the thin air of dying Mars. Only Dejah Thoris,
her mother, could be more beautiful than Tara of Helium."
For a moment he
fingered the chessmen idly. "We have a game on Mars similar to
chess," he said, "very similar. And there is a race there that plays
it grimly with men and naked swords. We call the game jetan. It is played on a
board like yours, except that there are a hundred squares and we use twenty
pieces on each side. I never see it played without thinking of Tara of Helium
and what befell her among the chessmen of Barsoom. Would you like to hear her
story?"
I said that I would and
so he told it to me, and now I shall try to re-tell it for you as nearly in the
words of The Warlord of Mars as I can recall them, but in the third person. If
there be inconsistencies and errors, let the blame fall not upon John Carter,
but rather upon my faulty memory, where it belongs. It is a strange tale and
utterly Barsoomian.
TARA of Helium rose
from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which she had been reclining,
stretched her lithe body languidly, and crossed toward the center of the room,
where, above a large table, a bronze disc depended from the low ceiling. Her
carriage was that of health and physical perfection -- the effortless harmony
of faultless coordination. A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one
shoulder was wrapped about her body; her black hair was piled high upon her
head. With a wooden stick she tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and
presently the summons was answered by a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to be
greeted similarly by her mistress.
"Are my father's
guests arriving?" asked the princess.
"Yes, Tara of
Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seen Kantos Kan,
Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and Djor Kantos, son of
Kantos Kan," she shot a roguish glance at her mistress as she mentioned
Djor Kantos' name, "and -- oh, there were others, many have come."
"The bath, then,
Uthia," said her mistress. "And why, Uthia," she added, "do
you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djor Kantos?"
The slave girl laughed
gaily. "It is so plain to all that he worships you," she replied.
"It is not plain
to me," said Tara of Helium. "He is the friend of my brother,
Carthoris, and so he is here much; but not to see me. It is his friendship for
Carthoris that brings him thus often to the palace of my father."
"But Carthoris is
hunting in the north with Talu, Jeddak of Okar," Uthia reminded her.
"My bath,
Uthia!" cried Tara of Helium. "That tongue of yours will bring you to
some misadventure yet."
"The bath is
ready, Tara of Helium," the girl responded, her eyes still twinkling with
merriment, for she well knew that in the heart of her mistress was no anger
that could displace the love of the princess for her slave. Preceding the
daughter of The Warlord she opened the door of an adjoining room where lay the
bath -- a gleaming pool of scented water in a marble basin. Golden stanchions
supported a chain of gold encircling it and leading down into the water on
either side of marble steps. A glass dome let in the sunlight, which flooded
the interior, glancing from the polished white of the marble walls and the
procession of bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid
with gold in a broad band that circled the room.
Tara of Helium removed
the scarf from about her and handed it to the slave. Slowly she descended the
steps to the water, the temperature of which she tested with a symmetrical
foot, undeformed by tight shoes and high heels -- a lovely foot, as God
intended that feet should be and seldom are. Finding the water to her liking,
the girl swam leisurely to and fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the
seal she swam, now at the surface, now below, her smooth muscles rolling softly
beneath her clear skin -- a wordless song of health and happiness and grace.
Presently she emerged and gave herself into the hands of the slave girl, who
rubbed the body of her mistress with a sweet smelling semi-liquid substance
contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skin was covered with a foamy
lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, a drying with soft towels, and the
bath was over. Typical of the life of the princess was the simple elegance of
her bath -- no retinue of useless slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious
moments. In another half hour her hair was dried and built into the strange,
but becoming, coiffure of her station; her leathern trappings, encrusted with
gold and jewels, had been adjusted to her figure and she was ready to mingle
with the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the palace of
The Warlord.
As she left her
apartments to make her way to the gardens where the guests were congregating,
two warriors, the insignia of the House of the Prince of Helium upon their
harness, followed a few paces behind her, grim reminders that the assassin's
blade may never be ignored upon Barsoom, where, in a measure, it
counterbalances the great natural span of human life, which is estimated at not
less than a thousand years.
As they neared the
entrance to the garden another woman, similarly guarded, approached them from
another quarter of the great palace. As she neared them Tara of Helium turned
toward her with a smile and a happy greeting, while her guards knelt with bowed
heads in willing and voluntary adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always,
solely at the command of their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet
Dejah Thoris, whose deathless beauty had more than once brought them to bloody
warfare with other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love of the people of
Helium for the mate of John Carter it amounted practically to worship, as
though she were indeed the goddess that she looked.
The mother and daughter
exhanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" of greeting and kissed. Then
together they entered the gardens where the guests were. A huge warrior drew
his short-sword and struck his metal shield with the flat of it, the brazen
sound ringing out above the laughter and the speech.
"The Princess
comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess comes! Tara of
Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the two women
inclined their heads; the guards fell back upon either side of the
entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to pay their respects; the laughing
and the talking were resumed and Dejah Thoris and her daughter moved simply and
naturally among their guests, no suggestion of differing rank apparent in the
bearing of any who were there, though there was more than a single Jeddak and
many common warriors whose only title lay in brave deeds, or noble patriotism.
Thus it is upon Mars where men are judged upon their own merits rather than
upon those of their grandsires, even though pride of lineage be great.
Tara of Helium let her
slow gaze wander among the throng of guests until presently it halted upon one
she sought. Was the faint shadow of a frown that crossed her brow an indication
of displeasure at the sight that met her eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the
noonday sun distress her? Who may say! She had been reared to believe that one
day she should wed Djor Kantos, son of her father's best friend. It had been
the dearest wish of Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this should be, and Tara of
Helium had accepted it as a matter of all but accomplished fact. Djor Kantos
had seemed to accept the matter in the same way. They had spoken of it casually
as something that would, as a matter of course, take place in the indefinite
future, as, for instance, his promotion in the navy, in which he was now a
padwar; or the set functions of the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors,
Jeddak of Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had puzzled
Tara of Helium upon the rare occasions she gave it thought, for she knew that
people who were to wed were usually much occupied with the matter of love and
she had all of a woman's curiosity -- she wondered what love was like. She was
very fond of Djor Kantos and she knew that he was very fond of her. They liked
to be together, for they liked the same things and the same people and the same
books and their dancing was a joy, not only to themselves but to those who
watched them. She could not imagine wanting to marry anyone other than Djor
Kantos.
So perhaps it was only
the sun that made her brows contract just the tiniest bit at the same instant
that she discovered Djor Kantos sitting in earnest conversation with Olvia
Marthis, daughter of the Jed of Hastor. It was Djor Kantos' duty immediately to
pay his respects to Dejah Thoris and Tara of Helium; but he did not do so and
presently the daughter of The Warlord frowned indeed. She looked long at Olvia
Marthis, and though she had seen her many times before and knew her well, she
looked at her today through new eyes that saw, apparently for the first time,
that the girl from Hastor was noticeably beautiful even among those other
beautiful women of Helium. Tara of Helium was disturbed. She attempted to
analyze her emotions; but found it difficult. Olvia Marthis was her friend --
she was very fond of her and she felt no anger toward her. Was she angry with
Djor Kantos? No, she finally decided that she was not. It was merely surprise,
then, that she felt -- surprise that Djor Kantos could be more interested in
another than in herself. She was about to cross the garden and join them when
she heard her father's voice directly behind her.
"Tara of Helium!"
he called, and she turned to see him approaching with a strange warrior whose
harness and metal bore devices with which she was unfamiliar. Even among the
gorgeous trappings of the men of Helium and the visitors from distant empires
those of the stranger were remarkable for their barbaric splendor. The leather
of his harness was completely hidden beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set
with brilliant diamonds, as were the scabbards of his swords and the ornate
holster that held his long, Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlit garden at
the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant rays of his countless gems
enveloping him as in an aureole of light imparted to his noble figure a
suggestion of godliness.
"Tara of Helium, I
bring you Gahan, Jed of Gathol," said John Carter, after the simple
Barsoomian custom of presentation.
"Kaor! Gahan, Jed
of Gathol," returned Tara of Helium.
"My sword is at
your feet, Tara of Helium," said the young chieftain.
The Warlord left them
and the two seated themselves upon an ersite bench beneath a spreading sorapus
tree.
"Far Gathol,"
mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been connected with mystery and
romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I cannot think of Gathol
as existing today, possibly because I have never before seen a Gatholian."
"And perhaps too
because of the great distance that separates Helium and Gathol, as well as the
comparative insignificance of my little free city, which might easily be lost
in one corner of mighty Helium," added Gahan. "But what we lack in
power we make up in pride," he continued, laughing. "We believe ours
the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It is one of the few that has retained
its freedom, and this despite the fact that its ancient diamond mines are the
richest known and, unlike practically all the other fields, are today
apparently as inexhaustible as ever."
"Tell me of
Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me with
interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed detracted
anything from the glamour of far Gathol.
Nor did Gahan seem
displeased with the excuse for further monopolizing the society of his fair
companion. His eyes seemed chained to her exquisite features, from which they
moved no further than to a rounded breast, part hid beneath its jeweled
covering, a naked shoulder or the symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in
bracelets of barbaric magnificence.
"Your ancient
history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built upon an island in
Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. As the ocean receded
Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, the summit of which was the island
upon which she had been built, until today she covers the slopes from summit to
base, while the bowels of the great hill are honeycombed with the galleries of
her mines. Entirely surrounding us is a great salt marsh, which protects us
from invasion by land, while the rugged and ofttimes vertical topography of our
mountain renders the landing of hostile airships a precarious
undertaking."
"That, and your
brave warriors?" suggested the girl.
Gahan smiled. "We
do not speak of that except to enemies," he said, "and then with
tongues of steel rather than of flesh."
"But what practice
in the art of war has a people which nature has thus protected from
attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had liked the young jed's answer to her
previous question, but yet in whose mind persisted a vague conviction of the
possible effeminacy of her companion, induced, doubtless, by the magnificence
of his trappings and weapons which carried a suggestion of splendid show rather
than grim utility.
"Our natural
barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeat on countless
occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune from attack," he explained,
"for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamond treasury that there yet
may be found those who will risk almost certain defeat in an effort to loot our
unconquered city; so thus we find occasional practice in the exercise of arms;
but there is more to Gathol than the mountain city. My country extends from
Polodona (Equator) north ten karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to
the twentieth west, including thus a million square haads, the greater
proportion of which is fine grazing land where run our great herds of thoats
and zitidars.
"Surrounded as we
are by predatory enemies our herds-men must indeed be warriors or we should
have no herds, and you may be assured they get plenty of fighting. Then there
is our constant need of workers in the mines. The Gatholians consider
themselves a race of warriors and as such prefer not to labor in the mines. The
law is, however, that each male Gatholian shall give an hour a day in labor to
the government. That is practically the only tax that is levied upon them. They
prefer however, to furnish a substitute to perform this labor, and as our own
people will not hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessary to obtain
slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not won without fighting.
We sell these slaves in the public market, the proceeds going, half and half,
to the government and the warriors who bring them in. The purchasers are
credited with the amount of labor performed by their particular slaves. At the
end of a year a good slave will have performed the labor tax of his master for
six years, and if slaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted to return to
his own people."
"You fight in
platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating his gorgeous trappings with
a quizzical smile.
Gahan laughed. "We
are a vain people," he admitted, good-naturedly, "and it is possible
that we place too much value on personal appearances. We vie with one another
in the splendor of our accoutrements when trapped for the observance of the
lighter duties of life, though when we take the field our leather is the
plainest I ever have seen worn by fighting men of Barsoom. We pride ourselves,
too, upon our physical beauty, and especially upon the beauty of our women. May
I dare to say, Tara of Helium, that I am hoping for the day when you will visit
Gathol that my people may see one who is really beautiful?"
"The women of
Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon the tongue of the
flatterer," rejoined the girl, but Gahan, Jed of Gathol, observed that she
smiled as she said it.
A bugle sounded, clear
and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "The Dance of Barsoom!"
exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it, Tara of Helium."
The girl glanced in the
direction of the bench where she had last seen Djor Kantos. He was not in
sight. She inclined her head in assent to the claim of the Gatholian. Slaves
were passing among the guests, distributing small musical instruments of a
single string. Upon each instrument were characters which indicated the pitch
and length of its tone. The instruments were of skeel, the string of gut, and
were shaped to fit the left forearm of the dancer, to which it was strapped.
There was also a ring wound with gut which was worn between the first and
second joints of the index finger of the right hand and which, when passed over
the string of the instrument, elicited the single note required of the dancer.
The guests had risen
and were slowly making their way toward the expanse of scarlet sward at the
south end of the gardens where the dance was to be held, when Djor Kantos came
hurriedly toward Tara of Helium. "I claim --" he exclaimed as he
neared her; but she interrupted him with a gesture.
"You are too late,
Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No laggard may claim Tara of
Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also Olvia Marthis, whom I have never seen
wait long to be claimed for this or any other dance."
"I have already
lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.
"And you mean to
say that you came for Tara of Helium only after having lost Olvia
Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating displeasure.
"Oh, Tara of
Helium, you know better than that," insisted the young man. "Was it
not natural that I should assume that you would expect me, who alone has
claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelve times past?"
"And sit and play
with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" she questioned.
"Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for no laggard," and she
threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward the assembling dancers with Gahan,
Jed of far Gathol.
The Dance of Barsoom
bears a relation similar to the more formal dancing functions of Mars that The
Grand March does to ours, though it is infinitely more intricate and more
beautiful. Before a Martian youth of either sex may attend an important social
function where there is dancing, he must have become proficient in at least
three dances -- The Dance of Barsoom, his national dance, and the dance of his
city. In these three dances the dancers furnish their own music, which never
varies; nor do the steps or figures vary, having been handed down from time
immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but The Dance of
Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and harmony -- there is no grotesque
posturing, no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has been described as the
interpretation of the highest ideals of a world that aspired to grace and
beauty and chastity in woman, and strength and dignity and loyalty in man.
Today, John Carter,
Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate, led in the dancing, and if there
was another couple that vied with them in possession of the silent admiration
of the guests it was the resplendent Jed of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In
the ever-changing figures of the dance the man found himself now with the
girl's hand in his and again with an arm about the lithe body that the jeweled
harness but inadequately covered, and the girl, though she had danced a
thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time the personal contact
of a man's arm against her naked flesh. It troubled her that she should notice
it, and she looked up questioningly and almost with displeasure at the man as
though it was his fault. Their eyes met and she saw in his that which she had
never seen in the eyes of Djor Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and
they both stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into
each other's eyes. It was Gahan of Gathol who spoke first.
"Tara of Helium, I
love you!" he said.
The girl drew herself
to her full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgets himself," she
exclaimed haughtily.
"The Jed of Gathol
would forget everything but you, Tara of Helium," he replied. Fiercely he
pressed the soft hand that he still retained from the last position of the
dance. "I love you, Tara of Helium," he repeated. "Why should
your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just now did not refuse to see --
and answer?"
"What meanest
thou?" she cried. "Are the men of Gathol such boors, then?"
"They are neither
boors nor fools," he replied, quietly. "They know when they love a
woman -- and when she loves them."
Tara of Helium stamped
her little foot in anger. "Go!" she said, "before it is
necessary to acquaint my father with the dishonor of his guest."
She turned and walked
away. "Wait!" cried the man. "Just another word."
"Of apology?"
she asked.
"Of
prophecy," he said.
"I do not care to
hear it," replied Tara of Helium, and left him standing there. She was strangely
unstrung and shortly thereafter returned to her own quarter of the palace,
where she stood for a long time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet
tower of Greater Helium toward the northwest.
Presently she turned
angrily away. "I hate him!" she exclaimed aloud.
"Whom?"
inquired the privileged Uthia.
Tara of Helium stamped
her foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed of Gathol," she replied.
Uthia raised her slim
brows.
At the stamping of the
little foot, a great beast rose from the corner of the room and crossed to Tara
of Helium where it stood looking up into her face. She placed her hand upon the
ugly head. "Dear old Woola," she said; "no love could be deeper
than yours, yet it never offends. Would that men might pattern themselves after
you!"
TARA of Helium did not
return to her father's guests, but awaited in her own apartments the word from
Djor Kantos which she knew must come, begging her to return to the gardens. She
would then refuse, haughtily. But no appeal came from Djor Kantos. At first
Tara of Helium was angry, then she was hurt, and always she was puzzled. She
could not understand. Occasionally she thought of the Jed of Gathol and then
she would stamp her foot, for she was very angry indeed with Gahan. The
presumption of the man! He had insinuated that he read love for him in her
eyes. Never had she been so insulted and humiliated. Never had she so
thoroughly hated a man. Suddenly she turned toward Uthia.
"My flying
leather!" she commanded.
"But the
guests!" exclaimed the slave girl. "Your father, The Warlord, will
expect you to return."
"He will be
disappointed," snapped Tara of Helium.
The slave hesitated.
"He does not approve of your flying alone," she reminded her
mistress.
The young princess
sprang to her feet and seized the unhappy slave by the shoulders, shaking her.
"You are becoming unbearable, Uthia," she cried. "Soon there
will be no alternative than to send you to the public slave-market. Then
possibly you will find a master to your liking."
Tears came to the soft
eyes of the slave girl. "It is because I love you, my princess," she
said softly. Tara of Helium melted. She took the slave in her arms and kissed
her.
"I have the
disposition of a thoat, Uthia," she said. "Forgive me! I love you and
there is nothing that I would not do for you and nothing would I do to harm
you. Again, as I have so often in the past, I offer you your freedom."
"I do not wish my
freedom if it will separate me from you, Tara of Helium," replied Uthia.
"I am happy here with you -- I think that I should die without you."
Again the girls kissed.
"And you will not fly alone, then?" questioned the slave.
Tara of Helium laughed
and pinched her companion. "You persistent little pest," she cried.
"Of course I shall fly -- does not Tara of Helium always do that which
pleases her?"
Uthia shook her head
sorrowfully. "Alas! she does," she admitted. "Iron is the
Warlord of Barsoom to the influences of all but two. In the hands of Dejah
Thoris and Tara of Helium he is as potters' clay."
"Then run and
fetch my flying leather like the sweet slave you are," directed the
mistress.
Far out across the
ochre sea-bottoms beyond the twin cities of Helium raced the swift flier of
Tara of Helium. Thrilling to the speed and the buoyancy and the obedience of
the little craft the girl drove toward the northwest. Why she should choose
that direction she did not pause to consider. Perhaps because in that direction
lay the least known areas of Barsoom, and, ergo, Romance, Mystery, and
Adventure. In that direction also lay far Gathol; but to that fact she gave no
conscious thought.
She did, however, think
occasionally of the jed of that distant kingdom, but the reaction to these
thoughts was scarcely pleasurable. They still brought a flush of shame to her
cheeks and a surge of angry blood to her heart. She was very angry with the Jed
of Gathol, and though she should never see him again she was quite sure that hate
of him would remain fresh in her memory forever. Mostly her thoughts revolved
about another -- Djor Kantos. And when she thought of him she thought also of
Olvia Marthis of Hastor. Tara of Helium thought that she was jealous of the
fair Olvia and it made her very angry to think that. She was angry with Djor
Kantos and herself, but she was not angry at all with Olvia Marthis, whom she
loved, and so of course she was not jealous really. The trouble was, that Tara
of Helium had failed for once to have her own way. Djor Kantos had not come
running like a willing slave when she had expected him, and, ah, here was the
nub of the whole thing! Gahan, Jed of Gathol, a stranger, had been a witness to
her humiliation. He had seen her unclaimed at the beginning of a great function
and he had had to come to her rescue to save her, as he doubtless thought, from
the inglorious fate of a wall-flower. At the recurring thought, Tara of Helium
could feel her whole body burning with scarlet shame and then she went suddenly
white and cold with rage; whereupon she turned her flier about so abruptly that
she was all but torn from her lashings upon the flat, narrow deck. She reached
home just before dark. The guests had departed. Quiet had descended upon the
palace. An hour later she joined her father and mother at the evening meal.
"You deserted us,
Tara of Helium," said John Carter. "It is not what the guests of John
Carter should expect."
"They did not come
to see me," replied Tara of Helium. "I did not ask them."
"They were no less
your guests," replied her father.
The girl rose, and came
and stood beside him and put her arms about his neck.
"My proper old
Virginian," she cried, rumpling his shock of black hair.
"In Virginia you
would be turned over your father's knee and spanked," said the man,
smiling.
She crept into his lap
and kissed him. "You do not love me any more," she announced.
"No one loves me," but she could not compose her features into a pout
because bubbling laughter insisted upon breaking through.
"The trouble is
there are too many who love you," he said. "And now there is
another."
"Indeed!" she
cried. "What do you mean?"
"Gahan of Gathol
has asked permission to woo you."
The girl sat up very
straight and tilted her chin in the air. "I would not wed with a walking
diamond-mine," she said. "I will not have him."
"I told him as
much," replied her father, "and that you were as good as betrothed to
another. He was very courteous about it; but at the same time he gave me to
understand that he was accustomed to getting what he wanted and that he wanted
you very much. I suppose it will mean another war. Your mother's beauty kept
Helium at war for many years, and -- well, Tara of Helium, if I were a young
man I should doubtless be willing to set all Barsoom afire to win you, as I
still would to keep your divine mother," and he smiled across the sorapus
table and its golden service at the undimmed beauty of Mars' most beautiful
woman.
"Our little girl
should not yet be troubled with such matters," said Dejah Thoris.
"Remember, John Carter, that you are not dealing with an Earth child,
whose span of life would be more than half completed before a daughter of
Barsoom reached actual maturity."
"But do not the
daughters of Barsoom sometimes marry as early as twenty?" he insisted.
"Yes, but they
will still be desirable in the eyes of men after forty generations of Earth
folk have returned to dust -- there is no hurry, at least, upon Barsoom. We do
not fade and decay here as you tell me those of your planet do, though you,
yourself, belie your own words. When the time seems proper Tara of Helium shall
wed with Djor Kantos, and until then let us give the matter no further
thought."
"No," said
the girl, "the subject irks me, and I shall not marry Djor Kantos, or
another -- I do not intend to wed."
Her father and mother
looked at her and smiled. "When Gahan of Gathol returns he may carry you
off," said the former.
"He has
gone?" asked the girl.
"His flier departs
for Gathol in the morning," John Carter replied.
"I have seen the
last of him then," remarked Tara of Helium with a sigh of relief.
"He says
not," returned John Carter.
The girl dismissed the
subject with a shrug and the conversation passed to other topics. A letter had
arrived from Thuvia of Ptarth, who was visiting at her father's court while
Carthoris, her mate, hunted in Okar. Word had been received that the Tharks and
Warhoons were again at war, or rather that there had been an engagement, for
war was their habitual state. In the memory of man there had been no peace
between these two savage green hordes -- only a single temporary truce. Two new
battleships had been launched at Hastor. A little band of holy therns was
attempting to revive the ancient and discredited religion of Issus, who they
claimed still lived in spirit and had communicated with them. There were rumors
of war from Dusar. A scientist claimed to have discovered human life on the
further moon. A madman had attempted to destroy the atmosphere plant. Seven
people had been assassinated in Greater Helium during the last ten zodes, (the
equivalent of an Earth day.)
Following the meal
Dejah Thoris and The Warlord played at jetan, the Barsoomian game of chess,
which is played upon a board of a hundred alternate black and orange squares.
One player has twenty black pieces, the other, twenty orange pieces. A brief
description of the game may interest those Earth readers who care for chess,
and will not be lost upon those who pursue this narrative to its conclusion,
since before they are done they will find that a knowledge of jetan will add to
the interest and the thrills that are in store for them.
The men are placed upon
the board as in chess upon the first two rows next the players. In order from
left to right on the line of squares nearest the players, the jetan pieces are
Warrior, Padwar, Dwar, Flier, Chief, Princess, Flier, Dwar, Padwar, Warrior. In
the next line all are Panthans except the end pieces, which are called Thoats,
and represent mounted warriors.
The Panthans, which are
represented as warriors with one feather, may move one space in any direction
except backward; the Thoats, mounted warriors with three feathers, may move one
straight and one diagonal, and may jump intervening pieces; Warriors, foot
soldiers with two feathers, straight in any direction, or diagonally, two
spaces; Padwars, lieutenants wearing two feathers, two diagonal in any direction,
or combination; Dwars, captains wearing three feathers, three spaces straight
in any direction, or combination; Fliers, represented by a propellor with three
blades, three spaces in any direction, or combination, diagonally, and may jump
intervening pieces; the Chief, indicated by a diadem with ten jewels, three
spaces in any direction, straight, or diagonal; Princess, diadem with a single
jewel, same as Chief, and can jump intervening pieces.
The game is won when a
player places any of his pieces on the same square with his opponent's
Princess, or when a Chief takes a Chief. It is drawn when a Chief is taken by
any opposing piece other than the opposing Chief; or when both sides have been
reduced to three pieces, or less, of equal value, and the game is not
terminated in the following ten moves, five apiece. This is but a general
outline of the game, briefly stated.
It was this game that
Dejah Thoris and John Carter were playing when Tara of Helium bid them good
night, retiring to her own quarters and her sleeping silks and furs.
"Until morning, my beloved," she called back to them as she passed
from the apartment, nor little did she guess, nor her parents, that this might
indeed be the last time that they would ever set eyes upon her.
The morning broke dull
and gray. Ominous clouds billowed restlessly and low. Beneath them torn
fragments scudded toward the northwest. From her window Tara of Helium looked
out upon this unusual scene. Dense clouds seldom overcast the Barsoomian sky.
At this hour of the day it was her custom to ride one of those small thoats
that are the saddle animals of the red Martians, but the sight of the billowing
clouds lured her to a new adventure. Uthia still slept and the girl did not
disturb her. Instead, she dressed quietly and went to the hangar upon the roof
of the palace directly above her quarters where her own swift flier was housed.
She had never driven through the clouds. It was an adventure that always she
had longed to experience. The wind was strong and it was with difficulty that
she maneuvered the craft from the hangar without accident, but once away it
raced swiftly out above the twin cities. The buffeting winds caught and tossed
it, and the girl laughed aloud in sheer joy of the resultant thrills. She handled
the little ship like a veteran, though few veterans would have faced the menace
of such a storm in so light a craft. Swiftly she rose toward the clouds, racing
with the scudding streamers of the storm-swept fragments, and a moment later
she was swallowed by the dense masses billowing above. Here was a new world, a
world of chaos unpeopled except for herself; but it was a cold, damp, lonely
world and she found it depressing after the novelty of it had been dissipated,
by an overpowering sense of the magnitude of the forces surging about her.
Suddenly she felt very lonely and very cold and very little. Hurriedly,
therefore, she rose until presently her craft broke through into the glorious
sunlight that transformed the upper surface of the somber element into rolling
masses of burnished silver. Here it was still cold, but without the dampness of
the clouds, and in the eye of the brilliant sun her spirits rose with the
mounting needle of her altimeter. Gazing at the clouds, now far beneath, the
girl experienced the sensation of hanging stationary in mid-heaven; but the
whirring of her propellor, the wind beating upon her, the high figures that
rose and fell beneath the glass of her speedometer, these told her that her
speed was terrific. It was then that she determined to turn back.
The first attempt she
made above the clouds, but it was unsuccessful. To her surprise she discovered
that she could not even turn against the high wind, which rocked and buffeted
the frail craft. Then she dropped swiftly to the dark and wind-swept zone
between the hurtling clouds and the gloomy surface of the shadowed ground. Here
she tried again to force the nose of the flier back toward Helium, but the
tempest seized the frail thing and hurled it remorselessly about, rolling it over
and over and tossing it as it were a cork in a cataract. At last the girl
succeeded in righting the flier, perilously close to the ground. Never before
had she been so close to death, yet she was not terrified. Her coolness had
saved her, that and the strength of the deck lashings that held her. Traveling
with the storm she was safe, but where was it bearing her? She pictured the
apprehension of her father and mother when she failed to appear at the morning
meal. They would find her flier missing and they would guess that somewhere in
the path of the storm it lay a wrecked and tangled mass upon her dead body, and
then brave men would go out in search of her, risking their lives; and that
lives would be lost in the search, she knew, for she realized now that never in
her lifetime had such a tempest raged upon Barsoom.
She must turn back! She
must reach Helium before her mad lust for thrills had cost the sacrifice of a
single courageous life! She determined that greater safety and likelihood of
success lay above the clouds, and once again she rose through the chilling,
wind-tossed vapor. Her speed again was terrific, for the wind seemed to have
increased rather than to have lessened. She sought gradually to check the swift
flight of her craft, but though she finally succeeded in reversing her motor
the wind but carried her on as it would. Then it was that Tara of Helium lost
her temper. Had her world not always bowed in acquiescence to her every wish?
What were these elements that they dared to thwart her? She would demonstrate
to them that the daughter of The Warlord was not to be denied! They would learn
that Tara of Helium might not be ruled even by the forces of nature!
And so she drove her
motor forward again and then with her firm, white teeth set in grim
determination she drove the steering lever far down to port with the intention
of forcing the nose of her craft straight into the teeth of the wind, and the
wind seized the frail thing and toppled it over upon its back, and twisted and
turned it and hurled it over and over; the propellor raced for an instant in an
air pocket and then the tempest seized it again and twisted it from its shaft,
leaving the girl helpless upon an unmanageable atom that rose and fell, and
rolled and tumbled -- the sport of the elements she had defied. Tara of
Helium's first sensation was one of surprise -- that she had failed to have her
own way. Then she commenced to feel concern -- not for her own safety but for
the anxiety of her parents and the dangers that the inevitable searchers must
face. She reproached herself for the thoughtless selfishness that had
jeopardized the peace and safety of others. She realized her own grave danger,
too; but she was still unterrified, as befitted the daughter of Dejah Thoris
and John Carter. She knew that her buoyancy tanks might keep her afloat
indefinitely, but she had neither food nor water, and she was being borne
toward the least-known area of Barsoom. Perhaps it would be better to land
immediately and await the coming of the searchers, rather than to allow herself
to be carried still further from Helium, thus greatly reducing the chances of
early discovery; but when she dropped toward the ground she discovered that the
violence of the wind rendered an attempt to land tantamount to destruction and
she rose again, rapidly.
Carried along a few
hundred feet above the ground she was better able to appreciate the Titanic
proportions of the storm than when she had flown in the comparative serenity of
the zone above the clouds, for now she could distinctly see the effect of the
wind upon the surface of Barsoom. The air was filled with dust and flying bits
of vegetation and when the storm carried her across an irrigated area of farm
land she saw great trees and stone walls and buildings lifted high in air and
scattered broadcast over the devastated country; and then she was carried
swiftly on to other sights that forced in upon her consciousness a rapidly
growing conviction that after all Tara of Helium was a very small and
insignificant and helpless person. It was quite a shock to her self-pride while
it lasted, and toward evening she was ready to believe that it was going to
last forever. There had been no abatement in the ferocity of the tempest, nor
was there indication of any. She could only guess at the distance she had been
carried for she could not believe in the correctness of the high figures that
had been piled upon the record of her odometer. They seemed unbelievable and
yet, had she known it, they were quite true -- in twelve hours she had flown
and been carried by the storm full seven thousand haads. Just before dark she
was carried over one of the deserted cities of ancient Mars. It was Torquas,
but she did not know it. Had she, she might readily have been forgiven for
abandoning the last vestige of hope, for to the people of Helium Torquas seems
as remote as do the South Sea Islands to us. And still the tempest, its fury
unabated, bore her on.
All that night she
hurtled through the dark beneath the clouds, or rose to race through the
moonlit void beneath the glory of Barsoom's two satellites. She was cold and
hungry and altogether miserable, but her brave little spirit refused to admit
that her plight was hopeless even though reason proclaimed the truth. Her reply
to reason, sometime spoken aloud in sudden defiance, recalled the Spartan
stubbornness of her sire in the face of certain annihilation: "I still
live!"
That morning there had
been an early visitor at the palace of The Warlord. It was Gahan, Jed of
Gathol. He had arrived shortly after the absence of Tara of Helium had been
noted, and in the excitement he had remained unannounced until John Carter had
happened upon him in the great reception corridor of the palace as The Warlord
was hurrying out to arrange for the dispatch of ships in search of his
daughter.
Gahan read the concern
upon the face of The Warlord. "Forgive me if I intrude, John Carter,"
he said. "I but came to ask the indulgence of another day since it would
be foolhardy to attempt to navigate a ship in such a storm."
"Remain, Gahan, a
welcome guest until you choose to leave us," replied The Warlord;
"but you must forgive any seeming inattention upon the part of Helium
until my daughter is restored to us."
"You daughter!
Restored! What do you mean?" exclaimed the Gatholian. "I do not
understand."
"She is gone,
together with her light flier. That is all we know. We can only assume that she
decided to fly before the morning meal and was caught in the clutches of the
tempest. You will pardon me, Gahan, if I leave you abruptly -- I am arranging
to send ships in search of her;" but Gahan, Jed of Gathol, was already
speeding in the direction of the palace gate. There he leaped upon a waiting
thoat and followed by two warriors in the metal of Gathol, he dashed through
the avenues of Helium toward the palace that had been set aside for his
entertainment.
ABOVE the roof of the
palace that housed the Jed of Gathol and his entourage, the cruiser Vanator
tore at her stout moorings. The groaning tackle bespoke the mad fury of the
gale, while the worried faces of those members of the crew whose duties
demanded their presence on the straining craft gave corroborative evidence of
the gravity of the situation. Only stout lashings prevented these men from
being swept from the deck, while those upon the roof below were constantly
compelled to cling to rails and stanchions to save themselves from being
carried away by each new burst of meteoric fury. Upon the prow of the Vanator
was painted the device of Gathol, but no pennants were displayed in the upper
works since the storm had carried away several in rapid succession, just as it
seemed to the watching men that it must carry away the ship itself. They could
not believe that any tackle could withstand for long this Titanic force. To
each of the twelve lashings clung a brawny warrior with drawn short-sword. Had
but a single mooring given to the power of the tempest eleven short-swords
would have cut the others; since, partially moored, the ship was doomed, while
free in the tempest it stood at least some slight chance for life.
"By the blood of
Issus, I believe they will hold!" screamed one warrior to another.
"And if they do
not hold may the spirits of our ancestors reward the brave warriors upon the
Vanator," replied another of those upon the roof of the palace, "for
it will not be long from the moment her cables part before her crew dons the
leather of the dead; but yet, Tanus, I believe they will hold. Give thanks at
least that we did not sail before the tempest fell, since now each of us has a
chance to live."
"Yes,"
replied Tanus, "I should hate to be abroad today upon the stoutest ship
that sails the Barsoomian sky."
It was then that Gahan
the Jed appeared upon the roof. With him were the balance of his own party and
a dozen warriors of Helium. The young chief turned to his followers.
"I sail at once
upon the Vanator," he said, "in search of Tara of Helium who is
thought to have been carried away upon a one-man flier by the storm. I do not
need to explain to you the slender chances the Vanator has to withstand the
fury of the tempest, nor will I order you to your deaths. Let those who wish
remain behind without dishonor. The others will follow me," and he leaped
for the rope ladder that lashed wildly in the gale.
The first man to follow
him was Tanus and when the last reached the deck of the cruiser there remained
upon the palace roof only the twelve warriors of Helium, who, with naked
swords, had taken the posts of the Gatholians at the moorings.
Not a single warrior
who had remained aboard the Vanator would leave her now.
"I expected no
less," said Gahan, as with the help of those already on the deck he and
the others found secure lashings. The commander of the Vanator shook his head.
He loved his trim craft, the pride of her class in the little navy of Gathol. It
was of her he thought -- not of himself. He saw her lying torn and twisted upon
the ochre vegetation of some distant sea-bottom, to be presently overrun and
looted by some savage, green horde. He looked at Gahan.
"Are you ready,
San Tothis?" asked the jed.
"All is
ready."
"Then cut
away!"
Word was passed across
the deck and over the side to the Heliumetic warriors below that at the third
gun they were to cut away. Twelve keen swords must strike simultaneously and
with equal power, and each must sever completely and instantly three strands of
heavy cable that no loose end fouling a block bring immediate disaster upon the
Vanator.
Boom! The voice of the
signal gun rolled down through the screaming wind to the twelve warriors upon
the roof. Boom! Twelve swords were raised above twelve brawny shoulders. Boom!
Twelve keen edges severed twelve complaining moorings, clean and as one.
The Vanator, her
propellors whirling, shot forward with the storm. The tempest struck her in the
stern as with a mailed fist and stood the great ship upon her nose, and then it
caught her and spun her as a child's top spins; and upon the palace roof the
twelve men looked on in silent helplessness and prayed for the souls of the
brave warriors who were going to their death. And others saw, from Helium's
lofty landing stages and from a thousand hangars upon a thousand roofs; but
only for an instant did the preparations stop that would send other brave men
into the frightful maelstrom of that apparently hopeless search, for such is
the courage of the warriors of Barsoom.
But the Vanator did not
fall to the ground, within sight of the city at least, though as long as the
watchers could see her never for an instant did she rest upon an even keel.
Sometimes she lay upon one side or the other, or again she hurtled along keel
up, or rolled over and over, or stood upon her nose or her tail at the caprice
of the great force that carried her along. And the watchers saw that this great
ship was merely being blown away with the other bits of debris great and small
that filled the sky. Never in the memory of man or the annals of recorded
history had such a storm raged across the face of Barsoom.
And in another instant
was the Vanator forgotten as the lofty, scarlet tower that had marked Lesser
Helium for ages crashed to ground, carrying death and demolition upon the city
beneath. Panic reigned. A fire broke out in the ruins. The city's every force
seemed crippled, and it was then that The Warlord ordered the men that were
about to set forth in search of Tara of Helium to devote their energies to the
salvation of the city, for he too had witnessed the start of the Vanator and
realized the futility of wasting men who were needed sorely if Lesser Helium
was to be saved from utter destruction.
Shortly after noon of
the second day the storm commenced to abate, and before the sun went down, the
little craft upon which Tara of Helium had hovered between life and death these
many hours drifted slowly before a gentle breeze above a landscape of rolling
hills that once had been lofty mountains upon a Martian continent. The girl was
exhausted from loss of sleep, from lack of food and drink, and from the nervous
reaction consequent to the terrifying experiences through which she had passed.
In the near distance, just topping an intervening hill, she caught a momentary
glimpse of what appeared to be a dome-capped tower. Quickly she dropped the
flier until the hill shut it off from the view of the possible occupants of the
structure she had seen. The tower meant to her the habitation of man,
suggesting the presence of water and, perhaps, of food. If the tower was the
deserted relic of a bygone age she would scarcely find food there, but there
was still a chance that there might be water. If it was inhabited, then must
her approach be cautious, for only enemies might be expected to abide in so far
distant a land. Tara of Helium knew that she must be far from the twin cities
of her grandfather's empire, but had she guessed within even a thousand haads
of the reality, she had been stunned by realization of the utter hopelessness
of her state.
Keeping the craft low,
for the buoyancy tanks were still intact, the girl skimmed the ground until the
gently-moving wind had carried her to the side of the last hill that intervened
between her and the structure she had thought a man-built tower. Here she
brought the flier to the ground among some stunted trees, and dragging it
beneath one where it might be somewhat hidden from craft passing above, she
made it fast and set forth to reconnoiter. Like most women of her class she was
armed only with a single slender blade, so that in such an emergency as now
confronted her she must depend almost solely upon her cleverness in remaining
undiscovered by enemies. With utmost caution she crept warily toward the crest
of the hill, taking advantage of every natural screen that the landscape
afforded to conceal her approach from possible observers ahead, while
momentarily she cast quick glances rearward lest she be taken by surprise from
that quarter.
She came at last to the
summit, where, from the concealment of a low bush, she could see what lay
beyond. Beneath her spread a beautiful valley surrounded by low hills. Dotting
it were numerous circular towers, dome-capped, and surrounding each tower was a
stone wall enclosing several acres of ground. The valley appeared to be in a
high state of cultivation. Upon the opposite side of the hill and just beneath
her was a tower and enclosure. It was the roof of the former that had first
attracted her attention. In all respects it seemed identical in construction
with those further out in the valley -- a high, plastered wall of massive
construction surrounding a similarly constructed tower, upon whose gray surface
was painted in vivid colors a strange device. The towers were about forty
sofads in diameter, approximately forty earth-feet, and sixty in height to the
base of the dome. To an Earth man they would have immediately suggested the
silos in which dairy farmers store ensilage for their herds; but closer
scrutiny, revealing an occasional embrasured opening together with the strange
construction of the domes, would have altered such a conclusion. Tara of Helium
saw that the domes seemed to be faced with innumerable prisms of glass, those
that were exposed to the declining sun scintillating so gorgeously as to remind
her suddenly of the magnificent trappings of Gahan of Gathol. As she thought of
the man she shook her head angrily, and moved cautiously forward a foot or two
that she might get a less obstructed view of the nearer tower and its
enclosure.
As Tara of Helium
looked down into the enclosure surrounding the nearest tower, her brows
contracted momentarily in frowning surprise, and then her eyes went wide in an
expression of incredulity tinged with horror, for what she saw was a score or
two of human bodies -- naked and headless. For a long moment she watched,
breathless; unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes -- that these
grewsome things moved and had life! She saw them crawling about on hands and
knees over and across one another, searching about with their fingers. And she
saw some of them at troughs, for which the others seemed to be searching, and
those at the troughs were taking something from these receptacles and
apparently putting it in a hole where their necks should have been. They were
not far beneath her -- she could see them distinctly and she saw that there
were the bodies of both men and women, and that they were beautifully
proportioned, and that their skin was similar to hers, but of a slightly
lighter red. At first she had thought that she was looking upon a shambles and
that the bodies, but recently decapitated, were moving under the impulse of
muscular reaction; but presently she realized that this was their normal condition.
The horror of them fascinated her, so that she could scarce take her eyes from
them. It was evident from their groping hands that they were eyeless, and their
sluggish movements suggested a rudimentary nervous system and a correspondingly
minute brain. The girl wondered how they subsisted for she could not, even by
the wildest stretch of imagination, picture these imperfect creatures as
intelligent tillers of the soil. Yet that the soil of the valley was tilled was
evident and that these things had food was equally so. But who tilled the soil?
Who kept and fed these unhappy things, and for what purpose? It was an enigma
beyond her powers of deduction.
The sight of food
aroused again a consciousness of her own gnawing hunger and the thirst that parched
her throat. She could see both food and water within the enclosure; but would
she dare enter even should she find means of ingress? She doubted it, since the
very thought of possible contact with these grewsome creatures sent a shudder
through her frame.
Then her eyes wandered
again out across the valley until presently they picked out what appeared to be
a tiny stream winding its way through the center of the farm lands -- a strange
sight upon Barsoom. Ah, if it were but water! Then might she hope with a real
hope, for the fields would give her sustenance which she could gain by night,
while by day she hid among the surrounding hills, and sometime, yes, sometime
she knew, the searchers would come, for John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, would
never cease to search for his daughter until every square haad of the planet
had been combed again and again. She knew him and she knew the warriors of
Helium and so she knew that could she but manage to escape harm until they
came, they would indeed come at last.
She would have to wait
until dark before she dare venture into the valley, and in the meantime she
thought it well to search out a place of safety nearby where she might be
reasonably safe from savage beasts. It was possible that the district was free
from carnivora, but one might never be sure in a strange land. As she was about
to withdraw be hind the brow of the hill her attention was again attracted to
the enclosure below. Two figures had emerged from the tower. Their beautiful
bodies seemed identical with those of the headless creatures among which they
moved, but the newcomers were not headless. Upon their shoulders were heads
that seemed human, yet which the girl intuitively sensed were not human. They
were just a trifle too far away for her to see them distinctly in the waning
light of the dying day, but she knew that they were too large, they were out of
proportion to the perfectly proportioned bodies, and they were oblate in form.
She could see that the men wore some manner of harness to which were slung the
customary long-sword and short-sword of the Barsoomian warrior, and that about
their short necks were massive leather collars cut to fit closely over the
shoulders and snugly to the lower part of the head. Their features were scarce
discernible, but there was a suggestion of grotesqueness about them that
carried to her a feeling of revulsion.
The two carried a long
rope to which were fastened, at intervals of about two sofads, what she later
guessed were light manacles, for she saw the warriors passing among the poor
creatures in the enclosure and about the right wrist of each they fastened one
of the manacles. When all had been thus fastened to the rope one of the
warriors commenced to pull and tug at the loose end as though attempting to drag
the headless company toward the tower, while the other went among them with a
long, light whip with which he flicked them upon the naked skin. Slowly, dully,
the creatures rose to their feet and between the tugging of the warrior in
front and the lashing of him behind the hopeless band was finally herded within
the tower. Tara of Helium shuddered as she turned away. What manner of
creatures were these?
Suddenly it was night.
The Barsoomian day had ended, and then the brief period of twilight that
renders the transition from daylight to darkness almost as abrupt as the
switching off of an electric light, and Tara of Helium had found no sanctuary.
But perhaps there were no beasts to fear, or rather to avoid -- Tara of Helium
liked not the word fear. She would have been glad, however, had there been a
cabin, even a very tiny cabin, upon her small flier; but there was no cabin.
The interior of the hull was completely taken up by the buoyancy tanks. Ah, she
had it! How stupid of her not to have thought of it before! She could moor the
craft to the tree beneath which it rested and let it rise the length of the
rope. Lashed to the deck rings she would then be safe from any roaming beast of
prey that chanced along. In the morning she could drop to the ground again before
the craft was discovered.
As Tara of Helium crept
over the brow of the hill down toward the valley, her presence was hidden by
the darkness of the night from the sight of any chance observer who might be
loitering by a window in the nearby tower. Cluros, the farther moon, was just
rising above the horizon to commence his leisurely journey through the heavens.
Eight zodes later he would set -- a trifle over nineteen and a half Earth hours
-- and during that time Thuria, his vivacious mate, would have circled the
planet twice and be more than half way around on her third trip. She had but
just set. It would be more than three and a half hours before she shot above
the opposite horizon to hurtle, swift and low, across the face of the dying
planet. During this temporary absence of the mad moon Tara of Helium hoped to
find both food and water, and gain again the safety of her flier's deck.
She groped her way
through the darkness, giving the tower and its enclosure as wide a berth as
possible. Sometimes she stumbled, for in the long shadows cast by the rising
Cluros objects were grotesquely distorted though the light from the moon was
still not sufficient to be of much assistance to her. Nor, as a matter of fact,
did she want light. She could find the stream in the dark, by the simple
expedient of going down hill until she walked into it and she had seen that
bearing trees and many crops grew throughout the valley, so that she would pass
food in plenty ere she reached the stream. If the moon showed her the way more
clearly and thus saved her from an occasional fall, he would, too, show her
more clearly to the strange denizens of the towers, and that, of course, must
not be. Could she have waited until the following night conditions would have
been better, since Cluros would not appear in the heavens at all and so, during
Thuria's absence, utter darkness would reign; but the pangs of thirst and the
gnawing of hunger could be endured no longer with food and drink both in sight,
and so she had decided to risk discovery rather than suffer longer.
Safely past the nearest
tower, she moved as rapidly as she felt consistent with safety, choosing her
way wherever possible so that she might take advantage of the shadows of the
trees that grew at intervals and at the same time discover those which bore
fruit. In this latter she met with almost immediate success, for the very third
tree beneath which she halted was heavy with ripe fruit. Never, thought Tara of
Helium, had aught so delicious impinged upon her palate, and yet it was naught
else than the almost tasteless usa, which is considered to be palatable only
after having been cooked and highly spiced. It grows easily with little
irrigation and the trees bear abundantly. The fruit, which ranks high in food
value, is one of the staple foods of the less well-to-do, and because of its
cheapness and nutritive value forms one of the principal rations of both armies
and navies upon Barsoom, a use which has won for it a Martian sobriquet which,
freely translated into English, would be, The Fighting Potato. The girl was
wise enough to eat but sparingly, but she filled her pocket-pouch with the
fruit before she continued upon her way.
Two towers she passed
before she came at last to the stream, and here again was she temperate,
drinking but little and that very slowly, contenting herself with rinsing her
mouth frequently and bathing her face, her hands, and her feet; and even though
the night was cold, as Martian nights are, the sensation of refreshment more
than compensated for the physical discomfort of the low temperature. Replacing
her sandals she sought among the growing track near the stream for whatever
edible berries or tubers might be planted there, and found a couple of
varieties that could be eaten raw. With these she replaced some of the usa in
her pocket-pouch, not only to insure a variety but because she found them more
palatable. Occasionally she returned to the stream to drink, but each time
moderately. Always were her eyes and ears alert for the first signs of danger,
but she had neither seen nor heard aught to disturb her. And presently the time
approached when she felt she must return to her flier lest she be caught in the
revealing light of low swinging Thuria. She dreaded leaving the water for she
knew that she must become very thirsty before she could hope to come again to
the stream. If she only had some little receptacle in which to carry water,
even a small amount would tide her over until the following night; but she had
nothing and so she must content herself as best she could with the juices of
the fruit and tubers she had gathered.
After a last drink at
the stream, the longest and deepest she had allowed herself, she rose to
retrace her steps toward the hills; but even as she did so she became suddenly
tense with apprehension. What was that? She could have sworn that she saw
something move in the shadows beneath a tree not far away. For a long minute
the girl did not move -- she scarce breathed. Her eyes remained fixed upon the
dense shadows below the tree, her ears strained through the silence of the
night. A low moaning came down from the hills where her flier was hidden. She
knew it well -- the weird note of the hunting banth. And the great carnivore
lay directly in her path. But he was not so close as this other thing, hiding
there in the shadows just a little way off. What was it? It was the strain of
uncertainty that weighed heaviest upon her. Had she known the nature of the
creature lurking there half its meanace would have vanished. She cast quickly
about her in search of some haven of refuge should the thing prove dangerous.
Again arose the moaning
from the hills, but this time closer. Almost immediately it was answered from
the opposite side of the valley, behind her, and then from the distance to the
right of her, and twice upon her left. Her eyes had found a tree, quite near.
Slowly, and without taking her eyes from the shadows of that other tree, she
moved toward the overhanging branches that might afford her sanctuary in the
event of need, and at her first move a low growl rose from the spot she had
been watching and she heard the sudden moving of a big body. Simultaneously the
creature shot into the moonlight in full charge upon her, its tail erect, its
tiny ears laid flat, its great mouth with its multiple rows of sharp and
powerful fangs already yawning for its prey, its ten legs carrying it forward
in great leaps, and now from the beast's throat issued the frightful roar with
which it seeks to paralyze its prey. It was a banth -- the great, maned lion of
Barsoom. Tara of Helium saw it coming and leaped for the tree toward which she
had been moving, and the banth realized her intention and redoubled his speed.
As his hideous roar awakened the echoes in the hills, so too it awakened echoes
in the valley; but these echoes came from the living throats of others of his
kind, until it seemed to the girl that Fate had thrown her into the midst of a
countless multitude of these savage beasts.
Almost incredbily swift
is the speed of a charging banth, and fortunate it was that the girl had not
been caught farther in the open. As it was, her margin of safety was next to
negligible, for as she swung nimbly to the lower branches the creature in
pursuit of her crashed among the foliage almost upon her as it sprang upward to
seize her. It was only a combination of good fortune and agility that saved
her. A stout branch deflected the raking talons of the carnivore, but so close
was the call that a giant forearm brushed her flesh in the instant before she scrambled
to the higher branches.
Baffled, the banth gave
vent to his rage and disappointment in a series of frightful roars that caused
the very ground to tremble, and to these were added the roarings and the
growlings and the moanings of his fellows as they approached from every
direction, in the hope of wresting from him whatever of his kill they could
take by craft or prowess. And now he turned snarling upon them as they circled
the tree, while the girl, huddled in a crotch above them, looked down upon the
gaunt, yellow monsters padding on noiseless feet in a restless circle about
her. She wondered now at the strange freak of fate that had permitted her to
come down this far into the valley by night unharmed, but even more she
wondered how she was to return to the hills. She knew that she would not dare
venture it by night and she guessed, too, that by day she might be confronted
by even graver perils. To depend upon this valley for sustenance she now saw to
be beyond the pale of possibility because of the banths that would keep her
from food and water by night, while the dwellers in the towers would doubtless
make it equally impossible for her to forage by day. There was but one solution
of her difficulty and that was to return to her flier and pray that the wind
would waft her to some less terrorful land; but when might she return to the
flier? The banths gave little evidence of relinquishing hope of her, and even
if they wandered out of sight would she dare risk the attempt? She doubted it.
Hopeless indeed seemed
her situation -- hopeless it was.
AS THURIA, swift racer
of the night, shot again into the sky the scene changed. As by magic a new
aspect fell athwart the face of Nature. It was as though in the instant one had
been transported from one planet to another. It was the age-old miracle of the
Martian nights that is always new, even to Martians -- two moons resplendent in
the heavens, where one had been but now; conflicting, fast-changing shadows
that altered the very hills themselves; far Cluros, stately, majestic, almost
stationary, shedding his steady light upon the world below; Thuria, a great and
glorious orb, swinging swift across the vaulted dome of the blue-black night,
so low that she seemed to graze the hills, a gorgeous spectacle that held the
girl now beneath the spell of its enchantment as it always had and always
would.
"Ah, Thuria, mad
queen of heaven!" murmured Tara of Helium. "The hills pass in stately
procession, their bosoms rising and falling; the trees move in restless
circles; the little grasses describe their little arcs; and all is movement,
restless, mysterious movement without sound, while Thuria passes." The
girl sighed and let her gaze fall again to the stern realities beneath. There
was no mystery in the huge banths. He who had discovered her squatted there looking
hungrily up at her. Most of the others had wandered away in search of other
prey, but a few remained hoping yet to bury their fangs in that soft body.
The night wore on.
Again Thuria left the heavens to her lord and master, hurrying on to keep her
tryst with the Sun in other skies. But a single banth waited impatiently
beneath the tree which harbored Tara of Helium. The others had left, but their
roars, and growls, and moans thundered or rumbled, or floated back to her from
near and far. What prey found they in this little valley? There must be
something that they were accustomed to find here that they should be drawn in
so great numbers. The girl wondered what it could be.
How long the night!
Numb, cold, and exhausted, Tara of Helium clung to the tree in growing
desperation, for once she had dozed and almost fallen. Hope was low in her
brave little heart. How much more could she endure? She asked herself the
question and then, with a brave shake of her head, she squared her shoulders.
"I still live!" she said aloud.
The banth looked up and
growled.
Came Thuria again and
after awhile the great Sun -- a flaming lover, pursuing his heart's desire. And
Cluros, the cold husband, continued his serene way, as placid as before his
house had been violated by this hot Lothario. And now the Sun and both Moons
rode together in the sky, lending their far mysteries to make weird the Martian
dawn. Tara of Helium looked out across the fair valley that spread upon all
sides of her. It was rich and beautiful, but even as she looked upon it she
shuddered, for to her mind came a picture of the headless things that the
towers and the walls hid. Those by day and the banths by night! Ah, was it any
wonder that she shuddered?
With the coming of the
Sun the great Barsoomian lion rose to his feet. He turned angry eyes upon the
girl above him, voiced a single ominous growl, and slunk away toward the hills.
The girl watched him, and she saw that he gave the towers as wide a berth as
possible and that he never took his eyes from one of them while he was passing
it. Evidently the inmates had taught these savage creatures to respect them.
Presently he passed from sight in a narrow defile, nor in any direction that
she could see was there another. Momentarily at least the landscape was
deserted. The girl wondered if she dared to attempt to regain the hills and her
flier. She dreaded the coming of the workmen to the fields as she was sure they
would come. She shrank from again seeing the headless bodies, and found herself
wondering if these things would come out into the fields and work. She looked
toward the nearest tower. There was no sign of life there. The valley lay quiet
now and deserted. She lowered herself stiffly to the ground. Her muscles were
cramped and every move brought a twinge of pain. Pausing a moment to drink
again at the stream she felt refreshed and then turned without more delay
toward the hills. To cover the distance as quickly as possible seemed the only
plan to pursue. The trees no longer offered concealment and so she did not go
out of her way to be near them. The hills seemed very far away. She had not
thought, the night before, that she had traveled so far. Really it had not been
far, but now, with the three towers to pass in broad daylight, the distance
seemed great indeed.
The second tower lay
almost directly in her path. To make a detour would not lessen the chance of
detection, it would only lengthen the period of her danger, and so she laid her
course straight for the hill where her flier was, regardless of the tower. As
she passed the first enclosure she thought that she heard the sound of movement
within, but the gate did not open and she breathed more easily when it lay
behind her. She came then to the second enclosure, the outer wall of which she
must circle, as it lay across her route. As she passed close along it she
distinctly heard not only movement within, but voices. In the world-language of
Barsoom she heard a man issuing instructions -- so many were to pick usa, so
many were to irrigate this field, so many to cultivate that, and so on, as a
foreman lay out the day's work for his crew.
Tara of Helium had just
reached the gate in the outer wall. Without warning it swung open toward her.
She saw that for a moment it would hide her from those within and in that
moment she turned and ran, keeping close to the wall, until, passing out of
sight beyond the curve of the structure, she came to the opposite side of the
enclosure. Here, panting from her exertion and from the excitement of her
narrow escape, she threw herself among some tall weeds that grew close to the
foot of the wall. There she lay trembling for some time, not even daring to
raise her head and look about. Never before had Tara of Helium felt the
paralyzing effects of terror. She was shocked and angry at herself, that she,
daughter of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, should exhibit fear. Not even the
fact that there had been none there to witness it lessened her shame and anger,
and the worst of it was she knew that under similar circumstances she would
again be equally as craven. It was not the fear of death -- she knew that. No,
it was the thought of those headless bodies and that she might see them and
that they might even touch her -- lay hands upon her -- seize her. She
shuddered and trembled at the thought.
After a while she
gained sufficient command of herself to raise her head and look about. To her
horror she discovered that everywhere she looked she saw people working in the
fields or preparing to do so. Workmen were coming from other towers. Little
bands were passing to this field and that. They were even some already at work
within thirty ads of her -- about a hundred yards. There were ten, perhaps, in
the party nearest her, both men and women, and all were beautiful of form and
grotesque of face. So meager were their trappings that they were practically
naked; a fact that was in no way remarkable among the tillers of the fields of
Mars. Each wore the peculiar, high leather collar that completely hid the neck,
and each wore sufficient other leather to support a single sword and a
pocket-pouch. The leather was very old and worn, showing long, hard service,
and was absolutely plain with the exception of a single device upon the left
shoulder. The heads, however, were covered with ornaments of precious metals
and jewels, so that little more than eyes, nose, and mouth were discernible.
These were hideously inhuman and yet grotesquely human at the same time. The
eyes were far apart and protruding, the nose scarce more than two small, parallel
slits set vertically above a round hole that was the mouth. The heads were
peculiarly repulsive -- so much so that it seemed unbelievable to the girl that
they formed an integral part of the beautiful bodies below them.
So fascinated was Tara
of Helium that she could scarce take her eyes from the strange creatures -- a
fact that was to prove her undoing, for in order that she might see them she
was forced to expose a part of her own head and presently, to her
consternation, she saw that one of the creatures had stopped his work and was
staring directly at her. She did not dare move, for it was still possible that
the thing had not seen her, or at least was only suspicious that some creature
lay hid among the weeds. If she could allay this suspicion by remaining
motionless the creature might believe that he had been mistaken and return to
his work; but, alas, such was not to be the case. She saw the thing call the
attention of others to her and almost immediately four or five of them started
to move in her direction.
It was impossible now
to escape discovery. Her only hope lay in flight. If she could elude them and
reach the hills and the flier ahead of them she might escape, and that could be
accomplished in but one way -- flight, immediate and swift. Leaping to her feet
she darted along the base of the wall which she must skirt to the opposite
side, beyond which lay the hill that was her goal. Her act was greeted by
strange whistling sounds from the things behind her, and casting a glance over
her shoulder she saw them all in rapid pursuit. There were also shrill commands
that she halt, but to these she paid no attention. Before she had half circled
the enclosure she discovered that her chances for successful escape were great,
since it was evident to her that her pursuers were not so fleet as she. High
indeed then were her hopes as she came in sight of the hill, but they were soon
dashed by what lay before her, for there, in the fields that lay between, were
fully a hundred creatures similar to those behind her and all were on the
alert, evidently warned by the whistling of their fellows. Instructions and
commands were shouted to and fro, with the result that those before her spread
roughly into a great half circle to intercept her, and when she turned to the
right, hoping to elude the net, she saw others coming from fields beyond, and
to the left the same was true. But Tara of Helium would not admit defeat.
Without once pausing she turned directly toward the center of the advancing
semi-circle, beyond which lay her single chance of escape, and as she ran she
drew her long, slim dagger. Like her valiant sire, if die she must, she would
die fighting. There were gaps in the thin line confronting her and toward the
widest of one of these she directed her course. The things on either side of
the opening guessed her intent for they closed in to place themselves in her
path. This widened the openings on either side of them and as the girl appeared
almost to rush into their arms she turned suddenly at right angles, ran swiftly
in the new direction for a few yards, and then dashed quickly toward the hill
again. Now only a single warrior, with a wide gap on either side of him, barred
her clear way to freedom, though all the others were speeding as rapidly as
they could to intercept her. If she could pass this one without too much delay
she could escape, of that she was certain. Her every hope hinged on this. The
creature before her realized it, too, for he moved cautiously, though swiftly,
to intercept her, as a Rugby fullback might maneuver in the realization that he
alone stood between the opposing team and a touchdown.
At first Tara of Helium
had hoped that she might dodge him, for she could not but guess that she was
not only more fleet but infinitely more agile than these strange creatures; but
soon there came to her the realization that in the time consumed in an attempt
to elude his grasp his nearer fellows would be upon her and escape then
impossible, so she chose instead to charge straight for him, and when he guessed
her decision he stood, half crouching and with outstretched arms, awaiting her.
In one hand was his sword, but a voice arose, crying in tones of authority.
"Take her alive! Do not harm her!" Instantly the fellow returned his
sword to its scabbard and then Tara of Helium was upon him. Straight for that
beautiful body she sprang and in the instant that the arms closed to seize her
her sharp blade drove deep into the naked chest. The impact hurled them both to
the ground and as Tara of Helium sprang to her feet again she saw, to her
horror, that the loathsome head had rolled from the body and was now crawling
away from her on six short, spider-]ike legs. The body struggled spasmodically
and lay still. As brief as had been the delay caused by the encounter, it still
had been of sufficient duration to undo her, for even as she rose two more of
the things fell upon her and instantly thereafter she was surrounded. Her blade
sank once more into naked flesh and once more a head rolled free and crawled
away. Then they overpowered her and in another moment she was surrounded by
fully a hundred of the creatures, all seeking to lay hands upon her. At first
she thought that they wished to tear her to pieces in revenge for her having
slain two of their fellows, but presently she realized that they were prompted
more by curiosity than by any sinister motive.
"Come!" said
one of her captors, both of whom had retained a hold upon her. As he spoke he
tried to lead her away with him toward the nearest tower.
"She belongs to
me," cried the other. "Did not I capture her? She will come with me
to the tower of Moak."
"Never!"
insisted the first. "She is Luud's. To Luud I will take her, and whosoever
interferes may feel the keenness of my sword -- in the head!" He almost shouted
the last three words.
"Come! Enough of
this," cried one who spoke with some show of authority. "She was
captured in Luud's fields -- she will go to Luud."
"She was
discovered in Moak's fields, at the very foot of the tower of Moak,"
insisted he who had claimed her for Moak.
"You have heard
the Nolach speak," cried the Luud. "It shall be as he says."
"Not while this
Moak holds a sword," replied the other. "Rather will I cut her in
twain and take my half to Moak than to relinquish her all to Luud," and he
drew his sword, or rather he laid his hand upon its hilt in a threatening
gesture; but before ever he could draw it the Luud had whipped his out and with
a fearful blow cut deep into the head of his adversary. Instantly the big,
round head collapsed, almost as a punctured balloon collapses, as a grayish,
semi-fluid matter spurted from it. The protruding eyes, apparently lidless,
merely stared, the sphincter-like muscle of the mouth opened and closed, and
then the head toppled from the body to the ground. The body stood dully for a
moment and then slowly started to wander aimlessly about until one of the
others seized it by the arm.
One of the two heads
crawling about on the ground now approached. "This rykor belongs to
Moak," it said. "I am a Moak. I will take it," and without
further discussion it commenced to crawl up the front of the headless body,
using its six short, spiderlike legs and two stout chelae which grew just in
front of its legs and strongly resembled those of an Earthly lobster, except
that they were both of the same size. The body in the meantime stood in passive
indifference, its arms hanging idly at its sides. The head climbed to the
shoulders and settled itself inside the leather collar that now hid its chelae
and legs. Almost immediately the body gave evidence of intelligent animation.
It raised its hands and adjusted the collar more comfortably, it took the head
between its palms and settled it in place and when it moved around it did not
wander aimlessly, but instead its steps were firm and to some purpose.
The girl watched all
these things in growing wonder, and presently, no other of the Moaks seeming
inclined to dispute the right of the Luud to her, she was led off by her captor
toward the nearest tower. Several accompanied them, including one who carried
the loose head under his arm. The head that was being carried conversed with
the head upon the shoulders of the thing that carried it. Tara of Helium
shivered. It was horrible! All that she had seen of these frightful creatures
was horrible. And to be a prisoner, wholly in their power. Shadow of her first
ancestor! What had she done to deserve so cruel a fate?
At the wall enclosing
the tower they paused while one opened the gate and then they passed within the
enclosure, which, to the girl's horror, she found filled with headless bodies.
The creature who carried the bodiless head now set its burden upon the ground
and the latter immediately crawled toward one of the bodies that was lying near
by. Some wandered stupidly to and fro, but this one lay still. It was a female.
The head crawled to it and made its way to the shoulders where it settled
itself. At once the body sprang lightly erect. Another of those who had
accompanied them from the fields approached with the harness and collar that
had been taken from the dead body that the head had formerly topped. The new
body now appropriated these and the hands deftly adjusted them. The creature
was now as good as before Tara of Helium had struck down its former body with
her slim blade. But there was a difference. Before it had been male -- now it
was female. That, however, seemed to make no difference to the head. In fact,
Tara of Helium had noticed during the scramble and the fight about her that sex
differences seemed of little moment to her captors. Males and females had taken
equal part in her pursuit, both were identically harnessed and both carried
swords, and she had seen as many females as males draw their weapons at the
moment that a quarrel between the two factions seemed imminent.
The girl was given but
brief opportunity for further observation of the pitiful creatures in the
enclosure as her captor, after having directed the others to return to the
fields, led her toward the tower, which they entered, passing into an apartment
about ten feet wide and twenty long, in one end of which was a stairway leading
to an upper level and in the other an opening to a similar stairway leading
downward. The chamber, though on a level with the ground, was brilliantly
lighted by windows in its inner wall, the light coming from a circular court in
the center of the tower. The walls of this court appeared to be faced with what
resembled glazed, white tile and the whole interior of it was flooded with
dazzling light, a fact which immediately explained to the girl the purpose of
the glass prisms of which the domes were constructed. The stairways themselves
were sufficient to cause remark, since in nearly all Barsoomian architecture
inclined runways are utilized for purposes of communication between different
levels, and especially is this true of the more ancient forms and of those of
remote districts where fewer changes have come to alter the customs of
antiquity.
Down the stairway her
captor led Tara of Helium. Down and down through chambers still lighted from
the brilliant well. Occasionally they passed others going in the opposite
direction and these always stopped to examine the girl and ask questions of her
captor.
"I know nothing
but that she was found in the fields and that I caught her after a fight in
which she slew two rykors and in which I slew a Moak, and that I take her to
Luud, to whom, of course, she belongs. If Luud wishes to question her that is
for Luud to do -- not for me." Thus always he answered the curious.
Presently they reached
a room from which a circular tunnel led away from the tower, and into this the
creature conducted her. The tunnel was some seven feet in diameter and
flattened on the bottom to form a walk. For a hundred feet from the tower it
was lined with the same tile-like material of the light well and amply
illuminated by reflected light from that source. Beyond it was faced with stone
of various shapes and sizes, neatly cut and fitted together -- a very fine
mosaic without a pattern. There were branches, too, and other tunnels which
crossed this, and occasionally openings not more than a foot in diameter; these
latter being usually close to the floor. Above each of these smaller openings
was painted a different device, while upon the walls of the larger tunnels at
all intersections and points of convergence hieroglyphics appeared. These the
girl could not read though she guessed that they were the names of the tunnels,
or notices indicating the points to which they led. She tried to study some of them
out, but there was not a character that was familiar to her, which seemed
strange, since, while the written languages of the various nations of Barsoom
differ, it still is true that they have many characters and words in common.
She had tried to
converse with her guard but he had not seemed inclined to talk with her and she
had finally desisted. She could not but note that he had offered her no
indignities, nor had he been either unnecessarily rough or in any way cruel.
The fact that she had slain two of the bodies with her dagger had apparently
aroused no animosity or desire for revenge in the minds of the strange heads
that surmounted the bodies -- even those whose bodies had been killed. She did
not try to understand it, since she could not approach the peculiar
relationship between the heads and the bodies of these creatures from the basis
of any past knowledge or experience of her own. So far their treatment of her
seemed to augur naught that might arouse her fears. Perhaps, after all, she had
been fortunate to fall into the hands of these strange people, who might not
only protect her from harm, but even aid her in returning to Helium. That they
were repulsive and uncanny she could not forget, but if they meant her no harm
she could, at least, overlook their repulsiveness. Renewed hope aroused within
her a spirit of greater cheerfulness, and it was almost blithely now that she
moved at the side of her weird companion. She even caught herself humming a gay
little tune that was then popular in Helium. The creature at her side turned
its expressionless eyes upon her.
"What is that
noise that you are making?" it asked.
"I was but humming
an air," she replied.
"'Humming an
air,'" he repeated. "I do not know what you mean; but do it again, I
like it."
This time she sang the
words, while her companion listened intently. His face gave no indication of
what was passing in that strange head. It was as devoid of expression as that
of a spider. It reminded her of a spider. When she had finished he turned
toward her again.
"That was
different," he said. "I liked that better, even, than the other. How
do you do it?"
"Why," she
said, "it is singing. Do you not know what song is?"
"No," he
replied. "Tell me how you do it."
"It is difficult
to explain," she told him. "since any explanation of it presupposes
some knowledge of melody and of music, while your very question indicates that
you have no knowledge of either."
"No," he
said, "I do not know what you are talking about; but tell me how you do
it."
"It is merely the
melodious modulations of my voice," she explained. "Listen!" and
again she sang.
"I do not
understand," he insisted; "but I like it. Could you teach me to do
it?"
"I do not know,
but I shall be glad to try."
"We will see what
Luud does with you," he said. "If he does not want you I will keep
you and you shall teach me to make sounds like that."
At his request she sang
again as they continued their way along the winding tunnel, which was now
lighted by occasional bulbs which appeared to be similar to the radium bulbs
with which she was familiar and which were common to all the nations of
Barsoom, insofar as she knew, having been perfected at so remote a period that
their very origin was lost in antiquity. They consist, usually, of a
hemispherical bowl of heavy glass in which is packed a compound containing
what, according to John Carter, must be radium. The bowl is then cemented into
a metal plate with a heavily insulated back and the whole affair set in the masonry
of wall or ceiling as desired, where it gives off light of greater or less
intensity, according to the composition of the filling material, for an almost
incalculable period of time.
As they proceeded they
met a greater number of the inhabitants of this underground world, and the girl
noted that among many of these the metal and harness were more ornate than had
been those of the workers in the fields above. The heads and bodies, however,
were similar, even identical, she thought. No one offered her harm and she was
now experiencing a feeling of relief almost akin to happiness, when her guide
turned suddenly into an opening on the right side of the tunnel and she found
herself in a large, well lighted chamber.
THE song that had been
upon her lips as she entered died there -- frozen by the sight of horror that
met her eyes. In the center of the chamber a headless body lay upon the floor
-- a body that had been partially devoured -- while over and upon it crawled a
half a dozen heads upon their short, spider legs, and they tore at the flesh of
the woman with their chelae and carried the bits to their awful mouths. They
were eating human flesh -- eating it raw!
Tara of Helium gasped
in horror and turning away covered her eyes with her palms.
"Come!" said
her captor. "What is the matter?"
"They are eating
the flesh of the woman," she whispered in tones of horror.
"Why not?" he
inquired. "Did you suppose that we kept the rykor for labor alone? Ah, no.
They are delicious when kept and fattened. Fortunate, too, are those that are
bred for food, since they are never called upon to do aught but eat."
"It is
hideous!" she cried.
He looked at her
steadily for a moment, but whether in surprise, in anger, or in pity his expressionless
face did not reveal. Then he led her on across the room past the frightful
thing, from which she turned away her eyes. Lying about the floor near the
walls were half a dozen headless bodies in harness. These she guessed had been
abandoned temporarily by the feasting heads until they again required their
services. In the walls of this room there were many of the small, round
openings she had noticed in various parts of the tunnels, the purpose of which
she could not guess.
They passed through another
corridor and then into a second chamber, larger than the first and more
brilliantly illuminated. Within were several of the creatures with heads and
bodies assembled, while many headless bodies lay about near the walls. Here her
captor halted and spoke to one of the occupants of the chamber.
"I seek
Luud," he said. "I bring to Luud a creature that I captured in the
fields above."
The others crowded
about to examine Tara of Helium. One of them whistled, whereupon the girl
learned something of the smaller openings in the walls, for almost immediately
there crawled from them, like giant spiders, a score or more of the hideous
heads. Each sought one of the recumbent bodies and fastened itself in place.
Immediately the bodies reacted to the intelligent direction of the heads. They
arose, the hands adjusted the leather collars and put the balance of the
harness in order, then the creatures crossed the room to where Tara of Helium
stood. She noted that their leather was more highly ornamented than that worn
by any of the others she had previously seen, and so she guessed that these
must be higher in authority than the others. Nor was she mistaken. The demeanor
of her captor indicated it. He addressed them as one who holds intercourse with
superiors.
Several of those who
examined her felt her flesh, pinching it gently between thumb and forefinger, a
familiarity that the girl resented. She struck down their hands. "Do not
touch me!" she cried, imperiously, for was she not a princess of Helium?
The expression on those terrible faces did not change. She could not tell
whether they were angry or amused, whether her action had filled them with
respect for her, or contempt. Only one of them spoke immediately.
"She will have to
be fattened more," he said.
The girl's eyes went
wide with horror. She turned upon her captor. "Do these frightful
creatures intend to devour me?" she cried.
"That is for Luud
to say," he replied, and then he leaned closer so that his mouth was near
her ear. "That noise you made which you called song pleased me," he
whispered, "and I will repay you by warning you not to antagonize these
kaldanes. They are very powerful. Luud listens to them. Do not call them
frightful. They are very handsome. Look at their wonderful trappings, their
gold, their jewels."
"Thank you,"
she said. "You called them kaldanes -- what does that mean?"
"We are all
kaldanes," he replied.
"You, too?"
and she pointed at him, her slim finger directed toward his chest.
"No, not
this," he explained, touching his body; "this is a rykor; but
this," and he touched his head, "is a kaldane. It is the brain, the
intellect, the power that directs all things. The rykor," he indicated his
body, "is nothing. It is not so much even as the jewels upon our harness;
no, not so much as the harness itself. It carries us about. It is true that we
would find difficulty getting along without it; but it has less value than
harness or jewels because it is less difficult to reproduce." He turned
again to the other kaldanes. "Will you notify Luud that I am here?"
he asked.
"Sept has already
gone to Luud. He will tell him," replied one. "Where did you find
this rykor with the strange kaldane that cannot detach itself?"
The girl's captor
narrated once more the story of her capture. He stated facts just as they had
occurred, without embellishment, his voice as expressionless as his face, and
his story was received in the same manner that it was delivered. The creatures
seemed totally lacking in emotion, or, at least, the capacity to express it. It
was impossible to judge what impression the story made upon them, or even if
they heard it. Their protruding eyes simply stared and occasionally the muscles
of their mouths opened and closed. Familiarity did not lessen the horror the
girl felt for them. The more she saw of them the more repulsive they seemed.
Often her body was shaken by convulsive shudders as she looked at the kaldanes,
but when her eyes wandered to the beautiful bodies and she could for a moment
expunge the heads from her consciousness the effect was soothing and
refreshing, though when the bodies lay, headless, upon the floor they were
quite as shocking as the heads mounted on bodies. But by far the most grewsome
and uncanny sight of all was that of the heads crawling about upon their spider
legs. If one of these should approach and touch her Tara of Helium was positive
that she should scream, while should one attempt to crawl up her person -- ugh!
the very idea induced a feeling of faintness.
Sept returned to the
chamber. "Luud will see you and the captive. Come!" he said, and
turned toward a door opposite that through which Tara of Helium had entered the
chamber. "What is your name?" His question was directed to the girl's
captor.
"I am Ghek, third
foreman of the fields of Luud," he answered.
"And hers?"
"I do not
know."
"It makes no
difference. Come!"
The patrician brows of
Tara of Helium went high. It made no difference, indeed! She, a princess of
Helium; only daughter of The Warlord of Barsoom!
"Wait!" she cried.
"It makes much difference who I am. If you are conducting me into the
presence of your jed you may announce The Princess Tara of Helium, daughter of
John Carter, The Warlord of Barsoom."
"Hold your
peace!" commanded Sept. "Speak when you are spoken to. Come with
me!"
The anger of Tara of
Helium all but choked her. "Come," admonished Ghek, and took her by
the arm, and Tara of Helium came. She was naught but a prisoner. Her rank and
titles meant nothing to these inhuman monsters. They led her through a short,
S-shaped passageway into a chamber entirely lined with the white, tile-like
material with which the interior of the light wall was faced. Close to the base
of the walls were numerous smaller apertures, circular in shape, but larger
than those of similar aspect that she had noted elsewhere. The majority of
these apertures were sealed. Directly opposite the entrance was one framed in
gold, and above it a peculiar device was inlaid in the same precious metal.
Sept and Ghek halted
just within the room, the girl between them, and all three stood silently
facing the opening in the opposite wall. On the floor beside the aperture lay a
headless male body of almost heroic proportions, and on either side of this
stood a heavily armed warrior, with drawn sword. For perhaps five minutes the
three waited and then something appeared in the opening. It was a pair of large
chelae and immediately thereafter there crawled forth a hideous kaldane of
enormous proportions. He was half again as large as any that Tara of Helium had
yet seen and his whole aspect infinitely more terrible. The skin of the others
was a bluish gray -- this one was of a little bluer tinge and the eyes were
ringed with bands of white and scarlet, as was its mouth. From each nostril a
band of white and one of scarlet extended outward horizontally the width of the
face.
No one spoke or moved.
The creature crawled to the prostrate body and affixed itself to the neck. Then
the two rose as one and approached the girl. He looked at her and then he spoke
to her captor.
"You are the third
foreman of the fields of Luud?" he asked.
"Yes, Luud; I am
called Ghek."
"Tell me what you
know of this," and he nodded toward Tara of Helium.
Ghek did as he was bid
and then Luud addressed the girl.
"What were you
doing within the borders of Bantoom?" he asked.
"I was blown
hither in a great storm that injured my flier and carried me I knew not where.
I came down into the valley at night for food and drink. The banths came and
drove me to the safety of a tree, and then your people caught me as I was
trying to leave the valley. I do not know why they took me. I was doing no
harm. All I ask is that you let me go my way in peace."
"None who enters
Bantoom ever leaves," replied Luud.
"But my people are
not at war with yours. I am a princess of Helium; my great-grandfather is a
jeddak; my grandfather a jed; and my father is Warlord of all Barsoom. You have
no right to keep me and I demand that you liberate me at once."
"None who enters
Bantoom ever leaves," repeated the creature without expression. "I
know nothing of the lesser creatures of Barsoom, of whom you speak. There is
but one high race -- the race of Bantoomians. All Nature exists to serve them.
You shall do your share, but not yet -- you are too skinny. We shall have to
put some fat upon it, Sept. I tire of rykor. Perhaps this will have a different
flavor. The banths are too rank and it is seldom that any other creature enters
the valley. And you, Ghek; you shall be rewarded. I shall promote you from the
fields to the burrows. Hereafter you shall remain underground as every
Bantoomian longs to. No more shall you be forced to endure the hated sun, or
look upon the hideous sky, or the hateful growing things that defile the
surface. For the present you shall look after this thing that you have brought
me, seeing that it sleeps and eats -- and does nothing else. You understand me,
Ghek; nothing else!"
"I understand,
Luud," replied the other.
"Take it
away!" commanded the creature.
Ghek turned and led
Tara of Helium from the apartment. The girl was horrified by contemplation of
the fate that awaited her -- a fate from which it seemed, there was no escape.
It was only too evident that these creatures possessed no gentle or chivalric
sentiments to which she could appeal, and that she might escape from the
labyrinthine mazes of their underground burrows appeared impossible.
Outside the audience
chamber Sept overtook them and conversed with Ghek for a brief period, then her
keeper led her through a confusing web of winding tunnels until they came to a
small apartment.
"We are to remain
here for a while. It may be that Luud will send for you again. If he does you
will probably not be fattened -- he will use you for another purpose." It
was fortunate for the girl's peace of mind that she did not realize what he
meant. "Sing for me," said Ghek, presently.
Tara of Helium did not
feel at all like singing, but she sang, nevertheless, for there was always the
hope that she might escape if given the opportuntiy and if she could win the
friendship of one of the creatures, her chances would be increased
proportionately. All during the ordeal, for such it was to the overwrought
girl, Ghek stood with his eyes fixed upon her.
"It is
wonderful," he said, when she had finished; "but I did not tell Luud
-- you noticed that I did not tell Luud about it. Had he known, he would have
had you sing to him and that would have resulted in your being kept with him
that he might hear you sing whenever he wished; but now I can have you all the
time."
"How do you know
he would like my singing?" she asked.
"He would have
to," replied Ghek. "If I like a thing he has to like it, for are we
not identical -- all of us?"
"The people of my
race do not all like the same things," said the girl.
"How
strange!" commented Ghek. "All kaldanes like the same things and
dislike the same things. If I discover something new and like it I know that
all kaldanes will like it. That is how I know that Luud would like your
singing. You see we are all exactly alike."
"But you do not
look like Luud," said the girl.
"Luud is king. He
is larger and more gorgeously marked; but otherwise he and I are identical, and
why not? Did not Luud produce the egg from which I hatched?"
"What?"
queried the girl; "I do not understand you."
"Yes,"
explained Ghek, "all of us are from Luud's eggs, just as all the swarm of
Moak are from Moak's eggs."
"Oh!"
exclaimed Tara of Helium understandingly; "you mean that Luud has many
wives and that you are the offspring of one of them."
"No, not that at
all," replied Ghek. "Luud has no wife. He lays the eggs himself. You
do not understand."
Tara of Helium admitted
that she did not.
"I will try to
explain, then," said Ghek, "if you will promise to sing to me
later."
"I promise,"
she said.
"We are not like
the rykors," he began. "They are creatures of a low order, like
yourself and the banths and such things. We have no sex -- not one of us except
our king, who is bi-sexual. He produces many eggs from which we, the workers
and the warriors, are hatched; and one in every thousand eggs is another king
egg, from which a king is hatched. Did you notice the sealed openings in the
room where you saw Luud? Sealed in each of those is another king. If one of
them escaped he would fall upon Luud and try to kill him and if he succeeded we
should have a new king; but there would be no difference. His name would be
Luud and all would go on as before, for are we not all alike? Luud has lived a
long time and has produced many kings, so he lets only a few live that there
may be a successor to him when he dies. The others he kills."
"Why does he keep
more than one?" queried the girl.
"Sometimes
accidents occur," replied Ghek, "and all the kings that a swarm has
saved are killed. When this happens the swarm comes and obtains another king
from a neighboring swarm."
"Are all of you
the children of Luud?" she asked.
"All but a few,
who are from the eggs of the preceding king, as was Luud; but Luud has lived a
long time and not many of the others are left."
"You live a long
time, or short?" Tara asked.
"A very long
time."
"And the rykors,
too; they live a long time?"
"No; the rykors
live for ten years, perhaps," he said, "if they remain strong and
useful. When they can no longer be of service to us, either through age or
sickness, we leave them in the fields and the banths come at night and get
them."
"How
horrible!" she exclaimed.
"Horrible?"
he repeated. "I see nothing horrible about that. The rykors are but
brainless flesh. They neither see, nor feel, nor hear. They can scarce move but
for us. If we did not bring them food they would starve to death. They are less
deserving of thought than our leather. All that they can do for themselves is
to take food from a trough and put it in their mouths, but with us -- look at
them!" and he proudly exhibited the noble figure that he surmounted,
palpitant with life and energy and feeling.
"How do you do
it?" asked Tara of Helium. "I do not understand it at all."
"I will show
you," he said, and lay down upon the floor. Then he detached himself from
the body, which lay as a thing dead. On his spider legs he walked toward the
girl. "Now look," he admonished her. "Do you see this
thing?" and he extended what appeared to be a bundle of tentacles from the
posterior part of his head. "There is an aperture just back of the rykor's
mouth and directly over the upper end of his spinal column. Into this aperture
I insert my tentacles and seize the spinal cord. Immediately I control every
muscle of the rykor's body -- it becomes my own, just as you direct the
movement of the muscles of your body. I feel what the rykor would feel if he had
a head and brain. If he is hurt, I would suffer if I remained connected with
him; but the instant one of them is injured or becomes sick we desert it for
another. As we would suffer the pains of their physical injuries, similarly do
we enjoy the physical pleasures of the rykors. When your body becomes fatigued
you are comparatively useless; it is sick, you are sick; if it is killed, you
die. You are the slave of a mass of stupid flesh and bone and blood. There is
nothing more wonderful about your carcass than there is about the carcass of a
banth. It is only your brain that makes you superior to the banth, but your
brain is bound by the limitations of your body. Not so, ours. With us brain is
everything. Ninety per centum of our volume is brain. We have only the simplest
of vital organs and they are very small for they do not have to assist in the
support of a complicated system of nerves, muscles, flesh and bone. We have no
lungs, for we do not require air. Far below the levels to which we can take the
rykors is a vast network of burrows where the real life of the kaldane is
lived. There the air-breathing rykor would perish as you would perish. There we
have stored vast quantities of food in hermetically sealed chambers. It will
last forever. Far beneath the surface is water that will flow for countless
ages after the surface water is exhausted. We are preparing for the time we
know must come -- the time when the last vestige of the Barsoomian atmosphere
is spent -- when the waters and the food are gone. For this purpose were we
created, that there might not perish from the planet Nature's divinest creation
-- the perfect brain."
"But what purpose
can you serve when that time comes?" asked the girl.
"You do not
understand," he said. "It is too big for you to grasp, but I will try
to explain it. Barsoom, the moons, the sun, the stars, were created for a
single purpose. From the beginning of time Nature has labored arduously toward
the consummation of this purpose. At the very beginning things existed with life,
but with no brain. Gradually rudimentary nervous systems and minute brains
evolved. Evolution proceeded. The brains became larger and more powerful. In us
you see the highest development; but there are those of us who believe that
there is yet another step -- that some time in the far future our race shall
develop into the super-thing -- just brain. The incubus of legs and chelae and
vital organs will be removed. The future kaldane will be nothing but a great
brain. Deaf, dumb, and blind it will lie sealed in its buried vault far beneath
the surface of Barsoom -- just a great, wonderful, beautiful brain with nothing
to distract it from eternal thought."
"You mean it will
just lie there and think?" cried Tara of Helium.
"Just that!"
he exclaimed. "Could aught be more wonderful?"
"Yes,"
replied the girl, "I can think of a number of things that would be
infinitely more wonderful."
WHAT the creature had
told her gave Tara of Helium food for thought. She had been taught that every
created thing fulfilled some useful purpose, and she tried conscientiously to
discover just what was the rightful place of the kaldane in the universal
scheme of things. She knew that it must have its place but what that place was
it was beyond her to conceive. She had to give it up. They recalled to her mind
a little group of people in Helium who had forsworn the pleasures of life in
the pursuit of knowledge. They were rather patronizing in their relations with
those whom they thought not so intellectual. They considered themselves quite
superior. She smiled at recollection of a remark her father had once made
concerning them, to the effect that if one of them ever dropped his egotism and
broke it it would take a week to fumigate Helium. Her father liked normal
people -- people who knew too little and people who knew too much were equally
a bore. Tara of Helium was like her father in this respect and like him, too,
she was both sane and normal.
Outside of her personal
danger there was much in this strange world that interested her. The rykors
aroused her keenest pity, and vast conjecture. How and from what form had they
evolved? She asked Ghek.
"Sing to me again
and I will tell you," he said. "If Luud would let me have you, you
should never die. I should keep you always to sing to me."
The girl marvelled at
the effect her voice had upon the creature. Somewhere in that enormous brain
there was a chord that was touched by melody. It was the sole link between
herself and the brain when detatched from the rykor. When it dominated the
rykor it might have other human instincts; but these she dreaded even to think
of. After she had sung she waited for Ghek to speak. For a long time he was
silent, just looking at her through those awful eyes.
"I wonder,"
he said presently, "if it might not be pleasant to be of your race. Do you
all sing?"
"Nearly all, a
little," she said; "but we do many other interesting and enjoyable
things. We dance and play and work and love and sometimes we fight, for we are
a race of warriors."
"Love!" said
the kaldane. "I think I know what you mean; but we, fortunately, are above
sentiment -- when we are detached. But when we dominate the rykor -- ah, that
is different, and when I hear you sing and look at your beautiful body I know
what you mean by love. I could love you."
The girl shrank from
him. "You promised to tell me the origin of the rykor," she reminded
him.
"Ages ago,"
he commenced, "our bodies were larger and our heads smaller. Our legs were
very weak and we could not travel fast or far. There was a stupid creature that
went upon four legs. It lived in a hole in the ground, to which it brought its
food, so we ran our burrows into this hole and ate the food it brought; but it
did not bring enough for all -- for itself and all the kaldanes that lived upon
it, so we had also to go abroad and get food. This was hard work for our weak
legs. Then it was that we commenced to ride upon the backs of these primitive
rykors. It took many ages, undoubtedly, but at last came the time when the
kaldane had found means to guide the rykor, until presently the latter depended
entirely upon the superior brain of his master to guide him to food. The brain
of the rykor grew smaller as time went on. His ears went and his eyes, for he
no longer had use for them -- the kaldane saw and heard for him. By similar
steps the rykor came to go upon its hind feet that the kaldane might be able to
see farther. As the brain shrank, so did the head. The mouth was the only
feature of the head that was used and so the mouth alone remains. Members of
the red race fell into the hands of our ancestors from time to time. They saw
the beauties and the advantages of the form that nature had given the red race
over that which the rykor was developing into. By intelligent crossing the
present rykor was achieved. He is really solely the product of the
super-intelligence of the kaldane -- he is our body, to do with as we see fit,
just as you do what you see fit with your body, only we have the advantage of possessing
an unlimited supply of bodies. Do you not wish that you were a kaldane?"
For how long they kept
her in the subterranean chamber Tara of Helium did not know. It seemed a very
long time. She ate and slept and watched the interminable lines of creatures
that passed the entrance to her prison. There was a laden line passing from
above carrying food, food, food. In the other line they returned empty handed.
When she saw them she knew that it was daylight above. When they did not pass
she knew it was night, and that the banths were about devouring the rykors that
had been abandoned in the fields the previous day. She commenced to grow pale
and thin. She did not like the food they gave her -- it was not suited to her
kind -- nor would she have eaten overmuch palatable food, for the fear of
becoming fat. The idea of plumpness had a new significance here -- a horrible
significance.
Ghek noted that she was
growing thin and white. He spoke to her about it and she told him that she
could not thrive thus beneath the ground -- that she must have fresh air and
sunshine, or she would wither and die. Evidently he carried her words to Luud,
since it was not long after that he told her that the king had ordered that she
be confined in the tower and to the tower she was taken. She had hoped against
hope that this very thing might result from her conversation with Ghek. Even to
see the sun again was something, but now there sprang to her breast a hope that
she had not dared to nurse before, while she lay in the terrible labyrinth from
which she knew she could never have found her way to the outer world; but now
there was some slight reason to hope. At least she could see the hills and if
she could see them might there not come also the opportunity to reach them? If
she could have but ten minutes -- just ten little minutes! The flier was still
there -- she knew that it must be. Just ten minutes and she would be free --
free forever from this frightful place; but the days wore on and she was never
alone, not even for half of ten minutes. Many times she planned her escape. Had
it not been for the banths it had been easy of accomplishment by night. Ghek
always detached his body then and sank into what seemed a semi-comatose
condition. It could not be said that he slept, or at least it did not appear
like sleep, since his lidless eyes were unchanged; but he lay quietly in a
corner. Tara of Helium enacted a thousand times in her mind the scene of her
escape. She would rush to the side of the rykor and seize the sword that hung in
its harness. Before Ghek knew what she purposed, she would have this and then
before he could give an alarm she would drive the blade through his hideous
head. It would take but a moment to reach the enclosure. The rykors could not
stop her, for they had no brains to tell them that she was escaping. She had
watched from her window the opening and closing of the gate that led from the
enclosure out into the fields and she knew how the great latch operated. She
would pass through and make a quick dash for the hill. It was so near that they
could not overtake her. It was so easy! Or it would have been but for the
banths! The banths at night and the workers in the fields by day.
Confined to the tower
and without proper exercise or food, the girl failed to show the improvement
that her captors desired. Ghek questioned her in an effort to learn why it was
that she did not grow round and plump; that she did not even look as well as
when they had captured her. His concern was prompted by repeated inquiries on the
part of Luud and finally resulted in suggesting to Tara of Helium a plan
whereby she might find a new opportunity of escape.
"I am accustomed
to walking in the fresh air and the sunlight," she told Ghek. "I
cannot become as I was before if I am to be always shut away in this one
chamber, breathing poor air and getting no proper exercise. Permit me to go out
in the fields every day and walk about while the sun is shining. Then, I am
sure, I shall become nice and fat."
"You would run
away," he said.
"But how could I
if you were always with me?" she asked. "And even if I wished to run
away where could I go? I do not know even the direction of Helium. It must be
very far. The very first night the banths would get me, would they not?"
"They would,"
said Ghek. "I will ask Luud about it."
The following day he
told her that Luud had said that she was to be taken into the fields. He would
try that for a time and see if she improved.
"If you do not
grow fatter he will send for you anyway," said Ghek; "but he will not
use you for food."
Tara of Helium
shuddered.
That day and for many
days thereafter she was taken from the tower, through the enclosure and out
into the fields. Always was she alert for an opportunity to escape; but Ghek
was always close by her side. It was not so much his presence that deterred her
from making the attempt as the number of workers that were always between her
and the hills where the flier lay. She could easily have eluded Ghek, but there
were too many of the others. And then, one day, Ghek told her as he accompanied
her into the open that this would be the last time.
"Tonight you go to
Luud," he said. "I am sorry as I shall not hear you sing again."
"Tonight!"
She scarce breathed the word, yet it was vibrant with horror.
She glanced quickly
toward the hills. They were so dose! Yet between were the inevitable workers --
perhaps a score of them.
"Let us walk over
there?" she said, indicating them. "I should like to see what they
are doing."
"It is too
far," said Ghek. "I hate the sun. It is much pleasanter here where I
can stand beneath the shade of this tree."
"All right,"
she agreed; "then you stay here and I will walk over. It will take me but a
minute."
"No," he
answered. "I will go with you. You want to escape; but you are not going
to."
"I cannot
escape," she said.
"I know it,"
agreed Ghek; "but you might try. I do not wish you to try. Possibly it
will be better if we return to the tower at once. It would go hard with me
should you escape."
Tara of Helium saw her
last chance fading into oblivion. There would never be another after today. She
cast about for some pretext to lure him even a little nearer to the hills.
"It is very little
that I ask," she said. "Tonight you will want me to sing to you. It
will be the last time, if you do not let me go and see what those kaldanes are
doing I shall never sing to you again."
Ghek hesitated. "I
will hold you by the arm all the time, then," he said.
"Why, of course,
if you wish," she assented. "Come!"
The two moved toward
the workers and the hills. The little party was digging tubers from the ground.
She had noted this and that nearly always they were stooped low over their
work, the hideous eyes bent upon the upturned soil. She led Ghek quite close to
them, pretending that she wished to see exactly how they did the work, and all
the time he held her tightly by her left wrist.
"It is very
interesting," she said, with a sigh, and then, suddenly; "Look,
Ghek!" and pointed quickly back in the direction of the tower. The
kaldane, still holding her turned half away from her to look in the direction
she had indicated and simultaneously, with the quickness of a banth, she struck
him with her right fist, backed by every ounce of strength she possessed --
struck the back of the pulpy head just above the collar. The blow was
sufficient to accomplish her design, dislodging the kaldane from its rykor and
tumbling it to the ground. Instantly the grasp upon her wrist relaxed as the
body, no longer controlled by the brain of Ghek, stumbled aimlessly about for
an instant before it sank to its knees and then rolled over on its back; but
Tara of Helium waited not to note the full results of her act. The instant the
fingers loosened upon her wrist she broke away and dashed toward the hills.
Simultaneously a warning whistle broke from Ghek's lips and in instant response
the workers leaped to their feet, one almost in the girl's path. She dodged the
outstretched arms and was away again toward the hills and freedom, when her
foot caught in one of the hoe-like instruments with which the soil had been
upturned and which had been left, half imbedded in the ground. For an instant
she ran on, stumbling, in a mad effort to regain her equilibrium, but the
upturned furrows caught her feet -- again she stumbled and this time went down,
and as she scrambled to rise again a heavy body fell upon her and seized her
arms. A moment later she was surrounded and dragged to her feet and as she
looked around she saw Ghek crawling to his prostrate rykor. A moment later he
advanced to her side.
The hideous face,
incapable of registering emotion, gave no clue to what was passing in the
enormous brain. Was he nursing thoughts of anger, of hate, of revenge? Tara of
Helium could not guess, nor did she care. The worst had happened. She had tried
to escape and she had failed. There would never be another opportunity.
"Come!" said
Ghek. "We will return to the tower." The deadly monotone of his voice
was unbroken. It was worse than anger, for it revealed nothing of his
intentions. It but increased her horror of these great brains that were beyond
the possibility of human emotions.
And so she was dragged
back to her prison in the tower and Ghek took up his vigil again, squatting by
the doorway, but now he carried a naked sword in his hand and did not quit his
rykor, only to change to another that be had brought to him when the first gave
indications of weariness. The girl sat looking at him. He had not been unkind
to her, but she felt no sense of gratitude, nor, on the other hand, any sense
of hatred. The brains, incapable themselves of any of the finer sentiments,
awoke none in her. She could not feel gratitude, or affection, or hatred of them.
There was only the same unceasing sense of horror in their presence. She had
heard great scientists discuss the future of the red race and she recalled that
some had maintained that eventually the brain would entirely dominate the man.
There would be no more instinctive acts or emotions, nothing would be done on
impulse; but on the contrary reason would direct our every act. The propounder
of the theory regretted that he might never enjoy the blessings of such a
state, which, he argued, would result in the ideal life for mankind. Tara of
Helium wished with all her heart that this learned scientist might be here to
experience to the full the practical results of the fulfillment of his
prophecy. Between the purely physical rykor and the purely mental kaldane there
was little choice; but in the happy medium of normal, and imperfect man, as she
knew him, lay the most desirable state of existence. It would have been a
splendid object lesson, she thought, to all those idealists who seek mass
perfection in any phase of human endeavor, since here they might discover the
truth that absolute perfection is as little to be desired as is its antithesis.
Gloomy were the
thoughts that filled the mind of Tara of Helium as she awaited the summons from
Luud -- the summons that could mean for her but one thing; death. She guessed
why he had sent for her and she knew that she must find the means for
self-destruction before the night was over; but still she clung to hope and to
life. She would not give up until there was no other way. She startled Ghek
once by exclaiming aloud, almost fiercely: "I still live!"
"What do you
mean?" asked the kaldane.
"I mean just what
I say," she replied. "I still live and while I live I may still find
a way. Dead, there is no hope."
"Find a way to
what?" he asked.
"To life and
liberty and mine own people," she responded.
"None who enters
Bantoom ever leaves," he droned.
She did not reply and
after a time he spoke again. "Sing to me," he said.
It was while she was
singing that four warriors came to take her to Luud. They told Ghek that he was
to remain where he was.
"Why?" asked
Ghek.
"You have
displeased Luud," replied one of the warriors.
"How?"
demanded Ghek.
"You have
demonstrated a lack of uncontaminated reasoning power. You have permitted
sentiment to influence you, thus demonstrating that you are a defective. You
know the fate of defectives."
"I know the fate
of defectives, but I am no defective," insisted Ghek.
"You permitted the
strange noises which issue from her throat to please and soothe you, knowing
well that their origin and purpose had nothing whatever to do with logic or the
powers of reason. This in itself constitutes an unimpeachable indictment of
weakness, Then, influenced doubtless by an illogical feeling of sentiment, you
permitted her to walk abroad in the fields to a place where she was able to
make an almost successful attmept to escape. Your own reasoning power, were it
not defective, would convince you that you are unfit. The natural, and
reasonable, consequence is destruction. Therefore you will be destroyed in such
a way that the example will be beneficial to all other kaldanes of the swarm of
Luud. In the meantime you will remain where you are."
"You are right,"
said Ghek. "I will remain here until Luud sees fit to destroy me in the
most reasonable manner."
Tara of Helium shot a
look of amazement at him as they led her from the chamber. Over her shoulder
she called back to him: "Remember, Ghek, you still live!" Then they
led her along the interminable tunnels to where Luud awaited her.
When she was conducted
into his presence he was squatting in a corner of the chamber upon his six
spidery legs. Near the opposite wall lay his rykor, its beautiful form trapped
in gorgeous harness -- a dead thing without a guiding kaldane. Luud dismissed
the warriors who had accompanied the prisoner. Then he sat with his terrible
eyes fixed upon her and without speaking for some time. Tara of Helium could
but wait. What was to come she could only guess. When it came would be
sufficiently the time to meet it. There was no neccessity for anticipating the
end. Presently Luud spoke.
"You think to
escape," he said, in the deadly, expressionless monotone of his kind --
the only possible result of orally expressing reason uninfluenced by sentiment.
"You will not escape. You are merely the embodiment of two imperfect
things -- an imperfect brain and an imperfect body. The two cannot exist
together in perfection. There you see a perfect body." He pointed toward
the rykor. "It has no brain. Here," and he raised one of his chelae
to his head, "is the perfect brain. It needs no body to function perfectly
and properly as a brain. You would pit your feeble intellect against mine! Even
now you are planning to slay me. If you are thwarted in that you expect to slay
yourself. You will learn the power of mind over matter. I am the mind. You are
the matter. What brain you have is too weak and ill-developed to deserve the
name of brain. You have permitted it to be weakened by impulsive acts dictated
by sentiment. It has no value. It has practically no control over your
existence. You will not kill me. You will not kill yourself. When I am through
with you you shall be killed if it seems the logical thing to do. You have no
conception of the possibilities for power which lie in a perfectly developed
brain. Look at that rykor. He has no brain. He can move but slightly of his own
volition. An inherent mechanical instinct that we have permitted to remain in
him allows him to carry food to his mouth; but he could not find food for
himself. We have to place it within his reach and always in the same place.
Should we put food at his feet and leave him alone he would starve to death.
But now watch what a real brain may accomplish."
He turned his eyes upon
the rykor and squatted there glaring at the insensate thing. Presently, to the
girl's horror, the headless body moved. It rose slowly to its feet and crossed
the room to Luud; it stooped and took the hideous head in its hands; it raised
the head and set it on its shoulders.
"What chance have
you against such power?" asked Luud. "As I did with the rykor so can
I do with you."
Tara of Helium made no
reply. Evidently no vocal reply was necessary.
"You doubt my
ability!" stated Luud, which was precisely the fact, though the girl had
only thought it -- she had not said it.
Luud crossed the room
and lay down. Then he detached himself from the body and crawled across the
floor until he stood directly in front of the circular opening through which
she had seen him emerge the day that she had first been brought to his
presence. He stopped there and fastened his terrible eyes upon her. He did not
speak, but his eyes seemed to be boring straight to the center of her brain.
She felt an almost irresistible force urging her toward the kaldane. She fought
to resist it; she tried to turn away her eyes, but she could not. They were
held as in horrid fascination upon the glittering, lidless orbs of the great
brain that faced her. Slowly, every step a painful struggle of resistance, she
moved toward the horrific monster. She tried to cry aloud in an effort to
awaken her numbing faculties, but no sound passed her lips. If those eyes would
but turn away, just for an instant, she felt that she might regain the power to
control her steps; but the eyes never left hers. They seemed but to burn deeper
and deeper, gathering up every vestige of control of her entire nervous system.
As she approached the
thing it backed slowly away upon its spider legs. She noticed that its chelae
waved slowly to and fro before it as it backed, backed, backed, through the
round aperture in the wall. Must she follow it there, too? What new and
nameless horror lay concealed in that hidden chamber? No! she would not do it.
Yet before she reached the wall she found herself down and crawling upon her
hands and knees straight toward the hole from which the two eyes still clung to
hers. At the very threshold of the opening she made a last, heroic stand, battling
against the force that drew her on; but in the end she succumbed. With a gasp
that ended in a sob Tara of Helium passed through the aperture into the chamber
beyond.
The opening was but
barely large enough to admit her. Upon the opposite side she found herself in a
small chamber. Before her squatted Luud. Against the opposite wall lay a large
and beautiful male rykor. He was without harness or other trappings.
"You see
now," said Luud, "the futility of revolt."
The words seemed to
release her momentarily from the spell. Quickly she turned away her eyes.
"Look at me!"
commanded Luud.
Tara of Helium kept her
eyes averted. She felt a new strength, or at least a diminution of the
creature's power over her. Had she stumbled upon the secret of its uncanny
domination over her will? She dared not hope. With eyes averted she turned
toward the aperture through which those baleful eyes had drawn her. Again Luud
commanded her to stop, but the voice alone lacked all authority to influence
her. It was not like the eyes. She heard the creature whistle and knew that it
was summoning assistance, but because she did not dare look toward it she did
not see it turn and concentrate its gaze upon the great, headless body lying by
the further wall.
The girl was still
slightly under the spell of the creature's influence -- she had not regained
full and independent domination of her powers. She moved as one in the throes
of some hideous nightmare -- slowly, painfully, as though each limb was
hampered by a great weight, or as she were dragging her body through a viscous
fluid. The aperture was close, ah, so close, yet, struggle as she would, she
seemed to be making no appreciable progress toward it.
Behind her, urged on by
the malevolent power of the great brain, the headless body crawled upon
all-fours toward her. At last she had reached the aperture. Something seemed to
tell her that once beyond it the domination of the kaldane would be broken. She
was almost through into the adjoining chamber when she felt a heavy hand close
upon her ankle. The rykor had reached forth and seized her, and though she
struggled the thing dragged her back into the room with Luud. It held her tight
and drew her close, and then, to her horror, it commenced to caress her.
"You see now,"
she heard Luud's dull voice, "the futility of revolt -- and its
punishment."
Tara of Helium fought
to defend herself, but pitifully weak were her muscles against this brainless
incarnation of brute power. Yet she fought, fought on in the face of hopeless
odds for the honor of the proud name she bore -- fought alone, she whom the
fighting men of a mighty empire, the flower of Martian chivalry, would gladly
have lain down their lives to save.
THE cruiser Vanator
careened through the tempest That she had not been dashed to the ground, or
twisted by the force of the elements into tangled wreckage, was due entirely to
the caprice of Nature. For all the duration of the storm she rode, a helpless derelict,
upon those stormtossed waves of wind. But for all the dangers and vicissitudes
they underwent, she and her crew might have borne charmed lives up to within an
hour of the abating of the hurricane. It was then that the catastrophe occurred
-- a catastrophe indeed to the crew of the Vanator and the kingdom of Gathol.
The men had been
without food or drink since leaving Helium, and they had been hurled about and
buffeted in their lashings until all were worn to exhaustion. There was a brief
lull in the storm during which one of the crew attempted to reach his quarters,
after releasing the lashings which had held him to the precarious safety of the
deck. The act in itself was a direct violation of orders and, in the eyes of
the other members of the crew, the effect, which came with startling
suddenness, took the form of a swift and terrible retribution. Scarce had the
man released the safety snaps ere a swift arm of the storm-monster encircled
the ship, rolling it over and over, with the result that the foolhardy warrior
went overboard at the first turn.
Unloosed from their
lashing by the constant turning and twisting of the ship and the force of the
wind, the boarding and landing tackle had been trailing beneath the keel, a
tangled mass of cordage and leather. Upon the occasions that the Vanator rolled
completely over, these things would be wrapped around her until another
revolution in the opposite direction, or the wind itself, carried them once
again clear of the deck to trail, whipping in the storm, beneath the hurtling
ship.
Into this fell the body
of the warrior, and as a drowning man clutches at a straw so the fellow
clutched at the tangled cordage that caught him and arrested his fall. With the
strength of desperation he clung to the cordage, seeking frantically to
entangle his legs and body in it. With each jerk of the ship his hand holds
were all but torn loose, and though he knew that eventually they would be and
that he must be dashed to the ground beneath, yet he fought with the madness that
is born of hopelessness for the pitiful second which but prolonged his agony.
It was upon this sight
then that Gahan of Gathol looked, over the edge of the careening deck of the
Vanator, as he sought to learn the fate of his warrior. Lashed to the gunwale
close at hand a single landing leather that had not fouled the tangled mass
beneath whipped free from the ship's side, the hook snapping at its outer end.
The Jed of Gathol grasped the situation in a single glance. Below him one of
his people looked into the eyes of Death. To the jed's hand lay the means for
succor.
There was no instant's
hesitation. Casting off his deck lashings, he seized the landing leather and
slipped over the ship's side. Swinging like a bob upon a mad pendulum he swung
far out and back again, turning and twisting three thousand feet above the
surface of Barsoom, and then, at last, the thing he had hoped for occurred. He
was carried within reach of the cordage where the warrior still clung, though
with rapidly diminishing strength. Catching one leg on a loop of the tangled
strands Gahan pulled himself close enough to seize another quite near to the
fellow. Clinging precariously to this new hold the jed slowly drew in the
landing leather, down which he had clambered until he could grasp the hook at
its end. This he fastened to a ring in the warrior's harness, just before the
man's weakened fingers slipped from their hold upon the cordage.
Temporarily, at least,
he had saved the life of his subject, and now he turned his attention toward
insuring his own safety. Inextricably entangled in the mess to which he was
clinging were numerous other landing hooks such as he had attached to the
warrior's harness, and with one of these he sought to secure himself until the
storm should abate sufficiently to permit him to climb to the deck, but even as
he reached for one that swung near him the ship was caught in a renewed burst
of the storm's fury, the thrashing cordage whipped and snapped to the lunging
of the great craft and one of the heavy metal hooks, lashing through the air,
struck the Jed of Gathol fair between the eyes.
Momentarily stunned,
Gahan's fingers slipped from their hold upon the cordage and the man shot
downward through the thin air of dying Mars toward the ground three thousand
feet beneath, while upon the deck of the rolling Vanator his faithful warriors
clung to their lashings all unconscious of the fate of their beloved leader;
nor was it until more than an hour later, after the storm had materially
subsided, that they realized he was lost, or knew the self-sacrificing heroism
of the act that had sealed his doom. The Vanator now rested upon an even keel
as she was carried along by a strong, though steady, wind. The warriors had
cast off their deck lashings and the officers were taking account of losses and
damage when a weak cry was heard from oversides, attracting their attention to
the man hanging in the cordage beneath the keel. Strongs arms hoisted him to
the deck and then it was that the crew of the Vanator learned of the heroism of
their jed and his end. How far they had traveled since his loss they could only
vaguely guess, nor could they return in search of him in the disabled condition
of the ship. It was a saddened company that drifted onward through the air
toward whatever destination Fate was to choose for them.
And Gahan, Jed of
Gathol -- what of him? Plummet-like he fell for a thousand feet and then the
storm seized him in its giant clutch and bore him far aloft again. As a bit of
paper borne upon a gale he was tossed about in mid-air, the sport and plaything
of the wind. Over and over it turned him and upward and downward it carried
him, but after each new sally of the element he was brought nearer to the
ground. The freaks of cyclonic storms are the rule of cyclonic storms, since
such storms are in themselves freaks. They uproot and demolish giant trees, and
in the same gust they transport frail infants for miles and deposit them
unharmed in their wake.
And so it was with
Gahan of Gathol. Expecting momentarily to be dashed to destruction he presently
found himself deposited gently upon the soft, ochre moss of a dead sea-bottom,
bodily no worse off for his harrowing adventure than in the possession of a
slight swelling upon his forehead where the metal hook had struck him. Scarcely
able to believe that Fate had dealt thus gently with him, the jed arose slowly,
as though more than half convinced that he should discover crushed and
splintered bones that would not support his weight. But he was intact. He
looked about him in a vain effort at orientation. The air was filled with
flying dust and debris. The Sun was obliterated. His vision was confined to a
radius of a few hundred yards of ochre moss and dust-filled air. Five hundred
yards away in any direction there might have arisen the walls of a great city
and he not known it. It was useless to move from where he was until the air
cleared, since he could not know in what direction he was moving, and so he
stretched himself upon the moss and waited, pondering the fate of his warriors
and his ship, but giving little thought to his own precarious situation.
Lashed to his harness
were his swords, his pistols, and a dagger, and in his pocket-pouch a small
quantity of the concentrated rations that form a part of the equipment of the
fighting men of Barsoom. These things together with trained muscles, high
courage, and an undaunted spirit sufficed him for whatever misadventures might
lie between him and Gathol, which lay in what direction he knew not, nor at
what distance.
The wind was falling
rapidly and with it the dust that obscured the landscape. That the storm was
over he was convinced, but he chafed at the inactivity the low visibility put
upon him, nor did conditions better materially before night fell, so that he was
forced to await the new day at the very spot at which the tempest had deposited
him. Without his sleeping silks and furs he spent a far from comfortable night,
and it was with feelings of unmixed relief that he saw the sudden dawn burst
upon him. The air was now clear and in the light of the new day he saw an
undulating plain stretching in all directions about him, while to the northwest
there were barely discernible the outlines of low hills. Toward the southeast
of Gathol was such a country, and as Gahan surmised the direction and the
velocity of the storm to have carried him somewhere in the vicinity of the
country he thought he recognized, he assumed that Gathol lay behind the hills
he now saw, whereas, in reality, it lay far to the northeast.
It was two days before
Gahan had crossed the plain and reached the summit of the hills from which he
hoped to see his own country, only to meet at last with disappointment. Before
him stretched another plain, of even greater proportions than that he had but just
crossed, and beyond this other hills. In one material respect this plain
differed from that behind him in that it was dotted with occasional isolated
hills. Convinced, however, that Gathol lay somewhere in the direction of his
search he descended into the valley and bent his steps toward the northwest.
For weeks Gahan of
Gathol crossed valleys and hills in search of some familiar landmark that might
point his way toward his native land, but the summit of each succeeding ridge
revealed but another unfamiliar view. He saw few animals and no men, until he
finally came to the belief that he had fallen upon that fabled area of ancient
Barsoom which lay under the curse of her olden gods -- the once rich and
fertile country whose people in their pride and arrogance had denied the
deities, and whose punishment had been extermination.
And then, one day, he
scaled low hills and looked into an inhabited valley -- a valley of trees and
cultivated fields and plots of ground enclosed by stone walls surrounding strange
towers. He saw people working in the fields, but he did not rush down to greet
them. First he must know more of them and whether they might be assumed to be
friends or enemies. Hidden by concealing shrubbery he crawled to a vantage
point upon a hill that projected further into the valley, and here he lay upon
his belly watching the workers closest to him. They were still quite a distance
from him and he could not be quite sure of them, but there was something
verging upon the unnatural about them. Their heads seemed out of proportion to
their bodies -- too large.
For a long time he lay
watching them and ever more forcibly it was borne in upon his consciousness
that they were not as he, and that it would be rash to trust himself among
them. Presently he saw a couple appear from the nearest enclosure and slowly
approach those who were working nearest to the hill where he lay in hiding.
Immediately he was aware that one of these differed from all the others. Even
at the greater distance he noted that the head was smaller and as they
approached, he was confident that the harness of one of them was not as the
harness of its companion or of that of any of those who tilled the fields.
The two stopped often,
apparently in argument, as though one would proceed in the direction that they
were going while the other demurred. But each time the smaller won reluctant
consent from the other, and so they came closer and closer to the last line of
workers toiling between the enclosure from which they had come and the hill
where Gahan of Gathol lay watching, and then suddenly the smaller figure struck
its companion full in the face. Gahan, horrified, saw the latter's head topple
from its body, saw the body stagger and fall to the ground. The man half rose
from his concealment the better to view the happening in the valley below. The
creature that had felled its companion was dashing madly in the direction of
the hill upon which he was hidden, it dodged one of the workers that sought to
seize it. Gahan hoped that it would gain its liberty, why he did not know other
than at closer range it had every appearance of being a creature of his own
race. Then he saw it stumble and go down and instantly its pursuers were upon
it. Then it was that Gahan's eyes chanced to return to the figure of the
creature the fugitive had felled.
What horror was this
that he was witnessing? Or were his eyes playing some ghastly joke upon him?
No, impossible though it was -- it was true -- the head was moving slowly to
the fallen body. It placed itself upon the shoulders, the body rose, and the
creature, seemingly as good as new, ran quickly to where its fellows were
dragging the hapless captive to its feet.
The watcher saw the
creature take its prisoner by the arm and lead it back to the enclosure, and
even across the distance that separated them from him he could note dejection
and utter hopelessness in the bearing of the prisoner, and, too, he was half
convinced that it was a woman, perhaps a red Martian of his own race. Could he
be sure that this was true he must make some effort to rescue her even though
the customs of his strange world required it only in case she was of his own
country; but he was not sure; she might not be a red Martian at all, or, if she
were, it was as possible that she sprang from an enemy people as not. His first
duty was to return to his own people with as little personal risk as possible,
and though the thought of adventure stirred his blood he put the temptation
aside with a sigh and turned away from the peaceful and beautiful valley that
he longed to enter, for it was his intention to skirt its eastern edge and
continue his search for Gathol beyond.
As Gahan of Gathol
turned his steps along the southern slopes of the hills that bound Bantoom upon
the south and east, his attention was attracted toward a small cluster of trees
a short distance to his right. The low sun was casting long shadows. It would
soon be night. The trees were off the path that he had chosen and he had little
mind to be diverted from his way; but as he looked again he hesitated. There
was something there besides boles of trees, and underbrush. There were
suggestions of familiar lines of the handicraft of man. Gahan stopped and
strained his eyes in the direction of the thing that had arrested his attention.
No, he must be mistaken -- the branches of the trees and a low bush had taken
on an unnatural semblance in the horizontal rays of the setting sun. He turned
and continued upon his way; but as he cast another side glance in the direction
of the object of his interest, the sun's rays were shot back into his eyes from
a glistening point of radiance among the trees.
Gahan shook his head
and walked quickly toward the mystery, determined now to solve it. The shining
object still lured him on and when he had come closer to it his eyes went wide
in surprise, for the thing they saw was naught else than the jewel-encrusted
emblem upon the prow of a small flier. Gahan, his hand upon his short-sword,
moved silently forward, but as he neared the craft he saw that he had naught to
fear, for it was deserted. Then he turned his attention toward the emblem. As
its significance was flashed to his understanding his face paled and his heart
went cold -- it was the insignia of the house of The Warlord of Barsoom. Instantly
he saw the dejected figure of the captive being led back to her prison in the
valley just beyond the hills. Tara of Helium! And he had been so near to
deserting her to her fate. The cold sweat stood in beads upon his brow.
A hasty examination of
the deserted craft unfolded to the young jed the whole tragic story. The same
tempest that had proved his undoing had borne Tara of Helium to this distant
country. Here, doubtless, she had landed in hope of obtaining food and water
since, without a propellor, she could not hope to reach her native city, or any
other friendly port, other than by the merest caprice of Fate. The flier seemed
intact except for the missing propellor and the fact that it had been carefully
moored in the shelter of the clump of trees indicated that the girl had
expected to return to it, while the dust and leaves upon its deck spoke of the
long days, and even weeks, since she had landed. Mute yet eloquent proofs,
these things, that Tara of Helium was a prisoner, and that she was the very prisoner
whose bold dash for liberty he had so recently witnessed he now had not the
slightest doubt.
The question now
revolved solely about her rescue. He knew to which tower she had been taken --
that much and no more. Of the number, the kind, or the disposition of her
captors he renew nothing; nor did he care -- for Tara of Helium he would face a
hostile world alone. Rapidly he considered several plans for succoring her; but
the one that appealed most strongly to him was that which offered the greatest
chance of escape for the girl should he be successful in reaching her. His
decision reached he turned his attention quickly toward the flier. Casting off
its lashings he dragged it out from beneath the trees, and, mounting to the
deck tested out the various controls. The motor started at a touch and purred
sweetly, the buoyancy tanks were well stocked, and the ship answered perfectly
to the controls which regulated her altitude. There was nothing needed but a
propellor to make her fit for the long voyage to Helium. Gahan shrugged
impatiently -- there must not be a propellor within a thousand haads. But what
mattered it? The craft even without a propellor would still answer the purpose
his plan required of it -- provided the captors of Tara of Helium were a people
without ships, and he had seen nothing to suggest that they had ships. The
architecture of their towers and enclosures assured him that they had not.
The sudden Barsoomian
night had fallen. Cluros rode majestically the high heavens. The rumbling roar
of a banth reverberated among the hills. Gahan of Gathol let the ship rise a
few feet from the ground, then, seizing a bow rope, he dropped over the side.
To tow the little craft was now a thing of ease, and as Gahan moved rapidly
toward the brow of the hill above Bantoom the flier floated behind him as
lightly as a swan upon a quiet lake. Now down the hill toward the tower dimly
visible in the moonlight the Gatholian turned his steps. Closer behind him
sounded the roar of the hunting banth. He wondered if the beast sought him or
was following some other spoor. He could not be delayed now by any hungry beast
of prey, for what might that very instant be befalling Tara of Helium he could
not guess; and so he hastened his steps. But closer and closer came the horrid
screams of the great carnivore, and now he heard the swift fall of padded feet
upon the hillside behind him. He glanced back just in time to see the beast
break into a rapid charge. His hand leaped to the hilt of his long-sword, but
he did not draw, for in the same instant he saw the futility of armed
resistance, since behind the first banth came a herd of at least a dozen
others. There was but a single alternative to a futile stand and that he
grasped in the instant that he saw the overwhelming numbers of his antagonists.
Springing lightly from
the ground he swarmed up the rope toward the bow of the flier. His weight drew
the craft slightly lower and at the very instant that the man drew himself to
the deck at the bow of the vessel, the leading banth sprang for the stern.
Gahan leaped to his feet and rushed toward the great beast in the hope of
dislodging it before it had succeeded in clambering aboard. At the same instant
he saw that others of the banths were racing toward them with the quite evident
intention of following their leader to the ship's deck. Should they reach it in
any numbers he would be lost. There was but a single hope. Leaping for the
altitude control Gahan pulled it wide. Simultaneously three banths leaped for
the deck. The craft rose swiftly. Gahan felt the impact of a body against the
keel, followed by the soft thuds of the great bodies as they struck the ground
beneath. His act had not been an instant too soon. And now the leader had
gained the deck and stood at the stern with glaring eyes and snarling jaws.
Gahan drew his sword. The beast, possibly disconcerted by the novelty of its
position, did not charge. Instead it crept slowly toward its intended prey. The
craft was rising and Gahan placed a foot upon the control and stopped the
ascent. He did not wish to chance rising to some higher air current that would
bear him away. Already the craft was moving slowly toward the tower, carried
thither by the impetus of the banth's heavy body leaping upon it from astern.
The man watched the
slow approach of the monster, the slavering jowls, the malignant expression of
the devilish face. The creature, finding the deck stable, appeared to be
gaining confidence, and then the man leaped suddenly to one side of the deck
and the tiny flier heeled as suddenly in response. The banth slipped and
clutched frantically at the deck. Gahan leaped in with his naked sword; the
great beast caught itself and reared upon its hind legs to reach forth and
seize this presumptuous mortal that dared question its right to the flesh it
craved; and then the man sprang to the opposite side of the deck. The banth
toppled sideways at the same instant that it attempted to spring; a raking
talon passed close to Gahan's head at the moment that his sword lunged through
the savage heart, and as the warrior wrenched his blade from the carcass it
slipped silently over the side of the ship.
A glance below showed
that the vessel was drifting in the direction of the tower to which Gahan had
seen the prisoner led. In another moment or two it would be directly over it.
The man sprang to the control and let the craft drop quickly toward the ground
where followed the banths, still hot for their prey. To land outside the
enclosure spelled certain death, while inside he could see many forms huddled
upon the ground as in sleep. The ship floated now but a few feet above the wall
of the enclosure. There was nothing for it but to risk all on a bold bid for
fortune, or drift helplessly past without hope of returning through the banth-infested
valley, from many points of which he could now hear the roars and growls of
these fierce Barsoomian lions.
Slipping over the side
Gahan descended by the trailing anchor-rope until his feet touched the top of
the wall, where he had no difficulty in arresting the slow drifting of the
ship. Then he drew up the anchor and lowered it inside the enclosure. Still
there was no movement upon the part of the sleepers beneath -- they lay as dead
men. Dull lights shone from openings in the tower; but there was no sign of
guard or waking inmate. Clinging to the rope Gahan lowered himself within the
enclosure, where he had his first close view of the creatures lying there in
what he had thought sleep. With a half smothered exclamation of horror the man
drew back from the headless bodies of the rykors. At first he thought them the
corpses of decapitated humans like himself, which was quite bad enough; but
when he saw them move and realized that they were endowed with life, his horror
and disgust became even greater.
Here then was the
explanation of the thing he had witnessed that afternoon, when Tara of Helium
had struck the head from her captor and Gahan had seen the head crawl back to
its body. And to think that the pearl of Helium was in the power of such
hideous things as these. Again the man shuddered, but he hastened to make fast
the flier, clamber again to its deck and lower it to the floor of the
enclosure. Then he strode toward a door in the base of the tower, stepping
lightly over the recumbent forms of the unconscious rykors, and crossing the
threshold disappeared within.
GHEK, in his happier
days third foreman of the fields of Luud, sat nursing his anger and his
humiliation. Recently something had awakened within him the existence of which
he had never before even dreamed. Had the influence of the strange captive
woman aught to do with this unrest and dissatisfaction? He did not know. He
missed the soothing influence of the noise she called singing. Could it be that
there were other things more desirable than cold logic and undefiled brain
power? Was well balanced imperfection more to be sought after then, than the
high development of a single characteristic? He thought of the great, ultimate
brain toward which all kaldanes were striving. It would be deaf, and dumb, and
blind. A thousand beautiful strangers might sing and dance about it, but it
could derive no pleasure from the singing or the dancing since it would possess
no perceptive faculties. Already had the kaldanes shut themselves off from most
of the gratifications of the senses. Ghek wondered if much was to be gained by
denying themselves still further, and with the thought came a question as to
the whole fabric of their theory. After all perhaps the girl was right; what
purpose could a great brain serve sealed in the bowels of the earth?
And he, Ghek, was to
die for this theory. Luud had decreed it. The injustice of it overwhelmed him
with rage. But he was helpless. There was no escape. Beyond the enclosure the
banths awaited him; within, his own kind, equally as merciless and ferocious.
Among them there was no such thing as love, or loyalty, or friendship -- they
were just brains. He might kill Luud; but what would that profit him? Another
king would be loosed from his sealed chamber and Ghek would be killed. He did
not know it but he would not even have the poor satisfaction of satisfied
revenge, since he was not capable of feeling so abstruse a sentiment.
Ghek, mounted upon his
rykor, paced the floor of the tower chamber in which he had been ordered to
remain. Ordinarily he would have accepted the sentence of Luud with perfect
equanimity, since it was but the logical result of reason; but now it seemed
different. The stranger woman had bewitched him. Life appeared a pleasant thing
-- there were great possibilities in it. The dream of the ultimate brain had
receded into a tenuous haze far in the background of his thoughts.
At that moment there
appeared in the doorway of the chamber a red warrior with naked sword. He was a
male counterpart of the prisoner whose sweet voice had undermined the cold,
calculating reason of the kaldane.
"Silence!"
admonished the newcomer, his straight brows gathered in an ominous frown and
the point of his long-sword playing menacingly before the eyes of the kaldane.
"I seek the woman, Tara of Helium. Where is she? If you value your life
speak quickly and speak the truth."
If he valued his life!
It was a truth that Ghek had but just learned. He thought quickly. After all, a
great brain is not without its uses. Perhaps here lay escape from the sentence
of Luud.
"You are of her
kind?" he asked. "You come to rescue her?"
"Yes."
"Listen, then. I
have befriended her, and because of this I am to die. If I help you to liberate
her, will you take me with you?"
Gahan of Gathol eyed
the weird creature from crown to foot -- the perfect body, the grotesque head,
the expressionless face. Among such as these had the beautiful daughter of
Helium been held captive for days and weeks.
"If she lives and
is unharmed," he said, "I will take you with us."
"When they took
her from me she was alive and unharmed," replied Ghek. "I cannot say
what has befallen her since. Luud sent for her."
"Who is Luud?
Where is he? Lead me to him." Gahan spoke quickly in tones vibrant with
authority.
"Come, then,"
said Ghek, leading the way from the apartment and down a stairway toward the
underground burrows of the kaldanes. "Luud is my king. I will take you to
his chambers."
"Hasten!"
urged Gahan.
"Sheathe your sword,"
warned Ghek, "so that should we pass others of my kind I may say to them
that you are a new prisoner with some likelihood of winning their belief."
Gahan did as he was
bid, but warning the kaldane that his hand was ever ready at his dagger's hilt.
"You need have no
fear of treachery," said Ghek "My only hope of life lies in
you."
"And if you fail
me," Gahan admonished him, "I can promise you as sure a death as even
your king might guarantee you."
Ghek made no reply, but
moved rapidly through the winding subterranean corridors until Gahan began to
realize how truly was he in the hands of this strange monster. If the fellow
should prove false it would profit Gahan nothing to slay him, since without his
guidance the red man might never hope to retrace his way to the tower and
freedom.
Twice they met and were
accosted by other kaldanes; but in both instances Ghek's simple statement that
he was taking a new prisoner to Luud appeared to allay all suspicion, and then
at last they came to the ante-chamber of the king.
"Here, now, red
man, thou must fight, if ever," whispered Ghek. "Enter there!"
and he pointed to a doorway before them.
"And you?"
asked Gahan, still fearful of treachery.
"My rykor is
powerful," replied the kaldane. "I shall accompany you and fight at
your side. As well die thus as in torture later at the will of Luud.
Come!"
But Gahan had already
crossed the room and entered the chamber beyond. Upon the opposite side of the
room was a circular opening guarded by two warriors. Beyond this opening he
could see two figures struggling upon the floor, and the fleeting glimpse he
had of one of the faces suddenly endowed him with the strength of ten warriors
and the ferocity of a wounded banth. It was Tara of Helium, fighting for her honor
or her life.
The warriors, startled
by the unexpected appearance of a red man, stood for a moment in dumb
amazement, and in that moment Gahan of Gathol was upon them, and one was down,
a sword-thrust through its heart.
"Strike at the
heads," whispered the voice of Ghek in Gahan's ear. The latter saw the
head of the fallen warrior crawl quickly within the aperture leading to the
chamber where he had seen Tara of Helium in the clutches of a headless body.
Then the sword of Ghek struck the kaldane of the remaining warrior from its
rykor and Gahan ran his sword through the repulsive head.
Instantly the red
warrior leaped for the aperture, while close behind him came Ghek.
"Look not upon the
eyes of Luud," warned the kaldane, "or you are lost."
Within the chamber
Gahan saw Tara of Helium in the clutches of a mighty body, while close to the
wall upon the opposite side of the apartment crouched the hideous, spider-like
Luud. Instantly the king realized the menace to himself and sought to fasten
his eyes upon the eyes of Gahan, and in doing so he was forced to relax his
concentration upon the rykor in whose embraces Tara struggled, so that almost
immediately the girl found herself able to tear away from the awful, headless thing.
As she rose quickly to
her feet she saw for the first time the cause of the interruption of Luud's
plans. A red warrior! Her heart leaped in rejoicing and thanksgiving. What
miracle of fate had sent him to her? She did not recognize him, though, this
travel-worn warrior in the plain harness which showed no single jewel. How
could she have guessed him the same as the scintillant creature of platinum and
diamonds that she had seen for a brief hour under such different circumstances
at the court of her august sire?
Luud saw Ghek following
the strange warrior into the chamber. "Strike him down, Ghek!"
commanded the king. "Strike down the stranger and your life shall be
yours."
Gahan glanced at the
hideous face of the king.
"Seek not his
eyes," screamed Tara in warning; but it was too late. Already the horrid
hypnotic gaze of the king kaldane had seized upon the eyes of Gahan. The red
warrior hesitated in his stride. His sword point drooped slowly toward the
floor. Tara glanced toward Ghek. She saw the creature glaring with his
expressionless eyes upon the broad back of the stranger. She saw the hand of
the creature's rykor creeping stealthily toward the hilt of its dagger.
And then Tara of Helium
raised her eyes aloft and poured forth the notes of Mars' most beautiful
melody, The Song of Love.
Ghek drew his dagger
from its sheath. His eyes turned toward the singing girl. Luud's glance wavered
from the eyes of the man to the face of Tara, and the instant that the latter's
song distracted his attention from his victim, Gahan of Gathol shook himself
and as with a supreme effort of will forced his eyes to the wall above Luud's
hideous head. Ghek raised his dagger above his right shoulder, took a single
quick step forward, and struck. The girl's song ended in a stifled scream as
she leaped forward with the evident intention of frustrating the kaldane's
purpose; but she was too late, and well it was, for an instant later she
realized the purpose of Ghek's act as she saw the dagger fly from his hand,
pass Gahan's shoulder, and sink full to the guard in the soft face of Luud.
"Come!" cried
the assassin, "we have no time to lose," and started for the aperture
through which they had entered the chamber; but in his stride he paused as his
glance was arrested by the form of the mighty rykor Iying prone upon the floor
-- a king's rykor; the most beautiful, the most powerful, that the breeders of
Bantoom could produce. Ghek realized that in his escape he could take with him
but a single rykor, and there was none in Bantoom that could give him better
service than this giant Iying here. Quickly he transferred himself to the
shoulders of the great, inert hulk. Instantly the latter was transformed to a
sentient creature, filled with pulsing life and alert energy.
"Now," said
the kaldane, "we are ready. Let whoso would revert to nothingness impede
me." Even as he spoke he stooped and crawled into the chamber beyond,
while Gahan, taking Tara by the arm, motioned her to follow. The girl looked
him full in the eyes for the first time. "The Gods of my people have been
kind," she said; "you came just in time. To the thanks of Tara of
Helium shall be added those of The Warlord of Barsoom and his people. Thy
reward shall surpass thy greatest desires."
Gahan of Gathol saw that
she did not recognize him, and quickly he checked the warm greeting that had
been upon his lips.
"Be thou Tara of
Helium or another," he replied, "is immaterial, to serve thus a red
woman of Barsoom is in itself sufficient reward."
As they spoke the girl
was making her way through the aperture after Ghek, and presently all three had
quitted the apartments of Luud and were moving rapidly along the winding
corridors toward the tower. Ghek repeatedly urged them to greater speed, but
the red men of Barsoom were never keen for retreat, and so the two that
followed him moved all too slowly for the kaldane.
"There are none to
impede our progress," urged Gahan, "so why tax the strength of the
Princess by needless haste?"
"I fear not so
much opposition ahead, for there are none there who know the thing that has
been done in Luud's chambers this night; but the kaldane of one of the warriors
who stood guard before Luud's apartment escaped, and you may count it a truth
that he lost no time in seeking aid. That it did not come before we left is due
solely to the rapidity with which events transpired in the king's[1] room. Long
before we reach the tower they will be upon us from behind, and that they will
come in numbers far superior to ours and with great and powerful rykors I well
know."
Nor was Ghek's prophecy
long in fulfilment. Presently the sounds of pursuit became audible in the
distant clanking of accouterments and the whistling call to arms of the
kaldanes.
"The tower is but
a short distance now," cried Ghek. "Make haste while yet you may, and
if we can barricade it until the sun rises we may yet escape."
"We shall need no
barricades for we shall not linger in the tower," replied Gahan, moving
more rapidly as he realized from the volume of sound behind them the great
number of their pursuers.
"But we may not go
further than the tower tonight," insisted Ghek. "Beyond the tower
await the banths and certain death."
Gahan smiled.
"Fear not the banths," he assured them. "Can we but reach the
enclosure a little ahead of our pursuers we have naught to fear from any evil
power within this accursed valley."
Ghek made no reply, nor
did his expressionless face denote either belief or skepticism. The girl looked
into the face of the man questioningly. She did not understand.
"Your flier,"
he said. "It is moored before the tower."
Her face lighted with
pleasure and relief. "You found it!" she exclaimed. "What
fortune!"
"It was fortune
indeed," he replied. "Since it not only told that you were a prisoner
here; but it saved me from the banths as I was crossing the valley from the
hills to this tower into which I saw them take you this afternoon after your
brave attempt at escape."
"How did you know
it was I?" she asked, her puzzled brows scanning his face as though she
sought to recall from past memories some scene in which he figured.
"Who is there but
knows of the loss of the Princess Tara of Helium?" he replied. "And
when I saw the device upon your flier I knew at once, though I had not known
when I saw you among them in the fields a short time earlier. Too great was the
distance for me to make certain whether the captive was man or woman. Had
chance not divulged the hiding place of your flier I had gone my way, Tara of
Helium. I shudder to think how close was the chance at that. But for the
momentary shining of the sun upon the emblazoned device on the prow of your
craft, I had passed on unknowing."
The girl shuddered.
"The Gods sent you," she whispered reverently.
"The Gods sent me,
Tara of Helium," he replied.
"But I do not
recognize you," she said. "I have tried to recall you, but I have
failed. Your name, what may it be?"
"It is not strange
that so great a princess should not recall the face of every roving panthan of
Barsoom," he replied with a smile.
"But your
name?" insisted the girt
"Call me
Turan," replied the man, for it had come to him that if Tara of Helium
recognized him as the man whose impetuous avowal of love had angered her that
day in the gardens of The Warlord, her situation might be rendered infinitely
less bearable than were she to believe him a total stranger. Then, too, as a
simple panthan[2] he might win a greater degree of her confidence by his
loyalty and faithfulness and a place in her esteem that seemed to have been
closed to the resplendent Jed of Gathol.
They had reached the
tower now, and as they entered it from the subterranean corridor a backward
glance revealed the van of their pursuers -- hideous kaldanes mounted upon
swift and powerful rykors. As rapidly as might be the three ascended the
stairways leading to the ground level, but after them, even more rapidly, came
the minions of Luud. Ghek led the way, grasping one of Tara's hands the more
easily to guide and assist her, while Gahan of Gathol followed a few paces in
their rear, his bared sword ready for the assault that all realized must come
upon them now before ever they reached the enclosure and the flier.
"Let Ghek drop
behind to your side," said Tara, "and fight with you."
"There is but room
for a single blade in these narrow corridors," replied the Gatholian.
"Hasten on with Ghek and win to the deck of the flier. Have your hand upon
the control, and if I come far enough ahead of these to reach the dangling cable
you can rise at my word and I can clamber to the deck at my leisure; but if one
of them emerges first into the enclosure you will know that I shall never come,
and you will rise quickly and trust to the Gods of our ancestors to give you a
fair breeze in the direction of a more hospitable people."
Tara of Helium shook
her head. "We will not desert you, panthan," she said.
Gahan, ignoring her
reply, spoke above her head to Ghek. "Take her to the craft moored within
the enclosure," he commanded. "It is our only hope. Alone, I may win
to its deck; but have I to wait upon you two at the last moment the chances are
that none of us will escape. Do as I bid." His tone was haughty and
arrogant -- the tone of a man who has commanded other men from birth, and whose
will has been law. Tara of Helium was both angered and vexed. She was not
accustomed to being either commanded or ignored, but with all her royal pride
she was no fool, and she knew the man was right, that he was risking his life
to save hers, so she hastened on with Ghek as she was bid, and after the first
flush of anger she smiled, for the realization came to her that this fellow was
but a rough untutored warrior, skilled not in the finer usages of cultured
courts. His heart was right, though; a brave and loyal heart, and gladly she
forgave him the offense of his tone and manner. But what a tone! Recollection
of it gave her sudden pause. Panthans were rough and ready men. Often they rose
to positions of high command, so it was not the note of authority in the
fellow's voice that seemed remarkable; but something else -- a quality that was
indefinable, yet as distinct as it was familiar. She had heard it before when
the voice of her great-grandsire, Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, had risen in
command; and in the voice of her grandfather, Mors Kajak, the jed; and in the
ringing tones of her illustrious sire, John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, when he
addressed his warriors.
But now she had no time
to speculate upon so trivial a thing, for behind her came the sudden clash of
arms and she knew that Turan, the panthan, had crossed swords with the first of
their pursuers. As she glanced back he was still visible beyond a turn in the
stairway, so that she could see the quick swordplay that ensued. Daughter of a
world's greatest swordsman, she knew well the finest points of the art. She saw
the clumsy attack of the kaldane and the quick, sure return of the panthan. As
she looked down from above upon his almost naked body, trapped only in the
simplest of unadorned harness, and saw the play of the lithe muscles beneath
the red-bronze skin, and witnessed the quick and delicate play of his sword
point, to her sense of obligation was added a spontaneous admission of
admiration that was but the natural tribute of a woman to skill and bravery
and, perchance, some trifle to manly symmetry and strength.
Three times the
panthan's blade changed its position -- once to fend a savage cut; once to
feint; and once to thrust. And as he withdrew it from the last position the
kaldane rolled lifeless from its stumbling rykor and Turan sprang quickly down
the steps to engage the next behind, and then Ghek had drawn Tara upward and a
turn in the stairway shut the battling panthan from her view; but still she
heard the ring of steel on steel, the clank of accouterments and the shrill
whistling of the kaldanes. Her heart moved her to turn back to the side of her
brave defender; but her judgment told her that she could serve him best by
being ready at the control of the flier at the moment he reached the enclosure.
PRESENTLY Ghek pushed
aside a door that opened from the stairway, and before them Tara saw the
moonlight flooding the walled court where the headless rykors lay beside their
feeding-troughs. She saw the perfect bodies, muscled as the best of her
father's fighting men, and the females whose figures would have been the envy
of many of Helium's most beautiful women. Ah, if she could but endow these with
the power to act! Then indeed might the safety of the panthan be assured; but
they were only poor lumps of clay, nor had she the power to quicken them to
life. Ever must they lie thus until dominated by the cold, heartless brain of
the kaldane. The girl sighed in pity even as she shuddered in disgust as she
picked her way over and among the sprawled creatures toward the flier.
Quickly she and Ghek mounted
to the deck after the latter had cast off the moorings. Tara tested the
control, raising and lowering the ship a few feet within the walled space. It
responded perfectly. Then she lowered it to the ground again and waited. From
the open doorway came the sounds of conflict, now nearing them, now receding.
The girl, having witnessed her champion's skill, had little fear of the
outcome. Only a single antagonist could face him at a time upon the narrow
stairway, he had the advantage of position and of the defensive, and he was a
master of the sword while they were clumsy bunglers by comparison. Their sole
advantage was in their numbers, unless they might find a way to come upon him
from behind.
She paled at the
thought. Could she have seen him she might have been further perturbed, for he
took no advantage of many opportunities to win nearer the enclosure. He fought
coolly, but with a savage persistence that bore little semblance to purely
defensive action. Often he clambered over the body of a fallen foe to leap
against the next behind, and once there lay five dead kaldanes behind him, so
far had he pushed back his antagonists. They did not know it; these kaldanes
that he fought, nor did the girl awaiting him upon the flier, but Gahan of
Gathol was engaged in a more alluring sport than winning to freedom, for he was
avenging the indignities that had been put upon the woman he loved; but
presently he realized that he might be jeopardizing her safety uselessly, and
so he struck down another before him and turning leaped quickly up the
stairway, while the leading kaldanes slipped upon the brain-covered floor and
stumbled in pursuit.
Gahan reached the
enclosure twenty paces ahead of them and raced toward the flier.
"Rise!" he shouted to the girl. "I will ascend the cable."
Slowly the small craft
rose from the ground as Gahan leaped the inert bodies of the rykors lying in
his path. The first of the pursuers sprang from the tower just as Gahan seized
the trailing rope.
"Faster!" he
shouted to the girl above, "or they will drag us down!" But the ship
seemed scarcely to move, though in reality she was rising as rapidly as might
have been expected of a one-man flier carrying a load of three. Gahan swung
free above the top of the wall, but the end of the rope still dragged the
ground as the kaldanes reached it. They were pouring in a steady stream from
the tower into the enclosure. The leader seized the rope.
"Quick!" he
cried. "Lay hold and we will drag them down."
It needed but the
weight of a few to accomplish his design. The ship was stopped in its flight
and then, to the horror of the girl, she felt it being dragged steadily
downward. Gahan, too, realized the danger and the necessity for instant action.
Clinging to the rope with his left hand, he had wound a leg about it, leaving
his right hand free for his long-sword which he had not sheathed. A downward
cut clove the soft head of a kaldane, and another severed the taut rope beneath
the panthan's feet. The girl heard a sudden renewal of the shrill whistling of
her foes, and at the same time she realized that the craft was rising again.
Slowly it drifted upward, out of reach of the enemy, and a moment later she saw
the figure of Turan clamber over the side. For the first time in many weeks her
heart was filled with the joy of thanksgiving; but her first thought was of
another.
"You are not
wounded?" she asked.
'No, Tara of
Helium," he replied. "They were scarce worth the effort of my blade,
and never were they a menace to me because of their swords."
"They should have
slain you easily," said Ghek. "So great and highly developed is the
power of reason among us that they should have known before you struck just
where, logically, you must seek to strike, and so they should have been able to
parry your every thrust and easily find an opening to your heart."
"But they did not,
Ghek," Gahan reminded him. "Their theory of development is wrong, for
it does not tend toward a perfectly balanced whole. You have developed the
brain and neglected the body and you can never do with the hands of another
what you can do with your own hands. Mine are trained to the sword -- every
muscle responds instantly and accurately, and almost mechanically, to the need
of the instant. I am scarcely objectively aware that I think when 1 fight, so
quickly does my point take advantage of every opening, or spring to my defense
if I am threatened that it is almost as though the cold steel had eyes and
brains. You, with your kaldane brain and your rykor body, never could hope to
achieve in the same degree of perfection those things that I can achieve.
Development of the brain should not be the sum total of human endeavor. The
richest and happiest peoples will be those who attain closest to well-balanced
perfection of both mind and body, and even these must always be short of
perfection. In absolute and general perfection lies stifling monotony and
death. Nature must have contrasts; she must have shadows as well as high
lights; sorrow with happiness; both wrong and right; and sin as well as
virtue."
"Always have I
been taught differently," replied Ghek; "but since I have known this
woman and you, of another race, I have come to believe that there may be other
standards fully as high and desirable as those of the kaldanes. At least I have
had a glimpse of the thing you call happiness and I realize that it may be good
even though I have no means of expressing it. I cannot laugh nor smile, and yet
within me is a sense of contentment when this woman sings -- a sense that seems
to open before me wondrous vistas of beauty and unguessed pleasure that far
transcend the cold joys of a perfectly functioning brain. I would that I had
been born of thy race."
Caught by a gentle
current of air the flier was drifting slowly toward the northeast across the
valley of Bantoom. Below them lay the cultivated fields, and one after another
they passed over the strange towers of Moak and Nolach and the other kings of the
swarms that inhabited this weird and terrible land. Within each enclosure
surrounding the towers grovelled the rykors, repellent, headless things,
beautiful yet hideous.
"A lesson,
those," remarked Gahan, indicating the rykors in an enclosure above which
they were drifting at the time, "to that fortunately small minority of our
race which worships the flesh and makes a god of appetite. You know them, Tara
of Helium; they can tell you exactly what they had at the midday meal two weeks
ago, and how the loin of the thoat should be prepared, and what drink should be
served with the rump of the zitidar."
Tara of Helium laughed.
"But not one of them could tell you the name of the man whose painting
took the Jeddak's Award in The Temple of Beauty this year," she said.
"Like the rykors, their development has not been balanced."
"Fortunate indeed
are those in which there is combined a little good and a little bad, a little
knowledge of many things outside their own callings, a capacity for love and a
capacity for hate, for such as these can look with tolerance upon all, unbiased
by the egotism of him whose head is so heavy on one side that all his brains
run to that point."
As Gahan ceased
speaking Ghek made a little noise in his throat as one does who would attract
attention. "You speak as one who has thought much upon many subjects. Is
it, then, possible that you of the red race have pleasure in thought? Do you
know aught of the joys of introspection? Do reason and logic form any part of
your lives?"
"Most assuredly,"
replied Gahan, "but not to the extent of occupying all our time -- at
least not objectively. You, Ghek, are an example of the egotism of which I
spoke. Because you and your kind devote your lives to the worship of mind, you
believe that no other created beings think. And possibly we do not in the sense
that you do, who think only of yourselves and your great brains. We think of
many things that concern the welfare of a world. Had it not been for the red
men of Barsoom even the kaldanes had perished from the planet, for while you
may live without air the things upon which you depend for existence cannot, and
there had been no air in sufficient quantities upon Barsoom these many ages had
not a red man planned and built the great atmosphere plant which gave new life
to a dying world.
"What have all the
brains of all the kaldanes that have ever lived done to compare with that
single idea of a single red man?"
Ghek was stumped. Being
a kaldane he knew that brains spelled the sum total of universal achievement,
but it had never occurred to him that they should be put to use in practical
and profitable ways. He turned away and looked down upon the valley of his
ancestors across which he was slowly drifting, into what unknown world? He
should be a veritable god among the underlings, he knew; but somehow a doubt
assailed him. It was evident that these two from that other world were ready to
question his preeminence. Even through his great egotism was filtering a
suspicion that they patronized him; perhaps even pitied him. Then he began to
wonder what was to become of him. No longer would he have many rykors to do his
bidding. Only this single one and when it died there could not be another. When
it tired, Ghek must lie almost helpless while it rested. He wished that he had
never seen this red woman. She had brought him only discontent and dishonor and
now exile. Presently Tara of Helium commenced to hum a tune and Ghek, the
kaldane, was content.
Gently they drifted
beneath the hurtling moons above the mad shadows of a Martian night. The
roaring of the banths came in diminishing volume to their ears as their craft
passed on beyond the boundaries of Bantoom, leaving behind the terrors of that
unhappy land. But to what were they being borne? The girl looked at the man
sitting cross-legged upon the deck of the tiny flier, gazing off into the night
ahead, apparently absorbed in thought.
"Where are
we?" she asked. "Toward what are we drifting?"
Turan shrugged his
broad shoulders. "The stars tell me that we are drifting toward the
northeast," he replied, "but where we are, or what lies in our path I
cannot even guess. A week since I could have sworn that I knew what lay behind
each succeeding ridge that I approached; but now I admit in all humility that I
have no conception of what lies a mile in any direction. Tara of Helium, I am
lost, and that is all that I can tell you."
He was smiling and the
girl smiled back at him. There was a slightly puzzled expression on her face --
there was something tantalizingly familiar about that smile of his. She had met
many a panthan -- they came and went, following the fighting of a world -- but
she could not place this one.
"From what country
are you, Turan?" she asked suddenly.
"Know you not,
Tara of Helium," he countered, "that a panthan has no country? Today
he fights beneath the banner of one master, tomorrow beneath that of
another."
"But you must own
allegiance to some country when you are not fighting," she insisted.
"What banner, then, owns you now?"
He rose and stood
before her, then, bowing low. "And I am acceptable," he said, "I
serve beneath the banner of the daughter of The Warlord now -- and
forever."
She reached forth and
touched his arm with a slim brown hand. "Your services are accepted,"
she said; "and if ever we reach Helium I promise that your reward shall be
all that your heart could desire."
"I shall serve
faithfully, hoping for that reward," he said; but Tara of Helium did not
guess what was in his mind, thinking rather that he was mercenary. For how
could the proud daughter of The Warlord guess that a simple panthan aspired to
her hand and heart?
The dawn found them
moving rapidly over an unfamiliar landscape. The wind had increased during the
night and had borne them far from Bantoom. The country below them was rough and
inhospitable. No water was visible and the surface of the ground was cut by
deep gorges, while nowhere was any but the most meager vegetation discernible.
They saw no life of any nature, nor was there any indication that the country
could support life. For two days they drifted over this horrid wasteland. They
were without food or water and suffered accordingly. Ghek had temporarily
abandoned his rykor after enlisting Turan's assistance in lashing it safely to
the deck. The less he used it the less would its vitality be spent. Already it
was showing the effects of privation. Ghek crawled about the vessel like a
great spider -- over the side, down beneath the keel, and up over the opposite
rail. He seemed equally at home one place as another. For his companions,
however, the quarters were cramped, for the deck of a one-man flier is not
intended for three.
Turan sought always
ahead for signs of water. Water they must have, or that water-giving plant
which makes life possible upon many of the seemingly arid areas of Mars; but
there was neither the one nor the other for these two days and now the third
night was upon them. The girl did not complain, but Turan knew that she must be
suffering and his heart was heavy within him. Ghek suffered least of all, and
he explained to them that his kind could exist for long periods without food or
water. Turan almost cursed him as he saw the form of Tara of Helium slowly
wasting away before his eyes, while the hideous kaldane seemed as full of
vitality as ever.
"There are
circumstances," remarked Ghek, "under which a gross and material body
is less desirable than a highly developed brain."
Turan looked at him,
but said nothing. Tara of Helium smiled faintly. "One cannot blame
him," she said, "were we not a bit boastful in the pride of our
superiority? When our stomachs were filled," she added.
"Perhaps there is
something to be said for their system," Turan admitted. "If we could
but lay aside our stomachs when they cried for food and water I have no doubt
but that we should do so."
"I should never
miss mine now," assented Tara; "it is mighty poor company."
A new day had dawned,
revealing a less desolate country and renewing again the hope that had been low
within them. Suddenly Turan leaned forward, pointing ahead.
"Look, Tara of
Helium!" he cried. "A city! As I am Ga -- as I am Turan the panthan,
a city."
Far in the distance the
domes and walls and slender towers of a city shone in the rising sun. Quickly
the man seized the control and the ship dropped rapidly behind a low range of
intervening hills, for well Turan knew that they must not be seen until they
could discover whether friend or foe inhabited the strange city. Chances were
that they were far from the abode of friends and so must the panthan move with
the utmost caution; but there was a city and where a city was, was water, even
though it were a deserted city, and food if it were inhabited.
To the red man food and
water, even in the citadel of an enemy, meant food and drink for Tara of
Helium. He would accept it from friends or he would take it from enemies. Just
so long as it was there he would have it -- and there was shown the egotism of
the fighting man, though Turan did not see it, nor Tara who came from a long
line of fighting men; but Ghek might have smiled had he known how.
Turan permitted the
flier to drift closer behind the screening hills, and then when he could
advance no farther without fear of discovery, he dropped the craft gently to
ground in a little ravine, and leaping over the side made her fast to a stout
tree. For several moments they discussed their plans -- whether it would be
best to wait where they were until darkness hid their movements and then
approach the city in search of food and water, or approach it now, taking
advantage of what cover they could, until they could glean something of the
nature of its inhabitants.
It was Turan's plan
which finally prevailed. They would approach as close as safety dictated in the
hope of finding water outside the city; food, too, perhaps. If they did not
they could at least reconnoiter the ground by daylight, and then when night came
Turan could quickly come close to the city and in comparative safety prosecute
his search for food and drink.
Following the ravine
upward they finally topped the summit of the ridge, from which they had an
excellent view of that part of the city which lay nearest them, though
themselves hidden by the brush behind which they crouched. Ghek had resumed his
rykor, which had suffered less than either Tara or Turan through their enforced
fast.
The first glance at the
city, now much closer than when they had first discovered it, revealed the fact
that it was inhabited. Banners and pennons broke from many a staff. People were
moving about the gate before them. The high white walls were paced by sentinels
at far intervals. Upon the roofs of higher buildings the women could be seen
airing the sleeping silks and furs. Turan watched it all in silence for some
time.
"I do not know
them," he said at last. "I cannot guess what city this may be. But it
is an ancient city. Its people have no fliers and no firearms. It must be old
indeed."
"How do you know
they have not these things?" asked the girl.
"There are no
landing-stages upon the roofs -- not one that can be seen from here; while were
we looking similarly at Helium we would see hundreds. And they have no firearms
because their defenses are all built to withstand the attack of spear and
arrow, with spear and arrow. They are an ancient people."
"If they are
ancient perhaps they are friendly," suggested the girl. "Did we not
learn as children in the history of our planet that it was once peopled by a
friendly, peace-loving race?"
"But I fear they
are not as ancient as that," replied Turan, laughing. "It has been
long ages since the men of Barsoom loved peace."
"My father loves
peace," returned the girl.
"And yet he is
always at war," said the man.
She laughed. "But
he says he likes peace."
"We all like
peace," he rejoined; "peace with honor; but our neighbors will not
let us have it, and so we must fight."
"And to fight well
men must like to fight," she added.
"And to like to
fight they must know how to fight," he said, "for no man likes to do
the thing that he does not know how to do well."
"Or that some
other man can do better than he."
"And so always
there will be wars and men will fight," he concluded, "for always the
men with hot blood in their veins will practice the art of war."
"We have settled a
great question," said the girl, smiling; "but our stomachs are still
empty."
"Your panthan is
neglecting his duty," replied Turan; "and how can he with the great
reward always before his eyes!"
She did not guess in
what literal a sense he spoke.
"I go
forthwith," he continued, "to wrest food and drink from the
ancients."
"No," she
cried, laying a hand upon his arm, "not yet. They would slay you or make
you prisoner. You are a brave panthan and a mighty one, but you cannot overcome
a city singlehanded."
She smiled up into his
face and her hand still lay upon his arm. He felt the thrill of hot blood
coursing through his veins. He could have seized her in his arms and crushed
her to him. There was only Ghek the kaldane there, but there was something
stronger within him that restrained his hand. Who may define it -- that
inherent chivalry that renders certain men the natural protectors of women?
From their vantage
point they saw a body of armed warriors ride forth from the gate, and winding
along a well-beaten road pass from sight about the foot of the hill from which
they watched. The men were red, like themselves, and they rode the small saddle
thoats of the red race. Their trappings were barbaric and magnificent, and in
their headdress were many feathers as had been the custom of ancients. They
were armed with swords and long spears and they rode almost naked, their bodies
being painted in ochre and blue and white. There were, perhaps, a score of them
in the party and as they galloped away on their tireless mounts they presented
a picture at once savage and beautiful.
"They have the
appearance of splendid warriors," said Turan. "I have a great mind to
walk boldly into their city and seek service."
Tara shook her head.
"Wait," she admonished. "What would I do without you, and if you
were captured how could you collect your reward?"
"I should
escape," he said. "At any rate I shall try it," and he started
to rise.
"You shall
not," said the girl, her tone all authority.
The man looked at her
quickly -- questioningly.
"You have entered
my service," she said, a trifle haughtily. "You have entered my
service for hire and you shall do as I bid you."
Turan sank down beside
her again with a half smile upon his lips. "It is yours to command,
Princess," he said.
The day passed. Ghek,
tiring of the sunlight, had deserted his rykor and crawled down a hole he had
discovered close by. Tara and Turan reclined beneath the scant shade of a small
tree. They watched the people coming and going through the gate. The party of
horsemen did not return. A small herd of zitidars was driven into the city
during the day, and once a caravan of broad-wheeled carts drawn by these huge
animals wound out of the distant horizon and came down to the city. It, too,
passed from their sight within the gateway. Then darkness came and Tara of
Helium bid her panthan search for food and drink; but she cautioned him against
attempting to enter the city. Before he left her he bent and kissed her hand as
a warrior may kiss the hand of his queen.
TURAN the panthan
approached the strange city under cover of the darkness. He entertained little
hope of finding either food or water outside the wall, but he would try and
then, if he failed, he would attempt to make his way into the city, for Tara of
Helium must have sustenance and have it soon. He saw that the walls were poorly
sentineled, but they were sufficiently high to render an attempt to scale them
foredoomed to failure. Taking advantage of underbrush and trees, Turan managed
to reach the base of the wall without detection. Silently he moved north past
the gateway which was closed by a massive gate which effectively barred even
the slightest glimpse within the city beyond. It was Turan's hope to find upon
the north side of the city away from the hills a level plain where grew the
crops of the inhabitants, and here too water from their irrigating system, but
though he traveled far along that seemingly interminable wall he found no
fields nor any water. He searched also for some means of ingress to the city,
yet here, too, failure was his only reward, and now as he went keen eyes
watched him from above and a silent stalker kept pace with him for a time upon
the summit of the wall; but presently the shadower descended to the pavement
within and hurrying swiftly raced ahead of the stranger without.
He came presently to a
small gate beside which was a low building and before the doorway of the
building a warrior standing guard. He spoke a few quick words to the warrior
and then entered the building only to return almost immediately to the street,
followed by fully forty warriors. Cautiously opening the gate the fellow peered
carefully along the wall upon the outside in the direction from which he had
come. Evidently satisfied, he issued a few words of instruction to those behind
him, whereupon half the warriors returned to the interior of the building,
while the other half followed the man stealthily through the gateway where they
crouched low among the shrubbery in a half circle just north of the gateway
which they had left open. Here they waited in utter silence, nor had they long
to wait before Turan the panthan came cautiously along the base of the wall. To
the very gate he came and when he found it and that it was open he paused for a
moment, listening; then he approached and looked within. Assured that there was
none within sight to apprehend him he stepped through the gate-way into the
city.
He found himself in a
narrow street that paralleled the wall. Upon the opposite side rose buildings
of an architecture unknown to him, yet strangely beautiful. While the buildings
were packed closely together there seemed to be no two alike and their fronts
were of all shapes and heights and of many hues. The skyline was broken by
spire and dome and minaret and tall, slender towers, while the walls supported
many a balcony and in the soft light of Cluros, the farther moon, now low in
the west, he saw, to his surprise and consternation, the figures of people upon
the balconies. Directly opposite him were two women and a man. They sat leaning
upon the rail of the balcony looking, apparently, directly at him; but if they
saw him they gave no sign.
Turan hesitated a
moment in the face of almost certain discovery and then, assured that they must
take him for one of their own people, he moved boldly into the avenue. Having
no idea of the direction in which he might best hope to find what he sought,
and not wishing to arouse suspicion by further hesitation, he turned to the
left and stepped briskly along the pavement with the intention of placing
himself as quickly as possible beyond the observation of those nocturnal
watchers. He knew that the night must be far spent; and so he could not but
wonder why people should sit upon their balconies when they should have been
asleep among their silks and furs. At first he had thought them the late guests
of some convivial host; but the windows behind them were shrouded in darkness
and utter quiet prevailed, quite upsetting such a theory. And as he proceeded he
passed many another group sitting silently upon other balconies. They paid no
attention to him, seeming not even to note his passing. Some leaned with a
single elbow upon the rail, their chins resting in their palms; others leaned
upon both arms across the balcony, looking down into the street, while several
that he saw held musical instruments in their hands, but their fingers moved
not upon the strings.
And then Turan came to
a point where the avenue turned to the right, to skirt a building that jutted from
the inside of the city wall, and as he rounded the corner he came full upon two
warriors standing upon either side of the entrance to a building upon his
right. It was impossible for them not to be aware of his presence, yet neither
moved, nor gave other evidence that they had seen him. He stood there waiting,
his hand upon the hilt of his long-sword, but they neither challenged nor
halted him. Could it be that these also thought him one of their own kind?
Indeed upon no other grounds could he explain their inaction.
As Turan had passed
through the gateway into the city and taken his unhindered way along the
avenue, twenty warriors had entered the city and closed the gate behind them,
and then one had taken to the wall and followed along its summit in the rear of
Turan, and another had followed him along the avenue, while a third had crossed
the street and entered one of the buildings upon the opposite side.
The balance of them,
with the exception of a single sentinel beside the gate, had re-entered the
building from which they had been summoned. They were well built, strapping,
painted fellows, their naked figures covered now by gorgeous robes against the
chill of night. As they spoke of the stranger they laughed at the ease with
which they had tricked him, and were still laughing as they threw themselves
upon their sleeping silks and furs to resume their broken slumber. It was
evident that they constituted a guard detailed for the gate beside which they
slept, and it was equally evident that the gates were guarded and the city
watched much more carefully than Turan had believed. Chagrined indeed had been
the Jed of Gathol had he dreamed that he was being so neatly tricked.
As Turan proceeded
along the avenue he passed other sentries beside other doors but now he gave
them small heed, since they neither challenged nor otherwise outwardly noted
his passing; but while at nearly every turn of the erratic avenue he passed one
or more of these silent sentinels he could not guess that he had passed one of
them many times and that his every move was watched by silent, clever stalkers.
Scarce had he passed a certain one of these rigid guardsmen before the fellow
awoke to sudden life, bounded across the avenue, entered a narrow opening in
the outer wall where he swiftly followed a corridor built within the wall
itself until presently he emerged a little distance ahead of Turan, where he
assumed the stiff and silent attitude of a soldier upon guard. Nor did Turan
know that a second followed in the shadows of the buildings behind him, nor of
the third who hastened ahead of him upon some urgent mission.
And so the panthan
moved through the silent streets of the strange city in search of food and
drink for the woman he loved. Men and women looked down upon him from shadowy
balconies, but spoke not; and sentinels saw him pass and did not challenge.
Presently from along the avenue before him came the familiar sound of clanking
accouterments, the herald of marching warriors, and almost simultaneously he
saw upon his right an open doorway dimly lighted from within. It was the only
available place where he might seek to hide from the approaching company, and
while he had passed several sentries unquestioned he could scarce hope to
escape scrutiny and questioning from a patrol, as he naturally assumed this
body of men to be.
Inside the doorway he
discovered a passage turning abruptly to the right and almost immediately
thereafter to the left. There was none in sight within and so he stepped
cautiously around the second turn the more effectually to be hidden from the
street. Before him stretched a long corridor, dimly lighted like the entrance.
Waiting there he heard the party approach the building, he heard someone at the
entrance to his hiding place, and then he heard the door past which he had come
slam to. He laid his hand upon his sword, expecting momentarily to hear
footsteps approaching along the corridor; but none came. He approached the turn
and looked around it; the corridor was empty to the closed door. Whoever had
closed it had remained upon the outside.
Turan waited,
listening. He heard no sound. Then he advanced to the door and placed an ear
against it. All was silence in the street beyond. A sudden draft must have
closed the door, or perhaps it was the duty of the patrol to see to such
things. It was immaterial. They had evidently passed on and now he would return
to the street and continue upon his way. Somewhere there would be a public
fountain where he could obtain water, and the chance of food lay in the strings
of dried vegetables and meat which hung before the doorways of nearly every
Barsoomian home of the poorer classes that he had ever seen. It was this
district he was seeking, and it was for this reason his search had led him away
from the main gate of the city which he knew would not be located in a poor
district.
He attempted to open
the door only to find that it resisted his every effort -- it was locked upon
the outside. Here indeed was a sorry contretemps. Turan the panthan scratched
his head. "Fortune frowns upon me," he murmured; but beyond the door,
Fate, in the form of a painted warrior, stood smiling. Neatly had he tricked
the unwary stranger. The lighted doorway, the marching patrol -- these had been
planned and timed to a nicety by the third warrior who had sped ahead of Turan
along another avenue, and the stranger had done precisely what the fellow had
thought he would do -- no wonder, then, that he smiled.
This exit barred to him
Turan turned back into the corridor. He followed it cautiously and silently.
Occasionally there was a door on one side or the other. These he tried only to
find each securely locked. The corridor wound more erratically the farther he
advanced. A locked door barred his way at its end, but a door upon his right opened
and he stepped into a dimly-lighted chamber, about the walls of which were
three other doors, each of which he tried in turn. Two were locked; the other
opened upon a runway leading downward. It was spiral and he could see no
farther than the first turn. A door in the corridor he had quitted opened after
he had passed, and the third warrior stepped out and followed after him. A
faint smile still lingered upon the fellow's grim lips.
Turan drew his
short-sword and cautiously descended. At the bottom was a short corridor with a
closed door at the end. He approached the single heavy panel and listened. No
sound came to him from beyond the mysterious portal. Gently he tried the door,
which swung easily toward him at his touch. Before him was a low-ceiled chamber
with a dirt floor. Set in its walls were several other doors and all were
closed. As Turan stepped cautiously within, the third warrior descended the
spiral runway behind him. The panthan crossed the room quickly and tried a
door. It was locked. He heard a muffled click behind him and turned about with
ready sword. He was alone; but the door through which he had entered was closed
-- it was the click of its lock that he had heard.
With a bound he crossed
the room and attempted to open it; but to no avail. No longer did he seek
silence, for he knew now that the thing had gone beyond the sphere of chance.
He threw his weight against the wooden panel; but the thick skeel of which it
was constructed would have withstood a battering ram. From beyond came a low
laugh.
Rapidly Turan examined
each of the other doors. They were all locked. A glance about the chamber
revealed a wooden table and a bench. Set in the walls were several heavy rings
to which rusty chains were attached -- all too significant of the purpose to
which the room was dedicated. In the dirt floor near the wall were two or three
holes resembling the mouths of burrows -- doubtless the habitat of the giant
Martian rat. He had observed this much when suddenly the dim light was
extinguished, leaving him in darkness utter and complete. Turan, groping about,
sought the table and the bench. Placing the latter against the wall he drew the
table in front of him and sat down upon the bench, his long-sword gripped in
readiness before him. At least they should fight before they took him.
For some time he sat
there waiting for he knew not what. No sound penetrated to his subterranean
dungeon. He slowly revolved in his mind the incidents of the evening -- the
open, unguarded gate; the lighted doorway -- the only one he had seen thus open
and lighted along the avenue he had followed; the advance of the warriors at
precisely the moment that he could find no other avenue of escape or
concealment; the corridors and chambers that led past many locked doors to this
underground prison leaving no other path for him to pursue.
"By my first
ancestor!" he swore; "but it was simple and I a simpleton. They
tricked me neatly and have taken me without exposing themselves to a scratch;
but for what purpose?"
He wished that he might
answer that question and then his thoughts turned to the girl waiting there on
the hill beyond the city for him -- and he would never come. He knew the ways
of the more savage peoples of Barsoom. No, he would never come, now. He had
disobeyed her. He smiled at the sweet recollection of those words of command
that had fallen from her dear lips. He had disobeyed her and now he had lost
the reward.
But what of her? What
now would be her fate -- starving before a hostile city with only an inhuman
kaldane for company? Another thought -- a horrid thought -- obtruded itself
upon him. She had told him of the hideous sights she had witnessed in the
burrows of the kaldanes and he knew that they ate human flesh. Ghek was
starving. Should he eat his rykor he would be helpless; but -- there was
sustenance there for them both, for the rykor and the kaldane. Turan cursed
himself for a fool. Why had he left her? Far better to have remained and died
with her, ready always to protect her, than to have left her at the mercy of
the hideous Bantoomian.
Now Turan detected a
heavy odor in the air. It oppressed him with a feeling of drowsiness. He would
have risen to fight off the creeping lethargy, but his legs seemed weak, so
that he sank again to the bench. Presently his sword slipped from his fingers
and he sprawled forward upon the table his head resting upon his arms.
Tara of Helium, as the
night wore on and Turan did not return, became more and more uneasy, and when
dawn broke with no sign of him she guessed that he had failed. Something more
than her own unhappy predicament brought a feeling of sorrow to her heart -- of
sorrow and loneliness. She realized now how she had come to depend upon this
panthan not only for protection but for companionship as well. She missed him,
and in missing him realized suddenly that he had meant more to her than a mere
hired warrior. It was as though a friend had been taken from her -- an old and
valued friend. She rose from her place of concealment that she might have a better
view of the city.
U-Dor, dwar of the 8th
Utan of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, rode back in the early dawn toward Manator
from a brief excursion to a neighboring village. As he was rounding the hills
south of the city, his keen eyes were attracted by a slight movement among the
shrubbery close to the summit of the nearest hill. He halted his vicious mount
and watched more closely. He saw a figure rise facing away from him and peer
down toward Manator beyond the hill.
"Come!" he
signalled to his followers, and with a word to this thoat turned the beast at a
rapid gallop up the hillside. In his wake swept his twenty savage warriors, the
padded feet of their mounts soundless upon the soft turf. It was the rattle of
sidearms and harness that brought Tara of Helium suddenly about, facing them.
She saw a score of warriors with couched lances bearing down upon her.
She glanced at Ghek.
What would the spiderman do in this emergency? She saw him crawl to his rykor
and attach himself. Then he arose, the beautiful body once again animated and
alert. She thought that the creature was preparing for flight. Well, it made
little difference to her. Against such as were streaming up the hill toward
them a single mediocre swordsman such as Ghek was worse than no defense at all.
"Hurry,
Ghek!" she admonished him. "Back into the hills! You may find there a
hiding-place;" but the creature only stepped between her and the oncoming
riders, drawing his long-sword.
"It is useless,
Ghek," she said, when she saw that he intended to defend her. "What
can a single sword accomplish against such odds?"
"I can die but
once," replied the kaldane. "You and your panthan saved me from Luud
and I but do what your panthan would do were he here to protect you."
"It is brave, but
it is useless," she replied. "Sheathe your sword. They may not intend
us harm."
Ghek let the point of
his weapon drop to the ground, but he did not sheathe it, and thus the two
stood waiting as U-Dor the dwar stopped his thoat before them while his twenty
warriors formed a rough circle about. For a long minute U-Dor sat his mount in
silence, looking searchingly first at Tara of Helium and then at her hideous
companion.
"What manner of
creature are you?" he asked presently. "And what do you before the
gates of Manator?"
"We are from far
countries," replied the girl, "and we are lost and starving. We ask
only food and rest and the privilege to go our way seeking our own homes."
U-Dor smiled a grim
smile. "Manator and the hills which guard it alone know the age of
Manator," he said; "yet in all the ages that have rolled by since
Manator first was, there be no record in the annals of Manator of a stranger
departing from Manator."
"But I am a
princess," cried the girl haughtily, "and my country is not at war
with yours. You must give me and my companions aid and assist us to return to
our own land. It is the law of Barsoom."
"Manator knows
only the laws of Manator," replied U-Dor; "but come. You shall go with
us to the city, where you, being beautiful, need have no fear. I, myself, will
protect you if O-Tar so decrees. And as for your companion -- but hold! You
said 'companions' -- there are others of your party then?"
"You see what you
see," replied Tara haughtily.
"Be that as it
may," said U-Dor. "If there be more they shall not escape Manator;
but as I was saying, if your companion fights well he too may live, for O-Tar
is just, and just are the laws of Manator. Come!"
Ghek demurred.
"It is useless,"
said the girl, seeing that he would have stood his ground and fought them.
"Let us go with them. Why pit your puny blade against their mighty ones
when there should lie in your great brain the means to outwit them?" She
spoke in a low whisper, rapidly.
"You are right,
Tara of Helium," he replied and sheathed his sword.
And so they moved down
the hillside toward the gates of Manator -- Tara, Princess of Helium, and Ghek,
the kaldane of Bantoom -- and surrounding them rode the savage, painted warriors
of U-Dor, dwar of the 8th Utan of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator.
THE dazzling sunlight
of Barsoom clothed Manator in an aureole of splendor as the girl and her
captors rode into the city through The Gate of Enemies. Here the wall was some
fifty feet thick, and the sides of the passageway within the gate were covered
with parallel shelves of masonry from bottom to top. Within these shelves, or
long, horizontal niches, stood row upon row of small figures, appearing like
tiny, grotesque statuettes of men, their long, black hair falling below their
feet and sometimes trailing to the shelf beneath. The figures were scarce a
foot in height and but for their diminutive proportions might have been the
mummified bodies of once living men. The girl noticed that as they passed, the
warriors saluted the figures with their spears after the manner of Barsoomian
fighting men in extending a military courtesy, and then they rode on into the
avenue beyond, which ran, wide and stately, through the city toward the east.
On either side were
great buildings wondrously wrought. Paintings of great beauty and antiquity
covered many of the walls, their colors softened and blended by the suns of
ages. Upon the pavement the life of the newly-awakened city was already afoot.
Women in brilliant trappings, befeathered warriors, their bodies daubed with
paint; artisans, armed but less gaily caparisoned, took their various ways upon
the duties of the day. A giant zitidar, magnificent in rich harness, rumbled its
broad-wheeled cart along the stone pavement toward The Gate of Enemies. Life
and color and beauty wrought together a picture that filled the eyes of Tara of
Helium with wonder and with admiration, for here was a scene out of the dead
past of dying Mars. Such had been the cities of the founders of her race before
Throxeus, mightiest of oceans, had disappeared from the face of a world. And
from balconies on either side men and women looked down in silence upon the
scene below.
The people in the
street looked at the two prisoners, especially at the hideous Ghek, and called
out in question or comment to their guard; but the watchers upon the balconies
spoke not, nor did one so much as turn a head to note their passing. There were
many balconies on each building and not a one that did not hold its silent
party of richly trapped men and women, with here and there a child or two, but
even the children maintained the uniform silence and immobility of their
elders. As they approached the center of the city the girl saw that even the
roofs bore companies of these idle watchers, harnessed and bejeweled as for
some gala-day of laughter and music, but no laughter broke from those silent
lips, nor any music from the strings of the instruments that many of them held
in jeweled fingers.
And now the avenue
widened into an immense square, at the far end of which rose a stately edifice
gleaming white in virgin marble among the gaily painted buildings surrounding
it and its scarlet sward and gaily-flowering, green-foliaged shrubbery. Toward
this U-Dor led his prisoners and their guard to the great arched entrance
before which a line of fifty mounted warriors barred the way. When the
commander of the guard recognized U-Dor the guardsmen fell back to either side
leaving a broad avenue through which the party passed. Directly inside the
entrance were inclined runways leading upward on either side. U-Dor turned to
the left and led them upward to the second floor and down a long corridor. Here
they passed other mounted men and in chambers upon either side they saw more.
Occasionally there was another runway leading either up or down. A warrior, his
steed at full gallop, dashed into sight from one of these and raced swiftly
past them upon some errand.
Nowhere as yet had Tara
of Helium seen a man afoot in this great building; but when at a turn, U-Dor
led them to the third floor she caught glimpses of chambers in which many
riderless thoats were penned and others adjoining where dismounted warriors
lolled at ease or played games of skill or chance and many there were who
played at jetan, and then the party passed into a long, wide hall of state, as
magnificent an apartment as even a princess of mighty Helium ever had seen. The
length of the room ran an arched ceiling ablaze with countless radium bulbs.
The mighty spans extended from wall to wall leaving the vast floor unbroken by
a single column. The arches were of white marble, apparently quarried in
single, huge blocks from which each arch was cut complete. Between the arches,
the ceiling was set solid about the radium bulbs with precious stones whose
scintillant fire and color and beauty filled the whole apartment. The stones
were carried down the walls in an irregular fringe for a few feet, where they
appeared to hang like a beautiful and gorgeous drapery against the white marble
of the wall. The marble ended some six or seven feet from the floor, the walls
from that point down being wainscoted in solid gold. The floor itself was of
marble richly inlaid with gold. In that single room was a vast treasure equal
to the wealth of many a large city.
But what riveted the
girl's attention even more than the fabulous treasure of decorations were the
files of gorgeously harnessed warriors who sat their thoats in grim silence and
immobility on either side of the central aisle, rank after rank of them to the
farther walls, and as the party passed between them she could not note so much
as the flicker of an eyelid, or the twitching of a thoat's ear.
"The Hall of
Chiefs," whispered one of her guard, evidently noting her interest. There
was a note of pride in the fellow's voice and something of hushed awe. Then
they passed through a great doorway into the chamber beyond, a large, square
room in which a dozen mounted warriors lolled in their saddles.
As U-Dor and his party
entered the room, the warriors came quickly erect in their saddles and formed a
line before another door upon the opposite side of the wall. The padwar
commanding them saluted U-Dor who, with his party, had halted facing the guard.
"Send one to O-Tar
announcing that U-Dor brings two prisoners worthy of the observation of the
great jeddak," said U-Dor; "one because of her extreme beauty, the
other because of his extreme ugliness."
"O-Tar sits in
council with the lesser chiefs," replied the lieutenant; "but the
words of U-Dor the dwar shall be carried to him," and he turned and gave
instructions to one who sat his thoat behind him.
"What manner of
creature is the male?" he asked of U-Dor. "It cannot be that both are
of one race."
"They were
together in the hills south of the city," explained U-Dor, "and they
say that they are lost and starving."
"The woman is
beautiful," said the padwar. "She will not long go begging in the
city of Manator," and then they spoke of other matters -- of the doings of
the palace, of the expedition of U-Dor, until the messenger returned to say
that O-Tar bade them bring the prisoners to him.
They passed then
through a massive doorway, which, when opened, revealed the great council
chamber of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, beyond. A central aisle led from the
doorway the full length of the great hall, terminating at the steps of a marble
dais upon which a man sat in a great throne-chair. Upon either side of the
aisle were ranged rows of highly carved desks and chairs of skeel a hard wood
of great beauty. Only a few of the desks were occupied -- those in the front
row, just below the rostrum.
At the entrance U-Dor
dismounted with four of his followers who formed a guard about the two
prisoners who were then conducted toward the foot of the throne, following a
few paces behind U-Dor. As they halted at the foot of the marble steps, the
proud gaze of Tara of Helium rested upon the enthroned figure of the man above
her. He sat erect without stiffness -- a commanding presence trapped in the
barbaric splendor that the Barsoomian chieftain loves. He was a large man, the
perfection of whose handsome face was marred only by the hauteur of his cold
eyes and the suggestion of cruelty imparted by too thin lips. It needed no
second glance to assure the least observing that here indeed was a ruler of.
men -- a fighting jeddak whose people might worship but not love, and for whose
slightest favor warriors would vie with one another to go forth and die. This
was O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, and as Tara of Helium saw him for the first time
she could not but acknowledge a certain admiration for this savage chieftain
who so virilely personified the ancient virtues of the God of War.
U-Dor and the jeddak
interchanged the simple greetings of Barsoom, and then the former recounted the
details of the discovery and capture of the prisoners. O-Tar scrutinized them
both intently during U-Dor's narration of events, his expression revealing
naught of what passed in the brain behind those inscrutable eyes. When the
officer had finished the jeddak fastened his gaze upon Ghek.
"And you," he
asked, "what manner of thing are you? From what country? Why are you in
Manator?"
"I am a
kaldane," replied Ghek; "the highest type of created creature upon
the face of Barsoom; I am mind, you are matter. I come from Bantoom. I am here
because we were lost and starving."
"And you!"
O-Tar turned suddenly on Tara "You, too, are a kaldane?"
"I am a princess
of Helium," replied the girl. "I was a prisoner in Bantoom. This
kaldane and a warrior of my own race rescued me. The warrior left us to search
for food and water. He has doubtless fallen into the hands of your people. I
ask you to free him and give us food and drink and let us go upon our way. I am
a granddaughter of a jeddak, the daughter of a jeddak of jeddaks, The Warlord
of Barsoom. I ask only the treatment that my people would accord you or
yours."
"Helium,"
repeated O-Tar. "I know naught of Helium, nor does the Jeddak of Helium
rule Manator. I, O-Tar, am Jeddak of Manator. I alone rule. I protect my own.
You have never seen a woman or a warrior of Manator captive in Helium! Why
should I protect the people of another jeddak? It is his duty to protect them.
If he cannot, he is weak, and his people must fall into the hands of the
strong. I, O-Tar, am strong. I will keep you. That --" he pointed at Ghek
-- "can it fight?"
"It is
brave," replied Tara of Helium, "but it has not the skill at arms which
my people possess."
"There is none
then to fight for you?" asked O-Tar. "We are a just people," he
continued without waiting for a reply, "and had you one to fight for you
he might win to freedom for himself and you as well."
"But U-Dor assured
me that no stranger ever had departed from Manator," she answered.
O-Tar shrugged.
"That does not disprove the justice of the laws of Manator," replied
O-Tar, "but rather that the warriors of Manator are invincible. Had there
come one who could defeat our warriors that one had won to liberty."
"And you fetch my
warrior," cried Tara haughtily, "you shall see such swordplay as
doubtless the crumbling walls of your decaying city never have witnessed, and
if there be no trick in your offer we are already as good as free."
O-Tar smiled more
broadly than before and U-Dor smiled, too, and the chiefs and warriors who
looked on nudged one another and whispered, laughing. And Tara of Helium knew
then that there was trickery in their justice; but though her situation seemed
hopeless she did not cease to hope, for was she not the daughter of John
Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, whose famous challenge to Fate, "I still
live!" remained the one irreducible defense against despair? At thought of
her noble sire the patrician chin of Tara of Helium rose a shade higher. Ah! if
he but knew where she was there were little to fear then. The hosts of Helium
would batter at the gates of Manator, the great green warriors of John Carter's
savage allies would swarm up from the dead sea bottoms lusting for pillage and
for loot, the stately ships of her beloved navy would soar above the
unprotected towers and minarets of the doomed city which only capitulation and
heavy tribute could then save.
But John Carter did not
know! There was only one other to whom she might hope to look -- Turan the
panthan; but where was he? She had seen his sword in play and she knew that it
had been wielded by a master hand, and who should know swordplay better than
Tara of Helium, who had learned it well under the constant tutorage of John
Carter himself. Tricks she knew that discounted even far greater physical
prowess than her own, and a method of attack that might have been at once the
envy and despair of the cleverest of warriors. And so it was that her thoughts
turned to Turan the panthan, though not alone because of the protection he
might afford her. She had realized, since he had left her in search of food,
that there had grown between them a certain comradeship that she now missed.
There had been that about him which seemed to have bridged the gulf between
their stations in life. With him she had failed to consider that he was a
panthan or that she was a princess -- they had been comrades. Suddenly she
realized that she missed him for himself more than for his sword. She turned
toward O-Tar.
"Where is Turan,
my warrior?" she demanded.
"You shall not
lack for warriors," replied the jeddak. "One of your beauty will find
plenty ready to fight for her. Possibly it shall not be necessary to look
farther than the jeddak of Manator. You please me, woman. What say you to such
an honor?"
Through narrowed lids
the Princess of Helium scrutinized the Jeddak of Manator, from feathered
headdress to sandaled foot and back to feathered headdress.
"'Honor'!"
she mimicked in tones of scorn. "I please thee, do I? Then know, swine,
that thou pleaseth me not -- that the daughter of John Carter is not for such
as thou!"
A sudden, tense silence
fell upon the assembled chiefs. Slowly the blood receded from the sinister face
of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, leaving him a sickly purple in his wrath. His eyes
narrowed to two thin slits, his lips were compressed to a bloodless line of
malevolence. For a long moment there was no sound in the throne room of the
palace at Manator. Then the jeddak turned toward U-Dor.
"Take her
away," he said in a level voice that belied his appearance of rage.
"Take her away, and at the next games let the prisoners and the common
warriors play at Jetan for her."
"And this?"
asked U-Dor, pointing at Ghek.
"To the pits until
the next games," replied O-Tar.
"So this is your
vaunted justice!" cried Tara of Helium; "that two strangers who have
not wronged you shall be sentenced without trial? And one of them is a woman.
The swine of Manator are as just as they are brave."
"Away with
her!" shouted O-Tar, and at a sign from U-Dor the guards formed about the
two prisoners and conducted them from the chamber.
Outside the palace,
Ghek and Tara of Helium were separated. The girl was led through long avenues
toward the center of the city and finally into a low building, topped by lofty
towers of massive construction. Here she was turned over to a warrior who wore the
insignia of a dwar, or captain.
"It is O-Tar's
wish," explained U-Dor to this one, "that she be kept until the next
games, when the prisoners and the common warriors shall play for her. Had she
not the tongue of a thoat she had been a worthy stake for our noblest
steel," and U-Dor sighed. "Perhaps even yet I may win a pardon for
her. It were too bad to see such beauty fall to the lot of some common fellow.
I would have honored her myself."
"If I am to be
imprisoned, imprison me," said the girl. "I do not recall that I was
sentenced to listen to the insults of every low-born boor who chanced to admire
me."
"You see,
A-Kor," cried U-Dor, "the tongue that she has. Even so and worse
spoke she to O-Tar the jeddak."
"I see,"
replied A-Kor, whom Tara saw was with difficulty restraining a smile.
"Come, then, with me, woman," he said, "and we shall find a safe
place within The Towers of Jetan -- but stay! what ails thee?"
The girl had staggered
and would have fallen had not the man caught her in his arms. She seemed to
gather herself then and bravely sought to stand erect without support. A-Kor
glanced at U-Dor. "Knew you the woman was ill?" he asked.
"Possibly it is
lack of food," replied the other. "She mentioned, I believe, that she
and her companions had not eaten for several days."
"Brave are the
warriors of O-Tar," sneered A-Kor; "lavish their hospitality. U-Dor,
whose riches are uncounted, and the brave O-Tar, whose squealing thoats are
stabled within marble halls and fed from troughs of gold, can spare no crust to
feed a starving girl."
The black haired U-Dor.
scowled. "Thy tongue will yet pierce thy heart, son of a slave!" he
cried. "Once too often mayst thus try the patience of the just O-Tar.
Hereafter guard thy speech as well as thy towers."
"Think not to
taunt me with my mother's state," said A-Kor. "'Tis the blood of the
slave woman that fills my veins with pride, and my only shame is that I am also
the son of thy jeddak."
"And O-Tar heard
this?" queried U-Dor.
"O-Tar has already
heard it from my own lips," replied A-Kor; "this, and more."
He turned upon his
heel, a supporting arm still around the waist of Tara of Helium and thus he
half led, half carried her into The Towers of Jetan, while U-Dor wheeled his
thoat and galloped back in the direction of the palace.
Within the main
entrance to The Tower of Jetan lolled a half-dozen warriors. To one of these
spoke A-Kor, keeper of the towers. "Fetch Lan-O, the slave girl, and bid
her bring food and drink to the upper level of the Thurian tower," then he
lifted the half-fainting girl in his arms and bore her along the spiral,
inclined runway that led upward within the tower.
Somewhere in the long
ascent Tara lost consciousness. When it returned she found herself in a large,
circular chamber, the stone walls of which were pierced by windows at regular
intervals about the entire circumference of the room. She was lying upon a pile
of sleeping silks and furs while there knelt above her a young woman who was
forcing drops of some cooling beverage between her parched lips. Tara of Helium
half rose upon an elbow and looked about. In the first moments of returning
consciousness there were swept from the screen of recollection the happenings
of many weeks. She thought that she awoke in the palace of The Warlord at
Helium. Her brows knit as she scrutinized the strange face bending over her.
"Who are
you?" she asked, and, "Where is Uthia?"
"I am Lan-O the
slave girl," replied the other. "I know none by the name of
Uthia."
Tara of Helium sat erect
and looked about her. This rough stone was not the marble of her father's
halls. "Where am I?" she asked.
"In The Thurian
Tower," replied the girl, and then seeing that the other still did not
understand she guessed the truth. "You are a prisoner in The Towers of
Jetan in the city of Manator," she explained. "You were brought to
this chamber, weak and fainting, by A-Kor, Dwar of The Towers of Jetan, who
sent me to you with food and drink, for kind is the heart of A-Kor."
"I remember,
now," said Tara, slowly. "I remember; but where is Turan, my warrior?
Did they speak of him?"
"I heard naught of
another," replied Lan-O; "you alone were brought to the towers. In
that you are fortunate, for there be no nobler man in Manator than A-Kor. It is
his mother's blood that makes him so. She was a slave girl from Gathol."
"Gathol!"
exclaimed Tara of Helium. "Lies Gathol close by Manator?"
"Not close, yet
still the nearest country," replied Lan-O. "About twenty-two
degrees[1] east, it lies."
"Gathol!" murmured
Tara, "Far Gathol!"
"But you are not
from Gathol," said the slave girl; "your harness is not of
Gathol."
"I am from
Helium," said Tara
"It is far from
Helium to Gathol;" said the slave girl, "but in our studies we
learned much of the greatness of Helium, we of Gathol, so it seems not so far
away."
"You, too, are
from Gathol?" asked Tara.
"Many of us are
from Gathol who are slaves in Manator," replied the girl. "It is to
Gathol, nearest country, that the Manatorians look for slaves most often. They
go in great numbers at intervals of three or seven years and haunt the roads
that lead to Gathol, and thus they capture whole caravans leaving none to bear
warning to Gathol of their fate. Nor do any ever escape from Manator to carry
word of us back to Gahan our jed."
Tara of Helium ate
slowly and in silence. The girl's words aroused memories of the last hours she
had spent in her father's palace and the great midday function at which she had
met Gahan of Gathol. Even now she flushed as she recalled his daring words.
Upon her reveries the
door opened and a burly warrior appeared in the opening -- a hulking fellow,
with thick lips and an evil, leering face. The slave girl sprang to her feet,
facing him.
"What does this
mean, E-Med?" she cried, "was it not the will of A-Kor that this
woman be not disturbed?"
"The will of
A-Kor, indeed!" and the man sneered. "The will of A-Kor is without
power in The Towers of Jetan, or elsewhere, for A-Kor lies now in the pits of
O-Tar, and E-Med is dwar of the Towers."
Tara of Helium saw the
face of the slave girl pale and the terror in her eyes.
WHILE Tara of Helium
was being led to The Towers of Jetan, Ghek was escorted to the pits beneath the
palace where he was imprisoned in a dimly-lighted chamber. Here he found a
bench and a table standing upon the dirt floor near the wall, and set in the
wall several rings from which depended short lengths of chain. At the base of
the walls were several holes in the dirt floor. These, alone, of the several
things he saw, interested him. Ghek sat down upon the bench and waited in
silence, listening. Presently the lights were extinguished. If Ghek could have
smiled he would have then, for Ghek could see as well in the dark as in the
light -- better, perhaps. He watched the dark openings of the holes in the
floor and waited. Presently he detected a change in the air about him -- it
grew heavy with a strange odor, and once again might Ghek have smiled, could he
have smiled.
Let them replace all
the air in the chamber with their most deadly fumes; it would be all the same
to Ghek, the kaldane, who, having no lungs, required no air. With the rykor it
might be different. Deprived of air it would die; but if only a sufficient
amount of the gas was introduced to stupefy an ordinary creature it would have
no effect upon the rykor, who had no objective mind to overcome. So long as the
excess of carbon dioxide in the blood was not sufficient to prevent heart
action, the rykor would suffer only a diminution of vitality; but would still
respond to the exciting agency of the kaldane's brain.
Ghek caused the rykor
to assume a sitting position with its back against the wall where it might
remain without direction from his brain. Then he released his contact with its
spinal cord; but remained in position upon its shoulders, waiting and watching,
for the kaldane's curiosity was aroused. He had not long to wait before the
lights were flashed on arid one of the locked doors opened to admit a half-dozen
warriors. They approached him rapidly and worked quickly. First they removed
all his weapons and then, snapping a fetter about one of the rykor's ankles,
secured him to the end of one of the chains hanging from the walls. Next they
dragged the long table to a new position and there bolted it to the floor so
that an end, instead of the middle, was directly before the prisoner. On the
table before him they set food and water and upon the opposite end of the table
they laid the key to the fetter. Then they unlocked and opened all the doors
and departed.
When Turan the panthan
regained consciousness it was to the realization of a sharp pain in one of his
forearms. The effects of the gas departed as rapidly as they had overcome him
so that as he opened his eyes he was in full possession of all his faculties.
The lights were on again and in their glow there was revealed to the man the
figure of a giant Martian rat crouching upon the table and gnawing upon his
arm. Snatching his arm away he reached for his short-sword, while the rat,
growling, sought to seize his arm again. It was then that Turan discovered that
his weapons had been removed -- short-sword, long-sword, dagger, and pistol.
The rat charged him then and striking the creature away with his hand the man
rose and backed off, searching for something with which to strike a harder
blow. Again the rat charged and as Turan stepped quickly back to avoid the
menacing jaws, something seemed to jerk suddenly upon his right ankle, and as
he drew his left foot back to regain his equilibrium his heel caught upon a
taut chain and he fell heavily backward to the floor just as the rat leaped
upon his breast and sought his throat.
The Martian rat is a
fierce and unlovely thing. It is many-legged and hairless, its hide resembling
that of a new-born mouse in repulsiveness. In size and weight it is comparable
to a large Airedale terrier. Its eyes are small and close-set, and almost
hidden in deep, fleshy apertures. But its most ferocious and repulsive feature
is its jaws, the entire bony structure of which protrudes several inches beyond
the flesh, revealing five sharp, spadelike teeth in the upper jaw and the same
number of similar teeth in the lower, the whole suggesting the appearance of a
rotting face from which much of the flesh has sloughed away.
It was such a thing
that leaped upon the breast of the panthan to tear at his jugular. Twice Turan
struck it away as he sought to regain his feet, but both times it returned with
increased ferocity to renew the attack. Its only weapons are its jaws since its
broad, splay feet are armed with blunt talons. With its protruding jaws it
excavates its winding burrows and with its broad feet it pushes the dirt behind
it. To keep the jaws from his flesh then was Turan's only concern and this he
succeeded in doing until chance gave him a hold upon the creature's throat.
After that the end was but a matter of moments. Rising at last he flung the
lifeless thing from him with a shudder of disgust.
Now he turned his
attention to a hurried inventory of the new conditions which surrounded him
since the moment of his incarceration. He realized vaguely what had happened.
He had been anaesthetized and stripped of his weapons, and as he rose to his
feet he saw that one ankle was fettered to a chain in the wall. He looked about
the room. All the doors swung wide open! His captors would render his
imprisonment the more cruel by leaving ever before him tempting glimpses of
open aisles to the freedom he could not attain. Upon the end of the table and
within easy reach was food and drink. This at least was attainable and at sight
of it his starved stomach seemed almost to cry aloud for sustenance. It was
with difficulty that he ate and drank in moderation.
As he devoured the food
his eyes wandered about the confines of his prison until suddenly they seized
upon a thing that lay on the table at the end farthest from him. It was a key.
He raised his fettered ankle and examined the lock. There could be no doubt of
it! The key that lay there on the table before him was the key to that very
lock. A careless warrior had laid it there and departed, forgetting. Hope
surged high in the breast of Gahan of Gathol, of Turan the panthan. Furtively
his eyes sought the open doorways. There was no one in sight. Ah, if he could
but gain his freedom! He would find some way from this odious city back to her
side and never again would he leave her until he had won safety for her or
death for himself.
He rose and moved
cautiously toward the opposite end of the table where lay the coveted key. The
fettered ankle halted his first step, but he stretched at full length along the
table, extending eager fingers toward the prize. They almost laid hold upon it
-- a little more and they would touch it. He strained and stretched, but still
the thing lay just beyond his reach. He hurled himself forward until the iron
fetter bit deep into his flesh, but all futilely. He sat back upon the bench
then and glared at the open doors and the key, realizing now that they were
part of a well-laid scheme of refined torture, none the less demoralizing
because it inflicted no physical suffering.
For just a moment the
man gave way to useless regret and foreboding, then he gathered himself
together, his brows cleared, and he returned to his unfinished meal. At least
they should not have the satisfaction of knowing how sorely they had hit him.
As he ate it occurred to him that by dragging the table along the floor he
could bring the key within his reach, but when he essayed to do so, he found that
the table had been securely bolted to the floor during the period of his
unconsciousness, Again Gahan smiled and shrugged and resumed his eating.
When the warriors had
departed from the prison in which Ghek was confined, the kaldane crawled from
the shoulders of the rykor to the table. Here he drank a little water and then
directed the hands of the rykor to the balance of it and to the food, upon
which the brainless thing fell with avidity. While it was thus engaged Ghek
took his spider-like way along the table to the opposite end where lay the key
to the fetter. Seizing it in a chela he leaped to the floor and scurried
rapidly toward the mouth of one of the burrows against the wall, into which he
disappeared. For long had the brain been contemplating these burrow entrances.
They appealed to his kaldanean tastes, and further, they pointed a hiding place
for the key and a lair for the only kind of food that the kaldane relished --
flesh and blood.
Ghek had never seen an
ulsio, since these great Martian rats had long ago disappeared from Bantoom,
their flesh and blood having been greatly relished by the kaldanes; but Ghek
had inherited, almost unimpaired, every memory of every ancestor, and so he
knew that ulsio inhabited these lairs and that ulsio was good to eat, and he
knew what ulsio looked like and what his habits were, though he had never seen
him nor any picture of him. As we breed animals for the transmission of
physical attributes, so the Kaldanes breed themselves for the transmission of
attributes of the mind, including memory and the power of recollection, and
thus have they raised what we term instinct, above the level of the threshold
of the objective mind where it may be commanded and utilized by recollection.
Doubtless in our own subjective minds lie many of the impressions and
experiences of our forebears. These may impinge upon our consciousness in
dreams only, or in vague, haunting suggestions that we have before experienced
some transient phase of our present existence. Ah, if we had but the power to
recall them! Before us would unfold the forgotten story of the lost eons that
have preceded us. We might even walk with God in the garden of His stars while
man was still but a budding idea within His mind.
Ghek descended into the
burrow at a steep incline for some ten feet, when he found himself in an
elaborate and delightful network of burrows! The kaldane was elated. This
indeed was life! He moved rapidly and fearlessly and he went as straight to his
goal as you could to the kitchen of your own home. This goal lay at a low level
in a spheroidal cavity about the size of a large barrel. Here, in a nest of
torn bits of silk and fur lay six baby ulsios.
When the mother
returned there were but five babies and a great spider-like creature, which she
immediately sprang to attack only to be met by powerful chelae which seized and
held her so that she could not move. Slowly they dragged her throat toward a
hideous mouth and in a little moment she was dead.
Ghek might have
remained in the nest for a long time, since there was ample food for many days;
but he did not do so. Instead he explored the burrows. He followed them into
many subterranean chambers of the city of Manator, and upward through walls to
rooms above the ground. He found many ingeniously devised traps, and he found
poisoned food and other signs of the constant battle that the inhabitants of
Manator waged against these repulsive creatures that dwelt beneath their homes
and public buildings.
His exploration
revealed not only the vast proportions of the net-work of runways that
apparently traversed every portion of the city, but the great antiquity of the
majority of them. Tons upon tons of dirt must have been removed, and for a long
time he wondered where it had been deposited, until in following downward a
tunnel of great size and length he sensed before him the thunderous rush of
subterranean waters, and presently came to the bank of a great, underground
river, tumbling onward, no doubt, the length of a world to the buried sea of
Omean. Into this torrential sewer had unthinkable generations of ulsios pushed
their few handsful of dirt in the excavating of their vast labyrinth.
For only a moment did
Ghek tarry by the river, for his seemingly aimless wanderings were in reality
prompted by a definite purpose, and this he pursued with vigor and singleness
of design. He followed such runways as appeared to terminate in the pits or
other chambers of the inhabitants of the city, and these he explored, usually
from the safety of a burrow's mouth, until satisfied that what he sought was
not there. He moved swiftly upon his spider legs and covered remarkable
distances in short periods of time.
His search not being
rewarded with immediate success, he decided to return to the pit where his
rykor lay chained and look to its wants. As he approached the end of the burrow
that terminated in the pit he slackened his pace, stopping just within the
entrance of the runway that he might scan the interior of the chamber before
entering it. As he did so he saw the figure of a warrior appear suddenly in an
opposite doorway. The rykor sprawled upon the table, his hands groping blindly
for more food. Ghek saw the warrior pause and gaze in sudden astonishment at
the rykor; he saw the fellow's eyes go wide and an ashen hue replace the copper
bronze of his cheek. He stepped back as though someone had struck him in the
face. For an instant only he stood thus as in a paralysis of fear, then he
uttered a smothered shriek and turned and fled. Again was it a catastrophe that
Ghek, the kaldane, could not smile.
Quickly entering the
room he crawled to the table top and affixed himself to the shoulders of his
rykor, and there he waited; and who may say that Ghek, though he could not
smile, possessed not a sense of humor? For a half-hour he sat there, and then
there came to him the sound of men approaching along corridors of stone. He
could hear their arms clank against the rocky walls and he knew that they came
at a rapid pace; but just before they reached the entrance to his prison they
paused and advanced more slowly. In the lead was an officer, and just behind
him, wide-eyed and perhaps still a little ashen, the warrior who had so
recently departed in haste. At the doorway they halted and the officer turned
sternly upon the warrior. With upraised finger he pointed at Ghek.
"There sits the
creature! Didst thou dare lie, then, to thy dwar?"
"I swear,"
cried the warrior, "that I spoke the truth. But a moment since the thing
groveled, headless, upon this very table! And may my first ancestor strike me
dead upon the spot if I speak other than a true word!"
The officer looked
puzzled. The men of Mars seldom if ever lie. He scratched his head. Then he
addressed Ghek. "How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Who knows better
than those who placed me here and chained me to a wall?" he returned in
reply.
"Saw you this
warrior enter here a few minutes since?"
"I saw him,"
replied Ghek.
"And you sat there
where you sit now?" continued the officer.
"Look thou to my
chain and tell me then where else might I sit!" cried Ghek. "Art the
people of thy city all fools?"
Three other warriors
pressed behind the two in front, craning their necks to view the prisoner while
they grinned at the discomfiture of their fellow. The officer scowled at Ghek.
"Thy tongue is as
venomous as that of the she-banth O-Tar sent to The Towers of Jetan," he
said.
You speak of the young
woman who was captured with me?" asked Ghek, his expressionless monotone
and face revealing naught of the interest he felt.
"I speak of
her," replied the dwar, and then turning to the warrior who had summoned
him: "return to thy quarters and remain there until the next games.
Perhaps by that time thy eyes may have learned not to deceive thee."
The fellow cast a
venomous glance at Ghek and turned away. The officer shook his head. "I do
not understand it," he muttered. "Always has U-Van been a true and
dependable warrior. Could it be --?" he glanced piercingly at Ghek.
"Thou hast a strange head that misfits thy body, fellow," he cried.
"Our legends tell us of those ancient creatures that placed hallucinations
upon the mind of their fellows. If thou be such then maybe U-Van suffered from
thy forbidden powers. If thou be such O-Tar will know well how to deal with thee."
He wheeled about and motioned his warriors to follow him.
"Wait!" cried
Ghek. "Unless I am to be starved, send me food."
"You have had
food," replied the warrior.
"Am I to be fed
but once a day?" asked Ghek. "I require food oftener than that. Send
me food."
"You shall have
food," replied the officer. "None may say that the prisoners of
Manator are ill-fed. Just are the laws of Manator," and he departed.
No sooner had the
sounds of their passing died away in the distance than Ghek clambered from the
shoulders of his rykor, and scurried to the burrow where he had hidden the key.
Fetching it he unlocked the fetter from about the creature's ankle, locked it
empty and carried the key farther down into the burrow. Then he returned to his
place upon his brainless servitor. After a while he heard footsteps
approaching, whereupon he rose and passed into another corridor from that down
which he knew the warrior was coming. Here he waited out of sight, listening.
He heard the man enter the chamber and halt. He heard a muttered exclamation,
followed by the jangle of metal dishes as a salver was slammed upon a table;
then rapidly retreating footsteps, which quickly died away in the distance.
Ghek lost no time in
returning to the chamber, recovering the key, relocking the rykor to his chain.
Then he replaced the key in the burrow and squatting on the table beside his
headless body, directed its hands toward the food. While the rykor ate Ghek sat
listening for the scraping sandals and clattering arms that he knew soon would
come. Nor had he long to wait. Ghek scrambled to the shoulders of his rykor as
he heard them coming. Again it was the officer who had been summoned by U-Van
and with him were three warriors. The one directly behind him was evidently the
same who had brought the food, for his eyes went wide when he saw Ghek sitting
at the table and he looked very foolish as the dwar turned his stern glance
upon him.
"It is even as I
said," he cried. "He was not here when I brought his food."
"But he is here
now," said the officer grimly, "and his fetter is locked about his
ankle. Look! it has not been opened -- but where is the key? It should be upon
the table at the end opposite him. Where is the key, creature?" he shouted
at Ghek.
"How should I, a
prisoner, know better than my jailer the whereabouts of the key to my
fetters?" he retorted.
"But it lay
here," cried the officer, pointing to the other end of the table.
"Did you see
it?" asked Ghek.
The officer hesitated.
"No but it must have been there," he parried.
"Did you see the
key lying there?" asked Ghek, pointing to another warrior.
The fellow shook his
head negatively. "And you? and you?" continued the kaldane addressing
the others.
They both admitted that
they never had seen the key. "And if it had been there how could 1 have
reached it?" he continued.
"No, he could not
have reached it," admitted the officer; "but there shall be no more
of this! I-Zav, you will remain here on guard with this prisoner until you are
relieved."
I-Zav looked anything
but happy as this intelligence was transmitted to him, and he eyed Ghek
suspiciously as the dwar and the other warriors turned and left him to his
unhappy lot.
E-MED crossed the tower
chamber toward Tara of Helium and the slave girl, Lan-O. He seized the former
roughly by a shoulder. "Stand!" he commanded. Tara struck his hand
from her and rising, backed away.
"Lay not your hand
upon the person of a princess of Helium, beast!" she warned.
E-Med laughed.
"Think you that I play at jetan for you without first knowing something of
the stake for which I play?" he demanded. "Come here!"
The girl drew herself
to her full height, folding her arms across her breast, nor did E-Med note that
the slim fingers of her right hand were inserted beneath the broad leather
strap of her harness where it passed over her left shoulder.
"And O-Tar learns
of this you shall rue it, E-Med," cried the slave girl; "there be no
law in Manator that gives you this girl before you shall have won her
fairly."
"What cares O-Tar
for her fate?" replied E-Med. "Have I not heard? Did she not flout
the great jeddak, heaping abuse upon him? By my first ancestor, I think O-Tar
might make a jed of the man who subdued her," and again he advanced toward
Tara.
"Wait!" said
the girl in low, even tone. "Perhaps you know not what you do. Sacred to
the people of Helium are the persons of the women of Helium. For the honor of
the humblest of them would the great jeddak himself unsheathe his sword. The
greatest nations of Barsoom have trembled to the thunders of war in defense of
the person of Dejah Thoris, my mother. We are but mortal and so may die; but we
may not be defiled. You may play at jetan for a princess of Helium, but though
you may win the match, never may you claim the reward. If thou wouldst possess
a dead body press me too far, but know, man of Manator, that the blood of The
Warlord flows not in the veins of Tara of Helium for naught. I have spoken."
"I know naught of
Helium and O-Tar is our warlord," replied E-Med; "but I do know that
I would examine more closely the prize that I shall play for and win. I would
test the lips of her who is to be my slave after the next games; nor is it
well, woman, to drive me too far to anger." His eyes narrowed as he spoke,
his visage taking on the semblance of that of a snarling beast. "If you
doubt the truth of my words ask Lan-O, the slave girl."
"He speaks truly,
O woman of Helium," interjected Lan-O. "Try not the temper of E-Med,
if you value your life."
But Tara of Helium made
no reply. Already had she spoken. She stood in silence now facing the burly
warrior who approached her. He came close and then quite suddenly he seized her
and, bending, tried to draw her lips to his.
Lan-O saw the woman
from Helium half turn, and with a quick movement jerk her right hand from where
it had lain upon her breast. She saw the hand shoot from beneath the arm of
E-Med and rise behind his shoulder and she saw in the hand a long, slim blade.
The lips of the warrior were drawing closer to those of the woman, but they
never touched them, for suddenly the man straightened, stiffly, a shriek upon
his lips, and then he crumpled like an empty fur and lay, a shrunken heap, upon
the floor. Tara of Helium stooped and wiped her blade upon his harness.
Lan-O, wide-eyed,
looked with horror upon the corpse. "For this we shall both die," she
cried.
"And who would
live a slave in Manator?" asked Tara of Helium.
"I am not so brave
as thou," said the slave girl, "and life is sweet and there is always
hope."
"Life is
sweet," agreed Tara of Helium, "but honor is sacred. But do not fear.
When they come I shall tell them the truth -- that you had no hand in this and
no opportunity to prevent it."
For a moment the slave
girl seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly her eyes lighted. "There is a
way, perhaps," she said, "to turn suspicion from us. He has the key
to this chamber upon him. Let us open the door and drag him out -- maybe we
shall find a place to hide him."
"Good!"
exclaimed Tara of Helium, and the two immediately set about the matter Lan-O
had suggested. Quickly they found the key and unlatched the door and then,
between them, they half carried, half dragged, the corpse of E-Med from the
room and down the stairway to the next level where Lan-O said there were vacant
chambers. The first door they tried was unlatched, and through this the two
bore their grisly burden into a small room lighted by a single window. The apartment
bore evidence of having been utilized as a living-room rather than as a cell,
being furnished with a degree of comfort and even luxury. The walls were
paneled to a height of about seven feet from the floor, while the plaster above
and the ceiling were decorated with faded paintings of another day.
As Tara's eyes ran
quickly over the interior her attention was drawn to a section of paneling that
seemed to be separated at one edge from the piece next adjoining it. Quickly
she crossed to it, discovering that one vertical edge of an entire panel
projected a half-inch beyond the others. There was a possible explanation which
piqued her curiosity, and acting upon its suggestion she seized upon the
projecting edge and pulled outward. Slowly the panel swung toward her,
revealing a dark aperture in the wall behind.
"Look,
Lan-O!" she cried. "See what I have found -- a hole in which we may
hide the thing upon the floor."
Lan-O joined her and
together the two investigated the dark aperture, finding a small platform from
which a narrow runway led downward into Stygian darkness. Thick dust covered
the floor within the doorway, indicating that a great period of time had
elapsed since human foot had trod it -- a secret way, doubtless, unknown to
living Manatorians. Here they dragged the corpse of E-Med, leaving it upon the
platform, and as they left the dark and forbidden closet Lan-O would have
slammed to the panel had not Tara prevented.
"Wait!" she
said, and fell to examining the door frame and the stile.
"Hurry!"
whispered the slave girl. "If they come we are lost."
"It may serve us
well to know how to open this place again," replied Tara of Helium, and
then suddenly she pressed a foot against a section of the carved base at the
right of the open panel. "Ah!" she breathed, a note of satisfaction
in her tone, and closed the panel until it fitted snugly in its place.
"Come!" she said and turned toward the outer doorway of the chamber.
They reached their own
cell without detection, and closing the door Tara locked it from the inside and
placed the key in a secret pocket in her harness.
"Let them
come," she said. "Let them question us! What could two poor prisoners
know of the whereabouts of their noble jailer? I ask you, Lan-O, what could
they?"
"Nothing,"
admitted Lan-O, smiling with her companion.
"Tell me of these
men of Manator," said Tara presently. "Are they all like E-Med, or
are some of them like A-Kor, who seemed a brave and chivalrous character?"
"They are not
unlike the peoples of other countries," replied Lan-O. "There be
among them both good and bad. They are brave warriors and mighty. Among
themselves they are not without chivalry and honor, but in their dealings with
strangers they know but one law -- the law of might. The weak and unfortunate
of other lands fill them with contempt and arouse all that is worst in their
natures, which doubtless accounts for their treatment of us, their
slaves."
"But why should
they feel contempt for those who have suffered the misfortune of falling into
their hands?" queried Tara.
"I do not
know," said Lan-O; "A-Kor says that he believes that it is because
their country has never been invaded by a victorious foe. In their stealthy
raids never have they been defeated, because they have never waited to face a
powerful force; and so they have come to believe themselves invincible, and the
other peoples are held in contempt as inferior in valor and the practice of
arms."
"Yet A-Kor is one
of them," said Tara.
"He is a son of
O-Tar, the jeddak," replied Lan-O; "but his mother was a high born
Gatholian, captured and made slave by O-Tar, and A-Kor boasts that in his veins
runs only the blood of his mother, and indeed is he different from the others.
His chivalry is of a gentler form, though not even his worst enemy has dared
question his courage, while his skill with the sword, and the spear, and the
thoat is famous throughout the length and breadth of Manator."
"What think you
they will do with him?" asked Tara of Helium.
"Sentence him to
the games," replied Lan-O. "If O-Tar be not greatly angered he may be
sentenced to but a single game, in which case he may come out alive; but if
O-Tar wishes really to dispose of him he will be sentenced to the entire series,
and no warrior has ever survived the full ten, or rather none who was under a
sentence from O-Tar."
"What are the
games? I do not understand," said Tara "I have heard them speak of
playing at jetan, but surely no one can be killed at jetan. We play it often at
home."
"But not as they
play it in the arena at Manator," replied Lan-O. "Come to the
window," and together the two approached an aperture facing toward the
east.
Below her Tara of
Helium saw a great field entirely surrounded by the low building, and the lofty
towers of which that in which she was imprisoned was but a unit. About the
arena were tiers of seats; but the a thing that caught her attention was a
gigantic jetan board laid out upon the floor of the arena in great squares of
alternate orange and black.
"Here they play at
jetan with living pieces. They play for great stakes and usually for a woman --
some slave of exceptional beauty. O-Tar himself might have played for you had
you not angered him, but now you will be played for in an open game by slaves
and criminals, and you will belong to the side that wins -- not to a single
warrior, but to all who survive the game."
The eyes of Tara of
Helium flashed, but she made no comment.
"Those who direct
the play do not necessarily take part in it," continued the slave girl,
"but sit in those two great thrones which you see at either end of the
board and direct their pieces from square to square."
"But where lies
the danger?" asked Tara of Helium. "If a piece be taken it is merely
removed from the board -- this is a rule of jetan as old almost as the
civilization of Barsoom."
"But here in
Manator, when they play in the great arena with living men, that rule is
altered," explained Lan-O. "When a warrior is moved to a square
occupied by an opposing piece, the two battle to the death for possession of
the square and the one that is successful advantages by the move. Each is
caparisoned to simulate the piece he represents and in addition he wears that
which indicates whether he be slave, a warrior serving a sentence, or a
volunteer. If serving a sentence the number of games he must play is also
indicated, and thus the one directing the moves knows which pieces to risk and
which to conserve, and further than this, a man's chances are affected by the
position that is assigned him for the game. Those whom they wish to die are
always Panthans in the game, for the Panthan has the least chance of
surviving."
"Do those who
direct the play ever actually take part in it?" asked Tara.
"Oh, yes,"
said Lan-O. "Often when two warriors, even of the highest class, hold a
grievance against one another O-Tar compels them to settle it upon the arena.
Then it is that they take active part and with drawn swords direct their own
players from the position of Chief. They pick their own players, usually the
best of their own warriors and slaves, if they be powerful men who possess
such, or their friends may volunteer, or they may obtain prisoners from the
pits. These are games indeed -- the very best that are seen. Often the great
chiefs themselves are slain."
"It is within this
amphitheater that the justice of Manator is meted, then?" asked Tara.
"Very
largely," replied Lan-O.
"How, then,
through such justice, could a prisoner win his liberty?" continued the girl
from Helium.
"If a man, and he
survived ten games his liberty would be his," replied Lan-O.
"But none ever
survives?" queried Tara. "And if a woman?"
"No stranger
within the gates of Manator ever has survived ten games," replied the
slave girl. "They are permitted to offer themselves into perpetual slavery
if they prefer that to fighting at jetan. Of course they may be called upon, as
any warrior, to take part in a game, but their chances then of surviving are
increased, since they may never again have the chance of winning to
liberty."
"But a
woman," insisted Tara; "how may a woman win her freedom?"
Lan-O laughed.
"Very simply," she cried. derisively. "She has but to find a
warrior who will fight through ten consecutive games for her and survive."
"'Just are the
laws of Manator,'" quoted Tara, scornfully.
Then it was that they
heard footsteps outside their cell and a moment later a key turned in the lock
and the door opened. A warrior faced them.
"Hast seen E-Med
the dwar?" he asked.
"Yes,"
replied Tara, "he was here some time ago."
The man glanced quickly
about the bare chamber and then searchingly first at Tara of Helium and then at
the slave girl, Lan-O. The puzzled expression upon his face increased. He
scratched his head. "It is strange," he said. "A score of men
saw him ascend into this tower; and though there is but a single exit, and that
well guarded, no man has seen him pass out."
Tara of Helium hid a
yawn with the back of a shapely hand. "The Princess of Helium is hungry,
fellow," she drawled; "tell your master that she would eat."
It was an hour later
that food was brought, an officer and several warriors accompanying the bearer.
The former examined the room carefully, but there was no sign that aught amiss
had occurred there. The wound that had sent E-Med the dwar to his ancestors had
not bled, fortunately for Tara of Helium.
"Woman,"
cried the officer, turning upon Tara, "you were the last to see E-Med the
dwar. Answer me now and answer me truthfully. Did you see him leave this
room?"
"I did,"
answered Tara of Helium.
"Where did he go
from here?"
"How should I
know? Think you that I can pass through a locked door of skeel?" the
girl's tone was scornful.
"Of that we do not
know," said the officer. "Strange things have happened in the cell of
your companion in the pits of Manator. Perhaps you could pass through a locked
door of skeel as easily as he performs seemingly more impossible feats."
"Whom do you
mean," she cried; "Turan the panthan? He lives, then? Tell me, is he
here in Manator unharmed?"
"I speak of that
thing which calls itself Ghek the kaldane," replied the officer.
"But Turan! Tell
me, padwar, have you heard aught of him?" Tara's tone was insistent and
she leaned a little forward toward the officer, her lips slightly parted in
expectancy.
Into the eyes of the
slave girl, Lan-O, who was watching her, there crept a soft light of
understanding; but the officer ignored Tara's question -- what was the fate of
another slave to him? "Men do not disappear into thin air," he
growled, "and if E-Med be not found soon O-Tar himself may take a hand in
this. I warn you, woman, if you be one of those horrid Corphals that by
commanding the spirits of the wicked dead gains evil mastery over the living,
as many now believe the thing called Ghek to be, that lest you return E-Med,
O-Tar will have no mercy on you."
"What foolishness
is this?" cried the girl. "I am a princess of Helium, as I have told
you all a score of times. Even if the fabled Corphals existed, as none but the
most ignorant now believes, the lore of the ancients tells us that they entered
only into the bodies of wicked criminals of the lowest class. Man of Manator,
thou art a fool, and thy jeddak and all his people," and she turned her
royal back upon the padwar, and gazed through the window across the Field of
Jetan and the roofs of Manator through the low hills and the rolling country
and freedom.
"And you know so
much of Corphals, then," he cried, "you know that while no common man
dare harm them they may be slain by the hand of a jeddak with impunity!"
The girl did not reply,
nor would she speak again, for all his threats and rage, for she knew now that
none in all Manator dared harm her save O-Tar, the jeddak, and after a while
the padwar left, taking his men with him. And after they had gone Tara stood
for long looking out upon the city of Manator, and wondering what more of cruel
wrongs Fate held in store for her. She was standing thus in silent meditation
when there rose to her the strains of martial music from the city below -- the
deep, mellow tones of the long war trumpets of mounted troops, the clear,
ringing notes of foot-soldiers' music. The girl raised her head and looked
about, listening, and Lan-O, standing at an opposite window, looking toward the
west, motioned Tara to join her. Now they could see across roofs and avenues to
The Gate of Enemies, through which troops were marching into the city.
"The Great Jed is
coming," said Lan-O, "none other dares enter thus, with blaring
trumpets, the city of Manator. It is U-Thor, Jed of Manatos, second city of
Manator. They call him The Great Jed the length and breadth of Manator, and
because the people love him, O-Tar hates him. They say, who know, that it would
need but slight provocation to inflame the two to war. How such a war would end
no one could guess; for the people of Manator worship the great O-Tar, though
they do not love him. U-Thor they love, but he is not the jeddak," and
Tara understood, as only a Martian may, how much that simple statement
encompassed.
The loyalty of a Martian
to his jeddak is almost an instinct, and second not even to the instinct of
self-preservation at that. Nor is this strange in a race whose religion
includes ancestor worship, and where families trace their origin back into
remote ages and a jeddak sits upon the same throne that his direct progenitors
have occupied for, perhaps, hundreds of thousands of years, and rules the
descendants of the same people that his forebears ruled. Wicked jeddaks have
been dethroned, but seldom are they replaced by other than members of the
imperial house, even though the law gives to the jeds the right to select whom
they please.
"U-Thor is a just
man and good, then?" asked Tara of Helium.
"There be none
nobler," replied Lan-O. "In Manatos none but wicked criminals who
deserve death are forced to play at jetan, and even then the play is fair and
they have their chance for freedom. Volunteers may play, but the moves are not
necessarily to the death -- a wound, and even sometimes points in swordplay,
deciding the issue. There they look upon jetan as a martial sport -- here it is
but butchery. And U-Thor is opposed to the ancient slave raids and to the
policy that keeps Manator forever isolated from the other nations of Barsoom;
but U-Thor is not jeddak and so there is no change."
The two girls watched
the column moving up the broad avenue from The Gate of Enemies toward the
palace of O-Tar. A gorgeous, barbaric procession of painted warriors in
jewel-studded harness and waving feathers; vicious, squealing thoats caparisoned
in rich trappings; far above their heads the long lances of their riders bore
fluttering pennons; foot-soldiers swinging easily along the stone pavement,
their sandals of zitidar hide giving forth no sound; and at the rear of each
utan a train of painted chariots, drawn by mammoth zitidars, carrying the
equipment of the company to which they were attached. Utan after utan entered
through the great gate, and even when the head of the column reached the palace
of O-Tar they were not all within the city.
"I have been here
many years," said the girl, Lan-O; "but never have I seen even The
Great Jed bring so many fighting men into the city of Manator."
Through half-closed
eyes Tara of Helium watched the warriors marching up the broad avenue, trying
to imagine them the fighting men of her beloved Helium coming to the rescue of
their princess. That splendid figure upon the great thoat might be John Carter,
himself, Warlord of Barsoom, and behind him utan after utan of the veterans of
the empire, and then the girl opened her eyes again and saw the host of
painted, befeathered barbarians, and sighed. But yet she watched, fascinated by
the martial scene, and now she noted again the groups of silent figures upon
the balconies. No waving silks; no cries of welcome; no showers of flowers and
jewels such as would have marked the entry of such a splendid, friendly pageant
into the twin cities of her birth.
"The people do not
seem friendly to the warriors of Manatos," she remarked to Lan-O; "I
have not seen a single welcoming sign from the people on the balconies."
The slave girl looked
at her in surprise. "It cannot be that you do not know!" she
exclaimed. "Why, they are --" but she got no further. The door swung
open and an officer stood before them.
"The slave girl,
Tara, is summoned to the presence of O-Tar, the jeddak!" he announced.
TURAN the panthan
chafed in his chains. Time dragged; silence and monotony prolonged minutes into
hours. Uncertainty of the fate of the woman he loved turned each hour into an
eternity of hell. He listened impatiently for the sound of approaching
footsteps that he might see and speak to some living creature and learn,
perchance, some word of Tara of Helium. After torturing hours his ears were rewarded
by the rattle of harness and arms. Men were coming! He waited breathlessly.
Perhaps they were his executioners; but he would welcome them notwithstanding.
He would question them. But if they knew naught of Tara he would not divulge
the location of the hiding place in which he had left her.
Now they came -- a
half-dozen warriors and an officer, escorting an unarmed man; a prisoner,
doubtless. Of this Turan was not left long in doubt, since they brought the
newcomer and chained him to an adjoining ring. Immediately the panthan
commenced to question the officer in charge of the guard.
"Tell me," he
demanded, "why I have been made prisoner, and if other strangers were
captured since I entered your city."
"What other
prisoners?" asked the officer.
"A woman, and a
man with a strange head," replied Turan.
"It is
possible," said the officer; "but what were their names?"
"The woman was
Tara, Princess of Helium, and the man was Ghek, a kaldane, of Bantoom."
"These were your
friends?" asked the officer.
"Yes,"
replied Turan.
"It is what I
would know," said the officer, and with a curt command to his men to
follow him he turned and left the cell.
"Tell me of
them!" cried Turan after him. "Tell me of Tara of Helium! Is she safe?"
but the man did not answer and soon the sound of their departure died in the
distance.
"Tara of Helium
was safe, but a short time since," said the prisoner chained at Turan's
side.
The panthan turned
toward the speaker, seeing a large man, handsome of face and with a manner both
stately and dignified. "You have seen her?" he asked. "They
captured her then? She is in danger?"
"She is being held
in The Towers of Jetan as a prize for the next games," replied the
stranger.
"And who are
you?" asked Turan. "And why are you here, a prisoner?"
"I am A-Kor the
dwar, keeper of The Towers of Jetan," replied the other. "I am here
because I dared speak the truth of O-Tar the jeddak, to one of his
officers."
"And your
punishment?" asked Turan.
"I do not know.
O-Tar has not yet spoken. Doubtless the games -- perhaps the full ten, for
O-Tar does not love A-Kor, his son."
"You are the
jeddak's son?" asked Turan.
"I am the son of
O-Tar and of a slave, Haja of Gathol, who was a princess in her own land."
Turan looked
searchingly at the speaker. A son of Haja of Gathol! A son of his mother's
sister, this man, then, was his own cousin. Well did Gahan remember the
mysterious disappearance of the Princess Haja and an entire utan of her
personal troops. She had been upon a visit far from the city of Gathol and
returning home had vanished with her whole escort from the sight of man. So
this was the secret of the seeming mystery? Doubtless it explained many other
similar disappearances that extended nearly as far back as the history of
Gathol. Turan scrutinized his companion, discovering many evidences of
resemblance to his mother's people. A-Kor might have been ten years younger
than he, but such differences in age are scarce accounted among a people who
seldom or never age outwardly after maturity and whose span of life may be a
thousand years.
"And where lies
Gathol?" asked Turan.
"Almost due east
of Manator," replied A-Kor.
"And how
far?"
"Some twenty-one
degrees it is from the city of Manator to the city of Gathol," replied
A-Kor; "but little more than ten degrees between the boundaries of the two
countries. Between them, though, there lies a country of torn rocks and yawning
chasms."
Well did Gahan know
this country that bordered his upon the west -- even the ships of the air
avoided it because of the treacherous currents that rose from the deep chasms,
and the almost total absence of safe landings. He knew now where Manator lay
and for the first time in long weeks the way to his own Gathol, and here was a
man, a fellow prisoner, in whose veins flowed the blood of his own ancestors --
a man who knew Manator; its people, its customs and the country surrounding it
-- one who could aid him, with advice at least, to find a plan for the rescue
of Tara of Helium and for escape. But would A-Kor -- could he dare broach the
subject? He could do no less than try.
"And O-Tar you
think will sentence you to death?" he asked; "and why?"
"He would like
to," replied A-Kor, "for the people chafe beneath his iron hand and
their loyalty is but the loyalty of a people to the long line of illustrious
jeddaks from which he has sprung. He is a jealous man and has found the means
of disposing of most of those whose blood might entitle them to a claim upon
the throne, and whose place in the affections of the people endowed them with
any political significance. The fact that I was the son of a slave relegated me
to a position of minor importance in the consideration of O-Tar, yet I am still
the son of a jeddak and might sit upon the throne of Manator with as perfect
congruity as O-Tar himself. Combined with this is the fact that of recent years
the people, and especially many of the younger warriors, have evinced a growing
affection for me, which I attribute to certain virtues of character and
training derived from my mother, but which O-Tar assumes to be the result of an
ambition upon my part to occupy the throne of Manator.
"And now, I am
firmly convinced, he has seized upon my criticism of his treatment of the slave
girl Tara as a pretext for ridding himself of me."
"But if you could
escape and reach Gathol," suggested Turan.
"I have thought of
that," mused A-Kor; "but how much better off would I be? In the eyes
of the Gatholians I would be, not a Gatholian; but a stranger and doubtless
they would accord me the same treatment that we of Manator accord strangers."
"Could you convince
them that you are the son of the Princess Haja your welcome would be
assured," said Turan; "while on the other hand you could purchase
your freedom and citizenship with a brief period of labor in the diamond
mines."
"How know you all
these things?" asked A-Kor. "I thought you were from Helium."
"I am a
panthan," replied Turan, "and I have served many countries, among
them Gathol."
"It is what the
slaves from Gathol have told me," said A-Kor, thoughtfully, "and my
mother, before O-Tar sent her to live at Manatos. I think he must have feared
her power and influence among the slaves from Gathol and their descendants, who
number perhaps a million people throughout the land of Manator."
"Are these slaves
organized?" asked Turan.
A-Kor looked straight
into the eyes of the panthan for a long moment before he replied. "You are
a man of honor," he said; "I read it in your face, and I am seldom
mistaken in my estimate of a man; but --" and he leaned closer to the
other -- "even the walls have ears," he whispered, and Turan's
question was answered.
It was later in the
evening that warriors came and unlocked the fetter from Turan's ankle and led
him away to appear before O-Tar, the jeddak. They conducted him toward the
palace along narrow, winding streets and broad avenues; but always from the
balconies there looked down upon them in endless ranks the silent people of the
city. The palace itself was filled with life and activity. Mounted warriors
galloped through the corridors and up and down the runways connecting adjacent
floors. It seemed that no one walked within the palace other than a few slaves.
Squealing, fighting thoats were stabled in magnificent halls while their
riders, if not upon some duty of the palace, played at jetan with small figures
carved from wood.
Turan noted the
magnificence of the interior architecture of the palace, the lavish expenditure
of precious jewels and metals, the gorgeous mural decorations which depicted
almost exclusively martial scenes, and principally duels which seemed to be
fought upon jetan boards of heroic size. The capitals of many of the columns
supporting the ceilings of the corridors and chambers through which they passed
were wrought into formal likenesses of jetan pieces -- everywhere there seemed
a suggestion of the game. Along the same path that Tara of Helium had been led
Turan was conducted toward the throne room of O-Tar the jeddak, and when he
entered the Hall of Chiefs his interest turned to wonder and admiration as he
viewed the ranks of statuesque thoatmen decked in their gorgeous, martial
panoply. Never, he thought, had he seen upon Barsoom more soldierly figures or
thoats so perfectly trained to perfection of immobility as these. Not a muscle
quivered, not a tail lashed, and the riders were as motionless as their mounts
-- each warlike eye straight to the front, the great spears inclined at the
same angle. It was a picture to fill the breast of a fighting man with awe and
reverence. Nor did it fail in its effect upon Turan as they conducted him the
length of the chamber, where he waited before great doors until he should be
summoned into the presence of the ruler of Manator.
When Tara of Helium was
ushered into the throne room of O-Tar she found the great hall filled with the
chiefs and officers of O-Tar and U-Thor, the latter occupying the place of
honor at the foot of the throne, as was his due. The girl was conducted to the
foot of the aisle and halted before the jeddak, who looked down upon her from
his high throne with scowling brows and fierce, cruel eyes.
"The laws of
Manator are just," said O-Tar, addressing her; "thus is it that you
have been summoned here again to be judged by the highest authority of Manator.
Word has reached me that you are suspected of being a Corphal. What word have you
to say in refutation of the charge?"
Tara of Helium could
scarce restrain a sneer as she answered the ridiculous accusation of
witchcraft. "So ancient is the culture of my people," she said,
"that authentic history reveals no defense for that which we know existed
only in the ignorant and superstitious minds of the most primitive peoples of
the past. To those who are yet so untutored as to believe in the existence of
Corphals, there can be no argument that will convince them of their error --
only long ages of refinement and culture can accomplish their release from the
bondage of ignorance. I have spoken."
"Yet you do not
deny the accusation," said O-Tar.
"It is not worthy
the dignity of a denial," she responded haughtily.
"And I were you,
woman," said a deep voice at her side, "I should, nevertheless, deny
it."
Tara of Helium turned
to see the eyes of U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos, upon her. Brave eyes they
were, but neither cold nor cruel. O-Tar rapped impatiently upon the arm of his
throne. "U-Thor forgets," he cried, "that O-Tar is the
jeddak."
"U-Thor
remembers," replied the jed of Manatos, "that the laws of Manator
permit any who may be accused to have advice and counsel before their
judge."
Tara of Helium saw that
for some reason this man would have assisted her, and so she acted upon his
advice.
"I deny the
charge," she said, "I am no Corphal."
"Of that we shall
learn," snapped O-Tar. "U-Dor, where are those who have knowledge of
the powers of this woman?"
And U-Dor brought several
who recounted the little that was known of the disappearance of E-Med, and
others who told of the capture of Ghek and Tara, suggesting by deduction that
having been found together they had sufficient in common to make it reasonably
certain that one was as bad as the other, and that, therefore, it remained but
to convict one of them of Corphalism to make certain the guilt of both. And
then O-Tar called for Ghek, and immediately the hideous kaldane was dragged
before him by warriors who could not conceal the fear in which they held this
creature.
"And you!"
said O-Tar in cold accusing tones. "Already have I been told enough of you
to warrant me in passing through your heart the jeddak's steel -- of how you
stole the brains from the warrior U-Van so that he thought he saw your headless
body still endowed with life; of how you caused another to believe that you had
escaped, making him to see naught but an empty bench and a blank wall where you
had been."
"Ah, O-Tar, but
that is as nothing!" cried a young padwar who had come in command of the
escort that brought Ghek. "The thing which he did to I-Zav, here, would
prove his guilt alone."
"What did he to
the warrior I-Zav?" demanded O-Tar. "Let I-Zav speak!"
The warrior I-Zav, a
great fellow of bulging muscles and thick neck, advanced to the foot of the
throne. He was pale and still trembling visibly as from a nervous shock.
"Let my first
ancestor be my witness, O-Tar, that I speak the truth," he began. "I
was left to guard this creature, who sat upon a bench, shackled to the wall. I
stood by the open doorway at the opposite side of the chamber. He could not
reach me, yet, O-Tar, may Iss engulf me if he did not drag me to him helpless
as an unhatched egg. He dragged me to him, greatest of jeddaks, with his eyes!
With his eyes he seized upon my eyes and dragged me to him and he made me lay
my swords and dagger upon the table and back off into a corner, and still
keeping his eyes upon my eyes his head quitted his body and crawling upon six
short legs it descended to the floor and backed part way into the hole of an
ulsio, but not so far that the eyes were not still upon me and then it returned
with the key to its fetter and after resuming its place upon its own shoulders
it unlocked the fetter and again dragged me across the room and made me to sit
upon the bench where it had been and there it fastened the fetter about my
ankle, and I could do naught for the power of its eyes and the fact that it
wore my two swords and my dagger. And then the head disappeared down the hole
of the ulsio with the key, and when it returned, it resumed its body and stood
guard over me at the doorway until the padwar came to fetch it hither."
"It is
enough!" said O-Tar, sternly. "Both shall receive the jeddak's
steel," and rising from his throne he drew his long sword and descended
the marble steps toward them, while two brawny warriors seized Tara by either
arm and two seized Ghek, holding them facing the naked blade of the jeddak.
"Hold, just
O-Tar!" cried U-Dor. "There be yet another to be judged. Let us
confront him who calls himself Turan with these his fellows before they
die."
"Good!"
exclaimed O-Tar, pausing half way down the steps. "Fetch Turan, the
slave!"
When Turan had been
brought into the chamber he was placed a little to Tara's left and a step
nearer the throne. O-Tar eyed him menacingly.
"You are
Turan," he asked, "friend and companion of these?"
The panthan was about
to reply when Tara of Helium spoke. "I know not this fellow," she
said. "Who dares say that he be a friend and companion of the Princess
Tara of Helium?"
Turan and Ghek looked
at her in surprise, but at Turan she did not look, and to Ghek she passed a
quick glance of warning, as to say: "Hold thy peace."
The panthan tried not
to fathom her purpose for the head is useless when the heart usurps its
functions, and Turan knew only that the woman he loved had denied him, and
though he tried not even to think it his foolish heart urged but a single
explanation -- that she refused to recognize him lest she be involved in his
difficulties.
O-Tar looked first at
one and then at another of them; but none of them spoke.
"Were they not
captured together?" he asked of U-Dor.
"No," replied
the dwar. "He who is called Turan was found seeking entrance to the city
and was enticed to the pits. The following morning I discovered the other two
upon the hill beyond The Gate of Enemies."
"But they are
friends and companions," said a young padwar, "for this Turan
inquired of me concerning these two, calling them by name and saying that they
were his friends."
"It is
enough," stated O-Tar, "all three shall die," and he took
another step downward from the throne.
"For what shall we
die?" asked Ghek. "Your people prate of the just laws of Manator, and
yet you would slay three strangers without telling them of what crime they are
accused."
"He is
right," said a deep voice. It was the voice of U-Thor, the great jed of
Manatos. O-Tar looked at him and scowled; but there came voices from other
portions of the chamber seconding the demand for justice.
"Then know, though
you shall die anyway," cried O-Tar, "that all three are convicted of
Corphalism and that as only a jeddak may slay such as you in safety you are
about to be honored with the steel of O-Tar."
"Fool!" cried
Turan. "Know you not that in the veins of this woman flows the blood of
ten thousand jeddaks -- that greater than yours is her power in her own land?
She is Tara, Princess of Helium, great-granddaughter of Tardos Mors, daughter
of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom. She cannot be a Corphal. Nor is this
creature Ghek, nor am I. And you would know more, I can prove my right to be
heard and to be believed if I may have word with the Princess Haja of Gathol,
whose son is my fellow prisoner in the pits of O-Tar, his father."
At this U-Thor rose to
his feet and faced O-Tar. "What means this?" he asked. "Speaks
the man the truth? Is the son of Haja a prisoner in thy pits, O-Tar?"
"And what is it to
the jed of Manatos who be the prisoners in the pits of his jeddak?"
demanded O-Tar, angrily.
"It is this to the
jed of Manatos," replied U-Thor in a voice so low as to be scarce more
than a whisper and yet that was heard the whole length and breadth of the great
throne room of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator. "You gave me a slave woman, Haja,
who had been a princess in Gathol, because you feared her influence among the
slaves from Gathol. I have made of her a free woman, and I have married her and
made her thus a princess of Manatos. Her son is my son, O-Tar, and though thou
be my jeddak, I say to you that for any harm that befalls A-Kor you shall
answer to U-Thor of Manatos."
O-Tar looked long at
U-Thor, but he made no reply. Then he turned again to Turan. "If one be a
Corphal," he said, "then all of you be Corphals, and we know well
from the things that this creature has done," he pointed at Ghek,
"that he is a Corphal, for no mortal has such powers as he. And as you are
all Corphals you must all die." He took another step downward, when Ghek
spoke.
"These two have no
such powers as I," he said. "They are but ordinary, brainless things
such as yourself. I have done all the things that your poor, ignorant warriors
have told you; but this only demonstrates that I am of a higher order than
yourselves, as is indeed the fact. I am a kaldane, not a Corphal. There is
nothing supernatural or mysterious about me, other than that to the ignorant
all things which they cannot understand are mysterious. Easily might I have
eluded your warriors and escaped your pits; but I remained in the hope that I
might help these two foolish creatures who have not the brains to escape
without help. They befriended me and saved my life. I owe them this debt. Do
not slay them -- they are harmless. Slay me if you will. I offer my life if it
will appease your ignorant wrath. I cannot return to Bantoom and so I might as
well die, for there is no pleasure in intercourse with the feeble intellects
that cumber the face of the world outside the valley of Bantoom."
"Hideous
egotist," said O-Tar, "prepare to die and assume not to dictate to
O-Tar the jeddak. He has passed sentence and all three of you shall feel the
jeddak's naked steel. I have spoken!"
He took another step
downward and then a strange thing happened. He paused, his eyes fixed upon the
eyes of Ghek. His sword slipped from nerveless fingers, and still he stood
there swaying forward and back. A jed rose to rush to his side; but Ghek
stopped him with a word.
"Wait!" he
cried. "The life of your jeddak is in my hands. You believe me a Corphal
and so you believe, too, that only the sword of a jeddak may slay me, therefore
your blades are useless against me. Offer harm to any one of us, or seek to
approach your jeddak until I have spoken, and he shall sink lifeless to the
marble. Release the two prisoners and let them come to my side -- I would speak
to them, privately. Quick! do as I say; I would as lief as not slay O-Tar. I
but let him live that I may gain freedom for my friends -- obstruct me and he
dies."
The guards fell back,
releasing Tara and Turan, who came close to Ghek's side.
"Do as I tell you
and do it quickly," whispered the kaldane. "I cannot hold this fellow
long, nor could I kill him thus. There are many minds working against mine and
presently mine will tire and O-Tar will be himself again. You must make the
best of your opportunity while you may. Behind the arras that you see hanging
in the rear of the throne above you is a secret opening. Prom it a corridor
leads to the pits of the palace, where there are storerooms containing food and
drink. Few people go there. From these pits lead others to all parts of the
city. Follow one that runs due west and it will bring you to The Gate of
Enemies. The rest will then lie with you. I can do no more; hurry before my
waning powers fail me -- I am not as Luud, who was a king. He could have held
this creature forever. Make haste! Go!"
"I SHALL not
desert you, Ghek," said Tara of Helium, simply.
"Go! Go!"
whispered the kaldane. "You can do me no good. Go, or all I have done is
for naught."
Tara shook her head.
"I cannot," she said.
"They will slay
her," said Ghek to Turan, and the panthan, torn between loyalty to this
strange creature who had offered its life for him, and love of the woman,
hesitated but a moment, then he swept Tara from her feet and lifting her in his
arms leaped up the steps that led to the throne of Manator. Behind the throne
he parted the arras and found the secret opening. Into this he bore the girl
and down a long, narrow corridor and winding runways that led to lower levels
until they came to the pits of the palace of O-Tar. Here was a labyrinth of
passages and chambers presenting a thousand hiding-places.
As Turan bore Tara up
the steps toward the throne a score of warriors rose as though to rush forward
to intercept them. "Stay!" cried Ghek, "or your jeddak dies,"
and they halted in their tracks, waiting the will of this strange, uncanny
creature.
Presently Ghek took his
eyes from the eyes of O-Tar and the jeddak shook himself as one who would be
rid of a bad dream and straightened up, half dazed still.
"Look," said
Ghek, then, "I have given your jeddak his life, nor have I harmed one of
those whom I might easily have slain when they were in my power. No harm have I
or my friends done in the city of Manator. Why then should you persecute us? Give
us our lives. Give us our liberty."
O-Tar, now in command
of his faculties, stooped and regained his sword. In the room was silence as
all waited to hear the jeddak's answer.
"Just are the laws
of Manator," he said at last. "Perhaps, after all, there is truth in
the words of the stranger. Return him then to the pits and pursue the others
and capture them. Through the mercy of O-Tar they shall be permitted to win
their freedom upon the Field of Jetan, in the coming games."
Still ashen was the
face of the jeddak as Ghek was led away and his appearance was that of a man
who had been snatched from the brink of eternity into which he has gazed, not
with the composure of great courage, but with fear. There were those in the
throne room who knew that the execution of the three prisoners had but been
delayed and the responsibility placed upon the shoulders of others, and one of
those who knew was U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos. His curling lip betokened
his scorn of the jeddak who had chosen humiliation rather than death. He knew
that O-Tar had lost more of prestige in those few moments than he could regain
in a lifetime, for the Martians are jealous of the courage of their chiefs --
there can be no evasions of stern duty, no temporizing with honor. That there
were others in the room who shared U-Thor's belief was evidenced by the silence
and the grim scowls.
O-Tar glanced quickly
around. He must have sensed the hostility and guessed its cause, for he went
suddenly angry, and as one who seeks by the vehemence of his words to establish
the courage of his heart he roared forth what could be considered as naught
other than a challenge.
"The will of
O-Tar, the jeddak, is the law of Manator," he cried, "and the laws of
Manator are just -- they cannot err. U-Dor, dispatch those who will search the
palace, the pits, and the city, and return the fugitives to their cells.
"And now for you,
U-Thor of Manatos! Think you with impunity to threaten your jeddak -- to
question his right to punish traitors and instigators of treason? What am I to
think of your own loyalty, who takes to wife a woman I have banished from my
court because of her intrigues against the authority of her jeddak and her
master? But O-Tar is just. Make your explanations and your peace, then, before
it is too late."
"U-Thor has
nothing to explain," replied the jed of Manatos; "nor is he at war
with his jeddak; but he has the right that every jed and every warrior enjoys,
of demanding justice at the hands of the jeddak for whomsoever he believes to
be persecuted. With increasing rigor has the jeddak of Manator persecuted the
slaves from Gathol since he took to himself the unwilling Princess Haja. If the
slaves from Gathol have harbored thoughts of vengeance and escape 'tis no more
than might be expected from a proud and courageous people Ever have I
counselled greater fairness in our treatment of our slaves, many of whom, in
their own lands, are people of great distinction and power; but always has
O-Tar, the jeddak, flouted with arrogance my every suggestion. Though it has
been through none of my seeking that the question has arisen now I am glad that
it has, for the time was bound to come when the jeds of Manator would demand
from O-Tar the respect and consideration that is their due from the man who
holds his high office at their pleasure. Know, then, O-Tar, that you must free
A-Kor, the dwar, forthwith or bring him to fair trial before the assembled jeds
of Manator. I have spoken."
"You have spoken
well and to the point, U-Thor," cried O-Tar, "for you have revealed
to your jeddak and your fellow jeds the depth of the disloyalty that I have
long suspected. A-Kor already has been tried and sentenced by the supreme
tribunal of Manator -- O-Tar, the jeddak; and you too shall receive justice
from the same unfailing source. In the meantime you are under arrest. To the
pits with him! To the pits with U-Thor the false jed!" He clapped his
hands to summon the surrounding warriors to do his bidding. A score leaped
forward to seize U-Thor. They were warriors of the palace, mostly; but two
score leaped to defend U-Thor, and with ringing steel they fought at the foot
of the steps to the throne of Manator where stood O-Tar, the jeddak, with drawn
sword ready to take his part in the mêlée.
At the clash of steel,
palace guards rushed to the scene from other parts of the great building until
those who would have defended U-Thor were outnumbered two to one, and then the
jed of Manatos slowly withdrew with his forces, and fighting his way through
the corridors and chambers of the palace came at last to the avenue. Here he
was reinforced by the little army that had marched with him into Manator.
Slowly they retreated toward The Gate of Enemies between the rows of silent
people looking down upon them from the balconies and there, within the city
walls, they made their stand.
In a dimly-lighted
chamber beneath the palace of O-Tar the jeddak, Turan the panthan lowered Tara
of Helium from his arms and faced her. "I am sorry, Princess," he
said, "that I was forced to disobey your commands, or to abandon Ghek; but
there was no other way. Could he have saved you I would have stayed in his
place. Tell me that you forgive me."
"How could I do
less?" she replied graciously. "But it seemed cowardly to abandon a
friend."
"Had we been three
fighting men it had been different," he said. "We could only have
remained and died together, fighting; but you know, Tara of Helium, that we may
not jeopardize a woman's safety even though we risk the loss of honor."
"I know that,
Turan," she said; "but no one may say that you have risked honor, who
knows the honor and bravery that are yours."
He heard her with
surprise for these were the first words that she had spoken to him that did not
savor of the attitude of a princess to a panthan -- though it was more in her
tone than the actual words that he apprehended the difference. How at variance
were they to her recent repudiation of him! He could not fathom her, and so he
blurted out the question that had been in his mind since she had told O-Tar that
she did not know him.
"Tara of
Helium," he said, "your words are balm to the wound you gave me in
the throne room of O-Tar. Tell me, Princess, why you denied me."
She turned her great,
deep eyes up to his and in them was a little of reproach.
"You did not
guess," she asked, "that it was my lips alone and not my heart that
denied you? O-Tar had ordered that I die, more because I was a companion of
Ghek than because of any evidence against me, and so I knew that if I
acknowledged you as one of us, you would be slain, too."
"It was to save
me, then?" he cried, his face suddenly lighting.
"It was to save my
brave panthan," she said in a low voice.
"Tara of
Helium," said the warrior, dropping to one knee, "your words are as
food to my hungry heart," and he took her fingers in his and pressed them
to his lips.
Gently she raised him
to his feet. "You need not tell me, kneeling," she said, softly.
Her hand was still in
his as he rose and they were very close, and the man was still flushed with the
contact of her body since he had carried her from the throne room of O-Tar. He
felt his heart pounding in his breast and the hot blood surging through his
veins as he looked at her beautiful face, with its downcast eyes and the
half-parted lips that he would have given a kingdom to possess, and then he
swept her to him and as he crushed her against his breast his lips smothered
hers with kisses.
But only for an
instant. Like a tigress the girl turned upon him, striking him, and thrusting
him away. She stepped back, her head high and her eyes flashing fire. "You
would dare?" she cried. "You would dare thus defile a princess of
Helium?"
His eyes met hers
squarely and there was no shame and no remorse in them.
"Yes, I would
dare," he said. "I would dare love Tara of Helium; but I would not
dare defile her or any woman with kisses that were not prompted by love of her
alone." He stepped closer to her and laid his hands upon her shoulders. "Look
into my eyes, daughter of The Warlord," he said, "and tell me that
you do not wish the love of Turan, the panthan."
"I do not wish
your love," she cried, pulling away. "I hate you!" and then
turning away she bent her head into the hollow of her arm, and wept.
The man took a step
toward her as though to comfort her when he was arrested by the sound of a
crackling laugh behind him. Wheeling about, he discovered a strange figure of a
man standing in a doorway. It was one of those rarities occasionally to be seen
upon Barsoom -- an old man with the signs of age upon him. Bent and wrinkled,
he had more the appearance of a mummy than a man.
"Love in the pits
of O-Tar!" he cried, and again his thin laughter jarred upon the silence
of the subterranean vaults. "A strange place to woo! A strange place to
woo, indeed! When I was a young man we roamed in the gardens beneath giant
pimalias and stole our kisses in the brief shadows of hurtling Thuria. We came
not to the gloomy pits to speak of love; but times have changed and ways have
changed, though I had never thought to live to see the time when the way of a
man with a maid, or a maid with a man would change. Ah, but we kissed them
then! And what if they objected, eh? What if they objected? Why, we kissed them
more. Ey, ey, those were the days!" and he cackled again. "Ey, well
do I recall the first of them I ever kissed, and I've kissed an army of them
since; she was a fine girl, but she tried to slip a dagger into me while I was
kissing her. Ey, ey, those were the days! But I kissed her. She's been dead
over a thousand years now, but she was never kissed again like that while she
lived, I'll swear, not since she's been dead, either. And then there was that
other --" but Turan, seeing a thousand or more years of osculatory memoirs
portending, interrupted.
"Tell me, ancient
one," he said, "not of thy loves but of thyself. Who are you? What do
you here in the pits of O-Tar?"
"I might ask you
the same, young man," replied the other. "Few there are who visit the
pits other than the dead, except my pupils -- ey! That is it -- you are new
pupils! Good! But never before have they sent a woman to learn the great art
from the greatest artist. But times have changed. Now, in my day the women did
no work -- they were just for kissing and loving. Ey, those were the women. I
mind the one we captured in the south -- ey! she was a devil, but how she could
love. She had breasts of marble and a heart of fire. Why, she --"
"Yes, yes,"
interrupted Turan; "we are pupils, and we are anxious to get to work. Lead
on and we will follow."
"Ey, yes! Ey, yes!
Come! All is rush and hurry as though there were not another countless myriad
of ages ahead. Ey, yes! as many as lie behind. Two thousand years have passed
since I broke my shell and always rush, rush, rush, yet I cannot see that aught
has been accomplished. Manator is the same today as it was then -- except the
girls. We had the girls then. There was one that I gained upon The Fields of
Jetan. Ey, but you should have seen --"
"Lead on!"
cried Turan. "After we are at work you shall tell us of her."
"Ey, yes,"
said the old fellow and shuffled off down a dimly lighted passage. "Follow
me!"
"You are going
with him?" asked Tara.
"Why not?"
replied Turan. "We know not where we are, or the way from these pits; for
I know not east from west; but he doubtless knows and if we are shrewd we may
learn from him that which we would know. At least we cannot afford to arouse
his suspicions"; and so they followed him -- followed along winding
corridors and through many chambers, until they came at last to a room in which
there were several marble slabs raised upon pedestals some three feet above the
floor and upon each slab lay a human corpse.
"Here we
are," exclaimed the old man. "These are fresh and we shall have to
get to work upon them soon. I am working now on one for The Gate of Enemies. He
slew many of our warriors. Truly is he entitled to a place in The Gate. Come,
you shall see him."
He led them to an
adjoining apartment. Upon the floor were many fresh, human bones and upon a
marble slab a mass of shapeless flesh.
"You will learn
this later," announced the old man; "but it will not harm you to
watch me now, for there are not many thus prepared, and it may be long before
you will have the opportunity to see another prepared for The Gate of Enemies.
First, you see, I remove all the bones, carefully that the skin may be damaged
as little as possible. The skull is the most difficult, but it can be removed
by a skilful artist. You see, I have made but a single opening. This I now sew
up, and that done, the body is hung so," and he fastened a piece of rope
to the hair of the corpse and swung the horrid thing to a ring in the ceiling.
Directly below it was a circular manhole in the floor from which he removed the
cover revealing a well partially filled with a reddish liquid. "Now we
lower it into this, the formula for which you shall learn in due time. We
fasten it thus to the bottom of the cover, which we now replace. In a year it
will be ready; but it must be examined often in the meantime and the liquid
kept above the level of its crown. It will be a very beautiful piece, this one,
when it is ready.
"And you are
fortunate again, for there is one to come out today." He crossed to the
opposite side of the room and raised another cover, reached in and dragged a
grotesque looking figure from the hole. It was a human body, shrunk by the
action of the chemical in which it had been immersed, to a little figure scarce
a foot high.
"Ey! is it not
fine?" cried the little old man. "Tomorrow it will take its place in
The Gate of Enemies." He dried it off with cloths and packed it away
carefully in a basket. "Perhaps you would like to see some of my life
work," he suggested, and without waiting for their assent led them to
another apartment, a large chamber in which were forty or fifty people. All
were sitting or standing quietly about the walls, with the exception of one
huge warrior who bestrode a great thoat in the very center of the room, and all
were motionless. Instantly there sprang to the minds of Tara and Turan the rows
of silent people upon the balconies that lined the avenues of the city, and the
noble array of mounted warriors in The Hall of Chiefs, and the same explanation
came to both but neither dared voice the question that was in his mind, for
fear of revealing by his ignorance the fact that they were strangers in Manator
and therefore impostors in the guise of pupils.
"It is very
wonderful," said Turan. "It must require great skill and patience and
time."
"That it
does," replied the old man, "though having done it so long I am
quicker than most; but mine are the most natural. Why, I would defy the wife of
that warrior to say that insofar as appearances are concerned he does not
live," and he pointed at the man upon the thoat. "Many of them, of
course, are brought here wasted or badly wounded and these I have to repair.
That is where great skill is required, for everyone wants his dead to look as
they did at their best in life; but you shall learn -- to mount them and paint
them and repair them and sometimes to make an ugly one look beautiful. And it
will be a great comfort to be able to mount your own. Why, for fifteen hundred
years no one has mounted my own dead but myself.
"I have many, my
balconies are crowded with them; but I keep a great room for my wives. I have
them all, as far back as the first one, and many is the evening I spend with
them -- quiet evenings and very pleasant. And then the pleasure of preparing
them and making them even more beautiful than in life partially recompenses one
for their loss. I take my time with them, looking for a new one while I am
working on the old. When I am not sure about a new one I bring her to the
chamber where my wives are, and compare her charms with theirs, and there is
always a great satisfaction at such times in knowing that they will not object.
I love harmony."
"Did you prepare
all the warriors in The Hall of Chiefs?" asked Turan.
"Yes, I prepare
them and repair them," replied the old man. "O-Tar will trust no
other. Even now I have two in another room who were damaged in some way and
brought down to me. O-Tar does not like to have them gone long, since it leaves
two riderless thoats in the Hall; but I shall have them ready presently. He
wants them all there in the event any momentous question arises upon which the
living jeds cannot agree, or do not agree with O-Tar. Such questions he carries
to the jeds in The Hall of Chiefs. There he shuts himself up alone with the
great chiefs who have attained wisdom through death. It is an excellent plan
and there is never any friction or misunderstandings. O-Tar has said that it is
the finest deliberative body upon Barsoom -- much more intelligent than that
composed of the living jeds. But come, we must get to work; come into the next
chamber and I will begin your instruction."
He led the way into the
chamber in which lay the several corpses upon their marble slabs, and going to
a cabinet he donned a pair of huge spectacles and commenced to select various
tools from little compartments. This done he turned again toward his two
pupils.
"Now let me have a
look at you," he said. "My eyes are not what they once were, and I
need these powerful lenses for my work, or to see distinctly the features of
those around me."
He turned his eyes upon
the two before him. Turan held his breath for he knew that now the man must
discover that they wore not the harness or insignia of Manator. He had wondered
before why the old fellow had not noticed it, for he had not known that he was
half blind. The other examined their faces, his eyes lingering long upon the
beauty of Tara of Helium, and then they drifted to the harness of the two.
Turan thought that he noted an appreciable start of surprise on the part of the
taxidermist, but if the old man noticed anything his next words did not reveal
it.
"Come with
I-Gos," he said to Turan, "I have materials in the next room that I
would have you fetch hither. Remain here, woman, we shall be gone but a
moment."
He led the way to one of
the numerous doors opening into the chamber and entered ahead of Turan. Just
inside the door he stopped, and pointing to a bundle of silks and furs upon the
opposite side of the room directed Turan to fetch them. The latter had crossed
the room and was stooping to raise the bundle when he heard the click of a lock
behind him. Wheeling instantly he saw that he was alone in the room and that
the single door was closed. Running rapidly to it he strove to open it, only to
find that he was a prisoner.
I-Gos, stepping out and
locking the door behind him, turned toward Tara.
"Your leather
betrayed you," he said, laughing his cackling laugh. "You sought to
deceive old I-Gos, but you found that though his eyes are weak his brain is
not. But it shall not go ill with you. You are beautiful and I-Gos loves
beautiful women. I might not have you elsewhere in Manator, but here there is
none to deny old I-Gos. Few come to the pits of the dead -- only those who bang
the dead and they hasten away as fast as they can. No one will know that I-Gos
has a beautiful woman locked with his dead. I shall ask you no questions and
then I will not have to give you up, for I will not know to whom you belong,
eh? And when you die I shall mount you beautifully and place you in the chamber
with my other women. Will not that be fine, eh?" He had approached until
he stood close beside the horrified girl. "Come!" he cried, seizing
her by the wrist. "Come to I-Gos!"
TURAN dashed himself
against the door of his prison in a vain effort to break through the solid
skeel to the side of Tara whom he knew to be in grave danger, but the heavy
panels held and he succeeded only in bruising his shoulders and his arms. At
last he desisted and set about searching his prison for some other means of
escape. He found no other opening in the stone walls, but his search revealed a
heterogeneous collection of odds and ends of arms and apparel, of harness and
ornaments and insignia, and sleeping silks and furs in great quantities. There
were swords and spears and several large, two-bladed battle-axes, the heads of
which bore a striking resemblance to the propellor of a small flier. Seizing
one of these he attacked the door once more with great fury. He expected to
hear something from I-Gos at this ruthless destruction, but no sound came to
him from beyond the door, which was, he thought, too thick for the human voice
to penetrate; but he would have wagered much that I-Gos heard him. Bits of the
hard wood splintered at each impact of the heavy axe, but it was slow work and
heavy. Presently he was compelled to rest, and so it went for what seemed hours
-- working almost to the verge of exhaustion and then resting for a few
minutes; but ever the hole grew larger though he could see nothing of the
interior of the room beyond because of the hanging that I-Gos had drawn across
it after he had locked Turan within.
At last, however, the
panthan had hewn an opening through which his body could pass, and seizing a
long-sword that he had brought close to the door for the purpose he crawled
through into the next room. Flinging aside the arras he stood ready, sword in
hand, to fight his way to the side of Tara of Helium -- but she was not there.
In the center of the room lay I-Gos, dead upon the floor; but Tara of Helium
was nowhere to be seen.
Turan was nonplussed.
It must have been her hand that had struck down the old man, yet she had made
no effort to release Turan from his prison. And then he thought of those last
words of hers: "I do not want your love! I hate you," and the truth
dawned upon him -- she had seized upon this first opportunity to escape him.
With downcast heart Turan turned away. What should he do? There could be but
one answer. While he lived and she lived he must still leave no stone unturned
to effect her escape and safe return to the land of her people. But how? How
was he even to find his way from this labyrinth? How was he to find her again?
He walked to the nearest doorway. It chanced to be that which led into the room
containing the mounted dead, awaiting transportation to balcony or grim room or
whatever place was to receive them. His eyes travelled to the great, painted
warrior on the thoat and as they ran over the splendid trappings and the
serviceable arms a new light came into the pain-dulled eyes of the panthan.
With a quick step he crossed to the side of the dead warrior and dragged him
from his mount. With equal celerity he stripped him of his harness and his
arms, and tearing off his own, donned the regalia of the dead man. Then he
hastened back to the room in which he had been trapped, for there he had seen
that which he needed to make his disguise complete. In a cabinet he found them
-- pots of paint that the old taxidermist had used to place the war-paint in
its wide bands across the cold faces of dead warriors.
A few moments later
Gahan of Gathol emerged from the room a warrior of Manator in every detail of
harness, equipment, and ornamentation. He had removed from the leather of the
dead man the insignia of his house and rank so that he might pass, with the
least danger of arousing suspicion, as a common warrior.
To search for Tara of
Helium in the vast, dim labyrinth of the pits of O-Tar seemed to the Gatholian
a hopeless quest, foredoomed to failure. It would be wiser to seek the streets
of Manator where he might hope to learn first if she had been recaptured and,
if not, then he could return to the pits and pursue the hunt for her. To find
egress from the maze he must perforce travel a considerable distance through
the winding corridors and chambers, since he had no idea as to the location or
direction of any exit. In fact, he could not have retraced his steps a hundred
yards toward the point at which he and Tara had entered the gloomy caverns, and
so he set out in the hope that he might find by accident either Tara of Helium
or a way to the street level above.
For a time he passed
room after room filled with the cunningly preserved dead of Manator, many of
which were piled in tiers after the manner that firewood is corded, and as he
moved through corridor and chamber he noticed hieroglyphics painted upon the
walls above every opening and at each fork or crossing of corridors, until by
observation he reached the conclusion that these indicated the designations of
passageways, so that one who understood them might travel quickly and surely
through the pits; but Turan did not understand them. Even could he have read
the language of Manator they might not materially have aided one unfamiliar
with the city; but he could not read them at all since, though there is but one
spoken language upon Barsoom, there are as many different written languages as
there are nations. One thing, however, soon became apparent to him -- the
hieroglyphic of a corridor remained the same until the corridor ended.
It was not long before
Turan realized from the distance that he had traveled that the pits were part
of a vast system undermining, possibly, the entire city. At least he was
convinced that he had passed beyond the precincts of the palace. The corridors
and chambers varied in appearance and architecture from time to time. All were
lighted, though usually quite dimly, with radium bulbs. For a long time he saw
no signs of life other than an occasional ulsio, then quite suddenly he came
face to face with a warrior at one of the numerous crossings. The fellow looked
at him, nodded, and passed on. Turan breathed a sigh of relief as he realized
that his disguise was effective, but he was caught in the middle of it by a
hail from the warrior who had stopped and turned toward him. The panthan was
glad that a sword hung at his side, and glad too that they were buried in the
dim recesses of the pits and that there would be but a single antagonist, for
time was precious.
"Heard you any
word of the other?'' called the warrior to him.
"No," replied
Turan, who had not the faintest idea to whom or what the fellow referred.
"He cannot
escape," continued the warrior. "The woman ran directly into our
arms, but she swore that she knew not where her companion might be found."
"They took her
back to O-Tar?" asked Turan, for now he knew whom the other meant, and he
would know more.
"They took her
back to The Towers of Jetan," replied the warrior. "Tomorrow the
games commence and doubtless she will be played for, though I doubt if any
wants her, beautiful as she is. She fears not even O-Tar. By Cluros! but she
would make a hard slave to subdue -- a regular she-banth she is. Not for
me," and he continued on his way shaking his head.
Turan hurried on
searching for an avenue that led to the level of the streets above when
suddenly he came to the open doorway of a small chamber in which sat a man who
was chained to the wall. Turan voiced a low exclamation of surprise and
pleasure as he recognized that the man was A-Kor, and that he had stumbled by
accident upon the very cell in which he had been imprisoned. A-Kor looked at
him questioningly. It was evident that he did not recognize his fellow
prisoner. Turan crossed to the table and leaning close to the other whispered
to him.
"I am Turan the
panthan," he said, "who was chained beside you."
A-Kor looked at him
closely. "Your own mother would never know you!" he said; "but
tell me, what has transpired since they took you away?"
Turan recounted his
experiences in the throne room of O-Tar and in the pits beneath, "and
now," he continued, "I must find these Towers of Jetan and see what
may be done toward liberating the Princess of Helium."
A-Kor shook his head.
"Long was I dwar of the Towers," he said, "and I can say to you,
stranger, that you might as well attempt to reduce Manator, single handed, as
to rescue a prisoner from The Towers of Jetan."
"But I must,"
replied Turan.
"Are you better
than a good swordsman?" asked A-Kor presently.
"I am accounted
so," replied Turan.
"Then there is a
way -- sst!" he was suddenly silent and pointing toward the base of the
wall at the end of the room.
Turan looked in the
direction the other's forefinger indicated, to see projecting from the mouth of
an ulsio's burrow two large chelae and a pair of protruding eyes.
"Ghek!" he
cried and immediately the hideous kaldane crawled out upon the floor and
approached the table. A-Kor drew back with a half-stifled ejaculation of
repulsion. "Do not fear," Turan reassured him. "It is my friend
-- he whom I told you held O-Tar while Tara and I escaped."
Ghek climbed to the
table top and squatted between the two warriors. "You are safe in
assuming," he said addressing A-Kor, "that Turan the panthan has no
master in all Manator where the art of sword-play is concerned. I overheard
your conversation -- go on."
"You are his
friend," continued A-Kor, "and so I may explain safely in your
presence the only plan I know whereby he may hope to rescue the Princess of
Helium. She is to be the stake of one of the games and it is O-Tar's desire
that she be won by slaves and common warriors, since she repulsed him. Thus
would he punish her. Not a single man, but all who survive upon the winning
side are to possess her. With money, however, one may buy off the others before
the game. That you could do, and if your side won and you survived she would
become your slave."
"But how may a
stranger and a hunted fugitive accomplish this?" asked Turan.
"No one will
recognize you. You will go tomorrow to the keeper of the Towers and enlist in
that game for which the girl is to be the stake, telling the keeper that you
are from Manataj, the farthest city of Manator. If he questions you, you may
say that you saw her when she was brought into the city after her capture. If
you win her, you will find thoats stabled at my palace and you will carry from
me a token that will place all that is mine at your disposal."
"But how can I buy
off the others in the game without money?" asked Turan. "I have none
-- not even of my own country."
A-Kor opened his
pocket-pouch and drew forth a packet of Manatorian money.
"Here is
sufficient to buy them off twice over," he said, handing a portion of it
to Turan.
"But why do you do
this for a stranger?" asked the panthan.
"My mother was a
captive princess here," replied A-Kor. "I but do for the Princess of
Helium what my mother would have me do."
"Under the
circumstances, then, Manatorian," replied Turan, "I cannot but accept
your generosity on behalf of Tara of Helium and live in hope that some day I
may do for you something in return."
"Now you must be
gone," advised A-Kor. "At any minute a guard may come and discover
you here. Go directly to the Avenue of Gates, which circles the city just
within the outer wall. There you will find many places devoted to the lodging
of strangers. You will know them by the thoat's head carved above the doors.
Say that you are here from Manataj to witness the games. Take the name of U-Kal
-- it will arouse no suspicion, nor will you if you can avoid conversation.
Early in the morning seek the keeper of The Towers of Jetan. May the strength
and fortune of all your ancestors be with you!"
Bidding good-bye to
Ghek and A-Kor, the panthan, following directions given him by A-Kor, set out
to find his way to the Avenue of Gates, nor had he any great difficulty. On the
way he met several warriors, but beyond a nod they gave him no heed. With ease
he found a lodging place where there were many strangers from other cities of
Manator. As he had had no sleep since the previous night he threw himself among
the silks and furs of his couch to gain the rest which he must have, was he to
give the best possible account of himself in the service of Tara of Helium the
following day.
It was already morning
when he awoke, and rising he paid for his lodgings, sought a place to eat, and
a short time later was on his way toward The Towers of Jetan, which he had no
difficulty in finding owing to the great crowds that were winding along the
avenues toward the games. The new keeper of The Towers who had succeeded E-Med
was too busy to scrutinize entries closely, for in addition to the many
volunteer players there were scores of slaves and prisoners being forced into
the games by their owners or the government. The name of each must be recorded
as well as the position he was to play and the game or games in which he was to
be entered, and then there were the substitutes for each that was entered in
more than a single game -- one for each additional game that an individual was
entered for, that no succeeding game might be delayed by the death or
disablement of a player.
"Your name?"
asked a clerk as Turan presented himself.
"U-Kal,"
replied the panthan.
"Your city?"
"Manataj."
The keeper, who was
standing beside the clerk, looked at Turan. "You have come a great way to
play at jetan," he said. "It is seldom that the men of Manataj attend
other than the decennial games. Tell me of O-Zar! Will he attend next year? Ah,
but he was a noble fighter. If you be half the swordsman, U-Kal, the fame of
Manataj will increase this day. But tell me, what of O-Zar?"
"He is well,"
replied Turan, glibly, "and he sent greetings to his friends in
Manator."
"Good!"
exclaimed the keeper, "and now in what game would you enter?"
"I would play for
the Heliumetic princess, Tara," replied Turan.
"But man, she is
to be the stake of a game for slaves and criminals," cried the keeper.
"You would not volunteer for such a game!"
"But I
would," replied Turan. "I saw here when she was brought into the city
and even then I vowed to possess her."
"But you will have
to share her with the survivors even if your color wins," objected the
other.
"They may be
brought to reason," insisted Turan.
"And you will
chance incurring the wrath of O-Tar, who has no love for this savage
barbarian," explained the keeper.
"And I win her
O-Tar will be rid of her," said Turan.
The keeper of The
Towers of Jetan shook his head. "You are rash," he said. "I
would that I might dissuade the friend of my friend O-Zar from such
madness."
"Would you favor
the friend of O-Zar?" asked Turan.
"Gladly!"
exclaimed the other. "What may I do for him?"
"Make me chief of
the Black and give me for my pieces all slaves from Gathol, for I understand
that those be excellent warriors," replied the panthan.
"It is a strange
request," said the keeper, "but for my friend O-Zar I would do even
more, though of course --" he hesitated -- "it is customary for one
who would be chief to make some slight payment."
"Certainly,"
Turan hastened to assure him; "I had not forgotten that. I was about to
ask you what the customary amount is."
"For the friend of
my friend it shall be nominal," replied the keeper, naming a figure that
Gahan, accustomed to the high price of wealthy Gathol, thought ridiculously
low.
"Tell me," he
said, handing the money to the keeper, "when the game for the Heliumite is
to be played."
"It is the second
in order of the day's games; and now if you will come with me you may select
your pieces."
Turan followed the
keeper to a large court which lay between the towers and the jetan field, where
hundreds of warriors were assembled. Already chiefs for the games of the day
were selecting their pieces and assigning them to positions, though for the
principal games these matters had been arranged for weeks before. The keeper
led Turan to a part of the courtyard where the majority of the slaves were
assembled.
"Take your choice
of those not assigned," said the keeper, "and when you have your
quota conduct them to the field. Your place will be assigned you by an officer
there, and there you will remain with your pieces until the second game is
called. I wish you luck, U-Kal, though from what I have heard you will be more
lucky to lose than to win the slave from Helium."
After the fellow had
departed Turan approached the slaves. "I seek the best swordsmen for the
second game," he announced. "Men from Gathol I wish, for I have heard
that these be noble fighters."
A slave rose and
approached him. "It is all the same in which game we die," he said.
"I would fight for you as a panthan in the second game."
Another came. "I am
not from Gathol," he said. "I am from Helium, and I would fight for
the honor of a princess of Helium."
"Good!"
exclaimed Turan. "Art a swordsman of repute in Helium?"
"I was a dwar
under the great Warlord, and I have fought at his side in a score of battles
from The Golden Cliffs to The Carrion Caves. My name is Val Dor. Who knows
Helium, knows my prowess."
The name was well known
to Gahan, who had heard the man spoken of on his last visit to Helium, and his
mysterious disappearance discussed as well as his renown as a fighter.
"How could I know
aught of Helium?" asked Turan; "but if you be such a fighter as you
say no position could suit you better than that of Flier. What say you?"
The man's eyes denoted
sudden surprise. He looked keenly at Turan, his eyes running quickly over the
other's harness. Then he stepped quite close so that his words might not be
overheard.
"Methinks you may
know more of Helium than of Manator," he whispered.
"What mean you,
fellow?" demanded Turan, seeking to cudgel his brains for the source of
this man's knowledge, guess, or inspiration.
"I mean,"
replied Val Dor, "that you are not of Manator and that if you wish to hide
the fact it is well that you speak not to a Manatorian as you did just speak to
me of -- Fliers! There be no Fliers in Manator and no piece in their game of
Jetan bearing that name. Instead they call him who stands next to the Chief or
Princess, Odwar. The piece has the same moves and power that the Flier has in
the game as played outside Manator. Remember this then and remember, too, that
if you have a secret it be safe in the keeping of Val Dor of Helium."
Turan made no reply but
turned to the task of selecting the remainder of his pieces. Val Dor, the
Heliumite, and Floran, the volunteer from Gathol, were of great assistance to
him, since one or the other of them knew most of the slaves from whom his
selection was to be made. The pieces all chosen, Turan led them to the place
beside the playing field where they were to wait their turn, and here he passed
the word around that they were to fight for more than the stake he offered for
the princess should they win. This stake they accepted, so that Turan was sure
of possessing Tara if his side was victorious, but he knew that these men would
fight even more valorously for chivalry than for money, nor was it difficult to
enlist the interest even of the Gatholians in the service of the princess. And
now he held out the possibility of a still further reward.
"I cannot promise
you," he explained, "but I may say I have heard that this day which
makes it possible that should we win this game we may even win your
freedom!"
They leaped to their
feet and crowded around him with many questions.
"It may not be
spoken of aloud," he said; "but Floran and Val Dor know and they
assure me that you may all be trusted. Listen! What I would tell you places my
life in your hands, but you must know that every man will realize that he is
fighting today the greatest battle of his life -- for the honor and the freedom
of Barsoom's most wondrous princess and for his own freedom as well -- for the
chance to return each to his own country and to the woman who awaits him there.
"First, then, is
my secret. I am not of Manator. Like yourselves I am a slave, though for the moment
disguised as a Manatorian from Manataj. My country and my identity must remain
undisclosed for reasons that have no bearing upon our game today. I, then, am
one of you. I fight for the same things that you will fight for.
"And now for that
which I have but just learned. U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos, quarreled with
O-Tar in the palace the day before yesterday and their warriors set upon one
another. U-Thor was driven as far as The Gate of Enemies, where he now lies
encamped. At any moment the fight may be renewed; but it is thought that U-Thor
has sent to Manatos for reinforcements. Now, men of Gathol, here is the thing
that interests you. U-Thor has recently taken to wife the Princess Haja of
Gathol, who was slave to O-Tar and whose son, A-Kor, was dwar of The Towers of
Jetan. Haja's heart is filled with loyalty for Gathol and compassion for her
sons who are here enslaved, and this latter sentiment she has to some extent
transmitted to U-Thor. Aid me, therefore, in freeing the Princess Tara of Helium
and I believe that I can aid you and her and myself to escape the city. Bend
close your ears, slaves of O-Tar, that no cruel enemy may hear my words,"
and Gahan of Gathol whispered in low tones the daring plan he had conceived.
"And now," he demanded, when he had finished, "let him who does
not dare speak now." None replied. "Is there none?"
"And it would not
betray you should I cast my sword at thy feet, it had been done ere this,"
said one in low tones pregnant with suppressed feeling.
"And I!"
"And I!" "And I!" chorused the others in vibrant whispers.
CLEAR and sweet a
trumpet spoke across The Fields of Jetan. From The High Tower its cool voice
floated across the city of Manator and above the babel of human discords rising
from the crowded mass that filled the seats of the stadium below. It called the
players for the first game, and simultaneously there fluttered to the peaks of
a thousand staffs on tower and battlement and the great wall of the stadium the
rich, gay pennons of the fighting chiefs of Manator. Thus was marked the
opening of The Jeddak's Games, the most important of the year and second only
to the Grand Decennial Games.
Gahan of Gathol watched
every play with eagle eye. The match was an unimportant one, being but to
settle some petty dispute between two chiefs, and was played with professional
jetan players for points only. No one was killed and there was but little blood
spilled. It lasted about an hour and was terminated by the chief of the losing
side deliberately permitting himself to be out-pointed, that the game might be
called a draw.
Again the trumpet
sounded, this time announcing the second and last game of the afternoon. While
this was not considered an important match, those being reserved for the fourth
and fifth days of the games, it promised to afford sufficient excitement since
it was a game to the death. The vital difference between the game played with living
men and that in which inanimate pieces are used, lies in the fact that while in
the latter the mere placing of a piece upon a square occupied by an opponent
piece terminates the move, in the former the two pieces thus brought together
engage in a duel for possession of the square. Therefore there enters into the
former game not only the strategy of jetan but the personal prowess and bravery
of each individual piece, so that a knowledge not only of one's own men but of
each player upon the opposing side is of vast value to a chief.
In this respect was
Gahan handicapped, though the loyalty of his players did much to offset his
ignorance of them, since they aided him in arranging the board to the best
advantage and told him honestly the faults and virtues of each. One fought best
in a losing game; another was too slow; another too impetuous; this one had
fire and a heart of steel, but lacked endurance. Of the opponents, though, they
knew little or nothing, and now as the two sides took their places upon the
black and orange squares of the great jetan board Gahan obtained, for the first
time, a close view of those who opposed him. The Orange Chief had not yet
entered the field, but his men were all in place. Val Dor turned to Gahan.
"They are all criminals from the pits of Manator," he said.
"There is no slave among them. We shall not have to fight against a single
fellow-countryman and every life we take will be the life of an enemy."
"It is well,"
replied Gahan; "but where is their Chief, and where the two
Princesses?"
"They are coming
now, see?" and he pointed across the field to where two women could be
seen approaching under guard.
As they came nearer
Gahan saw that one was indeed Tara of Helium, but the other he did not
recognize, and then they were brought to the center of the field midway between
the two sides and there waited until the Orange Chief arrived.
Floran voiced an
exclamation of surprise when he recognized him. "By my first ancestor if
it is not one of their great chiefs," he said, "and we were told that
slaves and criminals were to play for the stake of this game."
His words were
interrupted by the keeper of The Towers whose duty it was not only to announce
the games and the stakes, but to act as referee as well.
"Of this, the second
game of the first day of the Jeddak's Games in the four hundred and
thirty-third year of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, the Princesses of each side
shall be the sole stakes and to the survivors of the winning side shall belong
both the Princesses, to do with as they shall see fit. The Orange Princess is
the slave woman Lan-O of Gathol; the Black Princess is the slave woman Tara, a
princess of Helium. The Black Chief is U-Kal of Manataj, a volunteer player;
the Orange Chief is the dwar U-Dor of the 8th Utan of the jeddak of Manator,
also a volunteer player. The squares shall be contested to the death. Just are
the laws of Manator! I have spoken."
The initial move was
won by U-Dor, following which the two Chiefs escorted their respective
Princesses to the square each was to occupy. It was the first time Gahan had
been alone with Tara since she had been brought upon the field. He saw her
scrutinizing him closely as he approached to lead her to her place and wondered
if she recognized him: but if she did she gave no sign of it. He could not but
remember her last words -- "I hate you!" and her desertion of him
when he had been locked in the room beneath the palace by I-Gos, the
taxidermist, and so he did not seek to enlighten her as to his identity. He
meant to fight for her -- to die for her, if necessary -- and if he did not die
to go on fighting to the end for her love. Gahan of Gathol was not easily to be
discouraged, but he was compelled to admit that his chances of winning the love
of Tara of Helium were remote. Already had she repulsed him twice. Once as jed
of Gathol and again as Turan the panthan. Before his love, however, came her
safety and the former must be relegated to the background until the latter had
been achieved.
Passing among the
players already at their stations the two took their places upon their
respective squares. At Tara's left was the Black Chief, Gahan of Gathol;
directly in front of her the Princess' Panthan, Floran of Gathol; and at her
right the Princess' Odwar, Val Dor of Helium. And each of these knew the part
that he was to play, win or lose, as did each of the other Black players. As
Tara took her place Val Dor bowed low. "My sword is at your feet, Tara of
Helium," he said.
She turned and looked
at him, an expression of surprise and incredulity upon her face. "Val Dor,
the dwar!" she exclaimed. "Val Dor of Helium -- one of my father's
trusted captains! Can it be possible that my eyes speak the truth?"
"It is Val Dor,
Princess," the warrior replied, "and here to die for you if need be,
as is every wearer of the Black upon this field of jetan today. Know
Princess," he whispered, "that upon this side is no man of Manator,
but each and every is an enemy of Manator."
She cast a quick,
meaning glance toward Gahan. "But what of him?" she whispered, and
then she caught her breath quickly in surprise. "Shade of the first
jeddak!" she exclaimed. "I did but just recognize him through his
disguise."
"And you trust
him?" asked Val Dor. "I know him not; but he spoke fairly, as an
honorable warrior, and we have taken him at his word."
"You have made no
mistake," replied Tara of Helium. "I would trust him with my life --
with my soul; and you, too, may trust him."
Happy indeed would have
been Gahan of Gathol could he have heard those words; but Fate, who is usually
unkind to the lover in such matters, ordained it otherwise, and then the game
was on.
U-Dor moved his
Princess' Odwar three squares diagonally to the right, which placed the piece
upon the Black Chief's Odwar's seventh. The move was indicative of the game
that U-Dor intended playing -- a game of blood, rather than of science -- and
evidenced his contempt for his opponents.
Gahan followed with his
Odwar's Panthan one square straight forward, a more scientific move, which opened
up an avenue for himself through his line of Panthans, as well as announcing to
the players and spectators that he intended having a hand in the fighting
himself even before the exigencies of the game forced it upon him. The move
elicited a ripple of applause from those sections of seats reserved for the
common warriors and their women, showing perhaps that U-Dor was none too
popular with these, and, too, it had its effect upon the morale of Gahan's
pieces. A Chief may, and often does, play almost an entire game without leaving
his own square, where, mounted upon a thoat, he may overlook the entire field
and direct each move, nor may he be reproached for lack of courage should he
elect thus to play the game since, by the rules, were he to be slain or so badly
wounded as to be compelled to withdraw, a game that might otherwise have been
won by the science of his play and the prowess of his men would be drawn. To
invite personal combat, therefore, denotes confidence in his own swordsmanship,
and great courage, two attributes that were calculated to fill the Black
players with hope and valor when evinced by their Chief thus early in the game.
U-Dor's next move
placed Lan-O's Odwar upon Tara's Odwar's fourth -- within striking distance of
the Black Princess. Another move and the game would be lost to Gahan unless the
Orange Odwar was overthrown, or Tara moved to a position of safety; but to move
his Princess now would be to admit his belief in the superiority of the Orange.
In the three squares allowed him he could not place himself squarely upon the
square occupied by the Odwar of U-Dor's Princess. There was only one player
upon the Black side that might dispute the square with the enemy and that was
the Chief's Odwar, who stood upon Gahan's left. Gahan turned upon his thoat and
looked at the man. He was a splendid looking fellow, resplendent in the
gorgeous trappings of an Odwar, the five brilliant feathers which denoted his
position rising defiantly erect from his thick, black hair. In common with
every player upon the field and every spectator in the crowded stands he knew
what was passing in his Chief's mind. He dared not speak, the ethics of the
game forbade it, but what his lips might not voice his eyes expressed in
martial fire, and eloquently: "The honor of the Black and the safety of
our Princess are secure with me!"
Gahan hesitated no
longer. "Chief's Odwar to Princess' Odwar's fourth!" he commanded. It
was the courageous move of a leader who had taken up the gauntlet thrown down
by his opponent.
The warrior sprang
forward and leaped into the square occupied by U-Dor's piece. It was the first
disputed square of the game. The eyes of the players were fastened upon the
contestants, the spectators leaned forward in their seats after the first
applause that had greeted the move, and silence fell upon the vast assemblage.
If the Black went down to defeat, U-Dor could move his victorious piece on to
the square occupied by Tara of Helium and the game would be over -- over in
four moves and lost to Gahan of Gathol. If the Orange lost U-Dor would have
sacrificed one of his most important pieces and more than lost what advantage
the first move might have given him.
Physically the two men
appeared perfectly matched and each was fighting for his life, but from the
first it was apparent that the Black Odwar was the better swordsman, and Gahan
knew that he had another and perhaps a greater advantage over his antagonist.
The latter was fighting for his life only, without the spur of chivalry or
loyalty. The Black Odwar had these to strengthen his arm, and besides these the
knowledge of the thing that Gahan had whispered into the ears of his players
before the game, and so he fought for what is more than life to the man of
honor.
It was a duel that held
those who witnessed it in spellbound silence. The weaving blades gleamed in the
brilliant sunlight, ringing to the parries of cut and thrust. The barbaric
harness of the duelists lent splendid color to the savage, martial scene. The
Orange Odwar, forced upon the defensive, was fighting madly for his life. The
Black, with cool and terrible efficiency, was forcing him steadily, step by
step, into a corner of the square -- a position from which there could be no
escape. To abandon the square was to lose it to his opponent and win for
himself ignoble and immediate death before the jeering populace. Spurred on by
the seeming hopelessness of his plight, the Orange Odwar burst into a sudden
fury of offense that forced the Black back a half dozen steps, and then the
sword of U-Dor's piece leaped in and drew first blood, from the shoulder of his
merciless opponent. An ill-smothered cry of encouragement went up from U-Dor's
men; the Orange Odwar, encouraged by his single success, sought to bear down
the Black by the rapidity of his attack. There was a moment in which the swords
moved with a rapidity that no man's eye might follow, and then the Black Odwar
made a lightning parry of a vicious thrust, leaned quickly forward into the
opening he had effected, and drove his sword through the heart of the Orange
Odwar -- to the hilt he drove it through the body of the Orange Odwar.
A shout arose from the
stands, for wherever may have been the favor of the spectators, none there was
who could say that it had not been a pretty fight, or that the better man had
not won. And from the Black players came a sigh of relief as they relaxed from
the tension of the past moments.
I shall not weary you
with the details of the game -- only the high features of it are necessary to
your understanding of the outcome. The fourth move after the victory of the
Black Odwar found Gahan upon U-Dor's fourth; an Orange Panthan was on the
adjoining square diagonally to his right and the only opposing piece that could
engage him other than U-Dor himself.
It had been apparent to
both players and spectators for the past two moves, that Gahan was moving
straight across the field into the enemy's country to seek personal combat with
the Orange Chief -- that he was staking all upon his belief in the superiority
of his own swordsmanship, since if the two Chiefs engage, the outcome decides
the game. U-Dor could move out and engage Gahan, or he could move his Princess'
Panthan upon the square occupied by Gahan in the hope that the former would
defeat the Black Chief and thus draw the game, which is the outcome if any
other than a Chief slays the opposing Chief, or he could move away and escape,
temporarily, the necessity for personal combat, or at least that is evidently
what he had in mind as was obvious to all who saw him scanning the board about
him; and his disappointment was apparent when he finally discovered that Gahan
had so placed himself that there was no square to which U-Dor could move that
it was not within Gahan's power to reach at his own next move.
U-Dor had placed his
own Princess four squares east of Gahan when her position had been threatened,
and he had hoped to lure the Black Chief after her and away from U-Dor; but in
that he had failed. He now discovered that he might play his own Odwar into
personal combat with Gahan; but he had already lost one Odwar and could ill
spare the other. His position was a delicate one, since he did not wish to
engage Gahan personally, while it appeared that there was little likelihood of
his being able to escape. There was just one hope and that lay in his Princess'
Panthan, so, without more deliberation he ordered the piece onto the square
occupied by the Black Chief.
The sympathies of the
spectators were all with Gahan now. If he lost, the game would be declared a
draw, nor do they think better of drawn games upon Barsoom than do Earth men.
If he won, it would doubtless mean a duel between the two Chiefs, a development
for which they all were hoping. The game already bade fair to be a short one
and it would be an angry crowd should it be decided a draw with only two men
slain. There were great, historic games on record where of the forty pieces on
the field when the game opened only three survived -- the two Princesses and
the victorious Chief.
They blamed U-Dor,
though in fact he was well within his rights in directing his play as he saw
fit, nor was a refusal on his part to engage the Black Chief necessarily an
imputation of cowardice. He was a great chief who had conceived a notion to
possess the slave Tara. There was no honor that could accrue to him from
engaging in combat with slaves and criminals, or an unknown warrior from
Manataj, nor was the stake of sufficient import to warrant the risk.
But now the duel
between Gahan and the Orange Panthan was on and the decision of the next move
was no longer in other hands than theirs. It was the first time that these
Manatorians had seen Gahan of Gathol fight, but Tara of Helium knew that he was
master of his sword. Could he have seen the proud light in her eyes as he
crossed blades with the wearer of the Orange, he might easily have wondered if
they were the same eyes that had flashed fire and hatred at him that time he
had covered her lips with mad kisses, in the pits of the palace of O-Tar. As she
watched him she could not but compare his swordplay with that of the greatest
swordsman of two worlds -- her father, John Carter, of Virginia, a, Prince of
Helium, Warlord of Barsoom -- and she knew that the skill of the Black Chief
suffered little by the comparison.
Short and to the point
was the duel that decided possession of the Orange Chief's fourth. The
spectators had settled themselves for an interesting engagement of at least
average duration when they were brought almost standing by a brilliant flash of
rapid swordplay that was over ere one could catch his breath. They saw the
Black Chief step quickly back, his point upon the ground, while his opponent,
his sword slipping from his fingers, clutched his breast, sank to his knees and
then lunged forward upon his face.
And then Gahan of
Gathol turned his eyes directly upon U-Dor of Manator, three squares away.
Three squares is a Chief's move -- three squares in any direction or
combination of directions, only provided that he does not cross the same square
twice in a given move. The people saw and guessed Gahan's intention. They rose
and roared forth their approval as he moved deliberately across the intervening
squares toward the Orange Chief.
O-Tar, in the royal
enclosure, sat frowning upon the scene. O-Tar was angry. He was angry with
U-Dor for having entered this game for possession of a slave, for whom it had
been his wish only slaves and criminals should strive. He was angry with the
warrior from Manataj for having so far out-generaled and out-fought the men
from Manator. He was angry with the populace because of their open hostility
toward one who had basked in the sunshine of his favor for long years. O-Tar
the jeddak had not enjoyed the afternoon. Those who surrounded him were equally
glum -- they, too, scowled upon the field, the players, and the people. Among
them was a bent and wrinkled old man who gazed through weak and watery eyes
upon the field and the players.
As Gahan entered his
square, U-Dor leaped toward him with drawn sword with such fury as might have
overborne a less skilled and powerful swordsman. For a minute the fighting was
fast and furious and by comparison reducing to insignificance all that had gone
before. Here indeed were two magnificent swordsmen, and here was to be a battle
that bade fair to make up for whatever the people felt they had been defrauded
of by the shortness of the game. Nor had it continued long before many there
were who would have prophesied that they were witnessing a duel that was to
become historic in the annals of jetan at Manator. Every trick, every
subterfuge, known to the art of fence these men employed. Time and again each
scored a point and brought blood to his opponent's copper hide until both were
red with gore; but neither seemed able to administer the coup de grace.
From her position upon
the opposite side of the field Tara of Helium watched the long-drawn battle.
Always it seemed to her that the Black Chief fought upon the defensive, or when
he assumed to push his opponent, he neglected a thousand openings that her
practiced eye beheld. Never did he seem in real danger, nor never did he appear
to exert himself to quite the pitch needful for victory. The duel already had
been long contested and the day was drawing to a close. Presently the sudden
transition from daylight to darkness which, owing to the tenuity of the air
upon Barsoom, occurs almost without the warning twilight of Earth, would occur.
Would the fight never end? Would the game be called a draw after all? What
ailed the Black Chief?
Tara wished that she
might answer at least the last of these questions for she was sure that Turan
the panthan, as she knew him, while fighting brilliantly, was not giving of
himself all that he might. She could not believe that fear was restraining his
hand, but that there was something beside inability to push U-Dor more fiercely
she was confident. What it was, however, she could not guess.
Once she saw Gahan
glance quickly up toward the sinking sun. In thirty minutes it would be dark.
And then she saw and all those others saw a strange transition steal over the
swordplay of the Black Chief. It was as though he had been playing with the
great dwar, U-Dor, all these hours, and now he still played with him but there
was a difference. He played with him terribly as a carnivore plays with its
victim in the instant before the kill. The Orange Chief was helpless now in the
hands of a swordsman so superior that there could be no comparison, and the
people sat in open-mouthed wonder and awe as Gahan of Gathol cut his foe to
ribbons and then struck him down with a blow that cleft him to the chin.
In twenty minutes the
sun would set. But what of that?
LONG and loud was the
applause that rose above the Field of Jetan at Manator, as The Keeper of the
Towers summoned the two Princesses and the victorious Chief to the center of
the field and presented to the latter the fruits of his prowess, and then, as custom
demanded, the victorious players, headed by Gahan and the two Princesses,
formed in procession behind The Keeper of the Towers and were conducted to the
place of victory before the royal enclosure that they might receive the
commendation of the jeddak. Those who were mounted gave up their thoats to
slaves as all must be on foot for this ceremony. Directly beneath the royal
enclosure are the gates to one of the tunnels that, passing beneath the seats,
give ingress or egress to or from the Field. Before this gate the party halted
while O-Tar looked down upon them from above. Val Dor and Floran, passing
quietly ahead of the others, went directly to the gates, where they were hidden
from those who occupied the enclosure with O-Tar. The Keeper of the Towers may
have noticed them, but so occupied was he with the formality of presenting the
victorious Chief to the jeddak that he paid no attention to them.
"I bring you,
O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, U-Kal of Manataj," he cried in a loud voice that
might be heard by as many as possible, "victor over the Orange in the
second of the Jeddak's Games of the four hundred and thirty-third year of
O-Tar, and the slave woman Tara and the slave woman Lan-O that you may bestow
these, the stakes, upon U-Kal."
As he spoke, a little,
wrinkled, old man peered over the rail of the enclosure down upon the three who
stood directly behind The Keeper, and strained his weak and watery eyes in an
effort to satisfy the curiosity of old age in a matter of no particular import,
for what were two slaves and a common warrior from Manataj to any who sat with
O-Tar the jeddak?
"U-Kal of
Manataj," said O-Tar, "you have deserved the stakes. Seldom have we
looked upon more noble swordplay. And you tire of Manataj there be always here
in the city of Manator a place for you in The Jeddak's Guard."
While the jeddak was
speaking the little, old man, failing clearly to discern the features of the
Black Chief, reached into his pocket-pouch and drew forth a pair of
thick-lensed spectacles, which he placed upon his nose. For a moment he
scrutinized Gahan closely, then he leaped to his feet and addressing O-Tar
pointed a shaking finger it Gahan. As he rose Tara of Helium clutched the Black
Chief's arm.
"Turan!" she
whispered. "It is I-Gos, whom I thought to have slain in the pits of
O-Tar. It is I-Gos and he recognizes you and will --"
But what I-Gos would do
was already transpiring. In his falsetto voice he fairly screamed: "It is
the slave Turan who stole the woman Tara from your throne room, O-Tar. He
desecrated the dead chief I-Mal and wears his harness now!"
Instantly all was
pandemonium. Warriors drew their swords and leaped to their feet. Gahan's
victorious players rushed forward in a body, sweeping The Keeper of the Towers
from his feet. Val Dor and Floran threw open the gates beneath the royal
enclosure, opening the tunnel that led to the avenue in the city beyond the
Towers. Gahan, surrounded by his men, drew Tara and Lan-O into the passageway,
and at a rapid pace the party sought to reach the opposite end of the tunnel
before their escape could be cut off. They were successful and when they
emerged into the city the sun had set and darkness had come, relieved only by
an antiquated and ineffective lighting system, which cast but a pale glow over
the shadowy streets.
Now it was that Tara of
Helium guessed why the Black Chief had drawn out his duel with U-Dor and
realized that he might have slain his man at almost any moment he had elected.
The whole plan that Gahan had whispered to his players before the game was
thoroughly understood. They were to make their way to The Gate of Enemies and
there offer their services to U-Thor, the great Jed of Manatos. The fact that
most of them were Gatholians and that Gahan could lead rescuers to the pit where
A-Kor, the son of U-Thor's wife, was confined, convinced the Jed of Gathol that
they would meet with no rebuff at the hands of U-Thor. But even should he
refuse them, still were they bound together to go on toward freedom, if
necessary cutting their way through the forces of U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies
-- twenty men against a small army; but of such stuff are the warriors of
Barsoom.
They had covered a
considerable distance along the almost deserted avenue before signs of pursuit
developed and then there came upon them suddenly from behind a dozen warriors
mounted on thoats -- a detachment, evidently, from The Jeddak's Guard.
Instantly the avenue was a pandemonium of clashing blades, cursing warriors,
and squealing thoats. In the first onslaught life blood was spilled upon both
sides. Two of Gahan's men went down, and upon the enemies' side three riderless
thoats attested at least a portion of their casualties.
Gahan was engaged with
a fellow who appeared to have been selected to account for him only, since he
rode straight for him and sought to cut him down without giving the slightest
heed to several who slashed at him as he passed them. The Gatholian, practiced
in the art of combating a mounted warrior from the ground, sought to reach the
left side of the fellow's thoat a little to the rider's rear, the only position
in which he would have any advantage over his antagonist, or rather the
position that would most greatly reduce the advantage of the mounted man, and,
similarly, the Manatorian strove to thwart his design. And so the guardsman
wheeled and turned his vicious, angry mount while Gahan leaped in and out in an
effort to reach the coveted vantage point, but always seeking some other
opening in his foe's defense.
And while they jockeyed
for position a rider swept swiftly past them. As he passed behind Gahan the
latter heard a cry of alarm.
"Turan, they have
me!" came to his ears in the voice of Tara of Helium.
A quick glance across
his shoulder showed him the galloping thoatman in the act of dragging Tara to
the withers of the beast, and then, with the fury of a demon, Gahan of Gathol
leaped for his own man, dragged him from his mount and as he fell smote his
head from his shoulders with a single cut of his keen sword. Scarce had the
body touched the pavement when the Gatholian was upon the back of the dead
warrior's mount, and galloping swiftly down the avenue after the diminishing
figures of Tara and her abductor, the sounds of the fight waning in the
distance as he pursued his quarry along the avenue that passes the palace of
O-Tar and leads to The Gate of Enemies.
Gahan's mount, carrying
but a single rider, gained upon that of the Manatorian, so that as they neared
the palace Gahan was scarce a hundred yards behind, and now, to his consternation,
he saw the fellow turn into the great entrance-way. For a moment only was he
halted by the guards and then he disappeared within. Gahan was almost upon him
then, but evidently he had warned the guards, for they leaped out to intercept
the Gatholian. But no! the fellow could not have known that he was pursued,
since he had not seen Gahan seize a mount, nor would he have thought that
pursuit would come so soon. If he had passed then, so could Gahan pass, for did
he not wear the trappings of a Manatorian? The Gatholian thought quickly, and
stopping his thoat called to the guardsmen to let him pass, "In the name
of O-Tar!" They hesitated a moment.
"Aside!"
cried Gahan. "Must the jeddak's messenger parley for the right to deliver
his message?"
"To whom would you
deliver it?" asked the padwar of the guard.
"Saw you not him
who just entered?" cried Gahan, and without waiting for a reply urged his
thoat straight past them into the palace, and while they were deliberating what
was best to be done, it was too late to do anything -- which is not unusual.
Along the marble
corridors Gahan guided his thoat, and because he had gone that way before,
rather than because he knew which way Tara had been taken, he followed the
runways and passed through the chambers that led to the throne room of O-Tar.
On the second level he met a slave.
"Which way went he
who carried the woman before him?" he asked.
The slave pointed
toward a nearby runway that led to the third level and Gahan dashed rapidly on
in pursuit. At the same moment a thoatman, riding at a furious pace, approached
the palace and halted his mount at the gate.
"Saw you aught of
a warrior pursuing one who carried a woman before him on his thoat?" he
shouted to the guard.
"He but just
passed in," replied the padwar, "saying that he was O-Tar's
messenger."
"He lied,"
cried the newcomer. "He was Turan, the slave, who stole the woman from the
throne room two days since. Arouse the palace! He must be seized, and alive if
possible. It is O-Tar's command."
Instantly warriors were
dispatched to search for the Gatholian and warn the inmates of the palace to do
likewise. Owing to the games there were comparatively few retainers in the
great building, but those whom they found were immediately enlisted in the
search, so that presently at least fifty warriors were seeking through the
countless chambers and corridors of the palace of O-Tar.
As Gahan's thoat bore
him to the third Level the man glimpsed the hind quarters of another thoat
disappearing at the turn of a corridor far ahead. Urging his own animal forward
he raced swiftly in pursuit and making the turn discovered only an empty
corridor ahead. Along this he hurried to discover near its farther end a runway
to the fourth level, which he followed upward. Here he saw that he had gained
upon his quarry who was just turning through a doorway fifty yards ahead. As
Gahan reached the opening he saw that the warrior had dismounted and was
dragging Tara toward a small door on the opposite side of the chamber. At the
same instant the clank of harness to his rear caused him to cast a glance
behind where, along the corridor he had just traversed, he saw three warriors
approaching on foot at a run. Leaping from his thoat Gahan sprang into the
chamber where Tara was struggling to free herself from the grasp of her captor,
slammed the door behind him, shot the great bolt into its seat, and drawing his
sword crossed the room at a run to engage the Manatorian. The fellow, thus
menaced, called aloud to Gahan to halt, at the same time thrusting Tara at
arm's length and threatening her heart with the point of his short-sword.
"Stay!" he
cried, "or the woman dies, for such is the command of O-Tar, rather than
that she again fall into your hands."
Gahan stopped. But a few
feet separated him from Tara and her captor, yet he was helpless to aid her.
Slowly the warrior backed toward the open doorway behind him, dragging Tara
with him. The girl struggled and fought, but the warrior was a powerful man and
having seized her by the harness from behind was able to hold her in a position
of helplessness.
"Save me,
Turan!" she cried. "Let them not drag me to a fate worse than death.
Better that I die now while my eyes behold a brave friend than later, fighting
alone among enemies in defense of my honor."
He took a step nearer.
The warrior made a threatening gesture with his sword close to the soft, smooth
skin of the princess, and Gahan halted.
"I cannot, Tara of
Helium," he cried. "Think not ill of me that I am weak -- that I
cannot see you die. Too great is my love for you, daughter of Helium."
The Manatorian warrior,
a derisive grin upon his lips, backed steadily away. He had almost reached the
doorway when Gahan saw another warrior in the chamber toward which Tara was being
borne -- a fellow who moved silently, almost stealthily, across the marble
floor as he approached Tara's captor from behind. In his right hand he grasped
a long-sword.
"Two to one,"
thought Gahan, and a grim smile touched his lips, for he had no doubt that once
they had Tara safely in the adjoining chamber the two would set upon him. If he
could not save her, he could at least die for her.
And then, suddenly,
Gahan's eyes fastened with amazement upon the figure of the warrior behind the
grinning fellow who held Tara and was forcing her to the doorway. He saw the
newcomer step almost within arm's reach of the other. He saw him stop, an
expression of malevolent hatred upon his features. He saw the great sword swing
through the arc of a great circle, gathering swift and terrific momentum from
its own weight backed by the brawn of the steel thews that guided it; he saw it
pass through the feathered skull of the Manatorian, splitting his sardonic grin
in twain, and open him to the middle of his breast bone.
As the dead hand
relaxed its grasp upon Tara's wrist the girl leaped forward, without a backward
glance, to Gahan's side. His left arm encircled her, nor did she draw away, as
with ready sword the Gatholian awaited Fate's next decree. Before them Tara's
deliverer was wiping the blood from his sword upon the hair of his victim. He
was evidently a Manatorian, his trappings those of the Jeddak's Guard, and so
his act was inexplicable to Gahan and to Tara. Presently he sheathed his sword
and approached them.
"When a man
chooses to hide his identity behind an assumed name," he said, looking
straight into Gahan's eyes, "whatever friend pierces the deception were no
friend if he divulged the other's secret."
He paused as though
awaiting a reply.
"Your integrity
has perceived and your lips voiced an unalterable truth," replied Gahan,
whose mind was filled with wonder if the implication could by any possibility
be true -- that this Manatorian had guessed his identity.
"We are thus
agreed," continued the other, "and I may tell you that though I am
here known as A-Sor, my real name is Tasor." He paused and watched Gahan's
face intently for any sign of the effect of this knowledge and was rewarded
with a quick, though guarded expression of recognition.
Tasor! Friend of his
youth. The son of that great Gatholian noble who had given his life so
gloriously, however futilely, in an attempt to defend Gahan's sire from the
daggers of the assassins. Tasor an under-padwar in the guard of O-Tar, Jeddak
of Manator! It was inconceivable -- and yet it was he; there could be no doubt
of it. "Tasor," Gahan repeated aloud. "But it is no Manatorian
name." The statement was half interrogatory, for Gahan's curiosity was
aroused. He would know how his friend and loyal subject had become a
Manatorian. Long years had passed since Tasor had disappeared as mysteriously
as the Princess Haja and many other of Gahan's subjects. The Jed of Gathol had
long supposed him dead.
"No," replied
Tasor, "nor is it a Manatorian name. Come, while I search for a hiding
place for you in some forgotten chamber in one of the untenanted portions of
the palace, and as we go I will tell you briefly how Tasor the Gatholian became
A-Sor the Manatorian.
"It befell that as
I rode with a dozen of my warriors along the western border of Gathol searching
for zitidars that had strayed from my herds, we were set upon and surrounded by
a great company of Manatorians. They overpowered us, though not before half our
number was slain and the balance helpless from wounds. And so I was brought a
prisoner to Manataj, a distant city of Manator, and there sold into slavery. A
woman bought me -- a princess of Manataj whose wealth and position were
unequaled in the city of her birth. She loved me and when her husband discovered
her infatuation she beseeched me to slay him, and when I refused she hired
another to do it. Then she married me; but none would have aught to do with her
in Manataj, for they suspected her guilty knowledge of her husband's murder.
And so we set out from Manataj for Manatos accompanied by a great caravan
bearing all her worldly goods and jewels and precious metals, and on the way
she caused the rumor to be spread that she and I had died. Then we came to
Manator instead, she taking a new name and I the name A-Sor, that we might not
be traced through our names. With her great wealth she bought me a post in The
Jeddak's Guard and none knows that I am not a Manatorian, for she is dead. She
was beautiful, but she was a devil."
"And you never
sought to return to your native city?" asked Gahan.
"Never has the
hope been absent from my heart, or my mind empty of a plan," replied
Tasor. "I dream of it by day and by night, but always must I return to the
same conclusion -- that there can be but a single means for escape. I must wait
until Fortune favors me with a place in a raiding party to Gathol. Then, once
within the boundaries of my own country, they shall see me no more."
"Perhaps your
opportunity lies already within your grasp," said Gahan, "has not
your fealty to your own Jed been undermined by years of association with the
men of Manator." The statement was half challenge.
"And my Jed stood
before me now," cried Tasor, "and my avowal could be made without
violating his confidence, I should cast my sword at his feet and beg the high
privilege of dying for him as my sire died for his sire."
There could be no doubt
of his sincerity nor any that he was cognizant of Gahan's identity. The Jed of
Gathol smiled. "And if your Jed were here there is little doubt but that
he would command you to devote your talents and your prowess to the rescue of
the Princess Tara of Helium," he said, meaningly. "And he possessed
the knowledge I have gained during my captivity he would say to you, 'Go,
Tasor, to the pit where A-kor, son of Haja of Gathol, is confined and set him
free and with him arouse the slaves from Gathol and march to The Gate of
Enemies and offer your services to U-Thor of Manataj, who is wed to Haja of
Gathol, and ask of him in return that he attack the palace of O-Tar and rescue
Tara of Helium and when that thing is accomplished that he free the slaves of
Gathol and furnish them with the arms and the means to return to their own
country.' That, Tasor of Gathol, is what Gahan your Jed would demand of
you."
"And that, Turan
the slave, is what I shall bend my every effort to accomplish after I have
found a safe refuge for Tara of Helium and her panthan," replied Tasor.
Gahan's glance carried
to Tasor an intimation of his Jed's gratification and filled him with a
chivalrous determination to do the thing required of him, or die, for he
considered that he had received from the lips of his beloved ruler a commission
that placed upon his shoulders a responsibility that encompassed not alone the
life of Gahan and Tara but the welfare, perhaps the whole future, of Gathol.
And so he hastened them onward through the musty corridors of the old palace
where the dust of ages lay undisturbed upon the marble tiles. Now and again he
tried a door until he found one that was unlocked. Opening it he ushered them
into a chamber, heavy with dust. Crumbling silks and furs adorned the walls,
with ancient weapons, and great paintings whose colors were toned by age to
wondrous softness.
"This be as good
as any place," he said. "No one comes here. Never have I been here
before, so I know no more of the other chambers than you; but this one, at
least, I can find again when I bring you food and drink. O-Mai the Cruel
occupied this portion of the palace during his reign, five thousand years
before O-Tar. In one of these apartments he was found dead, his face contorted
in an expression of fear so horrible that it drove to madness those who looked
upon it; yet there was no mark of violence upon him Since then the quarters of
O-Mai have been shunned for the legends have it that the ghosts of Corphals
pursue the spirit of the wicked Jeddak nightly through these chambers,
shrieking and moaning as they go. But," he added, as though to reassure
himself as well as his companions, "such things may not be countenanced by
the culture of Gathol or Helium."
Gahan laughed.
"And if all who looked upon him were driven mad, who then was there to
perform the last rites or prepare the body of the Jeddak for them?"
"There was
none," replied Tasor. "Where they found him they left him and there
to this very day his mouldering bones lie hid in some forgotten chamber of this
forbidden suite."
Tasor left them then
assuring them that he would seek the first opportunity to speak with A-Kor, and
upon the following day he would bring them food and drink.[1]
After Tasor had gone
Tara turned to Gahan and approaching laid a hand upon his arm. "So swiftly
have events transpired since I recognized you beneath your disguise," she
said, "that I have had no opportunity to assure you of my gratitude and
the high esteem that your valor has won for you in my consideration. Let me now
acknowledge my indebtedness; and if promises be not vain from one whose life
and liberty are in grave jeopardy, accept my assurance of the great reward that
awaits you at the hand of my father in Helium."
"I desire no
reward," he replied, "other than the happiness of knowing that the
woman I love is happy."
For an instant the eyes
of Tara of Helium blazed as she drew herself haughtily to her full height, and
then they softened and her attitude relaxed as she shook her head sadly.
"I have it not in
my heart to reprimand you, Turan," she said, "however great your
fault, for you have been an honorable and a loyal friend to Tara of Helium; but
you must not say what my ears must not hear."
"You mean,"
he asked, "that the ears of a Princess must not listen to words of love
from a panthan?"
"It is not that,
Turan," she replied; "but rather that I may not in honor listen to
words of love from another than him to whom I am betrothed -- a fellow
countryman, Djor Kantos."
"You mean, Tara of
Helium," he cried, "that were it not for that you would --"
"Stop!" she
commanded. "You have no right to assume aught else than my lips
testify."
"The eyes are
ofttimes more eloquent than the lips, Tara," he replied; "and in
yours I have read that which is neither hatred nor contempt for Turan the
panthan, and my heart tells me that your lips bore false witness when they
cried in anger: 'I hate you!'"
"I do not hate
you, Turan, nor yet may I love you," said the girl, simply.
"When I broke my
way out from the chamber of I-Gos I was indeed upon the verge of believing that
you did hate me," he said, "for only hatred, it seemed to me, could
account for the fact that you had gone without making an effort to liberate me;
but presently both my heart and my judgment told me that Tara of Helium could
not have deserted a companion in distress, and though I still am in ignorance
of the facts I know that it was beyond your power to aid me."
"It was
indeed," said the girl. "Scarce had I-Gos fallen at the bite of my
dagger than I heard the approach of warriors. I ran then to hide until they had
passed, thinking to return and liberate you; but in seeking to elude the party
I had heard I ran full into the arms of another. They questioned me as to your
whereabouts, and I told them that you had gone ahead and that I was following
you and thus I led them from you."
"I knew," was
Gahan's only comment, but his heart was glad with elation, as a lover's must be
who has heard from the lips of his divinity an avowal of interest and loyalty,
however little tinged by a suggestion of warmer regard it may be. To be abused,
even, by the mistress of one's heart is better than to be ignored.
As the two conversed in
the ill-lit chamber, the dim bulbs of which were encrusted with the accumulated
dust of centuries, a bent and withered figure traversed slowly the gloomy
corridors without, his weak and watery eyes peering through thick lenses at the
signs of passage written upon the dusty floor.
THE night was still
young when there came one to the entrance of the banquet hall where O-Tar of
Manator dined with his chiefs, and brushing past the guards entered the great
room with the insolence of a privileged character, as in truth he was. As he
approached the head of the long board O-Tar took notice of him.
"Well, hoary
one!" he cried. "What brings you out of your beloved and stinking
burrow again this day. We thought that the sight of the multitude of living men
at the games would drive you back to your corpses as quickly as you could
go."
The cackling laugh of
I-Gos acknowledged the royal sally. "Ey, ey, O-Tar," squeaked the
ancient one, "I-Gos goes out not upon pleasure bound; but when one does
ruthlessly desecrate the dead of I-Gos, vengeance must be had!"
"You refer to the
act of the slave Turan?" demanded O-Tar.
"Turan, yes, and
the slave Tara, who slipped beneath my hide a murderous blade. Another fraction
of an inch, O-Tar, and I-Gos' ancient and wrinkled covering were even now in
some apprentice tanner's hands, ey, ey!"
"But they have
again eluded us," cried O-Tar. "Even in the palace of the great
jeddak twice have they escaped the stupid knaves I call The Jeddak's
Guard." O-Tar had risen and was angrily emphasizing his words with heavy
blows upon the table, dealt with a golden goblet.
"Ey, O-Tar, they
elude thy guard but not the wise old calot, I-Gos."
"What mean you?
Speak!" commanded O-Tar.
"I know where they
are hid," said the ancient taxidermist. "In the dust of unused
corridors their feet have betrayed them."
"You followed
them? You have seen them?" demanded the jeddak.
"I followed them
and I heard them speaking beyond a closed door," replied I-Gos; "but
I did not see them."
"Where is that
door?" cried O-Tar. "We will send at once and fetch them," he
looked about the table as though to decide to whom he would entrust this duty.
A dozen warrior chiefs arose and laid their hands upon their swords.
"To the chambers
of O-Mai the Cruel I traced them," squeaked I-Gos. "There you will
find them where the moaning Corphals pursue the shrieking ghost of O-Mai;
ey!" and he turned his eyes from O-Tar toward the warriors who had arisen,
only to discover that, to a man, they were hurriedly resuming their seats.
The cackling laughter
of I-Gos broke derisively the hush that had fallen on the room. The warriors
looked sheepishly at the food upon their plates of gold. O-Tar snapped his
fingers impatiently.
"Be there only
cravens among the chiefs of Manator?" he cried. "Repeatedly have these
presumptuous slaves flouted the majesty of your jeddak. Must I command one to
go and fetch them?"
Slowly a chief arose
and two others followed his example, though with ill-concealed reluctance.
"All, then, are not cowards," commented O-Tar. "The duty is
distasteful. Therefore all three of you shall go, taking as many warriors as
you wish."
"But do not ask
for volunteers," interrupted I-Gos, "or you will go alone."
The three chiefs turned
and left the banquet hall, walking slowly like doomed men to their fate.
Gahan and Tara remained
in the chamber to which Tasor had led them, the man brushing away the dust from
a deep and comfortable bench where they might rest in comparative comfort. He
had found the ancient sleeping silks and furs too far gone to be of any
service, crumbling to powder at a touch, thus removing any chance of making a
comfortable bed for the girl, and so the two sat together, talking in low
tones, of the adventures through which they already had passed and speculating
upon the future; planning means of escape and hoping Tasor would not be long
gone. They spoke of many things -- of Hastor, and Helium, and Ptarth, and
finally the conversation reminded Tara of Gathol.
"You have served
there?" she asked.
"Yes,"
replied Turan.
"I met Gahan the
Jed of Gathol at my father's palace," she said, "the very day before
the storm snatched me from Helium -- he was a presumptuous fellow,
magnificently trapped in platinum and diamonds. Never in my life saw I so
gorgeous a harness as his, and you must well know, Turan, that the splendor of
all Barsoom passes through the court at Helium; but in my mind I could not see
so resplendent a creature drawing that jeweled sword in mortal combat. I fear
me that the Jed of Gathol, though a pretty picture of a man, is little
else."
In the dim light Tara
did not perceive the wry expression upon the half-averted face of her
companion.
"You thought
little then of the Jed of Gathol?" he asked.
"Then or
now," she replied, and with a little laugh; "how it would pique his
vanity to know, if he might, that a poor panthan had won a higher place in the
regard of Tara of Helium," and she laid her fingers gently upon his knee.
He seized the fingers
in his and carried them to his lips. "O, Tara of Helium," he cried.
"Think you that I am a man of stone?" One arm slipped about her
shoulders and drew the yielding body toward him.
"May my first
ancestor forgive me my weakness," she cried, as her arms stole about his
neck and she raised her panting lips to his. For long they clung there in
love's first kiss and then she pushed him away, gently. "I love you,
Turan," she half sobbed; "I love you so! It is my only poor excuse
for having done this wrong to Djor Kantos, whom now I know I never loved, who knew
not the meaning of love. And if you love me as you say, Turan, your love must
protect me from greater dishonor, for I am but as clay in your hands."
Again he crushed her to
him and then as suddenly released her, and rising, strode rapidly to and fro
across the chamber as though he endeavored by violent exercise to master and
subdue some evil spirit that had laid hold upon him. Ringing through his brain
and heart and soul like some joyous paean were those words that had so altered
the world for Gahan of Gathol: "I love you, Turan; I love you so!"
And it had come so suddenly. He had thought that she felt for him only
gratitude for his loyalty and then, in an instant, her barriers were all down,
she was no longer a princess; but instead a -- his reflections were interrupted
by a sound from beyond the closed door. His sandals of zitidar hide had given
forth no sound upon the marble floor he strode, and as his rapid pacing carried
him past the entrance to the chamber there came faintly from the distance of
the long corridor the sound of metal on metal -- the unmistakable herald of the
approach of armed men.
For a moment Gahan
listened intently, close to the door, until there could be no doubt but that a
party of warriors was approaching. From what Tasor had told him he guessed
correctly that they would be coming to this portion of the palace but for a
single purpose -- to search for Tara and himself -- and it behooved him
therefore to seek immediate means for eluding them. The chamber in which they
were had other doorways beside that at which they had entered, and to one of
these he must look for some safer hiding place. Crossing to Tara he acquainted
her with his suspicion, leading her to one of the doors which they found
unsecured. Beyond it lay a dimly-lighted chamber at the threshold of which they
halted in consternation, drawing back quickly into the chamber they had just
quitted, for their first glance revealed four warriors seated around a jetan
board.
That their entrance had
not been noted was attributed by Gahan to the absorption of the two players and
their friends in the game. Quietly closing the door the fugitives moved
silently to the next, which they found locked. There was now but another door
which they had not tried, and this they approached quickly as they knew that
the searching party must be close to the chamber. To their chagrin they found
this avenue of escape barred.
Now indeed were they in
a sorry plight, for should the searchers have information leading them to this
room they were lost. Again leading Tara to the door behind which were the jetan
players Gahan drew his sword and waited, listening. The sound of the party in
the corridor came distinctly to their ears -- they must be quite close, and
doubtless they were coming in force. Beyond the door were but four warriors who
might be readily surprised. There could, then, be but one choice and acting
upon it Gahan quietly opened the door again, stepped through into the adjoining
chamber, Tara's hand in his, and closed the door behind them. The four at the
jetan board evidently failed to hear them. One player had either just made or
was contemplating a move, for his fingers grasped a piece that still rested
upon the board. The other three were watching his move. For an instant Gahan
looked at them, playing jetan there in the dim light of this forgotten and
forbidden chamber, and then a slow smile of understanding lighted his face.
"Come!" he
said to Tara. "We have nothing to fear from these. For more than five
thousand years they have sat thus, a monument to the handiwork of some ancient
taxidermist."
As they approached more
closely they saw that the lifelike figures were coated with dust, but that
otherwise the skin was in as fine a state of preservation as the most recent of
I-Gos' groups, and then they heard the door of the chamber they had quitted
open and knew that the searchers were close upon them. Across the room they saw
the opening of what appeared to be a corridor and which investigation proved to
be a short passageway, terminating in a chamber in the center of which was an
ornate sleeping dais. This room, like the others, was but poorly lighted, time
having dimmed the radiance of its bulbs and coated them with dust. A glance
showed that it was hung with heavy goods and contained considerable massive
furniture in addition to the sleeping platform, a second glance at which
revealed what appeared to be the form of a man lying partially on the floor and
partially on the dais. No doorways were visible other than that at which they
had entered, though both knew that others might be concealed by the hangings.
Gahan, his curiosity
aroused by the legends surrounding this portion of the palace, crossed to the
dais to examine the figure that apparently had fallen from it, to find the
dried and shrivelled corpse of a man lying upon his back on the floor with arms
outstretched and fingers stiffly outspread. One of his feet was doubled
partially beneath him, while the other was still entangled in the sleeping
silks and furs upon the dais. After five thousand years the expression of the
withered face and the eyeless sockets retained the aspect of horrid fear to
such an extent, that Gahan knew that he was looking upon the body of O-Mai the
Cruel.
Suddenly Tara, who
stood close beside him, clutched his arm and pointed toward a far corner of the
room. Gahan looked and looking felt the hairs upon his neck rising. He threw
his left arm about the girl and with bared sword stood between her and the
hangings that they watched, and then slowly Gahan of Gathol backed away, for in
this grim and somber chamber, which no human foot had trod for five thousand
years and to which no breath of wind might enter, the heavy hangings in the far
corner had moved. Not gently had they moved as a draught might have moved them
had there been a draught, but suddenly they had bulged out as though pushed
against from behind. To the opposite corner backed Gahan until they stood with
their backs against the hangings there, and then hearing the approach of their
pursuers across the chamber beyond Gahan pushed Tara through the hangings and,
following her, kept open with his left hand, which he had disengaged from the
girl's grasp, a tiny opening through which he could view the apartment and the
doorway upon the opposite side through which the pursuers would enter, if they
came this far.
Behind the hangings
there was a space of about three feet in width between them and the wall,
making a passageway entirely around the room, broken only by the single
entrance opposite them; this being a common arrangement especially in the
sleeping apartments of the rich and powerful upon Barsoom. The purposes of this
arrangement were several. The passageway afforded a station for guards in the
same room with their master without intruding entirely upon his privacy; it
concealed secret exits from the chamber; it permitted the occupant of the room
to hide eavesdroppers and assassins for use against enemies that he might lure
to his chamber.
The three chiefs with a
dozen warriors had had no difficulty in following the tracks of the fugitives
through the dust of the corridors and chambers they had traversed. To enter
this portion of the palace at all had required all the courage they possessed,
and now that they were within the very chambers of O-Mai their nerves were
pitched to the highest key -- another turn and they would snap; for the people
of Manator are filled with weird superstitions. As they entered the outer
chamber they moved slowly, with drawn swords, no one seeming anxious to take
the lead, and the twelve warriors hanging back in unconcealed and shameless
terror, while the three chiefs, spurred on by fear of O-Tar and by pride,
pressed together for mutual encouragement as they slowly crossed the
dimly-lighted room.
Following the tracks of
Gahan and Tara they found that though each doorway had been approached only one
threshold had been crossed and this door they gingerly opened, revealing to
their astonished gaze the four warriors at the jetan table. For a moment they
were on the verge of flight, for though they knew what they were, coming as
they did upon them in this mysterious and haunted suite, they were as startled
as though they had beheld the very ghosts of the departed. But they presently
regained their courage sufficiently to cross this chamber too and enter the
short passageway that led to the ancient sleeping apartment of O-Mai the Cruel.
They did not know that this awful chamber lay just before them, or it were
doubtful that they would have proceeded farther; but they saw that those they
sought had come this way and so they followed, but within the gloomy interior
of the chamber they halted, the three chiefs urging their followers, in low
whispers, to close in behind them, and there just within the entrance they
stood until, their eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, one of them
pointed suddenly to the thing lying upon the floor with one foot tangled in the
coverings of the dais.
"Look!" he
gasped. "It is the corpse of O-Mai! Ancestor of ancestors! we are in the
forbidden chamber." Simultaneously there came from behind the hangings
beyond the grewsome dead a hollow moan followed by a piercing scream, and the
hangings shook and bellied before their eyes.
With one accord,
chieftains and warriors, they turned and bolted for the doorway; a narrow
doorway, where they jammed, fighting and screaming in an effort to escape. They
threw away their swords and clawed at one another to make a passage for escape;
those behind climbed upon the shoulders of those in front; and some fell and
were trampled upon; but at last they all got through, and, the swiftest first,
they bolted across the two intervening chambers to the outer corridor beyond,
nor did they halt their mad retreat before they stumbled, weak and trembling,
into the banquet hall of O-Tar. At sight of them the warriors who had remained
with the jeddak leaped to their feet with drawn swords, thinking that their
fellows were pursued by many enemies; but no one followed them into the room,
and the three chieftains came and stood before O-Tar with bowed heads and
trembling knees.
"Well?"
demanded the jeddak. "What ails you? Speak!"
"O-Tar,"
cried one of them when at last he could master his voice. "When have we
three failed you in battle or combat? Have our swords been not always among the
foremost in defense of your safety and your honor?"
"Have I denied
this?" demanded O-Tar.
"Listen, then, O
Jeddak, and judge us with leniency. We followed the two slaves to the
apartments of O-Mai the Cruel. We entered the accursed chambers and still we
did not falter. We came at last to that horrid chamber no human eye had scanned
before in fifty centuries and we looked upon the dead face of O-Mai lying as he
has lain for all this time. To the very death chamber of O-Mai the Cruel we
came and yet we were ready to go farther; when suddenly there broke upon our
horrified ears the moans and the shrieking that mark these haunted chambers and
the hangings moved and rustled in the dead air. O-Tar, it was more than human
nerves could endure. We turned and fled. We threw away our swords and fought
with one another to escape. With sorrow, but without shame, I tell it, for
there be no man in all Manator that would not have done the same. If these
slaves be Corphals they are safe among their fellow ghosts. If they be not
Corphals, then already are they dead in the chambers of O-Mai, and there may
they rot for all of me, for I would not return to that accursed spot for the
harness of a jeddak and the half of Barsoom for an empire. I have spoken."
O-Tar knitted his
scowling brows. "Are all my chieftains cowards and cravens?" he demanded
presently in sneering tones.
From among those who
had not been of the searching party a chieftain arose and turned a scowling
face upon O-Tar.
"The jeddak
knows,'' he said, "that in the annals of Manator her jeddaks have ever
been accounted the bravest of her warriors. Where my jeddak leads I will
follow, nor may any jeddak call me a coward or a craven unless I refuse to go
where he dares to go. I have spoken."
After he had resumed
his seat there was a painful silence, for all knew that the speaker had
challenged the courage of O-Tar the Jeddak of Manator and all awaited the reply
of their ruler. In every mind was the same thought -- O-Tar must lead them at
once to the chamber of O-Mai the Cruel, or accept forever the stigma of
cowardice, and there could be no coward upon the throne of Manator. That they
all knew and that O-Tar knew, as well.
But O-Tar hesitated. He
looked about upon the faces of those around him at the banquet board; but he
saw only the grim visages of relentless warriors. There was no trace of
leniency in the face of any. And then his eyes wandered to a small entrance at
one side of the great chamber. An expression of relief expunged the scowl of
anxiety from his features.
"Look!" he
exclaimed. "See who has come!"
GAHAN, watching through
the aperture between the hangings, saw the frantic flight of their pursuers. A
grim smile rested upon his lips as he viewed the mad scramble for safety and
saw them throw away their swords and fight with one another to be first from
the chamber of fear, and when they were all gone he turned back toward Tara,
the smile still upon his lips; but the smile died the instant that he turned,
for he saw that Tara had disappeared.
"Tara!" he
called in a loud voice, for he knew that there was no danger that their
pursuers would return; but there was no response, unless it was a faint sound
as of cackling laughter from afar. Hurriedly he searched the passageway behind
the hangings finding several doors, one of which was ajar. Through this he
entered the adjoining chamber which was lighted more brilliantly for the moment
by the soft rays of hurtling Thuria taking her mad way through the heavens.
Here he found the dust upon the floor disturbed, and the imprint of sandals.
They had come this way -- Tara and whatever the creature was that had stolen
her.
But what could it have
been? Gahan, a man of culture and high intelligence, held few if any
superstitions. In common with nearly all races of Barsoom he clung, more or
less inherently, to a certain exalted form of ancestor worship, though it was
rather the memory or legends of the virtues and heroic deeds of his forebears
that he deified rather than themselves. He never expected any tangible evidence
of their existence after death; he did not believe that they had the power
either for good or for evil other than the effect that their example while
living might have had upon following generations; he did not believe therefore
in the materialization of dead spirits. If there was a life hereafter he knew
nothing of it, for he knew that science had demonstrated the existence of some
material cause for every seemingly supernatural phenomenon of ancient religions
and superstitions. Yet he was at a loss to know what power might have removed
Tara so suddenly and mysteriously from his side in a chamber that had not known
the presence of man for five thousand years.
In the darkness he
could not see whether there were the imprints of other sandals than Tara's --
only that the dust was disturbed -- and when it led him into gloomy corridors
he lost the trail altogether. A perfect labyrinth of passages and apartments
were now revealed to him as he hurried on through the deserted quarters of
O-Mai. Here was an ancient bath -- doubtless that of the jeddak himself, and
again he passed through a room in which a meal had been laid upon a table five
thousand years before -- the untasted breakfast of O-Mai, perhaps. There passed
before his eyes in the brief moments that he traversed the chambers, a wealth
of ornaments and jewels and precious metals that surprised even the Jed of
Gathol whose harness was of diamonds and platinum and whose riches were the
envy of a world. But at last his search of O-Mai's chambers ended in a small
closet in the floor of which was the opening to a spiral runway leading
straight down into Stygian darkness. The dust at the entrance of the closet had
been freshly disturbed, and as this was the only possible indication that Gahan
had of the direction taken by the abductor of Tara it seemed as well to follow
on as to search elsewhere. So, without hesitation, he descended into the utter
darkness below. Feeling with a foot before taking a forward step his descent
was necessarily slow, but Gahan was a Barsoomian and so knew the pitfalls that
might await the unwary in such dark, forbidden portions of a jeddak's palace.
He had descended for
what he judged might be three full levels and was pausing, as he occasionally
did, to listen, when he distinctly heard a peculiar shuffling, scraping sound
approaching him from below. Whatever the thing was it was ascending the runway
at a steady pace and would soon be near him. Gahan laid his hand upon the hilt
of his sword and drew it slowly from its scabbard that he might make no noise that
would apprise the creature of his presence. He wished that there might be even
the slightest lessening of the darkness. If he could see but the outline of the
thing that approached him he would feel that he had a fairer chance in the
meeting; but he could see nothing, and then because he could see nothing the
end of his scabbard struck the stone side of the runway, giving off a sound
that the stillness and the narrow confines of the passage and the darkness
seemed to magnify to a terrific clatter.
Instantly the shuffling
sound of approach ceased. For a moment Gahan stood in silent waiting, then
casting aside discretion he moved on again down the spiral. The thing, whatever
it might be, gave forth no sound now by which Gahan might locate it. At any moment
it might be upon him and so he kept his sword in readiness. Down, ever downward
the steep spiral led. The darkness and the silence of the tomb surrounded him,
yet somewhere ahead was something. He was not alone in that horrid place --
another presence that he could not hear or see hovered before him -- of that he
was positive. Perhaps it was the thing that had stolen Tara. Perhaps Tara
herself, still in the clutches of some nameless horror, was just ahead of him.
He quickened his pace -- it became almost a run at the thought of the danger
that threatened the woman he loved, and then he collided with a wooden door
that swung open to the impact. Before him was a lighted corridor. On either
side were chambers. He had advanced but a short distance from the bottom of the
spiral when he recognized that he was in the pits below the palace. A moment
later he heard behind him the shuffling sound that had attracted his attention
in the spiral runway. Wheeling about he saw the author of the sound emerging
from a doorway he had just passed. It was Ghek the kaldane.
"Ghek!"
exclaimed Gahan. "It was you in the runway? Have you seen Tara of
Helium?"
"It was I in the
spiral," replied the kaldane; "but I have not seen Tara of Helium. I
have been searching for her. Where is she?"
"I do not
know," replied the Gatholian; "but we must find her and take her from
this place."
"We may find
her," said Ghek; "but I doubt our ability to take her away. It is not
so easy to leave Manator as it is to enter it. I may come and go at will,
through the ancient burrows of the ulsios; but you are too large for that and
your lungs need more air than may be found in some of the deeper runways."
"But U-Thor!"
exclaimed Gahan. "Have you heard aught of him or his intentions?"
"I have heard
much," replied Ghek. "He camps at The Gate of Enemies. That spot he
holds and his warriors lie just beyond The Gate; but he has not sufficient
force to enter the city and take the palace. An hour since and you might have
made your way to him; but now every avenue is strongly guarded since O-Tar
learned that A-Kor had escaped to U-Thor."
"A-Kor has escaped
and joined U-Thor!" exclaimed Gahan.
"But little more
than an hour since. I was with him when a warrior came -- a man whose name is
Tasor -- who brought a message from you. It was decided that Tasor should
accompany A-Kor in an attempt to reach the camp of U-Thor, the great jed of
Manatos, and exact from him the assurances you required. Then U-Thor was to
return and take food to you and the Princess of Helium. I accompanied them. We
won through easily and found U-Thor more than willing to respect your every
wish, but when Tasor would have returned to you the way was blocked by the
warriors of O-Tar. Then it was that I volunteered to come to you and report and
find food and drink and then go forth among the Gatholian slaves of Manator and
prepare them for their part in the plan that U-Thor and Tasor conceived."
"And what was this
plan?"
"U-Thor has sent
for reinforcements. To Manatos he has sent and to all the outlying districts
that are his. It will take a month to collect and bring them hither and in the
meantime the slaves within the city are to organize secretly, stealing and
hiding arms against the day that the reinforcements arrive. When that day comes
the forces of U-Thor will enter the Gate of Enemies and as the warriors of
O-Tar rush to repulse them the slaves from Gathol will fall upon them from the
rear with the majority of their numbers, while the balance will assault the
palace. They hope thus to divert so many from The Gate that U-Thor will have
little difficulty in forcing an entrance to the city."
"Perhaps they will
succeed," commented Gahan; "but the warriors of O-Tar are many, and
those who fight in defense of their homes and their jeddak have always an
advantage. Ah, Ghek, would that we had the great warships of Gathol or of Helium
to pour their merciless fire into the streets of Manator while U-Thor marched
to the palace over the corpses of the slain." He paused, deep in thought,
and then turned his gaze again upon the kaldane. "Heard you aught of the
party that escaped with me from The Field of Jetan -- of Floran, Val Dor, and
the others? What of them?"
"Ten of these won
through to U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies and were well received by him. Eight
fell in the fighting upon the way. Val Dor and Floran live, I believe, for I am
sure that I heard U-Thor address two warriors by these names."
"Good!"
exclaimed Gahan. "Go then, through the burrows of the ulsios, to The Gate
of Enemies and carry to Floran the message that I shall write in his own
language. Come, while I write the message."
In a nearby room they
found a bench and table and there Gahan sat and wrote in the strange,
stenographic characters of Martian script a message to Floran of Gathol.
"Why," he asked, when he had finished it, "did you search for
Tara through the spiral runway where we nearly met?"
"Tasor told me
where you were to be found, and as I have explored the greater part of the
palace by means of the ulsio runways and the darker and less frequented
passages I knew precisely where you were and how to reach you. This secret
spiral ascends from the pits to the roof of the loftiest of the palace towers.
It has secret openings at every level; but there is no living Manatorian, I
believe, who knows of its existence. At least never have I met one within it
and I have used it many times. Thrice have I been in the chamber where O-Mai
lies, though I knew nothing of his identity or the story of his death until
Tasor told it to us in the camp of U-Thor."
"You know the
palace thoroughly then?" Gahan interrupted.
"Better than O-Tar
himself or any of his servants."
"Good! And you
would serve the Princess Tara, Ghek, you may serve her best by accompanying
Floran and following his instructions. I will write them here at the close of
my message to him, for the walls have ears, Ghek, while none but a Gatholian
may read what I have written to Floran. He will transmit it to you. Can I trust
you?"
"I may never
return to Bantoom," replied Ghek. "Therefore I have but two friends
in all Barsoom. What better may I do than serve them faithfully? You may trust
me, Gatholian, who with a woman of your kind has taught me that there be finer
and nobler things than perfect mentality uninfluenced by the unreasoning
tuitions of the heart. I go."
As O-Tar pointed to the
little doorway all eyes turned in the direction he indicated and surprise was
writ large upon the faces of the warriors when they recognized the two who had
entered the banquet hall. There was I-Gos, and he dragged behind him one who
was gagged and whose hands were fastened behind with a ribbon of tough silk. It
was the slave girl. I-Gos' cackling laughter rose above the silence of the
room.
"Ey, ey!" he
shrilled. "What the young warriors of O-Tar cannot do, old I-Gos does
alone."
"Only a Corphal
may capture a Corphal," growled one of the chiefs who had fled from the
chambers of O-Mai.
I-Gos laughed.
"Terror turned your heart to water," he replied; "and shame your
tongue to libel. This be no Corphal, but only a woman of Helium; her companion
a warrior who can match blades with the best of you and cut your putrid hearts.
Not so in the days of I-Gos' youth. Ah, then were there men in Manator. Well do
I recall that day that I --"
"Peace, doddering
fool!" commanded O-Tar. "Where is the man?"
"Where I found the
woman -- in the death chamber of O-Mai. Let your wise and brave chieftains go
thither and fetch him. I am an old man, and could bring but one."
"You have done
well, I-Gos," O-Tar hastened to assure him, for when he learned that Gahan
might still be in the haunted chambers he wished to appease the wrath of I-Gos,
knowing well the vitriolic tongue and temper of the ancient one. "You
think she is no Corphal, then, I-Gos?" he asked, wishing to carry the
subject from the man who was still at large.
"No more than
you," replied the ancient taxidermist.
O-Tar looked long and
searchingly at Tara of Helium. All the beauty that was hers seemed suddenly to
be carried to every fibre of his consciousness. She was still garbed in the
rich harness of a Black Princess of Jetan, and as O-Tar the Jeddak gazed upon
her he realized that never before had his eyes rested upon a more perfect
figure -- a more beautiful face.
"She is no
Corphal," he murmured to himself. "She is no Corphal and she is a
princess -- a princess of Helium, and, by the golden hair of the Holy Hekkador,
she is beautiful. Take the gag from her mouth and release her hands," he
commanded aloud. "Make room for the Princess Tara of Helium at the side of
O-Tar of Manator. She shall dine as becomes a princess."
Slaves did as O-Tar bid
and Tara of Helium stood with flashing eyes behind the chair that was offered
her. "Sit!" commanded O-Tar.
The girl sank into the
chair. "I sit as a prisoner," she said; "not as a guest at the
board of my enemy, O-Tar of Manator."
O-Tar motioned his
followers from the room. "I would speak alone with the Princess of
Helium," he said. The company and the slaves withdrew and once more the
Jeddak of Manator turned toward the girl. "O-Tar of Manator would be your
friend," he said.
Tara of Helium sat with
arms folded upon her small, firm breasts, her eyes flashing from behind
narrowed lids, nor did she deign to answer his overture. O-Tar leaned closer to
her. He noted the hostility of her bearing and he recalled his first encounter
with her. She was a she-banth, but she was beautiful. She was by far the most
desirable woman that O-Tar had ever looked upon and he was determined to
possess her. He told her so.
"I could take you
as my slave," he said to her; "but it pleases me to make you my wife.
You shall be Jeddara of Manator. You shall have seven days in which to prepare
for the great honor that O-Tar is conferring upon you, and at this hour of the
seventh day you shall become an empress and the wife of O-Tar in the throne
room of the jeddaks of Manator." He struck a gong that stood beside him
upon the table and when a slave appeared he bade him recall the company. Slowly
the chiefs filed in and took their places at the table. Their faces were grim
and scowling, for there was still unanswered the question of their jeddak's
courage. If O-Tar had hoped they would forget he had been mistaken in his men.
O-Tar arose. "In
seven days," he announced, "there will be a great feast in honor of
the new Jeddara of Manator," and he waved his hand toward Tara of Helium.
"The ceremony will occur at the beginning of the seventh zode[1] in the
throne room. In the meantime the Princess of Helium will be cared for in the
tower of the women's quarters of the palace. Conduct her thither, E-Thas, with
a suitable guard of honor and see to it that slaves and eunuchs be placed at
her disposal, who shall attend upon all her wants and guard her carefully from
harm."
Now E-Thas knew that
the real meaning concealed in these fine words was that he should conduct the
prisoner under a strong guard to the women's quarters and confine her there in
the tower for seven days, placing about her trustworthy guards who would
prevent her escape or frustrate any attempted rescue.
As Tara was departing
from the chamber with E-Thas and the guard, O-Tar leaned close to her ear and
whispered: "Consider well during these seven days the high honor I have
offered you, and -- its sole alternative." As though she had not heard him
the girl passed out of the banquet hall, her head high and her eyes straight to
the front.
After Ghek had left him
Gahan roamed the pits and the ancient corridors of the deserted portions of the
palace seeking some clue to the whereabouts or the fate of Tara of Helium. He
utilized the spiral runway in passing from level to level until he knew every
foot of it from the pits to the summit of the high tower, and into what
apartments it opened at the various levels as well as the ingenious and hidden
mechanism that operated the locks of the cleverly concealed doors leading to
it. For food he drew upon the stores he found in the pits and when he slept he
lay upon the royal couch of O-Mai in the forbidden chamber sharing the dais
with the dead foot of the ancient jeddak.
In the palace about him
seethed, all unknown to Gahan, a vast unrest. Warriors and chieftains pursued
the duties of their vocations with dour faces, and little knots of them were
collecting here and there and with frowns of anger discussing some subject that
was uppermost in the minds of all. It was upon the fourth day following Tara's
incarceration in the tower that E-Thas, the major-domo of the palace and one of
O-Tar's creatures, came to his master upon some trivial errand. O-Tar was alone
in one of the smaller chambers of his personal suite when the major-domo was
announced, and after the matter upon which E-Thas had come was disposed of the
jeddak signed him to remain.
"From the position
of an obscure warrior I have elevated you, E-Thas, to the honors of a chief.
Within the confines of the palace your word is second only to mine. You are not
loved for this, E-Thas, and should another jeddak ascend the throne of Manator
what would become of you, whose enemies are among the most powerful of
Manator?"
"Speak not of it,
O-Tar," begged E-Thas. "These last few days I have thought upon it
much and I would forget it; but I have sought to appease the wrath of. my worst
enemies. I have been very kind and indulgent with them."
"You, too, read
the voiceless message in the air?" demanded the jeddak.
E-Thas was palpably
uneasy and he did not reply.
"Why did you not
come to me with your apprehensions?" demanded O-Tar. "Be this
loyalty?"
"I feared, O
mighty jeddak!" replied E-Thas. "I feared that you would not
understand and that you would be angry."
"What know you?
Speak the whole truth!" commanded O-Tar.
"There is much
unrest among the chieftains and the warriors," replied E-Thas. "Even
those who were your friends fear the power of those who speak against
you."
"What say
they?" growled the jeddak.
"They say that you
are afraid to enter the apartments of O-Mai in search of the slave Turan -- oh,
do not be angry with me, Jeddak; it is but what they say that I repeat. I, your
loyal E-Thas, believe no such foul slander."
"No, no; why
should I fear?" demanded O-Tar. "We do not know that he is there. Did
not my chiefs go thither and see nothing of him?"
"But they say that
you did not go," pursued E-Thas, "and that they will have none of a
coward upon the throne of Manator."
"They said that treason?"
O-Tar almost shouted.
"They said that
and more, great jeddak," answered the major-domo. "They said that not
only did you fear to enter the chambers of O-Mai, but that you feared the slave
Turan, and they blame you for your treatment of A-Kor, whom they all believe to
have been murdered at your command. They were fond of A-Kor and there are many
now who say aloud that A-Kor would have made a wondrous jeddak."
"They dare?"
screamed O-Tar. "They dare suggest the name of a slave's bastard for the
throne of O-Tar!"
"He is your son,
O-Tar," E-Thas reminded him, "nor is there a more beloved man in
Manator -- I but speak to you of facts which may not be ignored, and I dare do
so because only when you realize the truth may you seek a cure for the ills that
draw about your throne."
O-Tar had slumped down
upon his bench -- suddenly he looked shrunken and tired and old. "Cursed
be the day," he cried, "that saw those three strangers enter the city
of Manator. Would that U-Dor had been spared to me. He was strong -- my enemies
feared him; but he is gone -- dead at the hands of that hateful slave, Turan;
may the curse of Issus be upon him!"
"My jeddak, what
shall we do?" begged E-Thas. "Cursing the slave will not solve your
problems."
"But the great
feast and the marriage is but three days off," plead O-Tar. "It shall
be a great gala occasion. The warriors and the chiefs all know that -- it is
the custom. Upon that day gifts and honors shall be bestowed. Tell me, who are
most bitter against me? I will send you among them and let it be known that I
am planning rewards for their past services to the throne. We will make jeds of
chiefs and chiefs of warriors, and grant them palaces and slaves. Eh,
E-Thas?"
The other shook his
head. "It will not do, O-Tar. They will have nothing of your gifts or
honors. I have heard them say as much."
"What do they
want?" demanded O-Tar.
"They want a
jeddak as brave as the bravest," replied E-Thas, though his knees shook as
he said it.
"They think I am a
coward?" cried the jeddak.
"They say you are
afraid to go to the apartments of O-mai the Cruel."
For a long time O-Tar
sat, his head sunk upon his breast, staring blankly at the floor.
"Tell them,"
he said at last in a hollow voice that sounded not at all like the voice of a
great jeddak; "tell them that I will go to the chambers of O-Mai and
search for Turan the slave."
"EY, ey, he is a
craven and he called me 'doddering fool'!" The speaker was I-Gos and he
addressed a knot of chieftains in one of the chambers of the palace of O-Tar,
Jeddak of Manator: "If A-Kor was alive there were a jeddak for us!"
"Who says that
A-Kor is dead?" demanded one of the chiefs.
"Where is he
then?" asked I-Gos. "Have not others disappeared whom O-Tar thought
too well beloved for men so near the throne as they?"
The chief shook his
head. "And I thought that, or knew it, rather; I'd join U-Thor at The Gate
of Enemies."
"S-s-st,"
cautioned one; "here comes the licker of feet," and all eyes were
turned upon the approaching E-Thas.
"Kaor,
friends!" he exclaimed as he stopped among them, but his friendly greeting
elicited naught but a few surly nods. "Have you heard the news?" he
continued, unabashed by treatment to which he was becoming accustomed.
"What -- has O-Tar
seen an ulsio and fainted?" demanded I-Gos with broad sarcasm.
"Men have died for
less than that, ancient one," E-Thas reminded him.
"I am safe,"
retorted I-Gos, "for I am not a brave and popular son of the jeddak of
Manator."
This was indeed open
treason, but E-Thas feigned not to hear it. He ignored I-Gos and turned to the
others. "O-Tar goes to the chamber of O-Mai this night in search of Turan
the slave," he said. "He sorrows that his warriors have not the
courage for so mean a duty and that their jeddak is thus compelled to arrest a
common slave," with which taunt E-Thas passed on to spread the word in
other parts of the palace. As a matter of fact the latter part of his message
was purely original with himself, and he took great delight in delivering it to
the discomfiture of his enemies. As he was leaving the little group of men
I-Gos called after him. "At what hour does O-Tar intend visiting the
chambers of O-Mai?" he asked.
"Toward the end of
the eighth zode[1]," replied the majordomo, and went his way.
"We shall
see," stated I-Gos.
"What shall we
see?" asked a warrior.
"We shall see
whether O-Tar visits the chamber of O-Mai."
"How?"
"I shall be there
myself and if I see him I will know that he has been there. If I don't see him
I will know that he has not," explained the old taxidermist.
"Is there anything
there to fill an honest man with fear?" asked a chieftain. "What have
you seen?"
"It was not so
much what I saw, though that was bad enough, as what I heard," said I-Gos.
"Tell us! What
heard and saw you?"
"I saw the dead
O-Mai," said I-Gos. The others shuddered.
"And you went not
mad?" they asked.
"Am I mad?"
retorted I-Gos.
"And you will go
again?"
"Yes."
"Then indeed you
are mad," cried one.
"You saw the dead
O-Mai; but what heard you that was worse?" whispered another.
"I saw the dead
O-Mai lying upon the floor of his sleeping chamber with one foot tangled in the
sleeping silks and furs upon his couch. I heard horrid moans and frightful
screams."
"And you are not
afraid to go there again?" demanded several.
"The dead cannot
harm me," said I-Gos. "He has lain thus for five thousand years. Nor
can a sound harm me. I heard it once and live -- I can hear it again. It came
from almost at my side where I hid behind the hangings and watched the slave
Turan before I snatched the woman away from him."
"I-Gos, you are a
very brave man," said a chieftain.
"O-Tar called me
'doddering fool' and I would face worse dangers than lie in the forbidden
chambers of O-Mai to know it if he does not visit the chamber of O-Mai. Then
indeed shall O-Tar fall!"
The night came and the
zodes dragged and the time approached when O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, was to
visit the chamber of O-Mai in search of the slave Turan. To us, who may doubt
the existence of malignant spirits, his fear may seem unbelievable, for he was
a strong man, an excellent swordsman, and a warrior of great repute; but the
fact remained that O-Tar of Manator was nervous with apprehension as he strode
the corridors of his palace toward the deserted halls of O-Mai and when he
stood at last with his hand upon the door that opened from the dusty corridor
to the very apartments themselves he was almost paralyzed with terror. He had
come alone for two very excellent reasons, the first of which was that thus
none might note his terror-stricken state nor his defection should he fail at
the last moment, and the other was that should he accomplish the thing alone or
be able to make his chiefs believe that he had, the credit would be far greater
than were he to be accompanied by warriors.
But though he had
started alone he had become aware that he was being followed, and he knew that
it was because his people had no faith in either his courage or his veracity.
He did not believe that he would find the slave Turan. He did not very much
want to find him, for though O-Tar was an excellent swordsman and a brave
warrior in physical combat, he had seen how Turan had played with U-Dor and he
had no stomach for a passage at arms with one whom he knew outclassed him.
And so O-Tar stood with
his hand upon the door -- afraid to enter; afraid not to. But at last his fear
of his own warriors, watching behind him, grew greater than the fear of the
unknown behind the ancient door and he pushed the heavy skeel aside and
entered.
Silence and gloom and
the dust of centuries lay heavy upon the chamber. From his warriors he knew the
route that he must take to the horrid chamber of O-Mai and so he forced his
unwilling feet across the room before him, across the room where the jetan
players sat at their eternal game, and came to the short corridor that led into
the room of O-Mai. His naked sword trembled in his grasp. He paused after each
forward step to listen and when he was almost at the door of the ghost-haunted
chamber, his heart stood still within his breast and the cold sweat broke from
the clammy skin of his forehead, for from within there came to his affrighted
ears the sound of muffled breathing. Then it was that O-Tar of Manator came
near to fleeing from the nameless horror that he could not see, but that he
knew lay waiting for him in that chamber just ahead. But again came the fear of
the wrath and contempt of his warriors and his chiefs. They would degrade him
and they would slay him into the bargain. There was no doubt of what his fate
would be should he flee the apartments of O-Mai in terror. His only hope,
therefore, lay in daring the unknown in preference to the known.
He moved forward. A few
steps took him to the doorway. The chamber before him was darker than the
corridor, so that he could just indistinctly make out the objects in the room.
He saw a sleeping dais near the center, with a darker blotch of something lying
on the marble floor beside it. He moved a step farther into the doorway and the
scabbard of his sword scraped against the stone frame. To his horror he saw the
sleeping silks and furs upon the central dais move. He saw a figure slowly
arising to a sitting posture from the death bed of O-Mai the Cruel. His knees
shook, but he gathered all his moral forces, and gripping his sword more
tightly in his trembling fingers prepared to leap across the chamber upon the
horrid apparition. He hesitated just a moment. He felt eyes upon him --
ghoulish eyes that bored through the darkness into his withering heart -- eyes
that he could not see. He gathered himself for the rush -- and then there broke
from the thing upon the couch an awful shriek, and O-Tar sank senseless to the
floor.
Gahan rose from the
couch of O-Mai, smiling, only to swing quickly about with drawn sword as the
shadow of a noise impinged upon his keen ears from the shadows behind him.
Between the parted hangings he saw a bent and wrinkled figure. It was I-Gos.
"Sheathe your
sword, Turan," said the old man. "You have naught to fear from
I-Gos."
"What do you
here?" demanded Gahan.
"I came to make
sure that the great coward did not cheat us. Ey, and he called me 'doddering
fool;' but look at him now! Stricken insensible by terror, but, ey, one might
forgive him that who had heard your uncanny scream. It all but blasted my own
courage. And it was you, then, who moaned and screamed when the chiefs came the
day that I stole Tara from you?"
"It was you, then,
old scoundrel?" demanded Gahan, moving threateningly toward I-Gos.
"Come, come!"
expostulated the old man; "it was I, but then I was your enemy. I would
not do it now. Conditions have changed."
"How have they
changed? What has changed them?" asked Gahan.
"Then I did not
fully realize the cowardice of my jeddak, or the bravery of you and the girl. I
am an old man from another age and I love courage. At first I resented the
girl's attack upon me, but later I came to see the bravery of it and it won my
admiration, as have all her acts. She feared not O-tar, she feared not me, she
feared not all the warriors of Manator. And you! Blood of a million sires! how
you fight! I am sorry that I exposed you at The Fields of Jetan. I am sorry
that I dragged the girl Tara back to O-Tar. I would make amends. I would be
your friend. Here is my sword at your feet," and drawing his weapon I-Gos
cast it to the floor in front of Gahan.
The Gatholian knew that
scarce the most abandoned of knaves would repudiate this solemn pledge, and so
he stooped, and picking up the old man's sword returned it to him, hilt first,
in acceptance of his friendship.
"Where is the
Princess Tara of Helium?" asked Gahan. "Is she safe?"
"She is confined in
the tower of the women's quarters awaiting the ceremony that is to make her
Jeddara of Manator," replied I-Gos.
"This thing dared
think that Tara of Helium would mate with him?" growled Gahan. "I
will make short work of him if he is not already dead from fright," and he
stepped toward the fallen O-Tar to run his sword through the jeddak's heart.
"No!" cried
I-Gos. "Slay him not and pray that he be not dead if you would save your
princess."
"How is
that?" asked Gahan.
"If word of
O-Tar's death reached the quarters of the women the Princess Tara would be
lost. They know O-Tar's intention of taking her to wife and making her Jeddara
of Manator, so you may rest assured that they all hate her with the hate of
jealous women. Only O-Tar's power protects her now from harm. Should O-Tar die
they would turn her over to the warriors and the male slaves, for there would
be none to avenge her."
Gahan sheathed his
sword. "Your point is well taken; but what shall we do with him?"
"Leave him where
he lies," counseled I-Gos. "He is not dead. When he revives he will
return to his quarters with a fine tale of his bravery and there will be none
to impugn his boasts -- none but I-Gos. Come! he may revive at any moment and
he must not find us here."
I-Gos crossed to the
body of his jeddak, knelt beside it for an instant, and then returned past the
couch to Gahan. The two quit the chamber of O-Mai and took their way toward the
spiral runway. Here I-Gos led Gahan to a higher level and out upon the roof of
that portion of the palace from where he pointed to a high tower quite close
by. "There," he said, "lies the Princess of Helium, and quite
safe she will be until the time of the ceremony."
"Safe, possibly,
from other hands, but not from her own," said Gahan. "She will never
become Jeddara of Manator -- first will she destroy herself."
"She would do
that?" asked I-Gos.
"She will, unless
you can get word to her that I still live and that there is yet hope,"
replied Gahan.
"I cannot get word
to her," said I-Gos. "The quarters of his women O-Tar guards with
jealous hand. Here are his most trusted slaves and warriors, yet even so, thick
among them are countless spies, so that no man knows which be which. No shadow
falls within those chambers that is not marked by a hundred eyes."
Gahan stood gazing at
the lighted windows of the high tower in the upper chambers of which Tara of
Helium was confined. "I will find a way, I-Gos," he said.
"There is no
way," replied the old man.
For some time they
stood upon the roof beneath the brilliant stars and hurtling moons of dying
Mars, laying their plans against the time that Tara of Helium should be brought
from the high tower to the throne room of O-Tar. It was then, and then alone,
argued I-Gos, that any hope of rescuing her might be entertained. Just how far
he might trust the other Gahan did not know, and so he kept to himself the
knowledge of the plan that he had forwarded to Floran and Val Dor by Ghek, but
he assured the ancient taxidermist that if he were sincere in his oft-repeated
declaration that O-Tar should be denounced and superseded he would have his
opportunity on the night that the jeddak sought to wed the Heliumetic princess.
"Your time shall
come then, I-Gos," Gahan assured the other, "and if you have any
party that thinks as you do, prepare them for the eventuality that will succeed
O-Tar's presumptuous attempt to wed the daughter of The Warlord. Where shall I
see you again, and when? I go now to speak with Tara, Princess of Helium."
"I like your
boldness," said I-Gos; "but it will avail you naught. You will not
speak with Tara, Princess of Helium, though doubtless the blood of many
Manatorians will drench the floors of the women's quarters before you are
slain."
Gahan smiled. "I
shall not be slain. Where and when shall we meet? But you may find me in
O-Mai's chamber at night. That seems the safest retreat in all Manator for an
enemy of the jeddak in whose palace it lies. I go!"
"And may the
spirits of your ancestors surround you," said I-Gos.
After the old man had
left him Gahan made his way across the roof to the high tower, which appeared
to have been constructed of concrete and afterward elaborately carved, its
entire surface being covered with intricate designs cut deep into the
stone-like material of which it was composed. Though wrought ages since, it was
but little weather-worn owing to the aridity of the Martian atmosphere, the
infrequency of rains, and the rarity of dust storms. To scale it, though,
presented difficulties and danger that might have deterred the bravest of men
-- that would, doubtless, have deterred Gahan, had he not felt that the life of
the woman he loved depended upon his accomplishing the hazardous feat.
Removing his sandals
and laying aside all of his harness and weapons other than a single belt
supporting a dagger, the Gatholian essayed the dangerous ascent. Clinging to
the carvings with hands and feet he worked himself slowly aloft, avoiding the
windows and keeping upon the shadowy side of the tower, away from the light of
Thuria and Cluros. The tower rose some fifty feet above the roof of the
adjacent part of the palace, comprising five levels or floors with windows
looking in every direction. A few of the windows were balconied, and these more
than the others he sought to avoid, although, it being now near the close of
the ninth zode, there was little likelihood that many were awake within the
tower.
His progress was
noiseless and he came at last, undetected, to the windows of the upper level.
These, like several of the others he had passed at lower levels, were heavily
barred, so that there was no possibility of his gaining ingress to the
apartment where Tara was confined. Darkness hid the interior behind the first
window that he approached. The second opened upon a lighted chamber where he
could see a guard sleeping at his post outside a door. Here also was the top of
the runway leading to the next level below. Passing still farther around the
tower Gahan approached another window, but now he clung to that side of the
tower which ended in a courtyard a hundred feet below and in a short time the
light of Thuria would reach him. He realized that he must hasten and he prayed
that behind the window he now approached he would find Tara of Helium.
Coming to the opening
he looked in upon a small chamber dimly lighted. In the center was a sleeping
dais upon which a human form lay beneath silks and furs. A bare arm, protruding
from the coverings, lay exposed against a black and yellow striped orluk skin
-- an arm of wondrous beauty about which was clasped an armlet that Gahan knew.
No other creature was visible within the chamber, all of which was exposed to
Gahan's view. Pressing his face to the bars the Gatholian whispered her dear
name. The girl stirred, but did not awaken. Again he called, but this time
louder. Tara sat up and looked about and at the same instant a huge eunuch
leaped to his feet from where he had been lying on the floor close by that side
of the dais farthest from Gahan. Simultaneously the brilliant light of Thuria
flashed full upon the window where Gahan clung silhouetting him plainly to the
two within.
Both sprang to their
feet. The eunuch drew his sword and leaped for the window where the helpless
Gahan would have fallen an easy victim to a single thrust of the murderous
weapon the fellow bore, had not Tara of Helium leaped upon her guard dragging
him back. At the same time she drew the slim dagger from its hiding place in
her harness and even as the eunuch sought to hurl her aside its keen point
found his heart. Without a sound he died and lunged forward to the floor. Then
Tara ran to the window.
"Turan, my
chief!" she cried. "What awful risk is this you take to seek me here,
where even your brave heart is powerless to aid me."
"Be not so sure of
that, heart of my heart," he replied. "While I bring but words to my
love, they be the forerunner of deeds, I hope, that will give her back to me
forever. I feared that you might destroy yourself, Tara of Helium, to escape
the dishonor that O-Tar would do you, and so I came to give you new hope and to
beg that you live for me through whatever may transpire, in the knowledge that
there is yet a way and that if all goes well we shall be freed at last. Look
for me in the throne room of O-Tar the night that he would wed you. And now,
how may we dispose of this fellow?" He pointed to the dead eunuch upon the
floor.
"We need not
concern ourselves about that," she replied. "None dares harm me for
fear of the wrath of O-Tar -- otherwise I should have been dead so soon as ever
I entered this portion of the palace, for the women hate me. O-Tar alone may
punish me, and what cares O-Tar for the life of a eunuch? No, fear not upon
this score."
Their hands were
clasped between the bars and now Gahan drew her nearer to him.
"One kiss,"
he said, "before I go, my princess," and the proud daughter of Dejah
Thoris, Princess of Helium, and The Warlord of Barsoom whispered: "My
chieftain!" and pressed her lips to the lips of Turan, the common panthan.
THE silence of the tomb
lay heavy about him as O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, opened his eyes in the chamber
of O-Mai. Recollection of the frightful apparition that had confronted him swept
to his consciousness. He listened, but heard naught. Within the range of his
vision there was nothing apparent that might cause alarm. Slowly he lifted his
head and looked about. Upon the floor beside the couch lay the thing that had
at first attracted his attention and his eyes closed in terror as he recognized
it for what it was; but it moved not, nor spoke. O-Tar opened his eyes again
and rose to his feet. He was trembling in every limb. There was nothing on the
dais from which he had seen the thing arise.
O-Tar backed slowly
from the room. At last he gained the outer corridor. It was empty. He did not
know that it had emptied rapidly as the loud scream with which his own had
mingled had broken upon the startled ears of the warriors who had been sent to
spy upon him. He looked at the timepiece set in a massive bracelet upon his
left forearm. The ninth zode was nearly half gone. O-Tar had lain for an hour
unconscious. He had spent an hour in the chamber of O-Mai and he was not dead!
He had looked upon the face of his predecessor and was still sane! He shook
himself and smiled. Rapidly he subdued his rebelliously shaking nerves, so that
by the time he reached the tenanted portion of the palace he had gained control
of himself. He walked with chin high and something of a swagger. To the banquet
hall he went, knowing that his chiefs awaited him there and as he entered they
arose and upon the faces of many were incredulity and amaze, for they had not
thought to see O-Tar the jeddak again after what the spies had told them of the
horrid sounds issuing from the chamber of O-Mai. Thankful was O-Tar that he had
gone alone to that chamber of fright, for now no one could deny the tale that
he should tell.
E-Thas rushed forward
to greet him, for E-Thas had seen black looks directed toward him as the tals
slipped by and his benefactor failed to return.
"O brave and
glorious jeddak!" cried the major-domo. "We rejoice at your safe
return and beg of you the story of your adventure."
"It was
naught," exclaimed O-Tar. "I searched the chambers carefully and
waited in hiding for the return of the slave, Turan, if he were temporarily
away; but he came not. He is not there and I doubt if he ever goes there. Few
men would choose to remain long in such a dismal place."
"You were not
attacked?" asked E-Thas. "You heard no screams, nor moans?"
"I heard hideous
noises and saw phantom figures; but they fled before me so that never could I
lay hold of one, and I looked upon the face of O-Mai and I am not mad. I even
rested in the chamber beside his corpse."
In a far corner of the
room a bent and wrinkled old man hid a smile behind a golden goblet of strong
brew.
"Come! Let us
drink!" cried O-Tar and reached for the dagger, the pommel of which he was
accustomed to use to strike the gong which summoned slaves, but the dagger was
not in its scabbard. O-Tar was puzzled. He knew that it had been there just
before he entered the chamber of O-Mai, for he had carefully felt of all his
weapons to make sure that none was missing. He seized instead a table utensil
and struck the gong, and when the slaves came bade them bring the strongest
brew for O-Tar and his chiefs. Before the dawn broke many were the expressions
of admiration bellowed from drunken lips -- admiration for the courage of their
jeddak; but some there were who still looked glum.
Came at last the day
that O-Tar would take the Princess Tara of Helium to wife. For hours slaves
prepared the unwilling bride. Seven perfumed baths occupied three long and
weary hours, then her whole body was anointed with the oil of pimalia blossoms
and massaged by the deft fingers of a slave from distant Dusar. Her harness,
all new and wrought for the occasion was of the white hide of the great white
apes of Barsoom, hung heavily with platinum and diamonds -- fairly encrusted
with them. The glossy mass of her jet hair had been built into a coiffure of
stately and becoming grandeur, into which diamond-headed pins were stuck until
the whole scintillated as the stars in heaven upon a moonless night.
But it was a sullen and
defiant bride that they led from the high tower toward the throne room of
O-Tar. The corridors were filled with slaves and warriors, and the women of the
palace and the city who had been commanded to attend the ceremony. All the
power and pride, wealth and beauty of Manator were there.
Slowly Tara, surrounded
by a heavy guard of honor, moved along the marble corridors filled with people.
At the entrance to The Hall of Chiefs E-Thas, the major-domo, received her. The
Hall was empty except for its ranks of dead chieftains upon their dead mounts.
Through this long chamber E-Thas escorted her to the throne room which also was
empty, the marriage ceremony in Manator differing from that of other countries
of Barsoom. Here the bride would await the groom at the foot of the steps
leading to the throne. The guests followed her in and took their places,
leaving the central aisle from The Hall of Chiefs to the throne clear, for up this
O-Tar would approach his bride alone after a short solitary communion with the
dead behind closed doors in The Hall of Chiefs. It was the custom.
The guests had all
filed through The Hall of Chiefs; the doors at both ends had been closed.
Presently those at the lower end of the hall opened and O-Tar entered. His
black harness was ornamented with rubies and gold; his face was covered by a
grotesque mask of the precious metal in which two enormous rubies were set for
eyes, though below them were narrow slits through which the wearer could see.
His crown was a fillet supporting carved feathers of the same metal as the
mask. To the least detail his regalia was that demanded of a royal bridegroom
by the customs of Manator, and now in accordance with that same custom he came
alone to The Hall of Chiefs to receive the blessings and the council of the
great ones of Manator who had preceded him.
As the doors at the
lower end of the Hall closed behind him O-Tar the Jeddak stood alone with the
great dead. By the dictates of ages no mortal eye might look upon the scene
enacted within that sacred chamber. As the mighty of Manator respected the
traditions of Manator, let us, too, respect those traditions of a proud and
sensitive people. Of what concern to us the happenings in that solemn chamber
of the dead?
Five minutes passed.
The bride stood silently at the foot of the throne. The guests spoke together
in low whispers until the room was filled with the hum of many voices. At
length the doors leading into The Hall of Chiefs swung open, and the
resplendent bridegroom stood framed for a moment in the massive opening. A hush
fell upon the wedding guests. With measured and impressive step the groom
approached the bride. Tara felt the muscles of her heart contract with the
apprehension that had been growing upon her as the coils of Fate settled more
closely about her and no sign came from Turan. Where was he? What, indeed,
could he accomplish now to save her? Surrounded by the power of O-Tar with
never a friend among them, her position seemed at last without vestige of hope.
"I still
live!" she whispered inwardly in a last brave attempt to combat the
terrible hopelessness that was overwhelming her, but her fingers stole for
reassurance to the slim blade that she had managed to transfer, undetected,
from her old harness to the new. And now the groom was at her side and taking
her hand was leading her up the steps to the throne, before which they halted
and stood facing the gathering below. Came then, from the back of the room a
procession headed by the high dignitary whose office it was to make these two
man and wife, and directly behind him a richly-clad youth bearing a silken
pillow on which lay the golden handcuffs connected by a short length of
chain-of-gold with which the ceremony would be concluded when the dignitary
clasped a handcuff about the wrist of each symbolizing their indissoluble union
in the holy bonds of wedlock.
Would Turan's promised
succor come too late? Tara listened to the long, monotonous intonation of the
wedding service. She heard the virtues of O-Tar extolled and the beauties of
the bride. The moment was approaching and still no sign of Turan. But what
could he accomplish should he succeed in reaching the throne room, other than
to die with her? There could be no hope of rescue.
The dignitary lifted
the golden handcuffs from the pillow upon which they reposed. He blessed them
and reached for Tara's wrist. The time had come! The thing could go no further,
for alive or dead, by all the laws of Barsoom she would be the wife of O-Tar of
Manator the instant the two were locked together. Even should rescue come then
or later she could never dissolve those bonds and Turan would be lost to her as
surely as though death separated them.
Her hand stole toward
the hidden blade, but instantly the hand of the groom shot out and seized her
wrist. He had guessed her intention. Through the slits in the grotesque mask
she could see his eyes upon her and she guessed the sardonic smile that the
mask hid. For a tense moment the two stood thus. The people below them kept
breathless silence for the play before the throne had not passed unnoticed.
Dramatic as was the
moment it was suddenly rendered trebly so by the noisy opening of the doors
leading to The Hall of Chiefs. All eyes turned in the direction of the
interruption to see another figure framed in the massive opening -- a half-clad
figure buckling the half-adjusted harness hurriedly in place -- the figure of
O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator.
"Stop!" he
screamed, springing forward along the aisle toward the throne. "Seize the
impostor!"
All eyes shot to the
figure of the groom before the throne. They saw him raise his hand and snatch
off the golden mask, and Tara of Helium in wide-eyed incredulity looked up into
the face of Turan the panthan.
"Turan the
slave," they cried then. "Death to him! Death to him!"
"Wait!"
shouted Turan, drawing his sword, as a dozen warriors leaped forward.
"Wait!"
screamed another voice, old and cracked, as I-Gos, the ancient taxidermist,
sprang from among the guests and reached the throne steps ahead of the foremost
warriors.
At sight of the old man
the warriors paused, for age is held in great veneration among the peoples of
Barsoom, as is true, perhaps, of all peoples whose religion is based to any
extent upon ancestor worship. But O-Tar gave no heed to him, leaping instead
swiftly toward the throne. "Stop, coward!" cried I-Gos.
The people looked at
the little old man in amazement. "Men of Manator," he cackled in his
thin, shrill voice, "wouldst be ruled by a coward and a liar?"
"Down with
him!" shouted O-Tar.
"Not until I have
spoken," retorted I-Gos. "It is my right. If I fail my life is
forfeit -- that you all know and I know. I demand therefore to be heard. It is
my right!"
"It is his
right," echoed the voices of a score of warriors in various parts of the
chamber.
"That O-Tar is a
coward and a liar I can prove," continued I-Gos. "He said that he
faced bravely the horrors of the chamber of O-Mai and saw nothing of the slave
Turan. I was there, hiding behind the hangings, and I saw all that transpired.
Turan had been hiding in the chamber and was even then lying upon the couch of
O-Mai when O-Tar, trembling with fear, entered the room. Turan, disturbed,
arose to a sitting position at the same time voicing a piercing shriek. O-Tar
screamed and swooned."
"It is a
lie!" cried O-Tar.
"It is not a lie
and I can prove it," retorted I-Gos. "Didst notice the night that he
returned from the chambers of O-Mai and was boasting of his exploit, that when
he would summon slaves to bring wine he reached for his dagger to strike the
gong with its pommel as is always his custom? Didst note that, any of you? And
that he had no dagger? O-Tar, where is the dagger that you carried into the
chamber of O-Mai? You do not know; but I know. While you lay in the swoon of
terror I took it from your harness and hid it among the sleeping silks upon the
couch of O-Mai. There it is even now, and if any doubt it let them go thither
and there they will find it and know the cowardice of their jeddak."
"But what of this
impostor?" demanded one. "Shall he stand with impunity upon the
throne of Manator whilst we squabble about our ruler?"
"It is through his
bravery that you have learned the cowardice of O-Tar," replied I-Gos,
"and through him you will be given a greater jeddak."
"We will choose
our own jeddak. Seize and slay the slave!" There were cries of approval
from all parts of the room. Gahan was listening intently, as though for some
hoped-for sound. He saw the warriors approaching the dais, where he now stood
with drawn sword and with one arm about Tara of Helium. He wondered if his
plans had miscarried after all. If they had it would mean death for him, and he
knew that Tara would take her life if he fell. Had he, then, served her so
futilely after all his efforts?
Several warriors were
urging the necessity for sending at once to the chamber of O-Mai to search for
the dagger that would prove, if found, the cowardice of O-Tar. At last three
consented to go. "You need not fear," I-Gos assured them. "There
is naught there to harm you. I have been there often of late and Turan the
slave has slept there for these many nights. The screams and moans that
frightened you and O-Tar were voiced by Turan to drive you away from his hiding
place." Shamefacedly the three left the apartment to search for O-Tar's
dagger.
And now the others
turned their attention once more to Gahan. They approached the throne with
bared swords, but they came slowly for they had seen this slave upon the Field
of Jetan and they knew the prowess of his arm. They had reached the foot of the
steps when from far above there sounded a deep boom, and another, and another,
and Turan smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps, after all, it had not
come too late. The warriors stopped and listened as did the others in the
chamber. Now there broke upon their ears a loud rattle of musketry and it all
came from above as though men were fighting upon the roofs of the palace.
"What is it?"
they demanded, one of the other.
"A great storm has
broken over Manator," said one.
"Mind not the
storm until you have slain the creature who dares stand upon the throne of your
jeddak," demanded O-Tar. "Seize him!"
Even as he ceased
speaking the arras behind the throne parted and a warrior stepped forth upon
the dais. An exclamation of surprise and dismay broke from the lips of the
warriors of O-Tar. "U-Thor!" they cried. "What treason is
this?"
"It is no
treason," said U-Thor in his deep voice. "I bring you a new jeddak
for all of Manator. No lying poltroon, but a courageous man whom you all
love."
He stepped aside then
and another emerged from the corridor hidden by the arras. It was A-Kor, and at
sight of him there rose exclamations of surprise, of pleasure, and of anger, as
the various factions recognized the coup d'etat that had been arranged so
cunningly. Behind A-Kor came other warriors until the dais was crowded with
them -- all men of Manator from the city of Manatos.
O-Tar was exhorting his
warriors to attack, when a bloody and disheveled padwar burst into the chamber
through a side entrance. "The city has fallen!" he cried aloud.
"The hordes of Manatos pour through The Gate of Enemies. The slaves from
Gathol have arisen and destroyed the palace guards. Great ships are landing
warriors upon the palace roof and in the Fields of Jetan. The men of Helium and
Gathol are marching through Manator. They cry aloud for the Princess of Helium
and swear to leave Manator a blazing funeral pyre consuming the bodies of all
our people. The skies are black with ships. They come in great processions from
the east and from the south."
And then once more the
doors from The Hall of Chiefs swung wide and the men of Manator turned to see
another figure standing upon the threshold -- a mighty figure of a man with
white skin, and black hair, and gray eyes that glittered now like points of
steel and behind him The Hall of Chiefs was filled with fighting men wearing
the harness of far countries. Tara of Helium saw him and her heart leaped in
exultation, for it was John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, come at the head of a
victorious host to the rescue of his daughter, and at his side was Djor Kantos
to whom she had been betrothed.
The Warlord eyed the
assemblage for a moment before he spoke. "Lay down your arms, men of
Manator," he said. "I see my daughter and that she lives, and if no
harm has befallen her no blood need be shed. Your city is filled with the
fighting men of U-Thor, and those from Gathol and from Helium. The palace is in
the hands of the slaves from Gathol, beside a thousand of my own warriors who
fill the halls and chambers surrounding this room. The fate of your jeddak lies
in your own hands. I have no wish to interfere. I come only for my daughter and
to free the slaves from Gathol. I have spoken!" and without waiting for a
reply and as though the room had been filled with his own people rather than a
hostile band he strode up the broad main aisle toward Tara of Helium.
The chiefs of Manator
were stunned. They looked to O-Tar; but he could only gaze helplessly about him
as the enemy entered from The Hall of Chiefs and circled the throne room until
they had surrounded the entire company. And then a dwar of the army of Helium
entered.
"We have captured
three chiefs," he reported to The Warlord, "who beg that they be
permitted to enter the throne room and report to their fellows some matter
which they say will decide the fate of Manator."
"Fetch them,"
ordered The Warlord.
They came, heavily
guarded, to the foot of the steps leading to the throne and there they stopped
and the leader turned toward the others of Manator and raising high his right
hand displayed a jeweled dagger. "We found it," he said, "even
where I-Gos said that we would find it," and he looked menacingly upon
O-Tar.
"A-Kor, jeddak of
Manator!" cried a voice, and the cry was taken up by a hundred
hoarse-throated warriors.
"There can be but
one jeddak in Manator," said the chief who held the dagger; his eyes still
fixed upon the hapless O-Tar he crossed to where the latter stood and holding
the dagger upon an outstretched palm proffered it to the discredited ruler.
"There can be but one jeddak in Manator," he repeated meaningly.
O-Tar took the
proffered blade and drawing himself to his full height plunged it to the guard
into his breast, in that single act redeeming himself in the esteem of his
people and winning an eternal place in The Hall of Chiefs.
As he fell all was
silence in the great room, to be broken presently by the voice of U-Thor.
"O-Tar is dead!" he cried. "Let A-Kor rule until the chiefs of
all Manator may be summoned to choose a new jeddak. What is your answer?"
"Let A-Kor rule!
A-Kor, Jeddak of Manator!" The cries filled the room and there was no
dissenting voice.
A-Kor raised his sword
for silence. "It is the will of A-Kor," he said, "and that of
the Great Jed of Manatos, and the commander of the fleet from Gathol, and of
the illustrious John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, that peace lie upon the city
of Manator and so I decree that the men of Manator go forth and welcome the
fighting men of these our allies as guests and friends and show them the
wonders of our ancient city and the hospitality of Manator. I have
spoken." And U-Thor and John Carter dismissed their warriors and bade them
accept the hospitality of Manator. As the room emptied Djor Kantos reached the
side of Tara of Helium. The girl's happiness at rescue had been blighted by
sight of this man whom her virtuous heart told her she had wronged. She dreaded
the ordeal that lay before her and the dishonor that she must admit before she
could hope to be freed from the understanding that had for long existed between
them. And now Djor Kantos approached and kneeling raised her fingers to his
lips.
"Beautiful
daughter of Helium," he said, "how may I tell you the thing that I
must tell you -- of the dishonor that I have all unwittingly done you? I can
but throw myself upon your generosity for forgiveness; but if you demand it I
can receive the dagger as honorably as did O-Tar."
"What do you
mean?" asked Tara of Helium. "What are you talking about -- why speak
thus in riddles to one whose heart is already breaking?"
Her heart already
breaking! The outlook was anything but promising, and the young padwar wished
that he had died before ever he had had to speak the words he now must speak.
"Tara of
Helium," he continued, "we all thought you dead. For a long year have
you been gone from Helium. I mourned you truly and then, less than a moon
since, I wed with Olvia Marthis." He stopped and looked at her with eyes
that might have said: "Now, strike me dead!"
"Oh, foolish
man!" cried Tara. "Nothing you could have done could have pleased me
more. Djor Kantos, I could kiss you!"
"I do not think
that Olvia Marthis would mind," he said, his face now wreathed with
smiles. As they spoke a body of men had entered the throne room and approached
the dais. They were tall men trapped in plain harness, absolutely without
ornamentation. Just as their leader reached the dais Tara had turned to Gahan,
motioning him to join them.
"Djor
Kantos," she said, "I bring you Turan the panthan, whose loyalty and
bravery have won my love."
John Carter and the
leader of the new come warriors, who were standing near, looked quickly at the
little group. The former smiled an inscrutable smile, the latter addressed the
Princess of Helium. "'Turan the panthan!'" he cried. "Know you
not, fair daughter of Helium, that this man you call panthan is Gahan, Jed of
Gathol?"
For just a moment Tara
of Helium looked her surprise; and then she shrugged her beautiful shoulders as
she turned her head to cast her eyes over one of them at Gahan of Gathol.
"Jed or
panthan," she said; "what difference does it make what one's slave
has been?" and she laughed roguishly into the smiling face of her lover.
His story finished,
John Carter rose from the chair opposite me, stretching his giant frame like
some great forest-bred lion.
"You must
go?" I cried, for I hated to see him leave and it seemed that he had been
with me but a moment.
"The sky is
already red beyond those beautiful hills of yours," he replied, "and
it will soon be day."
"Just one question
before you go," I begged.
"Well?" he
assented, good-naturedly.
"How was Gahan
able to enter the throne room garbed in O-Tar's trappings?" I asked.
"It was simple --
for Gahan of Gathol," replied The Warlord. "With the assistance of
I-Gos he crept into The Hall of Chiefs before the ceremony, while the throne
room and Hall of Chiefs were vacated to receive the bride. He came from the
pits through the corridor that opened behind the arras at the rear of the
throne, and passing into The Hall of Chiefs took his place upon the back of a
riderless thoat, whose warrior was in I-Gos' repair room. When O-Tar entered
and came near him Gahan fell upon him and struck him with the butt of a heavy
spear. He thought that he had killed him and was surprised when O-Tar appeared
to denounce him."
"And Ghek? What
became of Ghek?" I insisted.
"After leading Val
Dor and Floran to Tara's disabled flier which they repaired, he accompanied
them to Gathol from where a message was sent to me in Helium. He then led a
large party including A-Kor and U-Thor from the roof, where our ships landed
them, down a spiral runway into the palace and guided them to the throne room.
We took him back to Helium with us, where he still lives, with his single rykor
which we found all but starved to death in the pits of Manator. But come! No
more questions now."
I accompanied him to
the east arcade where the red dawn was glowing beyond the arches.
"Good-bye!"
he said.
"I can scarce
believe that it is really you," I exclaimed. "Tomorrow I will be sure
that I have dreamed all this."
He laughed and drawing
his sword scratched a rude cross upon the concrete of one of the arches.
"If you are in
doubt tomorrow," he said, "come and see if you dreamed this."
A moment later he was
gone.
FOR those who care for
such things, and would like to try the game, I give the rules of Jetan as they
were given me by John Carter. By writing the names and moves of the various
pieces on bits of paper and pasting them on ordinary checkermen the game may be
played quite as well as with the ornate pieces used upon Mars.
THE BOARD: Square board
consisting of one hundred alternate black and orange squares.
THE PIECES: In order,
as they stand upon the board in the first row, from left to right of each
player.
Warrior: 2 feathers; 2
spaces straight in any direction or combination.
Padwar: 2 feathers; 2
spaces diagonal in any direction or combination.
Dwar: 3 feathers; 3
spaces straight in any direction or combination.
Flier: 3 bladed
propellor; 3 spaces diagonal in any direction or combination; and may jump
intervening pieces.
Chief: Diadem with ten
jewels; 3 spaces in any direction; straight or diagonal or combination.
Princess: Diadem with
one jewel; same as Chief, except may jump intervening pieces.
Flier: See above.
Dwar: See above.
Padwar: See above.
Warrior: See above.
And in the second row
from left to right:
Thoat: Mounted warrior
2 feathers; 2 spaces, one straight and one diagonal in any direction.
Panthans: (8 of them):
1 feather; 1 space, forward, side, or diagonal, but not backward.
Thoat: See above.
The game is played with
twenty black pieces by one player and twenty orange by his opponent, and is
presumed to have originally represented a battle between the Black race of the
south and the Yellow race of the north. On Mars the board is usually arranged
so that the Black pieces are played from the south and the Orange from the
north.
The game is won when
any piece is placed on same square with opponent's Princess, or a Chief takes a
Chief.
The game is drawn when
either Chief is taken by a piece other than the opposing Chief, or when both
sides are reduced to three pieces, or less, of equal value and the game is not
won in the ensuing ten moves, five apiece.
The Princess may not
move onto a threatened square, nor may she take an opposing piece. She is
entitled to one ten-space move at any time during the game. This move is called
the escape.
Two pieces may not
occupy the same square except in the final move of a game where the Princess is
taken.
When a player, moving
properly and in order, places one of his pieces upon a square occupied by an
opponent piece, the opponent piece is considered to have been killed and is
removed from the game.
The moves explained.
Straight moves mean due north, south, east, or west; diagonal moves mean
northeast, southeast, southwest, or northwest. A Dwar might move straight north
three spaces, or north one space and east two spaces, or any similar
combination of straight moves, so long as he did not cross the same square
twice in a single move. This example explains combination moves.
The first move may be
decided in any way that is agreeable to both players; after the first game the
winner of the preceding game moves first if he chooses, or may instruct his
opponent to make the first move.
Gambling: The Martians
gamble at Jetan in several ways. Of course the outcome of the game indicates to
whom the main stake belongs; but they also put a price upon the head of each
piece, according to its value, and for each piece that a player loses he pays
its value to his opponent.