[Illustration]




The Gods of Mars

by Edgar Rice Burroughs


Contents

 CHAPTER I. The Plant Men
 CHAPTER II. A Forest Battle
 CHAPTER III. The Chamber of Mystery
 CHAPTER IV. Thuvia
 CHAPTER V. Corridors of Peril
 CHAPTER VI. The Black Pirates of Barsoom
 CHAPTER VII. A Fair Goddess
 CHAPTER VIII. The Depths of Omean
 CHAPTER IX. Issus, Goddess of Life Eternal
 CHAPTER X. The Prison Isle of Shador
 CHAPTER XI. When Hell Broke Loose
 CHAPTER XII. Doomed to Die
 CHAPTER XIII. A Break for Liberty
 CHAPTER XIV. The Eyes in the Dark
 CHAPTER XV. Flight and Pursuit
 CHAPTER XVI. Under Arrest
 CHAPTER XVII. The Death Sentence
 CHAPTER XVIII. Sola's Story
 CHAPTER XIX. Black Despair
 CHAPTER XX. The Air Battle
 CHAPTER XXI. Through Flood and Flame
 CHAPTER XXII. Victory and Defeat




FOREWORD

Twelve years had passed since I had laid the body of my great-uncle,
Captain John Carter, of Virginia, away from the sight of men in that
strange mausoleum in the old cemetery at Richmond.

Often had I pondered on the odd instructions he had left me governing
the construction of his mighty tomb, and especially those parts which
directed that he be laid in an _open_ casket and that the ponderous
mechanism which controlled the bolts of the vault’s huge door be
accessible _only from the inside_.

Twelve years had passed since I had read the remarkable manuscript of
this remarkable man; this man who remembered no childhood and who could
not even offer a vague guess as to his age; who was always young and
yet who had dandled my grandfather’s great-grandfather upon his knee;
this man who had spent ten years upon the planet Mars; who had fought
for the green men of Barsoom and fought against them; who had fought
for and against the red men and who had won the ever beautiful Dejah
Thoris, Princess of Helium, for his wife, and for nearly ten years had
been a prince of the house of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium.

Twelve years had passed since his body had been found upon the bluff
before his cottage overlooking the Hudson, and oft-times during these
long years I had wondered if John Carter were really dead, or if he
again roamed the dead sea bottoms of that dying planet; if he had
returned to Barsoom to find that he had opened the frowning portals of
the mighty atmosphere plant in time to save the countless millions who
were dying of asphyxiation on that far-gone day that had seen him
hurtled ruthlessly through forty-eight million miles of space back to
Earth once more. I had wondered if he had found his black-haired
Princess and the slender son he had dreamed was with her in the royal
gardens of Tardos Mors, awaiting his return.

Or, had he found that he had been too late, and thus gone back to a
living death upon a dead world? Or was he really dead after all, never
to return either to his mother Earth or his beloved Mars?

Thus was I lost in useless speculation one sultry August evening when
old Ben, my body servant, handed me a telegram. Tearing it open I read:

‘Meet me to-morrow hotel Raleigh Richmond.


‘JOHN CARTER’


Early the next morning I took the first train for Richmond and within
two hours was being ushered into the room occupied by John Carter.

As I entered he rose to greet me, his old-time cordial smile of welcome
lighting his handsome face. Apparently he had not aged a minute, but
was still the straight, clean-limbed fighting-man of thirty. His keen
grey eyes were undimmed, and the only lines upon his face were the
lines of iron character and determination that always had been there
since first I remembered him, nearly thirty-five years before.

“Well, nephew,” he greeted me, “do you feel as though you were seeing a
ghost, or suffering from the effects of too many of Uncle Ben’s
juleps?”

“Juleps, I reckon,” I replied, “for I certainly feel mighty good; but
maybe it’s just the sight of you again that affects me. You have been
back to Mars? Tell me. And Dejah Thoris? You found her well and
awaiting you?”

“Yes, I have been to Barsoom again, and—but it’s a long story, too long
to tell in the limited time I have before I must return. I have learned
the secret, nephew, and I may traverse the trackless void at my will,
coming and going between the countless planets as I list; but my heart
is always in Barsoom, and while it is there in the keeping of my
Martian Princess, I doubt that I shall ever again leave the dying world
that is my life.

“I have come now because my affection for you prompted me to see you
once more before you pass over for ever into that other life that I
shall never know, and which though I have died thrice and shall die
again to-night, as you know death, I am as unable to fathom as are you.

“Even the wise and mysterious therns of Barsoom, that ancient cult
which for countless ages has been credited with holding the secret of
life and death in their impregnable fastnesses upon the hither slopes
of the Mountains of Otz, are as ignorant as we. I have proved it,
though I near lost my life in the doing of it; but you shall read it
all in the notes I have been making during the last three months that I
have been back upon Earth.”

He patted a swelling portfolio that lay on the table at his elbow.

“I know that you are interested and that you believe, and I know that
the world, too, is interested, though they will not believe for many
years; yes, for many ages, since they cannot understand. Earth men have
not yet progressed to a point where they can comprehend the things that
I have written in those notes.

“Give them what you wish of it, what you think will not harm them, but
do not feel aggrieved if they laugh at you.”

That night I walked down to the cemetery with him. At the door of his
vault he turned and pressed my hand.

“Good-bye, nephew,” he said. “I may never see you again, for I doubt
that I can ever bring myself to leave my wife and boy while they live,
and the span of life upon Barsoom is often more than a thousand years.”

He entered the vault. The great door swung slowly to. The ponderous
bolts grated into place. The lock clicked. I have never seen Captain
John Carter, of Virginia, since.

But here is the story of his return to Mars on that other occasion, as
I have gleaned it from the great mass of notes which he left for me
upon the table of his room in the hotel at Richmond.

There is much which I have left out; much which I have not dared to
tell; but you will find the story of his second search for Dejah
Thoris, Princess of Helium, even more remarkable than was his first
manuscript which I gave to an unbelieving world a short time since and
through which we followed the fighting Virginian across dead sea
bottoms under the moons of Mars.

E. R. B.




CHAPTER I
THE PLANT MEN


As I stood upon the bluff before my cottage on that clear cold night in
the early part of March, 1886, the noble Hudson flowing like the grey
and silent spectre of a dead river below me, I felt again the strange,
compelling influence of the mighty god of war, my beloved Mars, which
for ten long and lonesome years I had implored with outstretched arms
to carry me back to my lost love.

Not since that other March night in 1866, when I had stood without that
Arizona cave in which my still and lifeless body lay wrapped in the
similitude of earthly death had I felt the irresistible attraction of
the god of my profession.

With arms outstretched toward the red eye of the great star I stood
praying for a return of that strange power which twice had drawn me
through the immensity of space, praying as I had prayed on a thousand
nights before during the long ten years that I had waited and hoped.

Suddenly a qualm of nausea swept over me, my senses swam, my knees gave
beneath me and I pitched headlong to the ground upon the very verge of
the dizzy bluff.

Instantly my brain cleared and there swept back across the threshold of
my memory the vivid picture of the horrors of that ghostly Arizona
cave; again, as on that far-gone night, my muscles refused to respond
to my will and again, as though even here upon the banks of the placid
Hudson, I could hear the awful moans and rustling of the fearsome thing
which had lurked and threatened me from the dark recesses of the cave,
I made the same mighty and superhuman effort to break the bonds of the
strange anaesthesia which held me, and again came the sharp click as of
the sudden parting of a taut wire, and I stood naked and free beside
the staring, lifeless thing that had so recently pulsed with the warm,
red life-blood of John Carter.

With scarcely a parting glance I turned my eyes again toward Mars,
lifted my hands toward his lurid rays, and waited.

Nor did I have long to wait; for scarce had I turned ere I shot with
the rapidity of thought into the awful void before me. There was the
same instant of unthinkable cold and utter darkness that I had
experienced twenty years before, and then I opened my eyes in another
world, beneath the burning rays of a hot sun, which beat through a tiny
opening in the dome of the mighty forest in which I lay.

The scene that met my eyes was so un-Martian that my heart sprang to my
throat as the sudden fear swept through me that I had been aimlessly
tossed upon some strange planet by a cruel fate.

Why not? What guide had I through the trackless waste of interplanetary
space? What assurance that I might not as well be hurtled to some
far-distant star of another solar system, as to Mars?

I lay upon a close-cropped sward of red grasslike vegetation, and about
me stretched a grove of strange and beautiful trees, covered with huge
and gorgeous blossoms and filled with brilliant, voiceless birds. I
call them birds since they were winged, but mortal eye ne’er rested on
such odd, unearthly shapes.

The vegetation was similar to that which covers the lawns of the red
Martians of the great waterways, but the trees and birds were unlike
anything that I had ever seen upon Mars, and then through the further
trees I could see that most un-Martian of all sights—an open sea, its
blue waters shimmering beneath the brazen sun.

As I rose to investigate further I experienced the same ridiculous
catastrophe that had met my first attempt to walk under Martian
conditions. The lesser attraction of this smaller planet and the
reduced air pressure of its greatly rarefied atmosphere, afforded so
little resistance to my earthly muscles that the ordinary exertion of
the mere act of rising sent me several feet into the air and
precipitated me upon my face in the soft and brilliant grass of this
strange world.

This experience, however, gave me some slightly increased assurance
that, after all, I might indeed be in some, to me, unknown corner of
Mars, and this was very possible since during my ten years’ residence
upon the planet I had explored but a comparatively tiny area of its
vast expanse.

I arose again, laughing at my forgetfulness, and soon had mastered once
more the art of attuning my earthly sinews to these changed conditions.

As I walked slowly down the imperceptible slope toward the sea I could
not help but note the park-like appearance of the sward and trees. The
grass was as close-cropped and carpet-like as some old English lawn and
the trees themselves showed evidence of careful pruning to a uniform
height of about fifteen feet from the ground, so that as one turned his
glance in any direction the forest had the appearance at a little
distance of a vast, high-ceiled chamber.

All these evidences of careful and systematic cultivation convinced me
that I had been fortunate enough to make my entry into Mars on this
second occasion through the domain of a civilized people and that when
I should find them I would be accorded the courtesy and protection that
my rank as a Prince of the house of Tardos Mors entitled me to.

The trees of the forest attracted my deep admiration as I proceeded
toward the sea. Their great stems, some of them fully a hundred feet in
diameter, attested their prodigious height, which I could only guess
at, since at no point could I penetrate their dense foliage above me to
more than sixty or eighty feet.

As far aloft as I could see the stems and branches and twigs were as
smooth and as highly polished as the newest of American-made pianos.
The wood of some of the trees was as black as ebony, while their
nearest neighbours might perhaps gleam in the subdued light of the
forest as clear and white as the finest china, or, again, they were
azure, scarlet, yellow, or deepest purple.

And in the same way was the foliage as gay and variegated as the stems,
while the blooms that clustered thick upon them may not be described in
any earthly tongue, and indeed might challenge the language of the
gods.

As I neared the confines of the forest I beheld before me and between
the grove and the open sea, a broad expanse of meadow land, and as I
was about to emerge from the shadows of the trees a sight met my eyes
that banished all romantic and poetic reflection upon the beauties of
the strange landscape.

To my left the sea extended as far as the eye could reach, before me
only a vague, dim line indicated its further shore, while at my right a
mighty river, broad, placid, and majestic, flowed between scarlet banks
to empty into the quiet sea before me.

At a little distance up the river rose mighty perpendicular bluffs,
from the very base of which the great river seemed to rise.

But it was not these inspiring and magnificent evidences of Nature’s
grandeur that took my immediate attention from the beauties of the
forest. It was the sight of a score of figures moving slowly about the
meadow near the bank of the mighty river.

Odd, grotesque shapes they were; unlike anything that I had ever seen
upon Mars, and yet, at a distance, most manlike in appearance. The
larger specimens appeared to be about ten or twelve feet in height when
they stood erect, and to be proportioned as to torso and lower
extremities precisely as is earthly man.

Their arms, however, were very short, and from where I stood seemed as
though fashioned much after the manner of an elephant’s trunk, in that
they moved in sinuous and snakelike undulations, as though entirely
without bony structure, or if there were bones it seemed that they must
be vertebral in nature.

As I watched them from behind the stem of a huge tree, one of the
creatures moved slowly in my direction, engaged in the occupation that
seemed to be the principal business of each of them, and which
consisted in running their oddly shaped hands over the surface of the
sward, for what purpose I could not determine.

As he approached quite close to me I obtained an excellent view of him,
and though I was later to become better acquainted with his kind, I may
say that that single cursory examination of this awful travesty on
Nature would have proved quite sufficient to my desires had I been a
free agent. The fastest flier of the Heliumetic Navy could not quickly
enough have carried me far from this hideous creature.

Its hairless body was a strange and ghoulish blue, except for a broad
band of white which encircled its protruding, single eye: an eye that
was all dead white—pupil, iris, and ball.

Its nose was a ragged, inflamed, circular hole in the centre of its
blank face; a hole that resembled more closely nothing that I could
think of other than a fresh bullet wound which has not yet commenced to
bleed.

Below this repulsive orifice the face was quite blank to the chin, for
the thing had no mouth that I could discover.

The head, with the exception of the face, was covered by a tangled mass
of jet-black hair some eight or ten inches in length. Each hair was
about the bigness of a large angleworm, and as the thing moved the
muscles of its scalp this awful head-covering seemed to writhe and
wriggle and crawl about the fearsome face as though indeed each
separate hair was endowed with independent life.

The body and the legs were as symmetrically human as Nature could have
fashioned them, and the feet, too, were human in shape, but of
monstrous proportions. From heel to toe they were fully three feet
long, and very flat and very broad.

As it came quite close to me I discovered that its strange movements,
running its odd hands over the surface of the turf, were the result of
its peculiar method of feeding, which consists in cropping off the
tender vegetation with its razorlike talons and sucking it up from its
two mouths, which lie one in the palm of each hand, through its
arm-like throats.

In addition to the features which I have already described, the beast
was equipped with a massive tail about six feet in length, quite round
where it joined the body, but tapering to a flat, thin blade toward the
end, which trailed at right angles to the ground.

By far the most remarkable feature of this most remarkable creature,
however, were the two tiny replicas of it, each about six inches in
length, which dangled, one on either side, from its armpits. They were
suspended by a small stem which seemed to grow from the exact tops of
their heads to where it connected them with the body of the adult.

Whether they were the young, or merely portions of a composite
creature, I did not know.

As I had been scrutinizing this weird monstrosity the balance of the
herd had fed quite close to me and I now saw that while many had the
smaller specimens dangling from them, not all were thus equipped, and I
further noted that the little ones varied in size from what appeared to
be but tiny unopened buds an inch in diameter through various stages of
development to the full-fledged and perfectly formed creature of ten to
twelve inches in length.

Feeding with the herd were many of the little fellows not much larger
than those which remained attached to their parents, and from the young
of that size the herd graded up to the immense adults.

Fearsome-looking as they were, I did not know whether to fear them or
not, for they did not seem to be particularly well equipped for
fighting, and I was on the point of stepping from my hiding-place and
revealing myself to them to note the effect upon them of the sight of a
man when my rash resolve was, fortunately for me, nipped in the bud by
a strange shrieking wail, which seemed to come from the direction of
the bluffs at my right.

Naked and unarmed, as I was, my end would have been both speedy and
horrible at the hands of these cruel creatures had I had time to put my
resolve into execution, but at the moment of the shriek each member of
the herd turned in the direction from which the sound seemed to come,
and at the same instant every particular snake-like hair upon their
heads rose stiffly perpendicular as if each had been a sentient
organism looking or listening for the source or meaning of the wail.
And indeed the latter proved to be the truth, for this strange growth
upon the craniums of the plant men of Barsoom represents the thousand
ears of these hideous creatures, the last remnant of the strange race
which sprang from the original Tree of Life.

Instantly every eye turned toward one member of the herd, a large
fellow who evidently was the leader. A strange purring sound issued
from the mouth in the palm of one of his hands, and at the same time he
started rapidly toward the bluff, followed by the entire herd.

Their speed and method of locomotion were both remarkable, springing as
they did in great leaps of twenty or thirty feet, much after the manner
of a kangaroo.

They were rapidly disappearing when it occurred to me to follow them,
and so, hurling caution to the winds, I sprang across the meadow in
their wake with leaps and bounds even more prodigious than their own,
for the muscles of an athletic Earth man produce remarkable results
when pitted against the lesser gravity and air pressure of Mars.

Their way led directly towards the apparent source of the river at the
base of the cliffs, and as I neared this point I found the meadow
dotted with huge boulders that the ravages of time had evidently
dislodged from the towering crags above.

For this reason I came quite close to the cause of the disturbance
before the scene broke upon my horrified gaze. As I topped a great
boulder I saw the herd of plant men surrounding a little group of
perhaps five or six green men and women of Barsoom.

That I was indeed upon Mars I now had no doubt, for here were members
of the wild hordes that people the dead sea bottoms and deserted cities
of that dying planet.

Here were the great males towering in all the majesty of their imposing
height; here were the gleaming white tusks protruding from their
massive lower jaws to a point near the centre of their foreheads, the
laterally placed, protruding eyes with which they could look forward or
backward, or to either side without turning their heads, here the
strange antennae-like ears rising from the tops of their foreheads; and
the additional pair of arms extending from midway between the shoulders
and the hips.

Even without the glossy green hide and the metal ornaments which
denoted the tribes to which they belonged, I would have known them on
the instant for what they were, for where else in all the universe is
their like duplicated?

There were two men and four females in the party and their ornaments
denoted them as members of different hordes, a fact which tended to
puzzle me infinitely, since the various hordes of green men of Barsoom
are eternally at deadly war with one another, and never, except on that
single historic instance when the great Tars Tarkas of Thark gathered a
hundred and fifty thousand green warriors from several hordes to march
upon the doomed city of Zodanga to rescue Dejah Thoris, Princess of
Helium, from the clutches of Than Kosis, had I seen green Martians of
different hordes associated in other than mortal combat.

But now they stood back to back, facing, in wide-eyed amazement, the
very evidently hostile demonstrations of a common enemy.

Both men and women were armed with long-swords and daggers, but no
firearms were in evidence, else it had been short shrift for the
gruesome plant men of Barsoom.

Presently the leader of the plant men charged the little party, and his
method of attack was as remarkable as it was effective, and by its very
strangeness was the more potent, since in the science of the green
warriors there was no defence for this singular manner of attack, the
like of which it soon was evident to me they were as unfamiliar with as
they were with the monstrosities which confronted them.

The plant man charged to within a dozen feet of the party and then,
with a bound, rose as though to pass directly above their heads. His
powerful tail was raised high to one side, and as he passed close above
them he brought it down in one terrific sweep that crushed a green
warrior’s skull as though it had been an eggshell.

The balance of the frightful herd was now circling rapidly and with
bewildering speed about the little knot of victims. Their prodigious
bounds and the shrill, screeching purr of their uncanny mouths were
well calculated to confuse and terrorize their prey, so that as two of
them leaped simultaneously from either side, the mighty sweep of those
awful tails met with no resistance and two more green Martians went
down to an ignoble death.

There were now but one warrior and two females left, and it seemed that
it could be but a matter of seconds ere these, also, lay dead upon the
scarlet sward.

But as two more of the plant men charged, the warrior, who was now
prepared by the experiences of the past few minutes, swung his mighty
long-sword aloft and met the hurtling bulk with a clean cut that clove
one of the plant men from chin to groin.

The other, however, dealt a single blow with his cruel tail that laid
both of the females crushed corpses upon the ground.

As the green warrior saw the last of his companions go down and at the
same time perceived that the entire herd was charging him in a body, he
rushed boldly to meet them, swinging his long-sword in the terrific
manner that I had so often seen the men of his kind wield it in their
ferocious and almost continual warfare among their own race.

Cutting and hewing to right and left, he laid an open path straight
through the advancing plant men, and then commenced a mad race for the
forest, in the shelter of which he evidently hoped that he might find a
haven of refuge.

He had turned for that portion of the forest which abutted on the
cliffs, and thus the mad race was taking the entire party farther and
farther from the boulder where I lay concealed.

As I had watched the noble fight which the great warrior had put up
against such enormous odds my heart had swelled in admiration for him,
and acting as I am wont to do, more upon impulse than after mature
deliberation, I instantly sprang from my sheltering rock and bounded
quickly toward the bodies of the dead green Martians, a well-defined
plan of action already formed.

Half a dozen great leaps brought me to the spot, and another instant
saw me again in my stride in quick pursuit of the hideous monsters that
were rapidly gaining on the fleeing warrior, but this time I grasped a
mighty long-sword in my hand and in my heart was the old blood lust of
the fighting man, and a red mist swam before my eyes and I felt my lips
respond to my heart in the old smile that has ever marked me in the
midst of the joy of battle.

Swift as I was I was none too soon, for the green warrior had been
overtaken ere he had made half the distance to the forest, and now he
stood with his back to a boulder, while the herd, temporarily balked,
hissed and screeched about him.

With their single eyes in the centre of their heads and every eye
turned upon their prey, they did not note my soundless approach, so
that I was upon them with my great long-sword and four of them lay dead
ere they knew that I was among them.

For an instant they recoiled before my terrific onslaught, and in that
instant the green warrior rose to the occasion and, springing to my
side, laid to the right and left of him as I had never seen but one
other warrior do, with great circling strokes that formed a figure
eight about him and that never stopped until none stood living to
oppose him, his keen blade passing through flesh and bone and metal as
though each had been alike thin air.

As we bent to the slaughter, far above us rose that shrill, weird cry
which I had heard once before, and which had called the herd to the
attack upon their victims. Again and again it rose, but we were too
much engaged with the fierce and powerful creatures about us to attempt
to search out even with our eyes the author of the horrid notes.

Great tails lashed in frenzied anger about us, razor-like talons cut
our limbs and bodies, and a green and sticky syrup, such as oozes from
a crushed caterpillar, smeared us from head to foot, for every cut and
thrust of our longswords brought spurts of this stuff upon us from the
severed arteries of the plant men, through which it courses in its
sluggish viscidity in lieu of blood.

Once I felt the great weight of one of the monsters upon my back and as
keen talons sank into my flesh I experienced the frightful sensation of
moist lips sucking the lifeblood from the wounds to which the claws
still clung.

I was very much engaged with a ferocious fellow who was endeavouring to
reach my throat from in front, while two more, one on either side, were
lashing viciously at me with their tails.

The green warrior was much put to it to hold his own, and I felt that
the unequal struggle could last but a moment longer when the huge
fellow discovered my plight, and tearing himself from those that
surrounded him, he raked the assailant from my back with a single sweep
of his blade, and thus relieved I had little difficulty with the
others.

Once together, we stood almost back to back against the great boulder,
and thus the creatures were prevented from soaring above us to deliver
their deadly blows, and as we were easily their match while they
remained upon the ground, we were making great headway in dispatching
what remained of them when our attention was again attracted by the
shrill wail of the caller above our heads.

This time I glanced up, and far above us upon a little natural balcony
on the face of the cliff stood a strange figure of a man shrieking out
his shrill signal, the while he waved one hand in the direction of the
river’s mouth as though beckoning to some one there, and with the other
pointed and gesticulated toward us.

A glance in the direction toward which he was looking was sufficient to
apprise me of his aims and at the same time to fill me with the dread
of dire apprehension, for, streaming in from all directions across the
meadow, from out of the forest, and from the far distance of the flat
land across the river, I could see converging upon us a hundred
different lines of wildly leaping creatures such as we were now engaged
with, and with them some strange new monsters which ran with great
swiftness, now erect and now upon all fours.

“It will be a great death,” I said to my companion. “Look!”

As he shot a quick glance in the direction I indicated he smiled.

“We may at least die fighting and as great warriors should, John
Carter,” he replied.

We had just finished the last of our immediate antagonists as he spoke,
and I turned in surprised wonderment at the sound of my name.

And there before my astonished eyes I beheld the greatest of the green
men of Barsoom; their shrewdest statesman, their mightiest general, my
great and good friend, Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark.




CHAPTER II
A FOREST BATTLE


Tars Tarkas and I found no time for an exchange of experiences as we
stood there before the great boulder surrounded by the corpses of our
grotesque assailants, for from all directions down the broad valley was
streaming a perfect torrent of terrifying creatures in response to the
weird call of the strange figure far above us.

“Come,” cried Tars Tarkas, “we must make for the cliffs. There lies our
only hope of even temporary escape; there we may find a cave or a
narrow ledge which two may defend for ever against this motley, unarmed
horde.”

Together we raced across the scarlet sward, I timing my speed that I
might not outdistance my slower companion. We had, perhaps, three
hundred yards to cover between our boulder and the cliffs, and then to
search out a suitable shelter for our stand against the terrifying
things that were pursuing us.

They were rapidly overhauling us when Tars Tarkas cried to me to hasten
ahead and discover, if possible, the sanctuary we sought. The
suggestion was a good one, for thus many valuable minutes might be
saved to us, and, throwing every ounce of my earthly muscles into the
effort, I cleared the remaining distance between myself and the cliffs
in great leaps and bounds that put me at their base in a moment.

The cliffs rose perpendicular directly from the almost level sward of
the valley. There was no accumulation of fallen debris, forming a more
or less rough ascent to them, as is the case with nearly all other
cliffs I have ever seen. The scattered boulders that had fallen from
above and lay upon or partly buried in the turf, were the only
indication that any disintegration of the massive, towering pile of
rocks ever had taken place.

My first cursory inspection of the face of the cliffs filled my heart
with forebodings, since nowhere could I discern, except where the weird
herald stood still shrieking his shrill summons, the faintest
indication of even a bare foothold upon the lofty escarpment.

To my right the bottom of the cliff was lost in the dense foliage of
the forest, which terminated at its very foot, rearing its gorgeous
foliage fully a thousand feet against its stern and forbidding
neighbour.

To the left the cliff ran, apparently unbroken, across the head of the
broad valley, to be lost in the outlines of what appeared to be a range
of mighty mountains that skirted and confined the valley in every
direction.

Perhaps a thousand feet from me the river broke, as it seemed, directly
from the base of the cliffs, and as there seemed not the remotest
chance for escape in that direction I turned my attention again toward
the forest.

The cliffs towered above me a good five thousand feet. The sun was not
quite upon them and they loomed a dull yellow in their own shade. Here
and there they were broken with streaks and patches of dusky red,
green, and occasional areas of white quartz.

Altogether they were very beautiful, but I fear that I did not regard
them with a particularly appreciative eye on this, my first inspection
of them.

Just then I was absorbed in them only as a medium of escape, and so, as
my gaze ran quickly, time and again, over their vast expanse in search
of some cranny or crevice, I came suddenly to loathe them as the
prisoner must loathe the cruel and impregnable walls of his dungeon.

Tars Tarkas was approaching me rapidly, and still more rapidly came the
awful horde at his heels.

It seemed the forest now or nothing, and I was just on the point of
motioning Tars Tarkas to follow me in that direction when the sun
passed the cliff’s zenith, and as the bright rays touched the dull
surface it burst out into a million scintillant lights of burnished
gold, of flaming red, of soft greens, and gleaming whites—a more
gorgeous and inspiring spectacle human eye has never rested upon.

The face of the entire cliff was, as later inspection conclusively
proved, so shot with veins and patches of solid gold as to quite
present the appearance of a solid wall of that precious metal except
where it was broken by outcroppings of ruby, emerald, and diamond
boulders—a faint and alluring indication of the vast and unguessable
riches which lay deeply buried behind the magnificent surface.

But what caught my most interested attention at the moment that the
sun’s rays set the cliff’s face a-shimmer, was the several black spots
which now appeared quite plainly in evidence high across the gorgeous
wall close to the forest’s top, and extending apparently below and
behind the branches.

Almost immediately I recognised them for what they were, the dark
openings of caves entering the solid walls—possible avenues of escape
or temporary shelter, could we but reach them.

There was but a single way, and that led through the mighty, towering
trees upon our right. That I could scale them I knew full well, but
Tars Tarkas, with his mighty bulk and enormous weight, would find it a
task possibly quite beyond his prowess or his skill, for Martians are
at best but poor climbers. Upon the entire surface of that ancient
planet I never before had seen a hill or mountain that exceeded four
thousand feet in height above the dead sea bottoms, and as the ascent
was usually gradual, nearly to their summits they presented but few
opportunities for the practice of climbing. Nor would the Martians have
embraced even such opportunities as might present themselves, for they
could always find a circuitous route about the base of any eminence,
and these roads they preferred and followed in preference to the
shorter but more arduous ways.

However, there was nothing else to consider than an attempt to scale
the trees contiguous to the cliff in an effort to reach the caves
above.

The Thark grasped the possibilities and the difficulties of the plan at
once, but there was no alternative, and so we set out rapidly for the
trees nearest the cliff.

Our relentless pursuers were now close to us, so close that it seemed
that it would be an utter impossibility for the Jeddak of Thark to
reach the forest in advance of them, nor was there any considerable
will in the efforts that Tars Tarkas made, for the green men of Barsoom
do not relish flight, nor ever before had I seen one fleeing from death
in whatsoever form it might have confronted him. But that Tars Tarkas
was the bravest of the brave he had proven thousands of times; yes,
tens of thousands in countless mortal combats with men and beasts. And
so I knew that there was another reason than fear of death behind his
flight, as he knew that a greater power than pride or honour spurred me
to escape these fierce destroyers. In my case it was love—love of the
divine Dejah Thoris; and the cause of the Thark’s great and sudden love
of life I could not fathom, for it is oftener that they seek death than
life—these strange, cruel, loveless, unhappy people.

At length, however, we reached the shadows of the forest, while right
behind us sprang the swiftest of our pursuers—a giant plant man with
claws outreaching to fasten his bloodsucking mouths upon us.

He was, I should say, a hundred yards in advance of his closest
companion, and so I called to Tars Tarkas to ascend a great tree that
brushed the cliff’s face while I dispatched the fellow, thus giving the
less agile Thark an opportunity to reach the higher branches before the
entire horde should be upon us and every vestige of escape cut off.

But I had reckoned without a just appreciation either of the cunning of
my immediate antagonist or the swiftness with which his fellows were
covering the distance which had separated them from me.

As I raised my long-sword to deal the creature its death thrust it
halted in its charge and, as my sword cut harmlessly through the empty
air, the great tail of the thing swept with the power of a grizzly’s
arm across the sward and carried me bodily from my feet to the ground.
In an instant the brute was upon me, but ere it could fasten its
hideous mouths into my breast and throat I grasped a writhing tentacle
in either hand.

The plant man was well muscled, heavy, and powerful but my earthly
sinews and greater agility, in conjunction with the deathly strangle
hold I had upon him, would have given me, I think, an eventual victory
had we had time to discuss the merits of our relative prowess
uninterrupted. But as we strained and struggled about the tree into
which Tars Tarkas was clambering with infinite difficulty, I suddenly
caught a glimpse over the shoulder of my antagonist of the great swarm
of pursuers that now were fairly upon me.

Now, at last, I saw the nature of the other monsters who had come with
the plant men in response to the weird calling of the man upon the
cliff’s face. They were that most dreaded of Martian creatures—great
white apes of Barsoom.

My former experiences upon Mars had familiarized me thoroughly with
them and their methods, and I may say that of all the fearsome and
terrible, weird and grotesque inhabitants of that strange world, it is
the white apes that come nearest to familiarizing me with the sensation
of fear.

I think that the cause of this feeling which these apes engender within
me is due to their remarkable resemblance in form to our Earth men,
which gives them a human appearance that is most uncanny when coupled
with their enormous size.

They stand fifteen feet in height and walk erect upon their hind feet.
Like the green Martians, they have an intermediary set of arms midway
between their upper and lower limbs. Their eyes are very close set, but
do not protrude as do those of the green men of Mars; their ears are
high set, but more laterally located than are the green men’s, while
their snouts and teeth are much like those of our African gorilla. Upon
their heads grows an enormous shock of bristly hair.

It was into the eyes of such as these and the terrible plant men that I
gazed above the shoulder of my foe, and then, in a mighty wave of
snarling, snapping, screaming, purring rage, they swept over me—and of
all the sounds that assailed my ears as I went down beneath them, to me
the most hideous was the horrid purring of the plant men.

Instantly a score of cruel fangs and keen talons were sunk into my
flesh; cold, sucking lips fastened themselves upon my arteries. I
struggled to free myself, and even though weighed down by these immense
bodies, I succeeded in struggling to my feet, where, still grasping my
long-sword, and shortening my grip upon it until I could use it as a
dagger, I wrought such havoc among them that at one time I stood for an
instant free.

What it has taken minutes to write occurred in but a few seconds, but
during that time Tars Tarkas had seen my plight and had dropped from
the lower branches, which he had reached with such infinite labour, and
as I flung the last of my immediate antagonists from me the great Thark
leaped to my side, and again we fought, back to back, as we had done a
hundred times before.

Time and again the ferocious apes sprang in to close with us, and time
and again we beat them back with our swords. The great tails of the
plant men lashed with tremendous power about us as they charged from
various directions or sprang with the agility of greyhounds above our
heads; but every attack met a gleaming blade in sword hands that had
been reputed for twenty years the best that Mars ever had known; for
Tars Tarkas and John Carter were names that the fighting men of the
world of warriors loved best to speak.

But even the two best swords in a world of fighters can avail not for
ever against overwhelming numbers of fierce and savage brutes that know
not what defeat means until cold steel teaches their hearts no longer
to beat, and so, step by step, we were forced back. At length we stood
against the giant tree that we had chosen for our ascent, and then, as
charge after charge hurled its weight upon us, we gave back again and
again, until we had been forced half-way around the huge base of the
colossal trunk.

Tars Tarkas was in the lead, and suddenly I heard a little cry of
exultation from him.

“Here is shelter for one at least, John Carter,” he said, and, glancing
down, I saw an opening in the base of the tree about three feet in
diameter.

“In with you, Tars Tarkas,” I cried, but he would not go; saying that
his bulk was too great for the little aperture, while I might slip in
easily.

“We shall both die if we remain without, John Carter; here is a slight
chance for one of us. Take it and you may live to avenge me, it is
useless for me to attempt to worm my way into so small an opening with
this horde of demons besetting us on all sides.”

“Then we shall die together, Tars Tarkas,” I replied, “for I shall not
go first. Let me defend the opening while you get in, then my smaller
stature will permit me to slip in with you before they can prevent.”

We still were fighting furiously as we talked in broken sentences,
punctured with vicious cuts and thrusts at our swarming enemy.

At length he yielded, for it seemed the only way in which either of us
might be saved from the ever-increasing numbers of our assailants, who
were still swarming upon us from all directions across the broad
valley.

“It was ever your way, John Carter, to think last of your own life,” he
said; “but still more your way to command the lives and actions of
others, even to the greatest of Jeddaks who rule upon Barsoom.”

There was a grim smile upon his cruel, hard face, as he, the greatest
Jeddak of them all, turned to obey the dictates of a creature of
another world—of a man whose stature was less than half his own.

“If you fail, John Carter,” he said, “know that the cruel and heartless
Thark, to whom you taught the meaning of friendship, will come out to
die beside you.”

“As you will, my friend,” I replied; “but quickly now, head first,
while I cover your retreat.”

He hesitated a little at that word, for never before in his whole life
of continual strife had he turned his back upon aught than a dead or
defeated enemy.

“Haste, Tars Tarkas,” I urged, “or we shall both go down to profitless
defeat; I cannot hold them for ever alone.”

As he dropped to the ground to force his way into the tree, the whole
howling pack of hideous devils hurled themselves upon me. To right and
left flew my shimmering blade, now green with the sticky juice of a
plant man, now red with the crimson blood of a great white ape; but
always flying from one opponent to another, hesitating but the barest
fraction of a second to drink the lifeblood in the centre of some
savage heart.

And thus I fought as I never had fought before, against such frightful
odds that I cannot realize even now that human muscles could have
withstood that awful onslaught, that terrific weight of hurtling tons
of ferocious, battling flesh.

With the fear that we would escape them, the creatures redoubled their
efforts to pull me down, and though the ground about me was piled high
with their dead and dying comrades, they succeeded at last in
overwhelming me, and I went down beneath them for the second time that
day, and once again felt those awful sucking lips against my flesh.

But scarce had I fallen ere I felt powerful hands grip my ankles, and
in another second I was being drawn within the shelter of the tree’s
interior. For a moment it was a tug of war between Tars Tarkas and a
great plant man, who clung tenaciously to my breast, but presently I
got the point of my long-sword beneath him and with a mighty thrust
pierced his vitals.

Torn and bleeding from many cruel wounds, I lay panting upon the ground
within the hollow of the tree, while Tars Tarkas defended the opening
from the furious mob without.

For an hour they howled about the tree, but after a few attempts to
reach us they confined their efforts to terrorizing shrieks and
screams, to horrid growling on the part of the great white apes, and
the fearsome and indescribable purring by the plant men.

At length, all but a score, who had apparently been left to prevent our
escape, had left us, and our adventure seemed destined to result in a
siege, the only outcome of which could be our death by starvation; for
even should we be able to slip out after dark, whither in this unknown
and hostile valley could we hope to turn our steps toward possible
escape?

As the attacks of our enemies ceased and our eyes became accustomed to
the semi-darkness of the interior of our strange retreat, I took the
opportunity to explore our shelter.

The tree was hollow to an extent of about fifty feet in diameter, and
from its flat, hard floor I judged that it had often been used to
domicile others before our occupancy. As I raised my eyes toward its
roof to note the height I saw far above me a faint glow of light.

There was an opening above. If we could but reach it we might still
hope to make the shelter of the cliff caves. My eyes had now become
quite used to the subdued light of the interior, and as I pursued my
investigation I presently came upon a rough ladder at the far side of
the cave.

Quickly I mounted it, only to find that it connected at the top with
the lower of a series of horizontal wooden bars that spanned the now
narrow and shaft-like interior of the tree’s stem. These bars were set
one above another about three feet apart, and formed a perfect ladder
as far above me as I could see.

Dropping to the floor once more, I detailed my discovery to Tars
Tarkas, who suggested that I explore aloft as far as I could go in
safety while he guarded the entrance against a possible attack.

As I hastened above to explore the strange shaft I found that the
ladder of horizontal bars mounted always as far above me as my eyes
could reach, and as I ascended, the light from above grew brighter and
brighter.

For fully five hundred feet I continued to climb, until at length I
reached the opening in the stem which admitted the light. It was of
about the same diameter as the entrance at the foot of the tree, and
opened directly upon a large flat limb, the well worn surface of which
testified to its long continued use as an avenue for some creature to
and from this remarkable shaft.

I did not venture out upon the limb for fear that I might be discovered
and our retreat in this direction cut off; but instead hurried to
retrace my steps to Tars Tarkas.

I soon reached him and presently we were both ascending the long ladder
toward the opening above.

Tars Tarkas went in advance and as I reached the first of the
horizontal bars I drew the ladder up after me and, handing it to him,
he carried it a hundred feet further aloft, where he wedged it safely
between one of the bars and the side of the shaft. In like manner I
dislodged the lower bars as I passed them, so that we soon had the
interior of the tree denuded of all possible means of ascent for a
distance of a hundred feet from the base; thus precluding possible
pursuit and attack from the rear.

As we were to learn later, this precaution saved us from dire
predicament, and was eventually the means of our salvation.

When we reached the opening at the top Tars Tarkas drew to one side
that I might pass out and investigate, as, owing to my lesser weight
and greater agility, I was better fitted for the perilous threading of
this dizzy, hanging pathway.

The limb upon which I found myself ascended at a slight angle toward
the cliff, and as I followed it I found that it terminated a few feet
above a narrow ledge which protruded from the cliff’s face at the
entrance to a narrow cave.

As I approached the slightly more slender extremity of the branch it
bent beneath my weight until, as I balanced perilously upon its outer
tip, it swayed gently on a level with the ledge at a distance of a
couple of feet.

Five hundred feet below me lay the vivid scarlet carpet of the valley;
nearly five thousand feet above towered the mighty, gleaming face of
the gorgeous cliffs.

The cave that I faced was not one of those that I had seen from the
ground, and which lay much higher, possibly a thousand feet. But so far
as I might know it was as good for our purpose as another, and so I
returned to the tree for Tars Tarkas.

Together we wormed our way along the waving pathway, but when we
reached the end of the branch we found that our combined weight so
depressed the limb that the cave’s mouth was now too far above us to be
reached.

We finally agreed that Tars Tarkas should return along the branch,
leaving his longest leather harness strap with me, and that when the
limb had risen to a height that would permit me to enter the cave I was
to do so, and on Tars Tarkas’ return I could then lower the strap and
haul him up to the safety of the ledge.

This we did without mishap and soon found ourselves together upon the
verge of a dizzy little balcony, with a magnificent view of the valley
spreading out below us.

As far as the eye could reach gorgeous forest and crimson sward skirted
a silent sea, and about all towered the brilliant monster guardian
cliffs. Once we thought we discerned a gilded minaret gleaming in the
sun amidst the waving tops of far-distant trees, but we soon abandoned
the idea in the belief that it was but an hallucination born of our
great desire to discover the haunts of civilized men in this beautiful,
yet forbidding, spot.

Below us upon the river’s bank the great white apes were devouring the
last remnants of Tars Tarkas’ former companions, while great herds of
plant men grazed in ever-widening circles about the sward which they
kept as close clipped as the smoothest of lawns.

Knowing that attack from the tree was now improbable, we determined to
explore the cave, which we had every reason to believe was but a
continuation of the path we had already traversed, leading the gods
alone knew where, but quite evidently away from this valley of grim
ferocity.

As we advanced we found a well-proportioned tunnel cut from the solid
cliff. Its walls rose some twenty feet above the floor, which was about
five feet in width. The roof was arched. We had no means of making a
light, and so groped our way slowly into the ever-increasing darkness,
Tars Tarkas keeping in touch with one wall while I felt along the
other, while, to prevent our wandering into diverging branches and
becoming separated or lost in some intricate and labyrinthine maze, we
clasped hands.

How far we traversed the tunnel in this manner I do not know, but
presently we came to an obstruction which blocked our further progress.
It seemed more like a partition than a sudden ending of the cave, for
it was constructed not of the material of the cliff, but of something
which felt like very hard wood.

Silently I groped over its surface with my hands, and presently was
rewarded by the feel of the button which as commonly denotes a door on
Mars as does a door knob on Earth.

Gently pressing it, I had the satisfaction of feeling the door slowly
give before me, and in another instant we were looking into a dimly
lighted apartment, which, so far as we could see, was unoccupied.

Without more ado I swung the door wide open and, followed by the huge
Thark, stepped into the chamber. As we stood for a moment in silence
gazing about the room a slight noise behind caused me to turn quickly,
when, to my astonishment, I saw the door close with a sharp click as
though by an unseen hand.

Instantly I sprang toward it to wrench it open again, for something in
the uncanny movement of the thing and the tense and almost palpable
silence of the chamber seemed to portend a lurking evil lying hidden in
this rock-bound chamber within the bowels of the Golden Cliffs.

My fingers clawed futilely at the unyielding portal, while my eyes
sought in vain for a duplicate of the button which had given us
ingress.

And then, from unseen lips, a cruel and mocking peal of laughter rang
through the desolate place.




CHAPTER III
THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY


For moments after that awful laugh had ceased reverberating through the
rocky room, Tars Tarkas and I stood in tense and expectant silence. But
no further sound broke the stillness, nor within the range of our
vision did aught move.

At length Tars Tarkas laughed softly, after the manner of his strange
kind when in the presence of the horrible or terrifying. It is not an
hysterical laugh, but rather the genuine expression of the pleasure
they derive from the things that move Earth men to loathing or to
tears.

Often and again have I seen them roll upon the ground in mad fits of
uncontrollable mirth when witnessing the death agonies of women and
little children beneath the torture of that hellish green Martian
fete—the Great Games.

I looked up at the Thark, a smile upon my own lips, for here in truth
was greater need for a smiling face than a trembling chin.

“What do you make of it all?” I asked. “Where in the deuce are we?”

He looked at me in surprise.

“Where are we?” he repeated. “Do you tell me, John Carter, that you
know not where you be?”

“That I am upon Barsoom is all that I can guess, and but for you and
the great white apes I should not even guess that, for the sights I
have seen this day are as unlike the things of my beloved Barsoom as I
knew it ten long years ago as they are unlike the world of my birth.

“No, Tars Tarkas, I know not where we be.”

“Where have you been since you opened the mighty portals of the
atmosphere plant years ago, after the keeper had died and the engines
stopped and all Barsoom was dying, that had not already died, of
asphyxiation? Your body even was never found, though the men of a whole
world sought after it for years, though the Jeddak of Helium and his
granddaughter, your princess, offered such fabulous rewards that even
princes of royal blood joined in the search.

“There was but one conclusion to reach when all efforts to locate you
had failed, and that, that you had taken the long, last pilgrimage down
the mysterious River Iss, to await in the Valley Dor upon the shores of
the Lost Sea of Korus the beautiful Dejah Thoris, your princess.

“Why you had gone none could guess, for your princess still lived—”

“Thank God,” I interrupted him. “I did not dare to ask you, for I
feared I might have been too late to save her—she was very low when I
left her in the royal gardens of Tardos Mors that long-gone night; so
very low that I scarcely hoped even then to reach the atmosphere plant
ere her dear spirit had fled from me for ever. And she lives yet?”

“She lives, John Carter.”

“You have not told me where we are,” I reminded him.

“We are where I expected to find you, John Carter—and another. Many
years ago you heard the story of the woman who taught me the thing that
green Martians are reared to hate, the woman who taught me to love. You
know the cruel tortures and the awful death her love won for her at the
hands of the beast, Tal Hajus.

“She, I thought, awaited me by the Lost Sea of Korus.

“You know that it was left for a man from another world, for yourself,
John Carter, to teach this cruel Thark what friendship is; and you, I
thought, also roamed the care-free Valley Dor.

“Thus were the two I most longed for at the end of the long pilgrimage
I must take some day, and so as the time had elapsed which Dejah Thoris
had hoped might bring you once more to her side, for she has always
tried to believe that you had but temporarily returned to your own
planet, I at last gave way to my great yearning and a month since I
started upon the journey, the end of which you have this day witnessed.
Do you understand now where you be, John Carter?”

“And that was the River Iss, emptying into the Lost Sea of Korus in the
Valley Dor?” I asked.

“This is the valley of love and peace and rest to which every
Barsoomian since time immemorial has longed to pilgrimage at the end of
a life of hate and strife and bloodshed,” he replied. “This, John
Carter, is Heaven.”

His tone was cold and ironical; its bitterness but reflecting the
terrible disappointment he had suffered. Such a fearful
disillusionment, such a blasting of life-long hopes and aspirations,
such an uprooting of age-old tradition might have excused a vastly
greater demonstration on the part of the Thark.

I laid my hand upon his shoulder.

“I am sorry,” I said, nor did there seem aught else to say.

“Think, John Carter, of the countless billions of Barsoomians who have
taken the voluntary pilgrimage down this cruel river since the
beginning of time, only to fall into the ferocious clutches of the
terrible creatures that to-day assailed us.

“There is an ancient legend that once a red man returned from the banks
of the Lost Sea of Korus, returned from the Valley Dor, back through
the mysterious River Iss, and the legend has it that he narrated a
fearful blasphemy of horrid brutes that inhabited a valley of wondrous
loveliness, brutes that pounced upon each Barsoomian as he terminated
his pilgrimage and devoured him upon the banks of the Lost Sea where he
had looked to find love and peace and happiness; but the ancients
killed the blasphemer, as tradition has ordained that any shall be
killed who return from the bosom of the River of Mystery.

“But now we know that it was no blasphemy, that the legend is a true
one, and that the man told only of what he saw; but what does it profit
us, John Carter, since even should we escape, we also would be treated
as blasphemers? We are between the wild thoat of certainty and the mad
zitidar of fact—we can escape neither.”

“As Earth men say, we are between the devil and the deep sea, Tars
Tarkas,” I replied, nor could I help but smile at our dilemma.

“There is naught that we can do but take things as they come, and at
least have the satisfaction of knowing that whoever slays us eventually
will have far greater numbers of their own dead to count than they will
get in return. White ape or plant man, green Barsoomian or red man,
whosoever it shall be that takes the last toll from us will know that
it is costly in lives to wipe out John Carter, Prince of the House of
Tardos Mors, and Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark, at the same time.”

I could not help but laugh at his grim humour, and he joined in with me
in one of those rare laughs of real enjoyment which was one of the
attributes of this fierce Tharkian chief which marked him from the
others of his kind.

“But about yourself, John Carter,” he cried at last. “If you have not
been here all these years where indeed have you been, and how is it
that I find you here to-day?”

“I have been back to Earth,” I replied. “For ten long Earth years I
have been praying and hoping for the day that would carry me once more
to this grim old planet of yours, for which, with all its cruel and
terrible customs, I feel a bond of sympathy and love even greater than
for the world that gave me birth.

“For ten years have I been enduring a living death of uncertainty and
doubt as to whether Dejah Thoris lived, and now that for the first time
in all these years my prayers have been answered and my doubt relieved
I find myself, through a cruel whim of fate, hurled into the one tiny
spot of all Barsoom from which there is apparently no escape, and if
there were, at a price which would put out for ever the last flickering
hope which I may cling to of seeing my princess again in this life—and
you have seen to-day with what pitiful futility man yearns toward a
material hereafter.

“Only a bare half-hour before I saw you battling with the plant men I
was standing in the moonlight upon the banks of a broad river that taps
the eastern shore of Earth’s most blessed land. I have answered you, my
friend. Do you believe?”

“I believe,” replied Tars Tarkas, “though I cannot understand.”

As we talked I had been searching the interior of the chamber with my
eyes. It was, perhaps, two hundred feet in length and half as broad,
with what appeared to be a doorway in the centre of the wall directly
opposite that through which we had entered.

The apartment was hewn from the material of the cliff, showing mostly
dull gold in the dim light which a single minute radium illuminator in
the centre of the roof diffused throughout its great dimensions. Here
and there polished surfaces of ruby, emerald, and diamond patched the
golden walls and ceiling. The floor was of another material, very hard,
and worn by much use to the smoothness of glass. Aside from the two
doors I could discern no sign of other aperture, and as one we knew to
be locked against us I approached the other.

As I extended my hand to search for the controlling button, that cruel
and mocking laugh rang out once more, so close to me this time that I
involuntarily shrank back, tightening my grip upon the hilt of my great
sword.

And then from the far corner of the great chamber a hollow voice
chanted: “There is no hope, there is no hope; the dead return not, the
dead return not; nor is there any resurrection. Hope not, for there is
no hope.”

Though our eyes instantly turned toward the spot from which the voice
seemed to emanate, there was no one in sight, and I must admit that
cold shivers played along my spine and the short hairs at the base of
my head stiffened and rose up, as do those upon a hound’s neck when in
the night his eyes see those uncanny things which are hidden from the
sight of man.

Quickly I walked toward the mournful voice, but it had ceased ere I
reached the further wall, and then from the other end of the chamber
came another voice, shrill and piercing:

“Fools! Fools!” it shrieked. “Thinkest thou to defeat the eternal laws
of life and death? Wouldst cheat the mysterious Issus, Goddess of
Death, of her just dues? Did not her mighty messenger, the ancient Iss,
bear you upon her leaden bosom at your own behest to the Valley Dor?

“Thinkest thou, O fools, that Issus wilt give up her own? Thinkest thou
to escape from whence in all the countless ages but a single soul has
fled?

“Go back the way thou camest, to the merciful maws of the children of
the Tree of Life or the gleaming fangs of the great white apes, for
there lies speedy surcease from suffering; but insist in your rash
purpose to thread the mazes of the Golden Cliffs of the Mountains of
Otz, past the ramparts of the impregnable fortresses of the Holy
Therns, and upon your way Death in its most frightful form will
overtake you—a death so horrible that even the Holy Therns themselves,
who conceived both Life and Death, avert their eyes from its
fiendishness and close their ears against the hideous shrieks of its
victims.

“Go back, O fools, the way thou camest.”

And then the awful laugh broke out from another part of the chamber.

“Most uncanny,” I remarked, turning to Tars Tarkas.

“What shall we do?” he asked. “We cannot fight empty air; I would
almost sooner return and face foes into whose flesh I may feel my blade
bite and know that I am selling my carcass dearly before I go down to
that eternal oblivion which is evidently the fairest and most desirable
eternity that mortal man has the right to hope for.”

“If, as you say, we cannot fight empty air, Tars Tarkas,” I replied,
“neither, on the other hand, can empty air fight us. I, who have faced
and conquered in my time thousands of sinewy warriors and tempered
blades, shall not be turned back by wind; nor no more shall you,
Thark.”

“But unseen voices may emanate from unseen and unseeable creatures who
wield invisible blades,” answered the green warrior.

“Rot, Tars Tarkas,” I cried, “those voices come from beings as real as
you or as I. In their veins flows lifeblood that may be let as easily
as ours, and the fact that they remain invisible to us is the best
proof to my mind that they are mortal; nor overly courageous mortals at
that. Think you, Tars Tarkas, that John Carter will fly at the first
shriek of a cowardly foe who dare not come out into the open and face a
good blade?”

I had spoken in a loud voice that there might be no question that our
would-be terrorizers should hear me, for I was tiring of this
nerve-racking fiasco. It had occurred to me, too, that the whole
business was but a plan to frighten us back into the valley of death
from which we had escaped, that we might be quickly disposed of by the
savage creatures there.

For a long period there was silence, then of a sudden a soft, stealthy
sound behind me caused me to turn suddenly to behold a great
many-legged banth creeping sinuously upon me.

The banth is a fierce beast of prey that roams the low hills
surrounding the dead seas of ancient Mars. Like nearly all Martian
animals it is almost hairless, having only a great bristly mane about
its thick neck.

Its long, lithe body is supported by ten powerful legs, its enormous
jaws are equipped, like those of the calot, or Martian hound, with
several rows of long needle-like fangs; its mouth reaches to a point
far back of its tiny ears, while its enormous, protruding eyes of green
add the last touch of terror to its awful aspect.

As it crept toward me it lashed its powerful tail against its yellow
sides, and when it saw that it was discovered it emitted the terrifying
roar which often freezes its prey into momentary paralysis in the
instant that it makes its spring.

And so it launched its great bulk toward me, but its mighty voice had
held no paralysing terrors for me, and it met cold steel instead of the
tender flesh its cruel jaws gaped so widely to engulf.

An instant later I drew my blade from the still heart of this great
Barsoomian lion, and turning toward Tars Tarkas was surprised to see
him facing a similar monster.

No sooner had he dispatched his than I, turning, as though drawn by the
instinct of my guardian subconscious mind, beheld another of the savage
denizens of the Martian wilds leaping across the chamber toward me.

From then on for the better part of an hour one hideous creature after
another was launched upon us, springing apparently from the empty air
about us.

Tars Tarkas was satisfied; here was something tangible that he could
cut and slash with his great blade, while I, for my part, may say that
the diversion was a marked improvement over the uncanny voices from
unseen lips.

That there was nothing supernatural about our new foes was well
evidenced by their howls of rage and pain as they felt the sharp steel
at their vitals, and the very real blood which flowed from their
severed arteries as they died the real death.

I noticed during the period of this new persecution that the beasts
appeared only when our backs were turned; we never saw one really
materialize from thin air, nor did I for an instant sufficiently lose
my excellent reasoning faculties to be once deluded into the belief
that the beasts came into the room other than through some concealed
and well-contrived doorway.

Among the ornaments of Tars Tarkas’ leather harness, which is the only
manner of clothing worn by Martians other than silk capes and robes of
silk and fur for protection from the cold after dark, was a small
mirror, about the bigness of a lady’s hand glass, which hung midway
between his shoulders and his waist against his broad back.

Once as he stood looking down at a newly fallen antagonist my eyes
happened to fall upon this mirror and in its shiny surface I saw
pictured a sight that caused me to whisper:

“Move not, Tars Tarkas! Move not a muscle!”

He did not ask why, but stood like a graven image while my eyes watched
the strange thing that meant so much to us.

What I saw was the quick movement of a section of the wall behind me.
It was turning upon pivots, and with it a section of the floor directly
in front of it was turning. It was as though you placed a visiting-card
upon end on a silver dollar that you had laid flat upon a table, so
that the edge of the card perfectly bisected the surface of the coin.

The card might represent the section of the wall that turned and the
silver dollar the section of the floor. Both were so nicely fitted into
the adjacent portions of the floor and wall that no crack had been
noticeable in the dim light of the chamber.

As the turn was half completed a great beast was revealed sitting upon
its haunches upon that part of the revolving floor that had been on the
opposite side before the wall commenced to move; when the section
stopped, the beast was facing toward me on our side of the partition—it
was very simple.

But what had interested me most was the sight that the half-turned
section had presented through the opening that it had made. A great
chamber, well lighted, in which were several men and women chained to
the wall, and in front of them, evidently directing and operating the
movement of the secret doorway, a wicked-faced man, neither red as are
the red men of Mars, nor green as are the green men, but white, like
myself, with a great mass of flowing yellow hair.

The prisoners behind him were red Martians. Chained with them were a
number of fierce beasts, such as had been turned upon us, and others
equally as ferocious.

As I turned to meet my new foe it was with a heart considerably
lightened.

“Watch the wall at your end of the chamber, Tars Tarkas,” I cautioned,
“it is through secret doorways in the wall that the brutes are loosed
upon us.” I was very close to him and spoke in a low whisper that my
knowledge of their secret might not be disclosed to our tormentors.

As long as we remained each facing an opposite end of the apartment no
further attacks were made upon us, so it was quite clear to me that the
partitions were in some way pierced that our actions might be observed
from without.

At length a plan of action occurred to me, and backing quite close to
Tars Tarkas I unfolded my scheme in a low whisper, keeping my eyes
still glued upon my end of the room.

The great Thark grunted his assent to my proposition when I had done,
and in accordance with my plan commenced backing toward the wall which
I faced while I advanced slowly ahead of him.

When we had reached a point some ten feet from the secret doorway I
halted my companion, and cautioning him to remain absolutely motionless
until I gave the prearranged signal I quickly turned my back to the
door through which I could almost feel the burning and baleful eyes of
our would be executioner.

Instantly my own eyes sought the mirror upon Tars Tarkas’ back and in
another second I was closely watching the section of the wall which had
been disgorging its savage terrors upon us.

I had not long to wait, for presently the golden surface commenced to
move rapidly. Scarcely had it started than I gave the signal to Tars
Tarkas, simultaneously springing for the receding half of the pivoting
door. In like manner the Thark wheeled and leaped for the opening being
made by the inswinging section.

A single bound carried me completely through into the adjoining room
and brought me face to face with the fellow whose cruel face I had seen
before. He was about my own height and well muscled and in every
outward detail moulded precisely as are Earth men.

At his side hung a long-sword, a short-sword, a dagger, and one of the
destructive radium revolvers that are common upon Mars.

The fact that I was armed only with a long-sword, and so according to
the laws and ethics of battle everywhere upon Barsoom should only have
been met with a similar or lesser weapon, seemed to have no effect upon
the moral sense of my enemy, for he whipped out his revolver ere I
scarce had touched the floor by his side, but an uppercut from my
long-sword sent it flying from his grasp before he could discharge it.

Instantly he drew his long-sword, and thus evenly armed we set to in
earnest for one of the closest battles I ever have fought.

The fellow was a marvellous swordsman and evidently in practice, while
I had not gripped the hilt of a sword for ten long years before that
morning.

But it did not take me long to fall easily into my fighting stride, so
that in a few minutes the man began to realize that he had at last met
his match.

His face became livid with rage as he found my guard impregnable, while
blood flowed from a dozen minor wounds upon his face and body.

“Who are you, white man?” he hissed. “That you are no Barsoomian from
the outer world is evident from your colour. And you are not of us.”

His last statement was almost a question.

“What if I were from the Temple of Issus?” I hazarded on a wild guess.

“Fate forfend!” he exclaimed, his face going white under the blood that
now nearly covered it.

I did not know how to follow up my lead, but I carefully laid the idea
away for future use should circumstances require it. His answer
indicated that for all he KNEW I might be from the Temple of Issus and
in it were men like unto myself, and either this man feared the inmates
of the temple or else he held their persons or their power in such
reverence that he trembled to think of the harm and indignities he had
heaped upon one of them.

But my present business with him was of a different nature than that
which requires any considerable abstract reasoning; it was to get my
sword between his ribs, and this I succeeded in doing within the next
few seconds, nor was I an instant too soon.

The chained prisoners had been watching the combat in tense silence;
not a sound had fallen in the room other than the clashing of our
contending blades, the soft shuffling of our naked feet and the few
whispered words we had hissed at each other through clenched teeth the
while we continued our mortal duel.

But as the body of my antagonist sank an inert mass to the floor a cry
of warning broke from one of the female prisoners.

“Turn! Turn! Behind you!” she shrieked, and as I wheeled at the first
note of her shrill cry I found myself facing a second man of the same
race as he who lay at my feet.

The fellow had crept stealthily from a dark corridor and was almost
upon me with raised sword ere I saw him. Tars Tarkas was nowhere in
sight and the secret panel in the wall, through which I had come, was
closed.

How I wished that he were by my side now! I had fought almost
continuously for many hours; I had passed through such experiences and
adventures as must sap the vitality of man, and with all this I had not
eaten for nearly twenty-four hours, nor slept.

I was fagged out, and for the first time in years felt a question as to
my ability to cope with an antagonist; but there was naught else for it
than to engage my man, and that as quickly and ferociously as lay in
me, for my only salvation was to rush him off his feet by the
impetuosity of my attack—I could not hope to win a long-drawn-out
battle.

But the fellow was evidently of another mind, for he backed and parried
and parried and sidestepped until I was almost completely fagged from
the exertion of attempting to finish him.

He was a more adroit swordsman, if possible, than my previous foe, and
I must admit that he led me a pretty chase and in the end came near to
making a sorry fool of me—and a dead one into the bargain.

I could feel myself growing weaker and weaker, until at length objects
commenced to blur before my eyes and I staggered and blundered about
more asleep than awake, and then it was that he worked his pretty
little coup that came near to losing me my life.

He had backed me around so that I stood in front of the corpse of his
fellow, and then he rushed me suddenly so that I was forced back upon
it, and as my heel struck it the impetus of my body flung me backward
across the dead man.

My head struck the hard pavement with a resounding whack, and to that
alone I owe my life, for it cleared my brain and the pain roused my
temper, so that I was equal for the moment to tearing my enemy to
pieces with my bare hands, and I verily believe that I should have
attempted it had not my right hand, in the act of raising my body from
the ground, come in contact with a bit of cold metal.

As the eyes of the layman so is the hand of the fighting man when it
comes in contact with an implement of his vocation, and thus I did not
need to look or reason to know that the dead man’s revolver, lying
where it had fallen when I struck it from his grasp, was at my
disposal.

The fellow whose ruse had put me down was springing toward me, the
point of his gleaming blade directed straight at my heart, and as he
came there rang from his lips the cruel and mocking peal of laughter
that I had heard within the Chamber of Mystery.

And so he died, his thin lips curled in the snarl of his hateful laugh,
and a bullet from the revolver of his dead companion bursting in his
heart.

His body, borne by the impetus of his headlong rush, plunged upon me.
The hilt of his sword must have struck my head, for with the impact of
the corpse I lost consciousness.




CHAPTER IV
THUVIA


It was the sound of conflict that aroused me once more to the realities
of life. For a moment I could neither place my surroundings nor locate
the sounds which had aroused me. And then from beyond the blank wall
beside which I lay I heard the shuffling of feet, the snarling of grim
beasts, the clank of metal accoutrements, and the heavy breathing of a
man.

As I rose to my feet I glanced hurriedly about the chamber in which I
had just encountered such a warm reception. The prisoners and the
savage brutes rested in their chains by the opposite wall eyeing me
with varying expressions of curiosity, sullen rage, surprise, and hope.

The latter emotion seemed plainly evident upon the handsome and
intelligent face of the young red Martian woman whose cry of warning
had been instrumental in saving my life.

She was the perfect type of that remarkably beautiful race whose
outward appearance is identical with the more god-like races of Earth
men, except that this higher race of Martians is of a light reddish
copper colour. As she was entirely unadorned I could not even guess her
station in life, though it was evident that she was either a prisoner
or slave in her present environment.

It was several seconds before the sounds upon the opposite side of the
partition jolted my slowly returning faculties into a realization of
their probable import, and then of a sudden I grasped the fact that
they were caused by Tars Tarkas in what was evidently a desperate
struggle with wild beasts or savage men.

With a cry of encouragement I threw my weight against the secret door,
but as well have assayed the down-hurling of the cliffs themselves.
Then I sought feverishly for the secret of the revolving panel, but my
search was fruitless, and I was about to raise my longsword against the
sullen gold when the young woman prisoner called out to me.

“Save thy sword, O Mighty Warrior, for thou shalt need it more where it
will avail to some purpose—shatter it not against senseless metal which
yields better to the lightest finger touch of one who knows its
secret.”

“Know you the secret of it then?” I asked.

“Yes; release me and I will give you entrance to the other horror
chamber, if you wish. The keys to my fetters are upon the first dead of
thy foemen. But why would you return to face again the fierce banth, or
whatever other form of destruction they have loosed within that awful
trap?”

“Because my friend fights there alone,” I answered, as I hastily sought
and found the keys upon the carcass of the dead custodian of this grim
chamber of horrors.

There were many keys upon the oval ring, but the fair Martian maid
quickly selected that which sprung the great lock at her waist, and
freed she hurried toward the secret panel.

Again she sought out a key upon the ring. This time a slender,
needle-like affair which she inserted in an almost invisible hole in
the wall. Instantly the door swung upon its pivot, and the contiguous
section of the floor upon which I was standing carried me with it into
the chamber where Tars Tarkas fought.

The great Thark stood with his back against an angle of the walls,
while facing him in a semi-circle a half-dozen huge monsters crouched
waiting for an opening. Their blood-streaked heads and shoulders
testified to the cause of their wariness as well as to the
swordsmanship of the green warrior whose glossy hide bore the same mute
but eloquent witness to the ferocity of the attacks that he had so far
withstood.

Sharp talons and cruel fangs had torn leg, arm, and breast literally to
ribbons. So weak was he from continued exertion and loss of blood that
but for the supporting wall I doubt that he even could have stood
erect. But with the tenacity and indomitable courage of his kind he
still faced his cruel and relentless foes—the personification of that
ancient proverb of his tribe: “Leave to a Thark his head and one hand
and he may yet conquer.”

As he saw me enter, a grim smile touched those grim lips of his, but
whether the smile signified relief or merely amusement at the sight of
my own bloody and dishevelled condition I do not know.

As I was about to spring into the conflict with my sharp long-sword I
felt a gentle hand upon my shoulder and turning found, to my surprise,
that the young woman had followed me into the chamber.

“Wait,” she whispered, “leave them to me,” and pushing me advanced, all
defenceless and unarmed, upon the snarling banths.

When quite close to them she spoke a single Martian word in low but
peremptory tones. Like lightning the great beasts wheeled upon her, and
I looked to see her torn to pieces before I could reach her side, but
instead the creatures slunk to her feet like puppies that expect a
merited whipping.

Again she spoke to them, but in tones so low I could not catch the
words, and then she started toward the opposite side of the chamber
with the six mighty monsters trailing at heel. One by one she sent them
through the secret panel into the room beyond, and when the last had
passed from the chamber where we stood in wide-eyed amazement she
turned and smiled at us and then herself passed through, leaving us
alone.

For a moment neither of us spoke. Then Tars Tarkas said:

“I heard the fighting beyond the partition through which you passed,
but I did not fear for you, John Carter, until I heard the report of a
revolver shot. I knew that there lived no man upon all Barsoom who
could face you with naked steel and live, but the shot stripped the
last vestige of hope from me, since you I knew to be without firearms.
Tell me of it.”

I did as he bade, and then together we sought the secret panel through
which I had just entered the apartment—the one at the opposite end of
the room from that through which the girl had led her savage
companions.

To our disappointment the panel eluded our every effort to negotiate
its secret lock. We felt that once beyond it we might look with some
little hope of success for a passage to the outside world.

The fact that the prisoners within were securely chained led us to
believe that surely there must be an avenue of escape from the terrible
creatures which inhabited this unspeakable place.

Again and again we turned from one door to another, from the baffling
golden panel at one end of the chamber to its mate at the other—equally
baffling.

When we had about given up all hope one of the panels turned silently
toward us, and the young woman who had led away the banths stood once
more beside us.

“Who are you?” she asked, “and what your mission, that you have the
temerity to attempt to escape from the Valley Dor and the death you
have chosen?”

“I have chosen no death, maiden,” I replied. “I am not of Barsoom, nor
have I taken yet the voluntary pilgrimage upon the River Iss. My friend
here is Jeddak of all the Tharks, and though he has not yet expressed a
desire to return to the living world, I am taking him with me from the
living lie that hath lured him to this frightful place.

“I am of another world. I am John Carter, Prince of the House of Tardos
Mors, Jeddak of Helium. Perchance some faint rumour of me may have
leaked within the confines of your hellish abode.”

She smiled.

“Yes,” she replied, “naught that passes in the world we have left is
unknown here. I have heard of you, many years ago. The therns have
ofttimes wondered whither you had flown, since you had neither taken
the pilgrimage, nor could be found upon the face of Barsoom.”

“Tell me,” I said, “and who be you, and why a prisoner, yet with power
over the ferocious beasts of the place that denotes familiarity and
authority far beyond that which might be expected of a prisoner or a
slave?”

“Slave I am,” she answered. “For fifteen years a slave in this terrible
place, and now that they have tired of me and become fearful of the
power which my knowledge of their ways has given me I am but recently
condemned to die the death.”

She shuddered.

“What death?” I asked.

“The Holy Therns eat human flesh,” she answered me; “but only that
which has died beneath the sucking lips of a plant man—flesh from which
the defiling blood of life has been drawn. And to this cruel end I have
been condemned. It was to be within a few hours, had your advent not
caused an interruption of their plans.”

“Was it then Holy Therns who felt the weight of John Carter’s hand?” I
asked.

“Oh, no; those whom you laid low are lesser therns; but of the same
cruel and hateful race. The Holy Therns abide upon the outer slopes of
these grim hills, facing the broad world from which they harvest their
victims and their spoils.

“Labyrinthine passages connect these caves with the luxurious palaces
of the Holy Therns, and through them pass upon their many duties the
lesser therns, and hordes of slaves, and prisoners, and fierce beasts;
the grim inhabitants of this sunless world.

“There be within this vast network of winding passages and countless
chambers men, women, and beasts who, born within its dim and gruesome
underworld, have never seen the light of day—nor ever shall.

“They are kept to do the bidding of the race of therns; to furnish at
once their sport and their sustenance.

“Now and again some hapless pilgrim, drifting out upon the silent sea
from the cold Iss, escapes the plant men and the great white apes that
guard the Temple of Issus and falls into the remorseless clutches of
the therns; or, as was my misfortune, is coveted by the Holy Thern who
chances to be upon watch in the balcony above the river where it issues
from the bowels of the mountains through the cliffs of gold to empty
into the Lost Sea of Korus.

“All who reach the Valley Dor are, by custom, the rightful prey of the
plant men and the apes, while their arms and ornaments become the
portion of the therns; but if one escapes the terrible denizens of the
valley for even a few hours the therns may claim such a one as their
own. And again the Holy Thern on watch, should he see a victim he
covets, often tramples upon the rights of the unreasoning brutes of the
valley and takes his prize by foul means if he cannot gain it by fair.

“It is said that occasionally some deluded victim of Barsoomian
superstition will so far escape the clutches of the countless enemies
that beset his path from the moment that he emerges from the
subterranean passage through which the Iss flows for a thousand miles
before it enters the Valley Dor as to reach the very walls of the
Temple of Issus; but what fate awaits one there not even the Holy
Therns may guess, for who has passed within those gilded walls never
has returned to unfold the mysteries they have held since the beginning
of time.

“The Temple of Issus is to the therns what the Valley Dor is imagined
by the peoples of the outer world to be to them; it is the ultimate
haven of peace, refuge, and happiness to which they pass after this
life and wherein an eternity of eternities is spent amidst the delights
of the flesh which appeal most strongly to this race of mental giants
and moral pygmies.”

“The Temple of Issus is, I take it, a heaven within a heaven,” I said.
“Let us hope that there it will be meted to the therns as they have
meted it here unto others.”

“Who knows?” the girl murmured.

“The therns, I judge from what you have said, are no less mortal than
we; and yet have I always heard them spoken of with the utmost awe and
reverence by the people of Barsoom, as one might speak of the gods
themselves.”

“The therns are mortal,” she replied. “They die from the same causes as
you or I might: those who do not live their allotted span of life, one
thousand years, when by the authority of custom they may take their way
in happiness through the long tunnel that leads to Issus.

“Those who die before are supposed to spend the balance of their
allotted time in the image of a plant man, and it is for this reason
that the plant men are held sacred by the therns, since they believe
that each of these hideous creatures was formerly a thern.”

“And should a plant man die?” I asked.

“Should he die before the expiration of the thousand years from the
birth of the thern whose immortality abides within him then the soul
passes into a great white ape, but should the ape die short of the
exact hour that terminates the thousand years the soul is for ever lost
and passes for all eternity into the carcass of the slimy and fearsome
silians whose wriggling thousands seethe the silent sea beneath the
hurtling moons when the sun has gone and strange shapes walk through
the Valley Dor.”

“We sent several Holy Therns to the silians to-day, then,” said Tars
Tarkas, laughing.

“And so will your death be the more terrible when it comes,” said the
maiden. “And come it will—you cannot escape.”

“One has escaped, centuries ago,” I reminded her, “and what has been
done may be done again.”

“It is useless even to try,” she answered hopelessly.

“But try we shall,” I cried, “and you shall go with us, if you wish.”

“To be put to death by mine own people, and render my memory a disgrace
to my family and my nation? A Prince of the House of Tardos Mors should
know better than to suggest such a thing.”

Tars Tarkas listened in silence, but I could feel his eyes riveted upon
me and I knew that he awaited my answer as one might listen to the
reading of his sentence by the foreman of a jury.

What I advised the girl to do would seal our fate as well, since if I
bowed to the inevitable decree of age-old superstition we must all
remain and meet our fate in some horrible form within this awful abode
of horror and cruelty.

“We have the right to escape if we can,” I answered. “Our own moral
senses will not be offended if we succeed, for we know that the fabled
life of love and peace in the blessed Valley of Dor is a rank and
wicked deception. We know that the valley is not sacred; we know that
the Holy Therns are not holy; that they are a race of cruel and
heartless mortals, knowing no more of the real life to come than we do.

“Not only is it our right to bend every effort to escape—it is a solemn
duty from which we should not shrink even though we know that we should
be reviled and tortured by our own peoples when we returned to them.

“Only thus may we carry the truth to those without, and though the
likelihood of our narrative being given credence is, I grant you,
remote, so wedded are mortals to their stupid infatuation for
impossible superstitions, we should be craven cowards indeed were we to
shirk the plain duty which confronts us.

“Again there is a chance that with the weight of the testimony of
several of us the truth of our statements may be accepted, and at least
a compromise effected which will result in the dispatching of an
expedition of investigation to this hideous mockery of heaven.”

Both the girl and the green warrior stood silent in thought for some
moments. The former it was who eventually broke the silence.

“Never had I considered the matter in that light before,” she said.
“Indeed would I give my life a thousand times if I could but save a
single soul from the awful life that I have led in this cruel place.
Yes, you are right, and I will go with you as far as we can go; but I
doubt that we ever shall escape.”

I turned an inquiring glance toward the Thark.

“To the gates of Issus, or to the bottom of Korus,” spoke the green
warrior; “to the snows to the north or to the snows to the south, Tars
Tarkas follows where John Carter leads. I have spoken.”

“Come, then,” I cried, “we must make the start, for we could not be
further from escape than we now are in the heart of this mountain and
within the four walls of this chamber of death.”

“Come, then,” said the girl, “but do not flatter yourself that you can
find no worse place than this within the territory of the therns.”

So saying she swung the secret panel that separated us from the
apartment in which I had found her, and we stepped through once more
into the presence of the other prisoners.

There were in all ten red Martians, men and women, and when we had
briefly explained our plan they decided to join forces with us, though
it was evident that it was with some considerable misgivings that they
thus tempted fate by opposing an ancient superstition, even though each
knew through cruel experience the fallacy of its entire fabric.

Thuvia, the girl whom I had first freed, soon had the others at
liberty. Tars Tarkas and I stripped the bodies of the two therns of
their weapons, which included swords, daggers, and two revolvers of the
curious and deadly type manufactured by the red Martians.

We distributed the weapons as far as they would go among our followers,
giving the firearms to two of the women; Thuvia being one so armed.

With the latter as our guide we set off rapidly but cautiously through
a maze of passages, crossing great chambers hewn from the solid metal
of the cliff, following winding corridors, ascending steep inclines,
and now and again concealing ourselves in dark recesses at the sound of
approaching footsteps.

Our destination, Thuvia said, was a distant storeroom where arms and
ammunition in plenty might be found. From there she was to lead us to
the summit of the cliffs, from where it would require both wondrous wit
and mighty fighting to win our way through the very heart of the
stronghold of the Holy Therns to the world without.

“And even then, O Prince,” she cried, “the arm of the Holy Thern is
long. It reaches to every nation of Barsoom. His secret temples are
hidden in the heart of every community. Wherever we go should we escape
we shall find that word of our coming has preceded us, and death awaits
us before we may pollute the air with our blasphemies.”

We had proceeded for possibly an hour without serious interruption, and
Thuvia had just whispered to me that we were approaching our first
destination, when on entering a great chamber we came upon a man,
evidently a thern.

He wore in addition to his leathern trappings and jewelled ornaments a
great circlet of gold about his brow in the exact centre of which was
set an immense stone, the exact counterpart of that which I had seen
upon the breast of the little old man at the atmosphere plant nearly
twenty years before.

It is the one priceless jewel of Barsoom. Only two are known to exist,
and these were worn as the insignia of their rank and position by the
two old men in whose charge was placed the operation of the great
engines which pump the artificial atmosphere to all parts of Mars from
the huge atmosphere plant, the secret to whose mighty portals placed in
my possession the ability to save from immediate extinction the life of
a whole world.

The stone worn by the thern who confronted us was of about the same
size as that which I had seen before; an inch in diameter I should say.
It scintillated nine different and distinct rays; the seven primary
colours of our earthly prism and the two rays which are unknown upon
Earth, but whose wondrous beauty is indescribable.

As the thern saw us his eyes narrowed to two nasty slits.

“Stop!” he cried. “What means this, Thuvia?”

For answer the girl raised her revolver and fired point-blank at him.
Without a sound he sank to the earth, dead.

“Beast!” she hissed. “After all these years I am at last revenged.”

Then as she turned toward me, evidently with a word of explanation on
her lips, her eyes suddenly widened as they rested upon me, and with a
little exclamation she started toward me.

“O Prince,” she cried, “Fate is indeed kind to us. The way is still
difficult, but through this vile thing upon the floor we may yet win to
the outer world. Notest thou not the remarkable resemblance between
this Holy Thern and thyself?”

The man was indeed of my precise stature, nor were his eyes and
features unlike mine; but his hair was a mass of flowing yellow locks,
like those of the two I had killed, while mine is black and close
cropped.

“What of the resemblance?” I asked the girl Thuvia. “Do you wish me
with my black, short hair to pose as a yellow-haired priest of this
infernal cult?”

She smiled, and for answer approached the body of the man she had
slain, and kneeling beside it removed the circlet of gold from the
forehead, and then to my utter amazement lifted the entire scalp bodily
from the corpse’s head.

Rising, she advanced to my side and placing the yellow wig over my
black hair, crowned me with the golden circlet set with the magnificent
gem.

“Now don his harness, Prince,” she said, “and you may pass where you
will in the realms of the therns, for Sator Throg was a Holy Thern of
the Tenth Cycle, and mighty among his kind.”

As I stooped to the dead man to do her bidding I noted that not a hair
grew upon his head, which was quite as bald as an egg.

“They are all thus from birth,” explained Thuvia noting my surprise.
“The race from which they sprang were crowned with a luxuriant growth
of golden hair, but for many ages the present race has been entirely
bald. The wig, however, has come to be a part of their apparel, and so
important a part do they consider it that it is cause for the deepest
disgrace were a thern to appear in public without it.”

In another moment I stood garbed in the habiliments of a Holy Thern.

At Thuvia’s suggestion two of the released prisoners bore the body of
the dead thern upon their shoulders with us as we continued our journey
toward the storeroom, which we reached without further mishap.

Here the keys which Thuvia bore from the dead thern of the prison vault
were the means of giving us immediate entrance to the chamber, and very
quickly we were thoroughly outfitted with arms and ammunition.

By this time I was so thoroughly fagged out that I could go no further,
so I threw myself upon the floor, bidding Tars Tarkas to do likewise,
and cautioning two of the released prisoners to keep careful watch.

In an instant I was asleep.




CHAPTER V
CORRIDORS OF PERIL


How long I slept upon the floor of the storeroom I do not know, but it
must have been many hours.

I was awakened with a start by cries of alarm, and scarce were my eyes
opened, nor had I yet sufficiently collected my wits to quite realize
where I was, when a fusillade of shots rang out, reverberating through
the subterranean corridors in a series of deafening echoes.

In an instant I was upon my feet. A dozen lesser therns confronted us
from a large doorway at the opposite end of the storeroom from which we
had entered. About me lay the bodies of my companions, with the
exception of Thuvia and Tars Tarkas, who, like myself, had been asleep
upon the floor and thus escaped the first raking fire.

As I gained my feet the therns lowered their wicked rifles, their faces
distorted in mingled chagrin, consternation, and alarm.

Instantly I rose to the occasion.

“What means this?” I cried in tones of fierce anger. “Is Sator Throg to
be murdered by his own vassals?”

“Have mercy, O Master of the Tenth Cycle!” cried one of the fellows,
while the others edged toward the doorway as though to attempt a
surreptitious escape from the presence of the mighty one.

“Ask them their mission here,” whispered Thuvia at my elbow.

“What do you here, fellows?” I cried.

“Two from the outer world are at large within the dominions of the
therns. We sought them at the command of the Father of Therns. One was
white with black hair, the other a huge green warrior,” and here the
fellow cast a suspicious glance toward Tars Tarkas.

“Here, then, is one of them,” spoke Thuvia, indicating the Thark, “and
if you will look upon this dead man by the door perhaps you will
recognize the other. It was left for Sator Throg and his poor slaves to
accomplish what the lesser therns of the guard were unable to do—we
have killed one and captured the other; for this had Sator Throg given
us our liberty. And now in your stupidity have you come and killed all
but myself, and like to have killed the mighty Sator Throg himself.”

The men looked very sheepish and very scared.

“Had they not better throw these bodies to the plant men and then
return to their quarters, O Mighty One?” asked Thuvia of me.

“Yes; do as Thuvia bids you,” I said.

As the men picked up the bodies I noticed that the one who stooped to
gather up the late Sator Throg started as his closer scrutiny fell upon
the upturned face, and then the fellow stole a furtive, sneaking glance
in my direction from the corner of his eye.

That he suspicioned something of the truth I could have sworn; but that
it was only a suspicion which he did not dare voice was evidenced by
his silence.

Again, as he bore the body from the room, he shot a quick but searching
glance toward me, and then his eyes fell once more upon the bald and
shiny dome of the dead man in his arms. The last fleeting glimpse that
I obtained of his profile as he passed from my sight without the
chamber revealed a cunning smile of triumph upon his lips.

Only Tars Tarkas, Thuvia, and I were left. The fatal marksmanship of
the therns had snatched from our companions whatever slender chance
they had of gaining the perilous freedom of the world without.

So soon as the last of the gruesome procession had disappeared the girl
urged us to take up our flight once more.

She, too, had noted the questioning attitude of the thern who had borne
Sator Throg away.

“It bodes no good for us, O Prince,” she said. “For even though this
fellow dared not chance accusing you in error, there be those above
with power sufficient to demand a closer scrutiny, and that, Prince,
would indeed prove fatal.”

I shrugged my shoulders. It seemed that in any event the outcome of our
plight must end in death. I was refreshed from my sleep, but still weak
from loss of blood. My wounds were painful. No medicinal aid seemed
possible. How I longed for the almost miraculous healing power of the
strange salves and lotions of the green Martian women. In an hour they
would have had me as new.

I was discouraged. Never had a feeling of such utter hopelessness come
over me in the face of danger. Then the long flowing, yellow locks of
the Holy Thern, caught by some vagrant draught, blew about my face.

Might they not still open the way of freedom? If we acted in time,
might we not even yet escape before the general alarm was sounded? We
could at least try.

“What will the fellow do first, Thuvia?” I asked. “How long will it be
before they may return for us?”

“He will go directly to the Father of Therns, old Matai Shang. He may
have to wait for an audience, but since he is very high among the
lesser therns, in fact as a thorian among them, it will not be long
that Matai Shang will keep him waiting.

“Then if the Father of Therns puts credence in his story, another hour
will see the galleries and chambers, the courts and gardens, filled
with searchers.”

“What we do then must be done within an hour. What is the best way,
Thuvia, the shortest way out of this celestial Hades?”

“Straight to the top of the cliffs, Prince,” she replied, “and then
through the gardens to the inner courts. From there our way will lie
within the temples of the therns and across them to the outer court.
Then the ramparts—O Prince, it is hopeless. Ten thousand warriors could
not hew a way to liberty from out this awful place.

“Since the beginning of time, little by little, stone by stone, have
the therns been ever adding to the defences of their stronghold. A
continuous line of impregnable fortifications circles the outer slopes
of the Mountains of Otz.

“Within the temples that lie behind the ramparts a million fighting-men
are ever ready. The courts and gardens are filled with slaves, with
women and with children.

“None could go a stone’s throw without detection.”

“If there is no other way, Thuvia, why dwell upon the difficulties of
this. We must face them.”

“Can we not better make the attempt after dark?” asked Tars Tarkas.
“There would seem to be no chance by day.”

“There would be a little better chance by night, but even then the
ramparts are well guarded; possibly better than by day. There are fewer
abroad in the courts and gardens, though,” said Thuvia.

“What is the hour?” I asked.

“It was midnight when you released me from my chains,” said Thuvia.
“Two hours later we reached the storeroom. There you slept for fourteen
hours. It must now be nearly sundown again. Come, we will go to some
nearby window in the cliff and make sure.”

So saying, she led the way through winding corridors until at a sudden
turn we came upon an opening which overlooked the Valley Dor.

At our right the sun was setting, a huge red orb, below the western
range of Otz. A little below us stood the Holy Thern on watch upon his
balcony. His scarlet robe of office was pulled tightly about him in
anticipation of the cold that comes so suddenly with darkness as the
sun sets. So rare is the atmosphere of Mars that it absorbs very little
heat from the sun. During the daylight hours it is always extremely
hot; at night it is intensely cold. Nor does the thin atmosphere
refract the sun’s rays or diffuse its light as upon Earth. There is no
twilight on Mars. When the great orb of day disappears beneath the
horizon the effect is precisely as that of the extinguishing of a
single lamp within a chamber. From brilliant light you are plunged
without warning into utter darkness. Then the moons come; the
mysterious, magic moons of Mars, hurtling like monster meteors low
across the face of the planet.

The declining sun lighted brilliantly the eastern banks of Korus, the
crimson sward, the gorgeous forest. Beneath the trees we saw feeding
many herds of plant men. The adults stood aloft upon their toes and
their mighty tails, their talons pruning every available leaf and twig.
It was then that I understood the careful trimming of the trees which
had led me to form the mistaken idea when first I opened my eyes upon
the grove that it was the playground of a civilized people.

As we watched, our eyes wandered to the rolling Iss, which issued from
the base of the cliffs beneath us. Presently there emerged from the
mountain a canoe laden with lost souls from the outer world. There were
a dozen of them. All were of the highly civilized and cultured race of
red men who are dominant on Mars.

The eyes of the herald upon the balcony beneath us fell upon the doomed
party as soon as did ours. He raised his head and leaning far out over
the low rail that rimmed his dizzy perch, voiced the shrill, weird wail
that called the demons of this hellish place to the attack.

For an instant the brutes stood with stiffly erected ears, then they
poured from the grove toward the river’s bank, covering the distance
with great, ungainly leaps.

The party had landed and was standing on the sward as the awful horde
came in sight. There was a brief and futile effort of defence. Then
silence as the huge, repulsive shapes covered the bodies of their
victims and scores of sucking mouths fastened themselves to the flesh
of their prey.

I turned away in disgust.

“Their part is soon over,” said Thuvia. “The great white apes get the
flesh when the plant men have drained the arteries. Look, they are
coming now.”

As I turned my eyes in the direction the girl indicated, I saw a dozen
of the great white monsters running across the valley toward the river
bank. Then the sun went down and darkness that could almost be felt
engulfed us.

Thuvia lost no time in leading us toward the corridor which winds back
and forth up through the cliffs toward the surface thousands of feet
above the level on which we had been.

Twice great banths, wandering loose through the galleries, blocked our
progress, but in each instance Thuvia spoke a low word of command and
the snarling beasts slunk sullenly away.

“If you can dissolve all our obstacles as easily as you master these
fierce brutes I can see no difficulties in our way,” I said to the
girl, smiling. “How do you do it?”

She laughed, and then shuddered.

“I do not quite know,” she said. “When first I came here I angered
Sator Throg, because I repulsed him. He ordered me to be thrown into
one of the great pits in the inner gardens. It was filled with banths.
In my own country I had been accustomed to command. Something in my
voice, I do not know what, cowed the beasts as they sprang to attack
me.

“Instead of tearing me to pieces, as Sator Throg had desired, they
fawned at my feet. So greatly were Sator Throg and his friends amused
by the sight that they kept me to train and handle the terrible
creatures. I know them all by name. There are many of them wandering
through these lower regions. They are the scavengers. Many prisoners
die here in their chains. The banths solve the problem of sanitation,
at least in this respect.

“In the gardens and temples above they are kept in pits. The therns
fear them. It is because of the banths that they seldom venture below
ground except as their duties call them.”

An idea occurred to me, suggested by what Thuvia had just said.

“Why not take a number of banths and set them loose before us above
ground?” I asked.

Thuvia laughed.

“It would distract attention from us, I am sure,” she said.

She commenced calling in a low singsong voice that was half purr. She
continued this as we wound our tedious way through the maze of
subterranean passages and chambers.

Presently soft, padded feet sounded close behind us, and as I turned I
saw a pair of great, green eyes shining in the dark shadows at our
rear. From a diverging tunnel a sinuous, tawny form crept stealthily
toward us.

Low growls and angry snarls assailed our ears on every side as we
hastened on and one by one the ferocious creatures answered the call of
their mistress.

She spoke a word to each as it joined us. Like well-schooled terriers,
they paced the corridors with us, but I could not help but note the
lathering jowls, nor the hungry expressions with which they eyed Tars
Tarkas and myself.

Soon we were entirely surrounded by some fifty of the brutes. Two
walked close on either side of Thuvia, as guards might walk. The sleek
sides of others now and then touched my own naked limbs. It was a
strange experience; the almost noiseless passage of naked human feet
and padded paws; the golden walls splashed with precious stones; the
dim light cast by the tiny radium bulbs set at considerable distances
along the roof; the huge, maned beasts of prey crowding with low growls
about us; the mighty green warrior towering high above us all; myself
crowned with the priceless diadem of a Holy Thern; and leading the
procession the beautiful girl, Thuvia.

I shall not soon forget it.

Presently we approached a great chamber more brightly lighted than the
corridors. Thuvia halted us. Quietly she stole toward the entrance and
glanced within. Then she motioned us to follow her.

The room was filled with specimens of the strange beings that inhabit
this underworld; a heterogeneous collection of hybrids—the offspring of
the prisoners from the outside world; red and green Martians and the
white race of therns.

Constant confinement below ground had wrought odd freaks upon their
skins. They more resemble corpses than living beings. Many are
deformed, others maimed, while the majority, Thuvia explained, are
sightless.

As they lay sprawled about the floor, sometimes overlapping one
another, again in heaps of several bodies, they suggested instantly to
me the grotesque illustrations that I had seen in copies of Dante’s
_Inferno_, and what more fitting comparison? Was this not indeed a
veritable hell, peopled by lost souls, dead and damned beyond all hope?

Picking our way carefully we threaded a winding path across the
chamber, the great banths sniffing hungrily at the tempting prey spread
before them in such tantalizing and defenceless profusion.

Several times we passed the entrances to other chambers similarly
peopled, and twice again we were compelled to cross directly through
them. In others were chained prisoners and beasts.

“Why is it that we see no therns?” I asked of Thuvia.

“They seldom traverse the underworld at night, for then it is that the
great banths prowl the dim corridors seeking their prey. The therns
fear the awful denizens of this cruel and hopeless world that they have
fostered and allowed to grow beneath their feet. The prisoners even
sometimes turn upon them and rend them. The thern can never tell from
what dark shadow an assassin may spring upon his back.

“By day it is different. Then the corridors and chambers are filled
with guards passing to and fro; slaves from the temples above come by
hundreds to the granaries and storerooms. All is life then. You did not
see it because I led you not in the beaten tracks, but through
roundabout passages seldom used. Yet it is possible that we may meet a
thern even yet. They do occasionally find it necessary to come here
after the sun has set. Because of this I have moved with such great
caution.”

But we reached the upper galleries without detection and presently
Thuvia halted us at the foot of a short, steep ascent.

“Above us,” she said, “is a doorway which opens on to the inner
gardens. I have brought you thus far. From here on for four miles to
the outer ramparts our way will be beset by countless dangers. Guards
patrol the courts, the temples, the gardens. Every inch of the ramparts
themselves is beneath the eye of a sentry.”

I could not understand the necessity for such an enormous force of
armed men about a spot so surrounded by mystery and superstition that
not a soul upon Barsoom would have dared to approach it even had they
known its exact location. I questioned Thuvia, asking her what enemies
the therns could fear in their impregnable fortress.

We had reached the doorway now and Thuvia was opening it.

“They fear the black pirates of Barsoom, O Prince,” she said, “from
whom may our first ancestors preserve us.”

The door swung open; the smell of growing things greeted my nostrils;
the cool night air blew against my cheek. The great banths sniffed the
unfamiliar odours, and then with a rush they broke past us with low
growls, swarming across the gardens beneath the lurid light of the
nearer moon.

Suddenly a great cry arose from the roofs of the temples; a cry of
alarm and warning that, taken up from point to point, ran off to the
east and to the west, from temple, court, and rampart, until it sounded
as a dim echo in the distance.

The great Thark’s long-sword leaped from its scabbard; Thuvia shrank
shuddering to my side.




CHAPTER VI
THE BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM


“What is it?” I asked of the girl.

For answer she pointed to the sky.

I looked, and there, above us, I saw shadowy bodies flitting hither and
thither high over temple, court, and garden.

Almost immediately flashes of light broke from these strange objects.
There was a roar of musketry, and then answering flashes and roars from
temple and rampart.

“The black pirates of Barsoom, O Prince,” said Thuvia.

In great circles the air craft of the marauders swept lower and lower
toward the defending forces of the therns.

Volley after volley they vomited upon the temple guards; volley on
volley crashed through the thin air toward the fleeting and illusive
fliers.

As the pirates swooped closer toward the ground, thern soldiery poured
from the temples into the gardens and courts. The sight of them in the
open brought a score of fliers darting toward us from all directions.

The therns fired upon them through shields affixed to their rifles, but
on, steadily on, came the grim, black craft. They were small fliers for
the most part, built for two to three men. A few larger ones there
were, but these kept high aloft dropping bombs upon the temples from
their keel batteries.

At length, with a concerted rush, evidently in response to a signal of
command, the pirates in our immediate vicinity dashed recklessly to the
ground in the very midst of the thern soldiery.

Scarcely waiting for their craft to touch, the creatures manning them
leaped among the therns with the fury of demons. Such fighting! Never
had I witnessed its like before. I had thought the green Martians the
most ferocious warriors in the universe, but the awful abandon with
which the black pirates threw themselves upon their foes transcended
everything I ever before had seen.

Beneath the brilliant light of Mars’ two glorious moons the whole scene
presented itself in vivid distinctness. The golden-haired,
white-skinned therns battling with desperate courage in hand-to-hand
conflict with their ebony-skinned foemen.

Here a little knot of struggling warriors trampled a bed of gorgeous
pimalia; there the curved sword of a black man found the heart of a
thern and left its dead foeman at the foot of a wondrous statue carved
from a living ruby; yonder a dozen therns pressed a single pirate back
upon a bench of emerald, upon whose iridescent surface a strangely
beautiful Barsoomian design was traced out in inlaid diamonds.

A little to one side stood Thuvia, the Thark, and I. The tide of battle
had not reached us, but the fighters from time to time swung close
enough that we might distinctly note them.

The black pirates interested me immensely. I had heard vague rumours,
little more than legends they were, during my former life on Mars; but
never had I seen them, nor talked with one who had.

They were popularly supposed to inhabit the lesser moon, from which
they descended upon Barsoom at long intervals. Where they visited they
wrought the most horrible atrocities, and when they left carried away
with them firearms and ammunition, and young girls as prisoners. These
latter, the rumour had it, they sacrificed to some terrible god in an
orgy which ended in the eating of their victims.

I had an excellent opportunity to examine them, as the strife
occasionally brought now one and now another close to where I stood.
They were large men, possibly six feet and over in height. Their
features were clear cut and handsome in the extreme; their eyes were
well set and large, though a slight narrowness lent them a crafty
appearance; the iris, as well as I could determine by moonlight, was of
extreme blackness, while the eyeball itself was quite white and clear.
The physical structure of their bodies seemed identical with those of
the therns, the red men, and my own. Only in the colour of their skin
did they differ materially from us; that is of the appearance of
polished ebony, and odd as it may seem for a Southerner to say it, adds
to rather than detracts from their marvellous beauty.

But if their bodies are divine, their hearts, apparently, are quite the
reverse. Never did I witness such a malign lust for blood as these
demons of the outer air evinced in their mad battle with the therns.

All about us in the garden lay their sinister craft, which the therns
for some reason, then unaccountable to me, made no effort to injure.
Now and again a black warrior would rush from a nearby temple bearing a
young woman in his arms. Straight for his flier he would leap while
those of his comrades who fought near by would rush to cover his
escape.

The therns on their side would hasten to rescue the girl, and in an
instant the two would be swallowed in the vortex of a maelstrom of
yelling devils, hacking and hewing at one another, like fiends
incarnate.

But always, it seemed, were the black pirates of Barsoom victorious,
and the girl, brought miraculously unharmed through the conflict, borne
away into the outer darkness upon the deck of a swift flier.

Fighting similar to that which surrounded us could be heard in both
directions as far as sound carried, and Thuvia told me that the attacks
of the black pirates were usually made simultaneously along the entire
ribbon-like domain of the therns, which circles the Valley Dor on the
outer slopes of the Mountains of Otz.

As the fighting receded from our position for a moment, Thuvia turned
toward me with a question.

“Do you understand now, O Prince,” she said, “why a million warriors
guard the domains of the Holy Therns by day and by night?”

“The scene you are witnessing now is but a repetition of what I have
seen enacted a score of times during the fifteen years I have been a
prisoner here. From time immemorial the black pirates of Barsoom have
preyed upon the Holy Therns.

“Yet they never carry their expeditions to a point, as one might
readily believe it was in their power to do, where the extermination of
the race of therns is threatened. It is as though they but utilized the
race as playthings, with which they satisfy their ferocious lust for
fighting; and from whom they collect toll in arms and ammunition and in
prisoners.”

“Why don’t they jump in and destroy these fliers?” I asked. “That would
soon put a stop to the attacks, or at least the blacks would scarce be
so bold. Why, see how perfectly unguarded they leave their craft, as
though they were lying safe in their own hangars at home.”

“The therns do not dare. They tried it once, ages ago, but the next
night and for a whole moon thereafter a thousand great black
battleships circled the Mountains of Otz, pouring tons of projectiles
upon the temples, the gardens, and the courts, until every thern who
was not killed was driven for safety into the subterranean galleries.

“The therns know that they live at all only by the sufferance of the
black men. They were near to extermination that once and they will not
venture risking it again.”

As she ceased talking a new element was instilled into the conflict. It
came from a source equally unlooked for by either thern or pirate. The
great banths which we had liberated in the garden had evidently been
awed at first by the sound of the battle, the yelling of the warriors
and the loud report of rifle and bomb.

But now they must have become angered by the continuous noise and
excited by the smell of new blood, for all of a sudden a great form
shot from a clump of low shrubbery into the midst of a struggling mass
of humanity. A horrid scream of bestial rage broke from the banth as he
felt warm flesh beneath his powerful talons.

As though his cry was but a signal to the others, the entire great pack
hurled themselves among the fighters. Panic reigned in an instant.
Thern and black man turned alike against the common enemy, for the
banths showed no partiality toward either.

The awful beasts bore down a hundred men by the mere weight of their
great bodies as they hurled themselves into the thick of the fight.
Leaping and clawing, they mowed down the warriors with their powerful
paws, turning for an instant to rend their victims with frightful
fangs.

The scene was fascinating in its terribleness, but suddenly it came to
me that we were wasting valuable time watching this conflict, which in
itself might prove a means of our escape.

The therns were so engaged with their terrible assailants that now, if
ever, escape should be comparatively easy. I turned to search for an
opening through the contending hordes. If we could but reach the
ramparts we might find that the pirates somewhere had thinned the
guarding forces and left a way open to us to the world without.

As my eyes wandered about the garden, the sight of the hundreds of air
craft lying unguarded around us suggested the simplest avenue to
freedom. Why it had not occurred to me before! I was thoroughly
familiar with the mechanism of every known make of flier on Barsoom.
For nine years I had sailed and fought with the navy of Helium. I had
raced through space on the tiny one-man air scout and I had commanded
the greatest battleship that ever had floated in the thin air of dying
Mars.

To think, with me, is to act. Grasping Thuvia by the arm, I whispered
to Tars Tarkas to follow me. Quickly we glided toward a small flier
which lay furthest from the battling warriors. Another instant found us
huddled on the tiny deck. My hand was on the starting lever. I pressed
my thumb upon the button which controls the ray of repulsion, that
splendid discovery of the Martians which permits them to navigate the
thin atmosphere of their planet in huge ships that dwarf the
dreadnoughts of our earthly navies into pitiful insignificance.

The craft swayed slightly but she did not move. Then a new cry of
warning broke upon our ears. Turning, I saw a dozen black pirates
dashing toward us from the melee. We had been discovered. With shrieks
of rage the demons sprang for us. With frenzied insistence I continued
to press the little button which should have sent us racing out into
space, but still the vessel refused to budge. Then it came to me—the
reason that she would not rise.

We had stumbled upon a two-man flier. Its ray tanks were charged only
with sufficient repulsive energy to lift two ordinary men. The Thark’s
great weight was anchoring us to our doom.

The blacks were nearly upon us. There was not an instant to be lost in
hesitation or doubt.

I pressed the button far in and locked it. Then I set the lever at high
speed and as the blacks came yelling upon us I slipped from the craft’s
deck and with drawn long-sword met the attack.

At the same moment a girl’s shriek rang out behind me and an instant
later, as the blacks fell upon me. I heard far above my head, and
faintly, in Thuvia’s voice: “My Prince, O my Prince; I would rather
remain and die with—” But the rest was lost in the noise of my
assailants.

I knew though that my ruse had worked and that temporarily at least
Thuvia and Tars Tarkas were safe, and the means of escape was theirs.

For a moment it seemed that I could not withstand the weight of numbers
that confronted me, but again, as on so many other occasions when I had
been called upon to face fearful odds upon this planet of warriors and
fierce beasts, I found that my earthly strength so far transcended that
of my opponents that the odds were not so greatly against me as they
appeared.

My seething blade wove a net of death about me. For an instant the
blacks pressed close to reach me with their shorter swords, but
presently they gave back, and the esteem in which they suddenly had
learned to hold my sword arm was writ large upon each countenance.

I knew though that it was but a question of minutes before their
greater numbers would wear me down, or get around my guard. I must go
down eventually to certain death before them. I shuddered at the
thought of it, dying thus in this terrible place where no word of my
end ever could reach my Dejah Thoris. Dying at the hands of nameless
black men in the gardens of the cruel therns.

Then my old-time spirit reasserted itself. The fighting blood of my
Virginian sires coursed hot through my veins. The fierce blood lust and
the joy of battle surged over me. The fighting smile that has brought
consternation to a thousand foemen touched my lips. I put the thought
of death out of my mind, and fell upon my antagonists with fury that
those who escaped will remember to their dying day.

That others would press to the support of those who faced me I knew, so
even as I fought I kept my wits at work, searching for an avenue of
escape.

It came from an unexpected quarter out of the black night behind me. I
had just disarmed a huge fellow who had given me a desperate struggle,
and for a moment the blacks stood back for a breathing spell.

They eyed me with malignant fury, yet withal there was a touch of
respect in their demeanour.

“Thern,” said one, “you fight like a Dator. But for your detestable
yellow hair and your white skin you would be an honour to the First
Born of Barsoom.”

“I am no thern,” I said, and was about to explain that I was from
another world, thinking that by patching a truce with these fellows and
fighting with them against the therns I might enlist their aid in
regaining my liberty. But just at that moment a heavy object smote me a
resounding whack between my shoulders that nearly felled me to the
ground.

As I turned to meet this new enemy an object passed over my shoulder,
striking one of my assailants squarely in the face and knocking him
senseless to the sward. At the same instant I saw that the thing that
had struck us was the trailing anchor of a rather fair-sized air
vessel; possibly a ten man cruiser.

The ship was floating slowly above us, not more than fifty feet over
our heads. Instantly the one chance for escape that it offered
presented itself to me. The vessel was slowly rising and now the anchor
was beyond the blacks who faced me and several feet above their heads.

With a bound that left them gaping in wide-eyed astonishment I sprang
completely over them. A second leap carried me just high enough to
grasp the now rapidly receding anchor.

But I was successful, and there I hung by one hand, dragging through
the branches of the higher vegetation of the gardens, while my late
foemen shrieked and howled beneath me.

Presently the vessel veered toward the west and then swung gracefully
to the south. In another instant I was carried beyond the crest of the
Golden Cliffs, out over the Valley Dor, where, six thousand feet below
me, the Lost Sea of Korus lay shimmering in the moonlight.

Carefully I climbed to a sitting posture across the anchor’s arms. I
wondered if by chance the vessel might be deserted. I hoped so. Or
possibly it might belong to a friendly people, and have wandered by
accident almost within the clutches of the pirates and the therns. The
fact that it was retreating from the scene of battle lent colour to
this hypothesis.

But I decided to know positively, and at once, so, with the greatest
caution, I commenced to climb slowly up the anchor chain toward the
deck above me.

One hand had just reached for the vessel’s rail and found it when a
fierce black face was thrust over the side and eyes filled with
triumphant hate looked into mine.




CHAPTER VII
A FAIR GODDESS


For an instant the black pirate and I remained motionless, glaring into
each other’s eyes. Then a grim smile curled the handsome lips above me,
as an ebony hand came slowly in sight from above the edge of the deck
and the cold, hollow eye of a revolver sought the centre of my
forehead.

[Illustration] The cold, hollow eye of a revolver sought the centre of
my forehead.


Simultaneously my free hand shot out for the black throat, just within
reach, and the ebony finger tightened on the trigger. The pirate’s
hissing, “Die, cursed thern,” was half choked in his windpipe by my
clutching fingers. The hammer fell with a futile click upon an empty
chamber.

Before he could fire again I had pulled him so far over the edge of the
deck that he was forced to drop his firearm and clutch the rail with
both hands.

My grasp upon his throat effectually prevented any outcry, and so we
struggled in grim silence; he to tear away from my hold, I to drag him
over to his death.

His face was taking on a livid hue, his eyes were bulging from their
sockets. It was evident to him that he soon must die unless he tore
loose from the steel fingers that were choking the life from him. With
a final effort he threw himself further back upon the deck, at the same
instant releasing his hold upon the rail to tear frantically with both
hands at my fingers in an effort to drag them from his throat.

That little second was all that I awaited. With one mighty downward
surge I swept him clear of the deck. His falling body came near to
tearing me from the frail hold that my single free hand had upon the
anchor chain and plunging me with him to the waters of the sea below.

I did not relinquish my grasp upon him, however, for I knew that a
single shriek from those lips as he hurtled to his death in the silent
waters of the sea would bring his comrades from above to avenge him.

Instead I held grimly to him, choking, ever choking, while his frantic
struggles dragged me lower and lower toward the end of the chain.

Gradually his contortions became spasmodic, lessening by degrees until
they ceased entirely. Then I released my hold upon him and in an
instant he was swallowed by the black shadows far below.

Again I climbed to the ship’s rail. This time I succeeded in raising my
eyes to the level of the deck, where I could take a careful survey of
the conditions immediately confronting me.

The nearer moon had passed below the horizon, but the clear effulgence
of the further satellite bathed the deck of the cruiser, bringing into
sharp relief the bodies of six or eight black men sprawled about in
sleep.

Huddled close to the base of a rapid fire gun was a young white girl,
securely bound. Her eyes were widespread in an expression of horrified
anticipation and fixed directly upon me as I came in sight above the
edge of the deck.

Unutterable relief instantly filled them as if they fell upon the
mystic jewel which sparkled in the centre of my stolen headpiece. She
did not speak. Instead her eyes warned me to beware the sleeping
figures that surrounded her.

Noiselessly I gained the deck. The girl nodded to me to approach her.
As I bent low she whispered to me to release her.

“I can aid you,” she said, “and you will need all the aid available
when they awaken.”

“Some of them will awake in Korus,” I replied smiling.

She caught the meaning of my words, and the cruelty of her answering
smile horrified me. One is not astonished by cruelty in a hideous face,
but when it touches the features of a goddess whose fine-chiselled
lineaments might more fittingly portray love and beauty, the contrast
is appalling.

Quickly I released her.

“Give me a revolver,” she whispered. “I can use that upon those your
sword does not silence in time.”

I did as she bid. Then I turned toward the distasteful work that lay
before me. This was no time for fine compunctions, nor for a chivalry
that these cruel demons would neither appreciate nor reciprocate.

Stealthily I approached the nearest sleeper. When he awoke he was well
on his journey to the bosom of Korus. His piercing shriek as
consciousness returned to him came faintly up to us from the black
depths beneath.

The second awoke as I touched him, and, though I succeeded in hurling
him from the cruiser’s deck, his wild cry of alarm brought the
remaining pirates to their feet. There were five of them.

As they arose the girl’s revolver spoke in sharp staccato and one sank
back to the deck again to rise no more.

The others rushed madly upon me with drawn swords. The girl evidently
dared not fire for fear of wounding me, but I saw her sneak stealthily
and cat-like toward the flank of the attackers. Then they were on me.

For a few minutes I experienced some of the hottest fighting I had ever
passed through. The quarters were too small for foot work. It was stand
your ground and give and take. At first I took considerably more than I
gave, but presently I got beneath one fellow’s guard and had the
satisfaction of seeing him collapse upon the deck.

The others redoubled their efforts. The crashing of their blades upon
mine raised a terrific din that might have been heard for miles through
the silent night. Sparks flew as steel smote steel, and then there was
the dull and sickening sound of a shoulder bone parting beneath the
keen edge of my Martian sword.

Three now faced me, but the girl was working her way to a point that
would soon permit her to reduce the number by one at least. Then things
happened with such amazing rapidity that I can scarce comprehend even
now all that took place in that brief instant.

The three rushed me with the evident purpose of forcing me back the few
steps that would carry my body over the rail into the void below. At
the same instant the girl fired and my sword arm made two moves. One
man dropped with a bullet in his brain; a sword flew clattering across
the deck and dropped over the edge beyond as I disarmed one of my
opponents and the third went down with my blade buried to the hilt in
his breast and three feet of it protruding from his back, and falling
wrenched the sword from my grasp.

Disarmed myself, I now faced my remaining foeman, whose own sword lay
somewhere thousands of feet below us, lost in the Lost Sea.

The new conditions seemed to please my adversary, for a smile of
satisfaction bared his gleaming teeth as he rushed at me bare-handed.
The great muscles which rolled beneath his glossy black hide evidently
assured him that here was easy prey, not worth the trouble of drawing
the dagger from his harness.

I let him come almost upon me. Then I ducked beneath his outstretched
arms, at the same time sidestepping to the right. Pivoting on my left
toe, I swung a terrific right to his jaw, and, like a felled ox, he
dropped in his tracks.

A low, silvery laugh rang out behind me.

“You are no thern,” said the sweet voice of my companion, “for all your
golden locks or the harness of Sator Throg. Never lived there upon all
Barsoom before one who could fight as you have fought this night. Who
are you?”

“I am John Carter, Prince of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of
Helium,” I replied. “And whom,” I added, “has the honour of serving
been accorded me?”

She hesitated a moment before speaking. Then she asked:

“You are no thern. Are you an enemy of the therns?”

“I have been in the territory of the therns for a day and a half.
During that entire time my life has been in constant danger. I have
been harassed and persecuted. Armed men and fierce beasts have been set
upon me. I had no quarrel with the therns before, but can you wonder
that I feel no great love for them now? I have spoken.”

She looked at me intently for several minutes before she replied. It
was as though she were attempting to read my inmost soul, to judge my
character and my standards of chivalry in that long-drawn, searching
gaze.

Apparently the inventory satisfied her.

“I am Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang, Holy Hekkador of the Holy
Therns, Father of Therns, Master of Life and Death upon Barsoom,
Brother of Issus, Prince of Life Eternal.”

At that moment I noticed that the black I had dropped with my fist was
commencing to show signs of returning consciousness. I sprang to his
side. Stripping his harness from him I securely bound his hands behind
his back, and after similarly fastening his feet tied him to a heavy
gun carriage.

“Why not the simpler way?” asked Phaidor.

“I do not understand. What ‘simpler way’?” I replied.

With a slight shrug of her lovely shoulders she made a gesture with her
hands personating the casting of something over the craft’s side.

“I am no murderer,” I said. “I kill in self-defence only.”

She looked at me narrowly. Then she puckered those divine brows of
hers, and shook her head. She could not comprehend.

Well, neither had my own Dejah Thoris been able to understand what to
her had seemed a foolish and dangerous policy toward enemies. Upon
Barsoom, quarter is neither asked nor given, and each dead man means so
much more of the waning resources of this dying planet to be divided
amongst those who survive.

But there seemed a subtle difference here between the manner in which
this girl contemplated the dispatching of an enemy and the
tender-hearted regret of my own princess for the stern necessity which
demanded it.

I think that Phaidor regretted the thrill that the spectacle would have
afforded her rather than the fact that my decision left another enemy
alive to threaten us.

The man had now regained full possession of his faculties, and was
regarding us intently from where he lay bound upon the deck. He was a
handsome fellow, clean limbed and powerful, with an intelligent face
and features of such exquisite chiselling that Adonis himself might
have envied him.

The vessel, unguided, had been moving slowly across the valley; but now
I thought it time to take the helm and direct her course. Only in a
very general way could I guess the location of the Valley Dor. That it
was far south of the equator was evident from the constellations, but I
was not sufficiently a Martian astronomer to come much closer than a
rough guess without the splendid charts and delicate instruments with
which, as an officer in the Heliumite Navy, I had formerly reckoned the
positions of the vessels on which I sailed.

That a northerly course would quickest lead me toward the more settled
portions of the planet immediately decided the direction that I should
steer. Beneath my hand the cruiser swung gracefully about. Then the
button which controlled the repulsive rays sent us soaring far out into
space. With speed lever pulled to the last notch, we raced toward the
north as we rose ever farther and farther above that terrible valley of
death.

As we passed at a dizzy height over the narrow domains of the therns
the flash of powder far below bore mute witness to the ferocity of the
battle that still raged along that cruel frontier. No sound of conflict
reached our ears, for in the rarefied atmosphere of our great altitude
no sound wave could penetrate; they were dissipated in thin air far
below us.

It became intensely cold. Breathing was difficult. The girl, Phaidor,
and the black pirate kept their eyes glued upon me. At length the girl
spoke.

“Unconsciousness comes quickly at this altitude,” she said quietly.
“Unless you are inviting death for us all you had best drop, and that
quickly.”

There was no fear in her voice. It was as one might say: “You had
better carry an umbrella. It is going to rain.”

I dropped the vessel quickly to a lower level. Nor was I a moment too
soon. The girl had swooned.

The black, too, was unconscious, while I, myself, retained my senses, I
think, only by sheer will. The one on whom all responsibility rests is
apt to endure the most.

We were swinging along low above the foothills of the Otz. It was
comparatively warm and there was plenty of air for our starved lungs,
so I was not surprised to see the black open his eyes, and a moment
later the girl also.

“It was a close call,” she said.

“It has taught me two things though,” I replied.

“What?”

“That even Phaidor, daughter of the Master of Life and Death, is
mortal,” I said smiling.

“There is immortality only in Issus,” she replied. “And Issus is for
the race of therns alone. Thus am I immortal.”

I caught a fleeting grin passing across the features of the black as he
heard her words. I did not then understand why he smiled. Later I was
to learn, and she, too, in a most horrible manner.

“If the other thing you have just learned,” she continued, “has led to
as erroneous deductions as the first you are little richer in knowledge
than you were before.”

“The other,” I replied, “is that our dusky friend here does not hail
from the nearer moon—he was like to have died at a few thousand feet
above Barsoom. Had we continued the five thousand miles that lie
between Thuria and the planet he would have been but the frozen memory
of a man.”

Phaidor looked at the black in evident astonishment.

“If you are not of Thuria, then where?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned his eyes elsewhere, but did not
reply.

The girl stamped her little foot in a peremptory manner.

“The daughter of Matai Shang is not accustomed to having her queries
remain unanswered,” she said. “One of the lesser breed should feel
honoured that a member of the holy race that was born to inherit life
eternal should deign even to notice him.”

Again the black smiled that wicked, knowing smile.

“Xodar, Dator of the First Born of Barsoom, is accustomed to give
commands, not to receive them,” replied the black pirate. Then, turning
to me, “What are your intentions concerning me?”

“I intend taking you both back to Helium,” I said. “No harm will come
to you. You will find the red men of Helium a kindly and magnanimous
race, but if they listen to me there will be no more voluntary
pilgrimages down the river Iss, and the impossible belief that they
have cherished for ages will be shattered into a thousand pieces.”

“Are you of Helium?” he asked.

“I am a Prince of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium,” I
replied, “but I am not of Barsoom. I am of another world.”

Xodar looked at me intently for a few moments.

“I can well believe that you are not of Barsoom,” he said at length.
“None of this world could have bested eight of the First Born
single-handed. But how is it that you wear the golden hair and the
jewelled circlet of a Holy Thern?” He emphasized the word holy with a
touch of irony.

“I had forgotten them,” I said. “They are the spoils of conquest,” and
with a sweep of my hand I removed the disguise from my head.

When the black’s eyes fell on my close-cropped black hair they opened
in astonishment. Evidently he had looked for the bald pate of a thern.

“You are indeed of another world,” he said, a touch of awe in his
voice. “With the skin of a thern, the black hair of a First Born and
the muscles of a dozen Dators it was no disgrace even for Xodar to
acknowledge your supremacy. A thing he could never do were you a
Barsoomian,” he added.

“You are travelling several laps ahead of me, my friend,” I
interrupted. “I glean that your name is Xodar, but whom, pray, are the
First Born, and what a Dator, and why, if you were conquered by a
Barsoomian, could you not acknowledge it?”

“The First Born of Barsoom,” he explained, “are the race of black men
of which I am a Dator, or, as the lesser Barsoomians would say, Prince.
My race is the oldest on the planet. We trace our lineage, unbroken,
direct to the Tree of Life which flourished in the centre of the Valley
Dor twenty-three million years ago.

“For countless ages the fruit of this tree underwent the gradual
changes of evolution, passing by degrees from true plant life to a
combination of plant and animal. In the first stages the fruit of the
tree possessed only the power of independent muscular action, while the
stem remained attached to the parent plant; later a brain developed in
the fruit, so that hanging there by their long stems they thought and
moved as individuals.

“Then, with the development of perceptions came a comparison of them;
judgments were reached and compared, and thus reason and the power to
reason were born upon Barsoom.

“Ages passed. Many forms of life came and went upon the Tree of Life,
but still all were attached to the parent plant by stems of varying
lengths. At length the fruit tree consisted in tiny plant men, such as
we now see reproduced in such huge dimensions in the Valley Dor, but
still hanging to the limbs and branches of the tree by the stems which
grew from the tops of their heads.

“The buds from which the plant men blossomed resembled large nuts about
a foot in diameter, divided by double partition walls into four
sections. In one section grew the plant man, in another a
sixteen-legged worm, in the third the progenitor of the white ape and
in the fourth the primaeval black man of Barsoom.

“When the bud burst the plant man remained dangling at the end of his
stem, but the three other sections fell to the ground, where the
efforts of their imprisoned occupants to escape sent them hopping about
in all directions.

“Thus as time went on, all Barsoom was covered with these imprisoned
creatures. For countless ages they lived their long lives within their
hard shells, hopping and skipping about the broad planet; falling into
rivers, lakes, and seas, to be still further spread about the surface
of the new world.

“Countless billions died before the first black man broke through his
prison walls into the light of day. Prompted by curiosity, he broke
open other shells and the peopling of Barsoom commenced.

“The pure strain of the blood of this first black man has remained
untainted by admixture with other creatures in the race of which I am a
member; but from the sixteen-legged worm, the first ape and renegade
black man has sprung every other form of animal life upon Barsoom.

“The therns,” and he smiled maliciously as he spoke, “are but the
result of ages of evolution from the pure white ape of antiquity. They
are a lower order still. There is but one race of true and immortal
humans on Barsoom. It is the race of black men.

“The Tree of Life is dead, but before it died the plant men learned to
detach themselves from it and roam the face of Barsoom with the other
children of the First Parent.

“Now their bisexuality permits them to reproduce themselves after the
manner of true plants, but otherwise they have progressed but little in
all the ages of their existence. Their actions and movements are
largely matters of instinct and not guided to any great extent by
reason, since the brain of a plant man is but a trifle larger than the
end of your smallest finger. They live upon vegetation and the blood of
animals, and their brain is just large enough to direct their movements
in the direction of food, and to translate the food sensations which
are carried to it from their eyes and ears. They have no sense of
self-preservation and so are entirely without fear in the face of
danger. That is why they are such terrible antagonists in combat.”

I wondered why the black man took such pains to discourse thus at
length to enemies upon the genesis of life Barsoomian. It seemed a
strangely inopportune moment for a proud member of a proud race to
unbend in casual conversation with a captor. Especially in view of the
fact that the black still lay securely bound upon the deck.

It was the faintest straying of his eye beyond me for the barest
fraction of a second that explained his motive for thus dragging out my
interest in his truly absorbing story.

He lay a little forward of where I stood at the levers, and thus he
faced the stern of the vessel as he addressed me. It was at the end of
his description of the plant men that I caught his eye fixed
momentarily upon something behind me.

Nor could I be mistaken in the swift gleam of triumph that brightened
those dark orbs for an instant.

Some time before I had reduced our speed, for we had left the Valley
Dor many miles astern, and I felt comparatively safe.

I turned an apprehensive glance behind me, and the sight that I saw
froze the new-born hope of freedom that had been springing up within
me.

A great battleship, forging silent and unlighted through the dark
night, loomed close astern.




CHAPTER VIII
THE DEPTHS OF OMEAN


Now I realized why the black pirate had kept me engrossed with his
strange tale. For miles he had sensed the approach of succour, and but
for that single tell-tale glance the battleship would have been
directly above us in another moment, and the boarding party which was
doubtless even now swinging in their harness from the ship’s keel,
would have swarmed our deck, placing my rising hope of escape in sudden
and total eclipse.

I was too old a hand in aerial warfare to be at a loss now for the
right manoeuvre. Simultaneously I reversed the engines and dropped the
little vessel a sheer hundred feet.

Above my head I could see the dangling forms of the boarding party as
the battleship raced over us. Then I rose at a sharp angle, throwing my
speed lever to its last notch.

Like a bolt from a crossbow my splendid craft shot its steel prow
straight at the whirring propellers of the giant above us. If I could
but touch them the huge bulk would be disabled for hours and escape
once more possible.

At the same instant the sun shot above the horizon, disclosing a
hundred grim, black faces peering over the stern of the battleship upon
us.

At sight of us a shout of rage went up from a hundred throats. Orders
were shouted, but it was too late to save the giant propellers, and
with a crash we rammed them.

Instantly with the shock of impact I reversed my engine, but my prow
was wedged in the hole it had made in the battleship’s stern. Only a
second I hung there before tearing away, but that second was amply long
to swarm my deck with black devils.

There was no fight. In the first place there was no room to fight. We
were simply submerged by numbers. Then as swords menaced me a command
from Xodar stayed the hands of his fellows.

“Secure them,” he said, “but do not injure them.”

Several of the pirates already had released Xodar. He now personally
attended to my disarming and saw that I was properly bound. At least he
thought that the binding was secure. It would have been had I been a
Martian, but I had to smile at the puny strands that confined my
wrists. When the time came I could snap them as they had been cotton
string.

The girl they bound also, and then they fastened us together. In the
meantime they had brought our craft alongside the disabled battleship,
and soon we were transported to the latter’s deck.

Fully a thousand black men manned the great engine of destruction. Her
decks were crowded with them as they pressed forward as far as
discipline would permit to get a glimpse of their captives.

The girl’s beauty elicited many brutal comments and vulgar jests. It
was evident that these self-thought supermen were far inferior to the
red men of Barsoom in refinement and in chivalry.

My close-cropped black hair and thern complexion were the subjects of
much comment. When Xodar told his fellow nobles of my fighting ability
and strange origin they crowded about me with numerous questions.

The fact that I wore the harness and metal of a thern who had been
killed by a member of my party convinced them that I was an enemy of
their hereditary foes, and placed me on a better footing in their
estimation.

Without exception the blacks were handsome men, and well built. The
officers were conspicuous through the wondrous magnificence of their
resplendent trappings. Many harnesses were so encrusted with gold,
platinum, silver and precious stones as to entirely hide the leather
beneath.

The harness of the commanding officer was a solid mass of diamonds.
Against the ebony background of his skin they blazed out with a
peculiarly accentuated effulgence. The whole scene was enchanting. The
handsome men; the barbaric splendour of the accoutrements; the polished
skeel wood of the deck; the gloriously grained sorapus of the cabins,
inlaid with priceless jewels and precious metals in intricate and
beautiful design; the burnished gold of hand rails; the shining metal
of the guns.

Phaidor and I were taken below decks, where, still fast bound, we were
thrown into a small compartment which contained a single port-hole. As
our escort left us they barred the door behind them.

We could hear the men working on the broken propellers, and from the
port-hole we could see that the vessel was drifting lazily toward the
south.

For some time neither of us spoke. Each was occupied with his own
thoughts. For my part I was wondering as to the fate of Tars Tarkas and
the girl, Thuvia.

Even if they succeeded in eluding pursuit they must eventually fall
into the hands of either red men or green, and as fugitives from the
Valley Dor they could look for but little else than a swift and
terrible death.

How I wished that I might have accompanied them. It seemed to me that I
could not fail to impress upon the intelligent red men of Barsoom the
wicked deception that a cruel and senseless superstition had foisted
upon them.

Tardos Mors would believe me. Of that I was positive. And that he would
have the courage of his convictions my knowledge of his character
assured me. Dejah Thoris would believe me. Not a doubt as to that
entered my head. Then there were a thousand of my red and green warrior
friends whom I knew would face eternal damnation gladly for my sake.
Like Tars Tarkas, where I led they would follow.

My only danger lay in that should I ever escape the black pirates it
might be to fall into the hands of unfriendly red or green men. Then it
would mean short shrift for me.

Well, there seemed little to worry about on that score, for the
likelihood of my ever escaping the blacks was extremely remote.

The girl and I were linked together by a rope which permitted us to
move only about three or four feet from each other. When we had entered
the compartment we had seated ourselves upon a low bench beneath the
porthole. The bench was the only furniture of the room. It was of
sorapus wood. The floor, ceiling and walls were of carborundum
aluminum, a light, impenetrable composition extensively utilized in the
construction of Martian fighting ships.

As I had sat meditating upon the future my eyes had been riveted upon
the port-hole which was just level with them as I sat. Suddenly I
looked toward Phaidor. She was regarding me with a strange expression I
had not before seen upon her face. She was very beautiful then.

Instantly her white lids veiled her eyes, and I thought I discovered a
delicate flush tingeing her cheek. Evidently she was embarrassed at
having been detected in the act of staring at a lesser creature, I
thought.

“Do you find the study of the lower orders interesting?” I asked,
laughing.

She looked up again with a nervous but relieved little laugh.

“Oh very,” she said, “especially when they have such excellent
profiles.”

It was my turn to flush, but I did not. I felt that she was poking fun
at me, and I admired a brave heart that could look for humour on the
road to death, and so I laughed with her.

“Do you know where we are going?” she said.

“To solve the mystery of the eternal hereafter, I imagine,” I replied.

“I am going to a worse fate than that,” she said, with a little
shudder.

“What do you mean?”

“I can only guess,” she replied, “since no thern damsel of all the
millions that have been stolen away by black pirates during the ages
they have raided our domains has ever returned to narrate her
experiences among them. That they never take a man prisoner lends
strength to the belief that the fate of the girls they steal is worse
than death.”

“Is it not a just retribution?” I could not help but ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Do not the therns themselves do likewise with the poor creatures who
take the voluntary pilgrimage down the River of Mystery? Was not Thuvia
for fifteen years a plaything and a slave? Is it less than just that
you should suffer as you have caused others to suffer?”

“You do not understand,” she replied. “We therns are a holy race. It is
an honour to a lesser creature to be a slave among us. Did we not
occasionally save a few of the lower orders that stupidly float down an
unknown river to an unknown end all would become the prey of the plant
men and the apes.”

“But do you not by every means encourage the superstition among those
of the outside world?” I argued. “That is the wickedest of your deeds.
Can you tell me why you foster the cruel deception?”

“All life on Barsoom,” she said, “is created solely for the support of
the race of therns. How else could we live did the outer world not
furnish our labour and our food? Think you that a thern would demean
himself by labour?”

“It is true then that you eat human flesh?” I asked in horror.

She looked at me in pitying commiseration for my ignorance.

“Truly we eat the flesh of the lower orders. Do not you also?”

“The flesh of beasts, yes,” I replied, “but not the flesh of man.”

“As man may eat of the flesh of beasts, so may gods eat of the flesh of
man. The Holy Therns are the gods of Barsoom.”

I was disgusted and I imagine that I showed it.

“You are an unbeliever now,” she continued gently, “but should we be
fortunate enough to escape the clutches of the black pirates and come
again to the court of Matai Shang I think that we shall find an
argument to convince you of the error of your ways. And—,” she
hesitated, “perhaps we shall find a way to keep you as—as—one of us.”

Again her eyes dropped to the floor, and a faint colour suffused her
cheek. I could not understand her meaning; nor did I for a long time.
Dejah Thoris was wont to say that in some things I was a veritable
simpleton, and I guess that she was right.

“I fear that I would ill requite your father’s hospitality,” I
answered, “since the first thing that I should do were I a thern would
be to set an armed guard at the mouth of the River Iss to escort the
poor deluded voyagers back to the outer world. Also should I devote my
life to the extermination of the hideous plant men and their horrible
companions, the great white apes.”

She looked at me really horror struck.

“No, no,” she cried, “you must not say such terribly sacrilegious
things—you must not even think them. Should they ever guess that you
entertained such frightful thoughts, should we chance to regain the
temples of the therns, they would mete out a frightful death to you.
Not even my—my—” Again she flushed, and started over. “Not even I could
save you.”

I said no more. Evidently it was useless. She was even more steeped in
superstition than the Martians of the outer world. They only worshipped
a beautiful hope for a life of love and peace and happiness in the
hereafter. The therns worshipped the hideous plant men and the apes, or
at least they reverenced them as the abodes of the departed spirits of
their own dead.

At this point the door of our prison opened to admit Xodar.

He smiled pleasantly at me, and when he smiled his expression was
kindly—anything but cruel or vindictive.

“Since you cannot escape under any circumstances,” he said, “I cannot
see the necessity for keeping you confined below. I will cut your bonds
and you may come on deck. You will witness something very interesting,
and as you never shall return to the outer world it will do no harm to
permit you to see it. You will see what no other than the First Born
and their slaves know the existence of—the subterranean entrance to the
Holy Land, to the real heaven of Barsoom.

“It will be an excellent lesson for this daughter of the therns,” he
added, “for she shall see the Temple of Issus, and Issus, perchance,
shall embrace her.”

Phaidor’s head went high.

“What blasphemy is this, dog of a pirate?” she cried. “Issus would wipe
out your entire breed an’ you ever came within sight of her temple.”

“You have much to learn, thern,” replied Xodar, with an ugly smile,
“nor do I envy you the manner in which you will learn it.”

As we came on deck I saw to my surprise that the vessel was passing
over a great field of snow and ice. As far as the eye could reach in
any direction naught else was visible.

There could be but one solution to the mystery. We were above the south
polar ice cap. Only at the poles of Mars is there ice or snow upon the
planet. No sign of life appeared below us. Evidently we were too far
south even for the great fur-bearing animals which the Martians so
delight in hunting.

Xodar was at my side as I stood looking out over the ship’s rail.

“What course?” I asked him.

“A little west of south,” he replied. “You will see the Otz Valley
directly. We shall skirt it for a few hundred miles.”

“The Otz Valley!” I exclaimed; “but, man, is not there where lie the
domains of the therns from which I but just escaped?”

“Yes,” answered Xodar. “You crossed this ice field last night in the
long chase that you led us. The Otz Valley lies in a mighty depression
at the south pole. It is sunk thousands of feet below the level of the
surrounding country, like a great round bowl. A hundred miles from its
northern boundary rise the Otz Mountains which circle the inner Valley
of Dor, in the exact centre of which lies the Lost Sea of Korus. On the
shore of this sea stands the Golden Temple of Issus in the Land of the
First Born. It is there that we are bound.”

As I looked I commenced to realize why it was that in all the ages only
one had escaped from the Valley Dor. My only wonder was that even the
one had been successful. To cross this frozen, wind-swept waste of
bleak ice alone and on foot would be impossible.

“Only by air boat could the journey be made,” I finished aloud.

“It was thus that one did escape the therns in bygone times; but none
has ever escaped the First Born,” said Xodar, with a touch of pride in
his voice.

We had now reached the southernmost extremity of the great ice barrier.
It ended abruptly in a sheer wall thousands of feet high at the base of
which stretched a level valley, broken here and there by low rolling
hills and little clumps of forest, and with tiny rivers formed by the
melting of the ice barrier at its base.

Once we passed far above what seemed to be a deep canyon-like rift
stretching from the ice wall on the north across the valley as far as
the eye could reach. “That is the bed of the River Iss,” said Xodar.
“It runs far beneath the ice field, and below the level of the Valley
Otz, but its canyon is open here.”

Presently I descried what I took to be a village, and pointing it out
to Xodar asked him what it might be.

“It is a village of lost souls,” he answered, laughing. “This strip
between the ice barrier and the mountains is considered neutral ground.
Some turn off from their voluntary pilgrimage down the Iss, and,
scaling the awful walls of its canyon below us, stop in the valley.
Also a slave now and then escapes from the therns and makes his way
hither.

“They do not attempt to recapture such, since there is no escape from
this outer valley, and as a matter of fact they fear the patrolling
cruisers of the First Born too much to venture from their own domains.

“The poor creatures of this outer valley are not molested by us since
they have nothing that we desire, nor are they numerically strong
enough to give us an interesting fight—so we too leave them alone.

“There are several villages of them, but they have increased in numbers
but little in many years since they are always warring among
themselves.”

Now we swung a little north of west, leaving the valley of lost souls,
and shortly I discerned over our starboard bow what appeared to be a
black mountain rising from the desolate waste of ice. It was not high
and seemed to have a flat top.

Xodar had left us to attend to some duty on the vessel, and Phaidor and
I stood alone beside the rail. The girl had not once spoken since we
had been brought to the deck.

“Is what he has been telling me true?” I asked her.

“In part, yes,” she answered. “That about the outer valley is true, but
what he says of the location of the Temple of Issus in the centre of
his country is false. If it is not false—” she hesitated. “Oh it cannot
be true, it cannot be true. For if it were true then for countless ages
have my people gone to torture and ignominious death at the hands of
their cruel enemies, instead of to the beautiful Life Eternal that we
have been taught to believe Issus holds for us.”

“As the lesser Barsoomians of the outer world have been lured by you to
the terrible Valley Dor, so may it be that the therns themselves have
been lured by the First Born to an equally horrid fate,” I suggested.
“It would be a stern and awful retribution, Phaidor; but a just one.”

“I cannot believe it,” she said.

“We shall see,” I answered, and then we fell silent again for we were
rapidly approaching the black mountains, which in some indefinable way
seemed linked with the answer to our problem.

As we neared the dark, truncated cone the vessel’s speed was diminished
until we barely moved. Then we topped the crest of the mountain and
below us I saw yawning the mouth of a huge circular well, the bottom of
which was lost in inky blackness.

The diameter of this enormous pit was fully a thousand feet. The walls
were smooth and appeared to be composed of a black, basaltic rock.

For a moment the vessel hovered motionless directly above the centre of
the gaping void, then slowly she began to settle into the black chasm.
Lower and lower she sank until as darkness enveloped us her lights were
thrown on and in the dim halo of her own radiance the monster
battleship dropped on and on down into what seemed to me must be the
very bowels of Barsoom.

For quite half an hour we descended and then the shaft terminated
abruptly in the dome of a mighty subterranean world. Below us rose and
fell the billows of a buried sea. A phosphorescent radiance illuminated
the scene. Thousands of ships dotted the bosom of the ocean. Little
islands rose here and there to support the strange and colourless
vegetation of this strange world.

Slowly and with majestic grace the battleship dropped until she rested
on the water. Her great propellers had been drawn and housed during our
descent of the shaft and in their place had been run out the smaller
but more powerful water propellers. As these commenced to revolve the
ship took up its journey once more, riding the new element as buoyantly
and as safely as she had the air.

Phaidor and I were dumbfounded. Neither had either heard or dreamed
that such a world existed beneath the surface of Barsoom.

Nearly all the vessels we saw were war craft. There were a few lighters
and barges, but none of the great merchantmen such as ply the upper air
between the cities of the outer world.

“Here is the harbour of the navy of the First Born,” said a voice
behind us, and turning we saw Xodar watching us with an amused smile on
his lips.

“This sea,” he continued, “is larger than Korus. It receives the waters
of the lesser sea above it. To keep it from filling above a certain
level we have four great pumping stations that force the oversupply
back into the reservoirs far north from which the red men draw the
water which irrigates their farm lands.”

A new light burst on me with this explanation. The red men had always
considered it a miracle that caused great columns of water to spurt
from the solid rock of their reservoir sides to increase the supply of
the precious liquid which is so scarce in the outer world of Mars.

Never had their learned men been able to fathom the secret of the
source of this enormous volume of water. As ages passed they had simply
come to accept it as a matter of course and ceased to question its
origin.

We passed several islands on which were strangely shaped circular
buildings, apparently roofless, and pierced midway between the ground
and their tops with small, heavily barred windows. They bore the
earmarks of prisons, which were further accentuated by the armed guards
who squatted on low benches without, or patrolled the short beach
lines.

Few of these islets contained over an acre of ground, but presently we
sighted a much larger one directly ahead. This proved to be our
destination, and the great ship was soon made fast against the steep
shore.

Xodar signalled us to follow him and with a half-dozen officers and men
we left the battleship and approached a large oval structure a couple
of hundred yards from the shore.

“You shall soon see Issus,” said Xodar to Phaidor. “The few prisoners
we take are presented to her. Occasionally she selects slaves from
among them to replenish the ranks of her handmaidens. None serves Issus
above a single year,” and there was a grim smile on the black’s lips
that lent a cruel and sinister meaning to his simple statement.

Phaidor, though loath to believe that Issus was allied to such as
these, had commenced to entertain doubts and fears. She clung very
closely to me, no longer the proud daughter of the Master of Life and
Death upon Barsoom, but a young and frightened girl in the power of
relentless enemies.

The building which we now entered was entirely roofless. In its centre
was a long tank of water, set below the level of the floor like the
swimming pool of a natatorium. Near one side of the pool floated an
odd-looking black object. Whether it were some strange monster of these
buried waters, or a queer raft, I could not at once perceive.

We were soon to know, however, for as we reached the edge of the pool
directly above the thing, Xodar cried out a few words in a strange
tongue. Immediately a hatch cover was raised from the surface of the
object, and a black seaman sprang from the bowels of the strange craft.

Xodar addressed the seaman.

“Transmit to your officer,” he said, “the commands of Dator Xodar. Say
to him that Dator Xodar, with officers and men, escorting two
prisoners, would be transported to the gardens of Issus beside the
Golden Temple.”

“Blessed be the shell of thy first ancestor, most noble Dator,” replied
the man. “It shall be done even as thou sayest,” and raising both
hands, palms backward, above his head after the manner of salute which
is common to all races of Barsoom, he disappeared once more into the
entrails of his ship.

A moment later an officer resplendent in the gorgeous trappings of his
rank appeared on deck and welcomed Xodar to the vessel, and in the
latter’s wake we filed aboard and below.

The cabin in which we found ourselves extended entirely across the
ship, having port-holes on either side below the water line. No sooner
were all below than a number of commands were given, in accordance with
which the hatch was closed and secured, and the vessel commenced to
vibrate to the rhythmic purr of its machinery.

“Where can we be going in such a tiny pool of water?” asked Phaidor.

“Not up,” I replied, “for I noticed particularly that while the
building is roofless it is covered with a strong metal grating.”

“Then where?” she asked again.

“From the appearance of the craft I judge we are going down,” I
replied.

Phaidor shuddered. For such long ages have the waters of Barsoom’s seas
been a thing of tradition only that even this daughter of the therns,
born as she had been within sight of Mars’ only remaining sea, had the
same terror of deep water as is a common attribute of all Martians.

Presently the sensation of sinking became very apparent. We were going
down swiftly. Now we could hear the water rushing past the port-holes,
and in the dim light that filtered through them to the water beyond the
swirling eddies were plainly visible.

Phaidor grasped my arm.

“Save me!” she whispered. “Save me and your every wish shall be
granted. Anything within the power of the Holy Therns to give will be
yours. Phaidor—” she stumbled a little here, and then in a very low
voice, “Phaidor already is yours.”

I felt very sorry for the poor child, and placed my hand over hers
where it rested on my arm. I presume my motive was misunderstood, for
with a swift glance about the apartment to assure herself that we were
alone, she threw both her arms about my neck and dragged my face down
to hers.




CHAPTER IX
ISSUS, GODDESS OF LIFE ETERNAL


The confession of love which the girl’s fright had wrung from her
touched me deeply; but it humiliated me as well, since I felt that in
some thoughtless word or act I had given her reason to believe that I
reciprocated her affection.

Never have I been much of a ladies’ man, being more concerned with
fighting and kindred arts which have ever seemed to me more befitting a
man than mooning over a scented glove four sizes too small for him, or
kissing a dead flower that has begun to smell like a cabbage. So I was
quite at a loss as to what to do or say. A thousand times rather face
the wild hordes of the dead sea bottoms than meet the eyes of this
beautiful young girl and tell her the thing that I must tell her.

But there was nothing else to be done, and so I did it. Very clumsily
too, I fear.

Gently I unclasped her hands from about my neck, and still holding them
in mine I told her the story of my love for Dejah Thoris. That of all
the women of two worlds that I had known and admired during my long
life she alone had I loved.

The tale did not seem to please her. Like a tigress she sprang,
panting, to her feet. Her beautiful face was distorted in an expression
of horrible malevolence. Her eyes fairly blazed into mine.

“Dog,” she hissed. “Dog of a blasphemer! Think you that Phaidor,
daughter of Matai Shang, supplicates? She commands. What to her is your
puny outer world passion for the vile creature you chose in your other
life?

“Phaidor has glorified you with her love, and you have spurned her. Ten
thousand unthinkably atrocious deaths could not atone for the affront
that you have put upon me. The thing that you call Dejah Thoris shall
die the most horrible of them all. You have sealed the warrant for her
doom.

“And you! You shall be the meanest slave in the service of the goddess
you have attempted to humiliate. Tortures and ignominies shall be
heaped upon you until you grovel at my feet asking the boon of death.

“In my gracious generosity I shall at length grant your prayer, and
from the high balcony of the Golden Cliffs I shall watch the great
white apes tear you asunder.”

She had it all fixed up. The whole lovely programme from start to
finish. It amazed me to think that one so divinely beautiful could at
the same time be so fiendishly vindictive. It occurred to me, however,
that she had overlooked one little factor in her revenge, and so,
without any intent to add to her discomfiture, but rather to permit her
to rearrange her plans along more practical lines, I pointed to the
nearest port-hole.

Evidently she had entirely forgotten her surroundings and her present
circumstances, for a single glance at the dark, swirling waters without
sent her crumpled upon a low bench, where with her face buried in her
arms she sobbed more like a very unhappy little girl than a proud and
all-powerful goddess.

Down, down we continued to sink until the heavy glass of the port-holes
became noticeably warm from the heat of the water without. Evidently we
were very far beneath the surface crust of Mars.

Presently our downward motion ceased, and I could hear the propellers
swirling through the water at our stern and forcing us ahead at high
speed. It was very dark down there, but the light from our port-holes,
and the reflection from what must have been a powerful searchlight on
the submarine’s nose showed that we were forging through a narrow
passage, rock-lined, and tube-like.

After a few minutes the propellers ceased their whirring. We came to a
full stop, and then commenced to rise swiftly toward the surface. Soon
the light from without increased and we came to a stop.

Xodar entered the cabin with his men.

“Come,” he said, and we followed him through the hatchway which had
been opened by one of the seamen.

We found ourselves in a small subterranean vault, in the centre of
which was the pool in which lay our submarine, floating as we had first
seen her with only her black back showing.

Around the edge of the pool was a level platform, and then the walls of
the cave rose perpendicularly for a few feet to arch toward the centre
of the low roof. The walls about the ledge were pierced with a number
of entrances to dimly lighted passageways.

Toward one of these our captors led us, and after a short walk halted
before a steel cage which lay at the bottom of a shaft rising above us
as far as one could see.

The cage proved to be one of the common types of elevator cars that I
had seen in other parts of Barsoom. They are operated by means of
enormous magnets which are suspended at the top of the shaft. By an
electrical device the volume of magnetism generated is regulated and
the speed of the car varied.

In long stretches they move at a sickening speed, especially on the
upward trip, since the small force of gravity inherent to Mars results
in very little opposition to the powerful force above.

Scarcely had the door of the car closed behind us than we were slowing
up to stop at the landing above, so rapid was our ascent of the long
shaft.

When we emerged from the little building which houses the upper
terminus of the elevator, we found ourselves in the midst of a
veritable fairyland of beauty. The combined languages of Earth men hold
no words to convey to the mind the gorgeous beauties of the scene.

One may speak of scarlet sward and ivory-stemmed trees decked with
brilliant purple blooms; of winding walks paved with crushed rubies,
with emerald, with turquoise, even with diamonds themselves; of a
magnificent temple of burnished gold, hand-wrought with marvellous
designs; but where are the words to describe the glorious colours that
are unknown to earthly eyes? where the mind or the imagination that can
grasp the gorgeous scintillations of unheard-of rays as they emanate
from the thousand nameless jewels of Barsoom?

Even my eyes, for long years accustomed to the barbaric splendours of a
Martian Jeddak’s court, were amazed at the glory of the scene.

Phaidor’s eyes were wide in amazement.

“The Temple of Issus,” she whispered, half to herself.

Xodar watched us with his grim smile, partly of amusement and partly
malicious gloating.

The gardens swarmed with brilliantly trapped black men and women. Among
them moved red and white females serving their every want. The places
of the outer world and the temples of the therns had been robbed of
their princesses and goddesses that the blacks might have their slaves.

Through this scene we moved toward the temple. At the main entrance we
were halted by a cordon of armed guards. Xodar spoke a few words to an
officer who came forward to question us. Together they entered the
temple, where they remained for some time.

When they returned it was to announce that Issus desired to look upon
the daughter of Matai Shang, and the strange creature from another
world who had been a Prince of Helium.

Slowly we moved through endless corridors of unthinkable beauty;
through magnificent apartments, and noble halls. At length we were
halted in a spacious chamber in the centre of the temple. One of the
officers who had accompanied us advanced to a large door in the further
end of the chamber. Here he must have made some sort of signal for
immediately the door opened and another richly trapped courtier
emerged.

We were then led up to the door, where we were directed to get down on
our hands and knees with our backs toward the room we were to enter.
The doors were swung open and after being cautioned not to turn our
heads under penalty of instant death we were commanded to back into the
presence of Issus.

Never have I been in so humiliating a position in my life, and only my
love for Dejah Thoris and the hope which still clung to me that I might
again see her kept me from rising to face the goddess of the First Born
and go down to my death like a gentleman, facing my foes and with their
blood mingling with mine.

After we had crawled in this disgusting fashion for a matter of a
couple of hundred feet we were halted by our escort.

“Let them rise,” said a voice behind us; a thin, wavering voice, yet
one that had evidently been accustomed to command for many years.

“Rise,” said our escort, “but do not face toward Issus.”

“The woman pleases me,” said the thin, wavering voice again after a few
moments of silence. “She shall serve me the allotted time. The man you
may return to the Isle of Shador which lies against the northern shore
of the Sea of Omean. Let the woman turn and look upon Issus, knowing
that those of the lower orders who gaze upon the holy vision of her
radiant face survive the blinding glory but a single year.”

I watched Phaidor from the corner of my eye. She paled to a ghastly
hue. Slowly, very slowly she turned, as though drawn by some invisible
yet irresistible force. She was standing quite close to me, so close
that her bare arm touched mine as she finally faced Issus, Goddess of
Life Eternal.

I could not see the girl’s face as her eyes rested for the first time
on the Supreme Deity of Mars, but felt the shudder that ran through her
in the trembling flesh of the arm that touched mine.

“It must be dazzling loveliness indeed,” thought I, “to cause such
emotion in the breast of so radiant a beauty as Phaidor, daughter of
Matai Shang.”

“Let the woman remain. Remove the man. Go.” Thus spoke Issus, and the
heavy hand of the officer fell upon my shoulder. In accordance with his
instructions I dropped to my hands and knees once more and crawled from
the Presence. It had been my first audience with deity, but I am free
to confess that I was not greatly impressed—other than with the
ridiculous figure I cut scrambling about on my marrow bones.

Once without the chamber the doors closed behind us and I was bid to
rise. Xodar joined me and together we slowly retraced our steps toward
the gardens.

“You spared my life when you easily might have taken it,” he said after
we had proceeded some little way in silence, “and I would aid you if I
might. I can help to make your life here more bearable, but your fate
is inevitable. You may never hope to return to the outer world.”

“What will be my fate?” I asked.

“That will depend largely upon Issus. So long as she does not send for
you and reveal her face to you, you may live on for years in as mild a
form of bondage as I can arrange for you.”

“Why should she send for me?” I asked.

“The men of the lower orders she often uses for various purposes of
amusement. Such a fighter as you, for example, would render fine sport
in the monthly rites of the temple. There are men pitted against men,
and against beasts for the edification of Issus and the replenishment
of her larder.”

“She eats human flesh?” I asked. Not in horror, however, for since my
recently acquired knowledge of the Holy Therns I was prepared for
anything in this still less accessible heaven, where all was evidently
dictated by a single omnipotence; where ages of narrow fanaticism and
self-worship had eradicated all the broader humanitarian instincts that
the race might once have possessed.

They were a people drunk with power and success, looking upon the other
inhabitants of Mars as we look upon the beasts of the field and the
forest. Why then should they not eat of the flesh of the lower orders
whose lives and characters they no more understood than do we the
inmost thoughts and sensibilities of the cattle we slaughter for our
earthly tables.

“She eats only the flesh of the best bred of the Holy Therns and the
red Barsoomians. The flesh of the others goes to our boards. The
animals are eaten by the slaves. She also eats other dainties.”

I did not understand then that there lay any special significance in
his reference to other dainties. I thought the limit of ghoulishness
already had been reached in the recitation of Issus’ menu. I still had
much to learn as to the depths of cruelty and bestiality to which
omnipotence may drag its possessor.

We had about reached the last of the many chambers and corridors which
led to the gardens when an officer overtook us.

“Issus would look again upon this man,” he said. “The girl has told her
that he is of wondrous beauty and of such prowess that alone he slew
seven of the First Born, and with his bare hands took Xodar captive,
binding him with his own harness.”

Xodar looked uncomfortable. Evidently he did not relish the thought
that Issus had learned of his inglorious defeat.

Without a word he turned and we followed the officer once again to the
closed doors before the audience chamber of Issus, Goddess of Life
Eternal.

Here the ceremony of entrance was repeated. Again Issus bid me rise.
For several minutes all was silent as the tomb. The eyes of deity were
appraising me.

Presently the thin wavering voice broke the stillness, repeating in a
singsong drone the words which for countless ages had sealed the doom
of numberless victims.

“Let the man turn and look upon Issus, knowing that those of the lower
orders who gaze upon the holy vision of her radiant face survive the
blinding glory but a single year.”

I turned as I had been bid, expecting such a treat as only the
revealment of divine glory to mortal eyes might produce. What I saw was
a solid phalanx of armed men between myself and a dais supporting a
great bench of carved sorapus wood. On this bench, or throne, squatted
a female black. She was evidently very old. Not a hair remained upon
her wrinkled skull. With the exception of two yellow fangs she was
entirely toothless. On either side of her thin, hawk-like nose her eyes
burned from the depths of horribly sunken sockets. The skin of her face
was seamed and creased with a million deepcut furrows. Her body was as
wrinkled as her face, and as repulsive.

Emaciated arms and legs attached to a torso which seemed to be mostly
distorted abdomen completed the “holy vision of her radiant beauty.”

Surrounding her were a number of female slaves, among them Phaidor,
white and trembling.

“This is the man who slew seven of the First Born and, bare-handed,
bound Dator Xodar with his own harness?” asked Issus.

“Most glorious vision of divine loveliness, it is,” replied the officer
who stood at my side.

“Produce Dator Xodar,” she commanded.

Xodar was brought from the adjoining room.

Issus glared at him, a baleful light in her hideous eyes.

“And such as you are a Dator of the First Born?” she squealed. “For the
disgrace you have brought upon the Immortal Race you shall be degraded
to a rank below the lowest. No longer be you a Dator, but for evermore
a slave of slaves, to fetch and carry for the lower orders that serve
in the gardens of Issus. Remove his harness. Cowards and slaves wear no
trappings.”

Xodar stood stiffly erect. Not a muscle twitched, nor a tremor shook
his giant frame as a soldier of the guard roughly stripped his gorgeous
trappings from him.

“Begone,” screamed the infuriated little old woman. “Begone, but
instead of the light of the gardens of Issus let you serve as a slave
of this slave who conquered you in the prison on the Isle of Shador in
the Sea of Omean. Take him away out of the sight of my divine eyes.”

Slowly and with high held head the proud Xodar turned and stalked from
the chamber. Issus rose and turned to leave the room by another exit.

Turning to me, she said: “You shall be returned to Shador for the
present. Later Issus will see the manner of your fighting. Go.” Then
she disappeared, followed by her retinue. Only Phaidor lagged behind,
and as I started to follow my guard toward the gardens, the girl came
running after me.

“Oh, do not leave me in this terrible place,” she begged. “Forgive the
things I said to you, my Prince. I did not mean them. Only take me away
with you. Let me share your imprisonment on Shador.” Her words were an
almost incoherent volley of thoughts, so rapidly she spoke. “You did
not understand the honour that I did you. Among the therns there is no
marriage or giving in marriage, as among the lower orders of the outer
world. We might have lived together for ever in love and happiness. We
have both looked upon Issus and in a year we die. Let us live that year
at least together in what measure of joy remains for the doomed.”

“If it was difficult for me to understand you, Phaidor,” I replied,
“can you not understand that possibly it is equally difficult for you
to understand the motives, the customs and the social laws that guide
me? I do not wish to hurt you, nor to seem to undervalue the honour
which you have done me, but the thing you desire may not be. Regardless
of the foolish belief of the peoples of the outer world, or of Holy
Thern, or ebon First Born, I am not dead. While I live my heart beats
for but one woman—the incomparable Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium.
When death overtakes me my heart shall have ceased to beat; but what
comes after that I know not. And in that I am as wise as Matai Shang,
Master of Life and Death upon Barsoom; or Issus, Goddess of Life
Eternal.”

Phaidor stood looking at me intently for a moment. No anger showed in
her eyes this time, only a pathetic expression of hopeless sorrow.

“I do not understand,” she said, and turning walked slowly in the
direction of the door through which Issus and her retinue had passed. A
moment later she had passed from my sight.




CHAPTER X
THE PRISON ISLE OF SHADOR


In the outer gardens to which the guard now escorted me, I found Xodar
surrounded by a crowd of noble blacks. They were reviling and cursing
him. The men slapped his face. The women spat upon him.

When I appeared they turned their attentions toward me.

“Ah,” cried one, “so this is the creature who overcame the great Xodar
bare-handed. Let us see how it was done.”

“Let him bind Thurid,” suggested a beautiful woman, laughing. “Thurid
is a noble Dator. Let Thurid show the dog what it means to face a real
man.”

“Yes, Thurid! Thurid!” cried a dozen voices.

“Here he is now,” exclaimed another, and turning in the direction
indicated I saw a huge black weighed down with resplendent ornaments
and arms advancing with noble and gallant bearing toward us.

“What now?” he cried. “What would you of Thurid?”

Quickly a dozen voices explained.

Thurid turned toward Xodar, his eyes narrowing to two nasty slits.

“Calot!” he hissed. “Ever did I think you carried the heart of a sorak
in your putrid breast. Often have you bested me in the secret councils
of Issus, but now in the field of war where men are truly gauged your
scabby heart hath revealed its sores to all the world. Calot, I spurn
you with my foot,” and with the words he turned to kick Xodar.

My blood was up. For minutes it had been boiling at the cowardly
treatment they had been according this once powerful comrade because he
had fallen from the favour of Issus. I had no love for Xodar, but I
cannot stand the sight of cowardly injustice and persecution without
seeing red as through a haze of bloody mist, and doing things on the
impulse of the moment that I presume I never should do after mature
deliberation.

I was standing close beside Xodar as Thurid swung his foot for the
cowardly kick. The degraded Dator stood erect and motionless as a
carven image. He was prepared to take whatever his former comrades had
to offer in the way of insults and reproaches, and take them in manly
silence and stoicism.

But as Thurid’s foot swung so did mine, and I caught him a painful blow
upon the shin bone that saved Xodar from this added ignominy.

For a moment there was tense silence, then Thurid, with a roar of rage
sprang for my throat; just as Xodar had upon the deck of the cruiser.
The results were identical. I ducked beneath his outstretched arms, and
as he lunged past me planted a terrific right on the side of his jaw.

The big fellow spun around like a top, his knees gave beneath him and
he crumpled to the ground at my feet.

The blacks gazed in astonishment, first at the still form of the proud
Dator lying there in the ruby dust of the pathway, then at me as though
they could not believe that such a thing could be.

“You asked me to bind Thurid,” I cried; “behold!” And then I stooped
beside the prostrate form, tore the harness from it, and bound the
fellow’s arms and legs securely.

“As you have done to Xodar, now do you likewise to Thurid. Take him
before Issus, bound in his own harness, that she may see with her own
eyes that there be one among you now who is greater than the First
Born.”

“Who are you?” whispered the woman who had first suggested that I
attempt to bind Thurid.

“I am a citizen of two worlds; Captain John Carter of Virginia, Prince
of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. Take this man to your
goddess, as I have said, and tell her, too, that as I have done to
Xodar and Thurid, so also can I do to the mightiest of her Dators. With
naked hands, with long-sword or with short-sword, I challenge the
flower of her fighting-men to combat.”

“Come,” said the officer who was guarding me back to Shador; “my orders
are imperative; there is to be no delay. Xodar, come you also.”

There was little of disrespect in the tone that the man used in
addressing either Xodar or myself. It was evident that he felt less
contempt for the former Dator since he had witnessed the ease with
which I disposed of the powerful Thurid.

That his respect for me was greater than it should have been for a
slave was quite apparent from the fact that during the balance of the
return journey he walked or stood always behind me, a drawn short-sword
in his hand.

The return to the Sea of Omean was uneventful. We dropped down the
awful shaft in the same car that had brought us to the surface. There
we entered the submarine, taking the long dive to the tunnel far
beneath the upper world. Then through the tunnel and up again to the
pool from which we had had our first introduction to the wonderful
passageway from Omean to the Temple of Issus.

From the island of the submarine we were transported on a small cruiser
to the distant Isle of Shador. Here we found a small stone prison and a
guard of half a dozen blacks. There was no ceremony wasted in
completing our incarceration. One of the blacks opened the door of the
prison with a huge key, we walked in, the door closed behind us, the
lock grated, and with the sound there swept over me again that terrible
feeling of hopelessness that I had felt in the Chamber of Mystery in
the Golden Cliffs beneath the gardens of the Holy Therns.

Then Tars Tarkas had been with me, but now I was utterly alone in so
far as friendly companionship was concerned. I fell to wondering about
the fate of the great Thark, and of his beautiful companion, the girl,
Thuvia. Even should they by some miracle have escaped and been received
and spared by a friendly nation, what hope had I of the succour which I
knew they would gladly extend if it lay in their power.

They could not guess my whereabouts or my fate, for none on all Barsoom
even dream of such a place as this. Nor would it have advantaged me any
had they known the exact location of my prison, for who could hope to
penetrate to this buried sea in the face of the mighty navy of the
First Born? No: my case was hopeless.

Well, I would make the best of it, and, rising, I swept aside the
brooding despair that had been endeavouring to claim me. With the idea
of exploring my prison, I started to look around.

Xodar sat, with bowed head, upon a low stone bench near the centre of
the room in which we were. He had not spoken since Issus had degraded
him.

The building was roofless, the walls rising to a height of about thirty
feet. Half-way up were a couple of small, heavily barred windows. The
prison was divided into several rooms by partitions twenty feet high.
There was no one in the room which we occupied, but two doors which led
to other rooms were opened. I entered one of these rooms, but found it
vacant. Thus I continued through several of the chambers until in the
last one I found a young red Martian boy sleeping upon the stone bench
which constituted the only furniture of any of the prison cells.

Evidently he was the only other prisoner. As he slept I leaned over and
looked at him. There was something strangely familiar about his face,
and yet I could not place him.

His features were very regular and, like the proportions of his
graceful limbs and body, beautiful in the extreme. He was very light in
colour for a red man, but in other respects he seemed a typical
specimen of this handsome race.

I did not awaken him, for sleep in prison is such a priceless boon that
I have seen men transformed into raging brutes when robbed by one of
their fellow-prisoners of a few precious moments of it.

Returning to my own cell, I found Xodar still sitting in the same
position in which I had left him.

“Man,” I cried, “it will profit you nothing to mope thus. It were no
disgrace to be bested by John Carter. You have seen that in the ease
with which I accounted for Thurid. You knew it before when on the
cruiser’s deck you saw me slay three of your comrades.”

“I would that you had dispatched me at the same time,” he said.

“Come, come!” I cried. “There is hope yet. Neither of us is dead. We
are great fighters. Why not win to freedom?”

He looked at me in amazement.

“You know not of what you speak,” he replied. “Issus is omnipotent.
Issus is omniscient. She hears now the words you speak. She knows the
thoughts you think. It is sacrilege even to dream of breaking her
commands.”

“Rot, Xodar,” I ejaculated impatiently.

He sprang to his feet in horror.

“The curse of Issus will fall upon you,” he cried. “In another instant
you will be smitten down, writhing to your death in horrible agony.”

“Do you believe that, Xodar?” I asked.

“Of course; who would dare doubt?”

“I doubt; yes, and further, I deny,” I said. “Why, Xodar, you tell me
that she even knows my thoughts. The red men have all had that power
for ages. And another wonderful power. They can shut their minds so
that none may read their thoughts. I learned the first secret years
ago; the other I never had to learn, since upon all Barsoom is none who
can read what passes in the secret chambers of my brain.

“Your goddess cannot read my thoughts; nor can she read yours when you
are out of sight, unless you will it. Had she been able to read mine, I
am afraid that her pride would have suffered a rather severe shock when
I turned at her command to ‘gaze upon the holy vision of her radiant
face.’”

“What do you mean?” he whispered in an affrighted voice, so low that I
could scarcely hear him.

“I mean that I thought her the most repulsive and vilely hideous
creature my eyes ever had rested upon.”

For a moment he eyed me in horror-stricken amazement, and then with a
cry of “Blasphemer” he sprang upon me.

I did not wish to strike him again, nor was it necessary, since he was
unarmed and therefore quite harmless to me.

As he came I grasped his left wrist with my left hand, and, swinging my
right arm about his left shoulder, caught him beneath the chin with my
elbow and bore him backward across my thigh.

There he hung helpless for a moment, glaring up at me in impotent rage.

“Xodar,” I said, “let us be friends. For a year, possibly, we may be
forced to live together in the narrow confines of this tiny room. I am
sorry to have offended you, but I could not dream that one who had
suffered from the cruel injustice of Issus still could believe her
divine.

“I will say a few more words, Xodar, with no intent to wound your
feelings further, but rather that you may give thought to the fact that
while we live we are still more the arbiters of our own fate than is
any god.

“Issus, you see, has not struck me dead, nor is she rescuing her
faithful Xodar from the clutches of the unbeliever who defamed her fair
beauty. No, Xodar, your Issus is a mortal old woman. Once out of her
clutches and she cannot harm you.

“With your knowledge of this strange land, and my knowledge of the
outer world, two such fighting-men as you and I should be able to win
our way to freedom. Even though we died in the attempt, would not our
memories be fairer than as though we remained in servile fear to be
butchered by a cruel and unjust tyrant—call her goddess or mortal, as
you will.”

As I finished I raised Xodar to his feet and released him. He did not
renew the attack upon me, nor did he speak. Instead, he walked toward
the bench, and, sinking down upon it, remained lost in deep thought for
hours.

A long time afterward I heard a soft sound at the doorway leading to
one of the other apartments, and, looking up, beheld the red Martian
youth gazing intently at us.

“Kaor,” I cried, after the red Martian manner of greeting.

“Kaor,” he replied. “What do you here?”

“I await my death, I presume,” I replied with a wry smile.

He too smiled, a brave and winning smile.

“I also,” he said. “Mine will come soon. I looked upon the radiant
beauty of Issus nearly a year since. It has always been a source of
keen wonder to me that I did not drop dead at the first sight of that
hideous countenance. And her belly! By my first ancestor, but never was
there so grotesque a figure in all the universe. That they should call
such a one Goddess of Life Eternal, Goddess of Death, Mother of the
Nearer Moon, and fifty other equally impossible titles, is quite beyond
me.”

“How came you here?” I asked.

“It is very simple. I was flying a one-man air scout far to the south
when the brilliant idea occurred to me that I should like to search for
the Lost Sea of Korus which tradition places near to the south pole. I
must have inherited from my father a wild lust for adventure, as well
as a hollow where my bump of reverence should be.

“I had reached the area of eternal ice when my port propeller jammed,
and I dropped to the ground to make repairs. Before I knew it the air
was black with fliers, and a hundred of these First Born devils were
leaping to the ground all about me.

“With drawn swords they made for me, but before I went down beneath
them they had tasted of the steel of my father’s sword, and I had given
such an account of myself as I know would have pleased my sire had he
lived to witness it.”

“Your father is dead?” I asked.

“He died before the shell broke to let me step out into a world that
has been very good to me. But for the sorrow that I had never the
honour to know my father, I have been very happy. My only sorrow now is
that my mother must mourn me as she has for ten long years mourned my
father.”

“Who was your father?” I asked.

He was about to reply when the outer door of our prison opened and a
burly guard entered and ordered him to his own quarters for the night,
locking the door after him as he passed through into the further
chamber.

“It is Issus’ wish that you two be confined in the same room,” said the
guard when he had returned to our cell. “This cowardly slave of a slave
is to serve you well,” he said to me, indicating Xodar with a wave of
his hand. “If he does not, you are to beat him into submission. It is
Issus’ wish that you heap upon him every indignity and degradation of
which you can conceive.”

With these words he left us.

Xodar still sat with his face buried in his hands. I walked to his side
and placed my hand upon his shoulder.

“Xodar,” I said, “you have heard the commands of Issus, but you need
not fear that I shall attempt to put them into execution. You are a
brave man, Xodar. It is your own affair if you wish to be persecuted
and humiliated; but were I you I should assert my manhood and defy my
enemies.”

“I have been thinking very hard, John Carter,” he said, “of all the new
ideas you gave me a few hours since. Little by little I have been
piecing together the things that you said which sounded blasphemous to
me then with the things that I have seen in my past life and dared not
even think about for fear of bringing down upon me the wrath of Issus.

“I believe now that she is a fraud; no more divine than you or I. More
I am willing to concede—that the First Born are no holier than the Holy
Therns, nor the Holy Therns more holy than the red men.

“The whole fabric of our religion is based on superstitious belief in
lies that have been foisted upon us for ages by those directly above
us, to whose personal profit and aggrandizement it was to have us
continue to believe as they wished us to believe.

“I am ready to cast off the ties that have bound me. I am ready to defy
Issus herself; but what will it avail us? Be the First Born gods or
mortals, they are a powerful race, and we are as fast in their clutches
as though we were already dead. There is no escape.”

“I have escaped from bad plights in the past, my friend,” I replied;
“nor while life is in me shall I despair of escaping from the Isle of
Shador and the Sea of Omean.”

“But we cannot escape even from the four walls of our prison,” urged
Xodar. “Test this flint-like surface,” he cried, smiting the solid rock
that confined us. “And look upon this polished surface; none could
cling to it to reach the top.”

I smiled.

“That is the least of our troubles, Xodar,” I replied. “I will
guarantee to scale the wall and take you with me, if you will help with
your knowledge of the customs here to appoint the best time for the
attempt, and guide me to the shaft that lets from the dome of this
abysmal sea to the light of God’s pure air above.”

“Night time is the best and offers the only slender chance we have, for
then men sleep, and only a dozing watch nods in the tops of the
battleships. No watch is kept upon the cruisers and smaller craft. The
watchers upon the larger vessels see to all about them. It is night
now.”

“But,” I exclaimed, “it is not dark! How can it be night, then?”

He smiled.

“You forget,” he said, “that we are far below ground. The light of the
sun never penetrates here. There are no moons and no stars reflected in
the bosom of Omean. The phosphorescent light you now see pervading this
great subterranean vault emanates from the rocks that form its dome; it
is always thus upon Omean, just as the billows are always as you see
them—rolling, ever rolling over a windless sea.

“At the appointed hour of night upon the world above, the men whose
duties hold them here sleep, but the light is ever the same.”

“It will make escape more difficult,” I said, and then I shrugged my
shoulders; for what, pray, is the pleasure of doing an easy thing?

“Let us sleep on it to-night,” said Xodar. “A plan may come with our
awakening.”

So we threw ourselves upon the hard stone floor of our prison and slept
the sleep of tired men.




CHAPTER XI
WHEN HELL BROKE LOOSE


Early the next morning Xodar and I commenced work upon our plans for
escape. First I had him sketch upon the stone floor of our cell as
accurate a map of the south polar regions as was possible with the
crude instruments at our disposal—a buckle from my harness, and the
sharp edge of the wondrous gem I had taken from Sator Throg.

From this I computed the general direction of Helium and the distance
at which it lay from the opening which led to Omean.

Then I had him draw a map of Omean, indicating plainly the position of
Shador and of the opening in the dome which led to the outer world.

These I studied until they were indelibly imprinted in my memory. From
Xodar I learned the duties and customs of the guards who patrolled
Shador. It seemed that during the hours set aside for sleep only one
man was on duty at a time. He paced a beat that passed around the
prison, at a distance of about a hundred feet from the building.

The pace of the sentries, Xodar said, was very slow, requiring nearly
ten minutes to make a single round. This meant that for practically
five minutes at a time each side of the prison was unguarded as the
sentry pursued his snail-like pace upon the opposite side.

“This information you ask,” said Xodar, “will be all very valuable
_after_ we get out, but nothing that you have asked has any bearing on
that first and most important consideration.”

“We will get out all right,” I replied, laughing. “Leave that to me.”

“When shall we make the attempt?” he asked.

“The first night that finds a small craft moored near the shore of
Shador,” I replied.

“But how will you know that any craft is moored near Shador? The
windows are far beyond our reach.”

“Not so, friend Xodar; look!”

With a bound I sprang to the bars of the window opposite us, and took a
quick survey of the scene without.

Several small craft and two large battleships lay within a hundred
yards of Shador.

“To-night,” I thought, and was just about to voice my decision to
Xodar, when, without warning, the door of our prison opened and a guard
stepped in.

If the fellow saw me there our chances of escape might quickly go
glimmering, for I knew that they would put me in irons if they had the
slightest conception of the wonderful agility which my earthly muscles
gave me upon Mars.

The man had entered and was standing facing the centre of the room, so
that his back was toward me. Five feet above me was the top of a
partition wall separating our cell from the next.

There was my only chance to escape detection. If the fellow turned, I
was lost; nor could I have dropped to the floor undetected, since he
was so nearly below me that I would have struck him had I done so.

“Where is the white man?” cried the guard of Xodar. “Issus commands his
presence.” He started to turn to see if I were in another part of the
cell.

I scrambled up the iron grating of the window until I could catch a
good footing on the sill with one foot; then I let go my hold and
sprang for the partition top.

“What was that?” I heard the deep voice of the black bellow as my metal
grated against the stone wall as I slipped over. Then I dropped lightly
to the floor of the cell beyond.

“Where is the white slave?” again cried the guard.

“I know not,” replied Xodar. “He was here even as you entered. I am not
his keeper—go find him.”

The black grumbled something that I could not understand, and then I
heard him unlocking the door into one of the other cells on the further
side. Listening intently, I caught the sound as the door closed behind
him. Then I sprang once more to the top of the partition and dropped
into my own cell beside the astonished Xodar.

“Do you see now how we will escape?” I asked him in a whisper.

“I see how you may,” he replied, “but I am no wiser than before as to
how I am to pass these walls. Certain it is that I cannot bounce over
them as you do.”

We heard the guard moving about from cell to cell, and finally, his
rounds completed, he again entered ours. When his eyes fell upon me
they fairly bulged from his head.

“By the shell of my first ancestor!” he roared. “Where have you been?”

“I have been in prison since you put me here yesterday,” I answered. “I
was in this room when you entered. You had better look to your
eyesight.”

He glared at me in mingled rage and relief.

“Come,” he said. “Issus commands your presence.”

He conducted me outside the prison, leaving Xodar behind. There we
found several other guards, and with them the red Martian youth who
occupied another cell upon Shador.

The journey I had taken to the Temple of Issus on the preceding day was
repeated. The guards kept the red boy and myself separated, so that we
had no opportunity to continue the conversation that had been
interrupted the previous night.

The youth’s face had haunted me. Where had I seen him before. There was
something strangely familiar in every line of him; in his carriage, his
manner of speaking, his gestures. I could have sworn that I knew him,
and yet I knew too that I had never seen him before.

When we reached the gardens of Issus we were led away from the temple
instead of toward it. The way wound through enchanted parks to a mighty
wall that towered a hundred feet in air.

Massive gates gave egress upon a small plain, surrounded by the same
gorgeous forests that I had seen at the foot of the Golden Cliffs.

Crowds of blacks were strolling in the same direction that our guards
were leading us, and with them mingled my old friends the plant men and
great white apes.

The brutal beasts moved among the crowd as pet dogs might. If they were
in the way the blacks pushed them roughly to one side, or whacked them
with the flat of a sword, and the animals slunk away as in great fear.

Presently we came upon our destination, a great amphitheatre situated
at the further edge of the plain, and about half a mile beyond the
garden walls.

Through a massive arched gateway the blacks poured in to take their
seats, while our guards led us to a smaller entrance near one end of
the structure.

Through this we passed into an enclosure beneath the seats, where we
found a number of other prisoners herded together under guard. Some of
them were in irons, but for the most part they seemed sufficiently awed
by the presence of their guards to preclude any possibility of
attempted escape.

During the trip from Shador I had had no opportunity to talk with my
fellow-prisoner, but now that we were safely within the barred paddock
our guards abated their watchfulness, with the result that I found
myself able to approach the red Martian youth for whom I felt such a
strange attraction.

“What is the object of this assembly?” I asked him. “Are we to fight
for the edification of the First Born, or is it something worse than
that?”

“It is a part of the monthly rites of Issus,” he replied, “in which
black men wash the sins from their souls in the blood of men from the
outer world. If, perchance, the black is killed, it is evidence of his
disloyalty to Issus—the unpardonable sin. If he lives through the
contest he is held acquitted of the charge that forced the sentence of
the rites, as it is called, upon him.

“The forms of combat vary. A number of us may be pitted together
against an equal number, or twice the number of blacks; or singly we
may be sent forth to face wild beasts, or some famous black warrior.”

“And if we are victorious,” I asked, “what then—freedom?”

He laughed.

“Freedom, forsooth. The only freedom for us death. None who enters the
domains of the First Born ever leave. If we prove able fighters we are
permitted to fight often. If we are not mighty fighters—” He shrugged
his shoulders. “Sooner or later we die in the arena.”

“And you have fought often?” I asked.

“Very often,” he replied. “It is my only pleasure. Some hundred black
devils have I accounted for during nearly a year of the rites of Issus.
My mother would be very proud could she only know how well I have
maintained the traditions of my father’s prowess.”

“Your father must have been a mighty warrior!” I said. “I have known
most of the warriors of Barsoom in my time; doubtless I knew him. Who
was he?”

“My father was—”

“Come, calots!” cried the rough voice of a guard. “To the slaughter
with you,” and roughly we were hustled to the steep incline that led to
the chambers far below which let out upon the arena.

The amphitheatre, like all I had ever seen upon Barsoom, was built in a
large excavation. Only the highest seats, which formed the low wall
surrounding the pit, were above the level of the ground. The arena
itself was far below the surface.

Just beneath the lowest tier of seats was a series of barred cages on a
level with the surface of the arena. Into these we were herded. But,
unfortunately, my youthful friend was not of those who occupied a cage
with me.

Directly opposite my cage was the throne of Issus. Here the horrid
creature squatted, surrounded by a hundred slave maidens sparkling in
jewelled trappings. Brilliant cloths of many hues and strange patterns
formed the soft cushion covering of the dais upon which they reclined
about her.

On four sides of the throne and several feet below it stood three solid
ranks of heavily armed soldiery, elbow to elbow. In front of these were
the high dignitaries of this mock heaven—gleaming blacks bedecked with
precious stones, upon their foreheads the insignia of their rank set in
circles of gold.

On both sides of the throne stretched a solid mass of humanity from top
to bottom of the amphitheatre. There were as many women as men, and
each was clothed in the wondrously wrought harness of his station and
his house. With each black was from one to three slaves, drawn from the
domains of the therns and from the outer world. The blacks are all
“noble.” There is no peasantry among the First Born. Even the lowest
soldier is a god, and has his slaves to wait upon him.

The First Born do no work. The men fight—that is a sacred privilege and
duty; to fight and die for Issus. The women do nothing, absolutely
nothing. Slaves wash them, slaves dress them, slaves feed them. There
are some, even, who have slaves that talk for them, and I saw one who
sat during the rites with closed eyes while a slave narrated to her the
events that were transpiring within the arena.

The first event of the day was the Tribute to Issus. It marked the end
of those poor unfortunates who had looked upon the divine glory of the
goddess a full year before. There were ten of them—splendid beauties
from the proud courts of mighty Jeddaks and from the temples of the
Holy Therns. For a year they had served in the retinue of Issus; to-day
they were to pay the price of this divine preferment with their lives;
tomorrow they would grace the tables of the court functionaries.

A huge black entered the arena with the young women. Carefully he
inspected them, felt of their limbs and poked them in the ribs.
Presently he selected one of their number whom he led before the throne
of Issus. He addressed some words to the goddess which I could not
hear. Issus nodded her head. The black raised his hands above his head
in token of salute, grasped the girl by the wrist, and dragged her from
the arena through a small doorway below the throne.

“Issus will dine well to-night,” said a prisoner beside me.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“That was her dinner that old Thabis is taking to the kitchens. Didst
not note how carefully he selected the plumpest and tenderest of the
lot?”

I growled out my curses on the monster sitting opposite us on the
gorgeous throne.

“Fume not,” admonished my companion; “you will see far worse than that
if you live even a month among the First Born.”

I turned again in time to see the gate of a nearby cage thrown open and
three monstrous white apes spring into the arena. The girls shrank in a
frightened group in the centre of the enclosure.

One was on her knees with imploring hands outstretched toward Issus;
but the hideous deity only leaned further forward in keener
anticipation of the entertainment to come. At length the apes spied the
huddled knot of terror-stricken maidens and with demoniacal shrieks of
bestial frenzy, charged upon them.

A wave of mad fury surged over me. The cruel cowardliness of the
power-drunk creature whose malignant mind conceived such frightful
forms of torture stirred to their uttermost depths my resentment and my
manhood. The blood-red haze that presaged death to my foes swam before
my eyes.

The guard lolled before the unbarred gate of the cage which confined
me. What need of bars, indeed, to keep those poor victims from rushing
into the arena which the edict of the gods had appointed as their death
place!

A single blow sent the black unconscious to the ground. Snatching up
his long-sword, I sprang into the arena. The apes were almost upon the
maidens, but a couple of mighty bounds were all my earthly muscles
required to carry me to the centre of the sand-strewn floor.

For an instant silence reigned in the great amphitheatre, then a wild
shout arose from the cages of the doomed. My long-sword circled
whirring through the air, and a great ape sprawled, headless, at the
feet of the fainting girls.

The other apes turned now upon me, and as I stood facing them a sullen
roar from the audience answered the wild cheers from the cages. From
the tail of my eye I saw a score of guards rushing across the
glistening sand toward me. Then a figure broke from one of the cages
behind them. It was the youth whose personality so fascinated me.

He paused a moment before the cages, with upraised sword.

“Come, men of the outer world!” he shouted. “Let us make our deaths
worth while, and at the back of this unknown warrior turn this day’s
Tribute to Issus into an orgy of revenge that will echo through the
ages and cause black skins to blanch at each repetition of the rites of
Issus. Come! The racks without your cages are filled with blades.”

Without waiting to note the outcome of his plea, he turned and bounded
toward me. From every cage that harboured red men a thunderous shout
went up in answer to his exhortation. The inner guards went down
beneath howling mobs, and the cages vomited forth their inmates hot
with the lust to kill.

The racks that stood without were stripped of the swords with which the
prisoners were to have been armed to enter their allotted combats, and
a swarm of determined warriors sped to our support.

The great apes, towering in all their fifteen feet of height, had gone
down before my sword while the charging guards were still some distance
away. Close behind them pursued the youth. At my back were the young
girls, and as it was in their service that I fought, I remained
standing there to meet my inevitable death, but with the determination
to give such an account of myself as would long be remembered in the
land of the First Born.

I noted the marvellous speed of the young red man as he raced after the
guards. Never had I seen such speed in any Martian. His leaps and
bounds were little short of those which my earthly muscles had produced
to create such awe and respect on the part of the green Martians into
whose hands I had fallen on that long-gone day that had seen my first
advent upon Mars.

The guards had not reached me when he fell upon them from the rear, and
as they turned, thinking from the fierceness of his onslaught that a
dozen were attacking them, I rushed them from my side.

In the rapid fighting that followed I had little chance to note aught
else than the movements of my immediate adversaries, but now and again
I caught a fleeting glimpse of a purring sword and a lightly springing
figure of sinewy steel that filled my heart with a strange yearning and
a mighty but unaccountable pride.

On the handsome face of the boy a grim smile played, and ever and anon
he threw a taunting challenge to the foes that faced him. In this and
other ways his manner of fighting was similar to that which had always
marked me on the field of combat.

Perhaps it was this vague likeness which made me love the boy, while
the awful havoc that his sword played amongst the blacks filled my soul
with a tremendous respect for him.

For my part, I was fighting as I had fought a thousand times before—now
sidestepping a wicked thrust, now stepping quickly in to let my sword’s
point drink deep in a foeman’s heart, before it buried itself in the
throat of his companion.

We were having a merry time of it, we two, when a great body of Issus’
own guards were ordered into the arena. On they came with fierce cries,
while from every side the armed prisoners swarmed upon them.

For half an hour it was as though all hell had broken loose. In the
walled confines of the arena we fought in an inextricable mass—howling,
cursing, blood-streaked demons; and ever the sword of the young red man
flashed beside me.

Slowly and by repeated commands I had succeeded in drawing the
prisoners into a rough formation about us, so that at last we fought
formed into a rude circle in the centre of which were the doomed maids.

Many had gone down on both sides, but by far the greater havoc had been
wrought in the ranks of the guards of Issus. I could see messengers
running swiftly through the audience, and as they passed the nobles
there unsheathed their swords and sprang into the arena. They were
going to annihilate us by force of numbers—that was quite evidently
their plan.

I caught a glimpse of Issus leaning far forward upon her throne, her
hideous countenance distorted in a horrid grimace of hate and rage, in
which I thought I could distinguish an expression of fear. It was that
face that inspired me to the thing that followed.

Quickly I ordered fifty of the prisoners to drop back behind us and
form a new circle about the maidens.

“Remain and protect them until I return,” I commanded.

Then, turning to those who formed the outer line, I cried, “Down with
Issus! Follow me to the throne; we will reap vengeance where vengeance
is deserved.”

The youth at my side was the first to take up the cry of “Down with
Issus!” and then at my back and from all sides rose a hoarse shout, “To
the throne! To the throne!”

As one man we moved, an irresistible fighting mass, over the bodies of
dead and dying foes toward the gorgeous throne of the Martian deity.
Hordes of the doughtiest fighting-men of the First Born poured from the
audience to check our progress. We mowed them down before us as they
had been paper men.

“To the seats, some of you!” I cried as we approached the arena’s
barrier wall. “Ten of us can take the throne,” for I had seen that
Issus’ guards had for the most part entered the fray within the arena.

On both sides of me the prisoners broke to left and right for the
seats, vaulting the low wall with dripping swords lusting for the
crowded victims who awaited them.

In another moment the entire amphitheatre was filled with the shrieks
of the dying and the wounded, mingled with the clash of arms and
triumphant shouts of the victors.

Side by side the young red man and I, with perhaps a dozen others,
fought our way to the foot of the throne. The remaining guards,
reinforced by the high dignitaries and nobles of the First Born, closed
in between us and Issus, who sat leaning far forward upon her carved
sorapus bench, now screaming high-pitched commands to her following,
now hurling blighting curses upon those who sought to desecrate her
godhood.

The frightened slaves about her trembled in wide-eyed expectancy,
knowing not whether to pray for our victory or our defeat. Several
among them, proud daughters no doubt of some of Barsoom’s noblest
warriors, snatched swords from the hands of the fallen and fell upon
the guards of Issus, but they were soon cut down; glorious martyrs to a
hopeless cause.

The men with us fought well, but never since Tars Tarkas and I fought
out that long, hot afternoon shoulder to shoulder against the hordes of
Warhoon in the dead sea bottom before Thark, had I seen two men fight
to such good purpose and with such unconquerable ferocity as the young
red man and I fought that day before the throne of Issus, Goddess of
Death, and of Life Eternal.

Man by man those who stood between us and the carven sorapus wood bench
went down before our blades. Others swarmed in to fill the breach, but
inch by inch, foot by foot we won nearer and nearer to our goal.

Presently a cry went up from a section of the stands near by—“Rise
slaves!” “Rise slaves!” it rose and fell until it swelled to a mighty
volume of sound that swept in great billows around the entire
amphitheatre.

For an instant, as though by common assent, we ceased our fighting to
look for the meaning of this new note nor did it take but a moment to
translate its significance. In all parts of the structure the female
slaves were falling upon their masters with whatever weapon came first
to hand. A dagger snatched from the harness of her mistress was waved
aloft by some fair slave, its shimmering blade crimson with the
lifeblood of its owner; swords plucked from the bodies of the dead
about them; heavy ornaments which could be turned into bludgeons—such
were the implements with which these fair women wreaked the long-pent
vengeance which at best could but partially recompense them for the
unspeakable cruelties and indignities which their black masters had
heaped upon them. And those who could find no other weapons used their
strong fingers and their gleaming teeth.

It was at once a sight to make one shudder and to cheer; but in a brief
second we were engaged once more in our own battle with only the
unquenchable battle cry of the women to remind us that they still
fought—“Rise slaves!” “Rise slaves!”

Only a single thin rank of men now stood between us and Issus. Her face
was blue with terror. Foam flecked her lips. She seemed too paralysed
with fear to move. Only the youth and I fought now. The others all had
fallen, and I was like to have gone down too from a nasty long-sword
cut had not a hand reached out from behind my adversary and clutched
his elbow as the blade was falling upon me. The youth sprang to my side
and ran his sword through the fellow before he could recover to deliver
another blow.

I should have died even then but for that as my sword was tight wedged
in the breastbone of a Dator of the First Born. As the fellow went down
I snatched his sword from him and over his prostrate body looked into
the eyes of the one whose quick hand had saved me from the first cut of
his sword—it was Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang.

“Fly, my Prince!” she cried. “It is useless to fight them longer. All
within the arena are dead. All who charged the throne are dead but you
and this youth. Only among the seats are there left any of your
fighting-men, and they and the slave women are fast being cut down.
Listen! You can scarce hear the battle-cry of the women now for nearly
all are dead. For each one of you there are ten thousand blacks within
the domains of the First Born. Break for the open and the sea of Korus.
With your mighty sword arm you may yet win to the Golden Cliffs and the
templed gardens of the Holy Therns. There tell your story to Matai
Shang, my father. He will keep you, and together you may find a way to
rescue me. Fly while there is yet a bare chance for flight.”

But that was not my mission, nor could I see much to be preferred in
the cruel hospitality of the Holy Therns to that of the First Born.

“Down with Issus!” I shouted, and together the boy and I took up the
fight once more. Two blacks went down with our swords in their vitals,
and we stood face to face with Issus. As my sword went up to end her
horrid career her paralysis left her, and with an ear-piercing shriek
she turned to flee. Directly behind her a black gulf suddenly yawned in
the flooring of the dais. She sprang for the opening with the youth and
I close at her heels. Her scattered guard rallied at her cry and rushed
for us. A blow fell upon the head of the youth. He staggered and would
have fallen, but I caught him in my left arm and turned to face an
infuriated mob of religious fanatics crazed by the affront I had put
upon their goddess, just as Issus disappeared into the black depths
beneath me.




CHAPTER XII
DOOMED TO DIE


For an instant I stood there before they fell upon me, but the first
rush of them forced me back a step or two. My foot felt for the floor
but found only empty space. I had backed into the pit which had
received Issus. For a second I toppled there upon the brink. Then I too
with the boy still tightly clutched in my arms pitched backward into
the black abyss.

We struck a polished chute, the opening above us closed as magically as
it had opened, and we shot down, unharmed, into a dimly lighted
apartment far below the arena.

As I rose to my feet the first thing I saw was the malignant
countenance of Issus glaring at me through the heavy bars of a grated
door at one side of the chamber.

“Rash mortal!” she shrilled. “You shall pay the awful penalty for your
blasphemy in this secret cell. Here you shall lie alone and in darkness
with the carcass of your accomplice festering in its rottenness by your
side, until crazed by loneliness and hunger you feed upon the crawling
maggots that were once a man.”

That was all. In another instant she was gone, and the dim light which
had filled the cell faded into Cimmerian blackness.

“Pleasant old lady,” said a voice at my side.

“Who speaks?” I asked.

“’Tis I, your companion, who has had the honour this day of fighting
shoulder to shoulder with the greatest warrior that ever wore metal
upon Barsoom.”

“I thank God that you are not dead,” I said. “I feared for that nasty
cut upon your head.”

“It but stunned me,” he replied. “A mere scratch.”

“Maybe it were as well had it been final,” I said. “We seem to be in a
pretty fix here with a splendid chance of dying of starvation and
thirst.”

“Where are we?”

“Beneath the arena,” I replied. “We tumbled down the shaft that
swallowed Issus as she was almost at our mercy.”

He laughed a low laugh of pleasure and relief, and then reaching out
through the inky blackness he sought my shoulder and pulled my ear
close to his mouth.

“Nothing could be better,” he whispered. “There are secrets within the
secrets of Issus of which Issus herself does not dream.”

“What do you mean?”

“I laboured with the other slaves a year since in the remodelling of
these subterranean galleries, and at that time we found below these an
ancient system of corridors and chambers that had been sealed up for
ages. The blacks in charge of the work explored them, taking several of
us along to do whatever work there might be occasion for. I know the
entire system perfectly.

“There are miles of corridors honeycombing the ground beneath the
gardens and the temple itself, and there is one passage that leads down
to and connects with the lower regions that open on the water shaft
that gives passage to Omean.

“If we can reach the submarine undetected we may yet make the sea in
which there are many islands where the blacks never go. There we may
live for a time, and who knows what may transpire to aid us to escape?”

He had spoken all in a low whisper, evidently fearing spying ears even
here, and so I answered him in the same subdued tone.

“Lead back to Shador, my friend,” I whispered. “Xodar, the black, is
there. We were to attempt our escape together, so I cannot desert him.”

“No,” said the boy, “one cannot desert a friend. It were better to be
recaptured ourselves than that.”

Then he commenced groping his way about the floor of the dark chamber
searching for the trap that led to the corridors beneath. At length he
summoned me by a low, “S-s-t,” and I crept toward the sound of his
voice to find him kneeling on the brink of an opening in the floor.

“There is a drop here of about ten feet,” he whispered. “Hang by your
hands and you will alight safely on a level floor of soft sand.”

Very quietly I lowered myself from the inky cell above into the inky
pit below. So utterly dark was it that we could not see our hands at an
inch from our noses. Never, I think, have I known such complete absence
of light as existed in the pits of Issus.

For an instant I hung in mid air. There is a strange sensation
connected with an experience of that nature which is quite difficult to
describe. When the feet tread empty air and the distance below is
shrouded in darkness there is a feeling akin to panic at the thought of
releasing the hold and taking the plunge into unknown depths.

Although the boy had told me that it was but ten feet to the floor
below I experienced the same thrills as though I were hanging above a
bottomless pit. Then I released my hold and dropped—four feet to a soft
cushion of sand.

The boy followed me.

“Raise me to your shoulders,” he said, “and I will replace the trap.”

This done he took me by the hand, leading me very slowly, with much
feeling about and frequent halts to assure himself that he did not
stray into wrong passageways.

Presently we commenced the descent of a very steep incline.

“It will not be long,” he said, “before we shall have light. At the
lower levels we meet the same stratum of phosphorescent rock that
illuminates Omean.”

Never shall I forget that trip through the pits of Issus. While it was
devoid of important incidents yet it was filled for me with a strange
charm of excitement and adventure which I think must have hinged
principally on the unguessable antiquity of these long-forgotten
corridors. The things which the Stygian darkness hid from my objective
eye could not have been half so wonderful as the pictures which my
imagination wrought as it conjured to life again the ancient peoples of
this dying world and set them once more to the labours, the intrigues,
the mysteries and the cruelties which they had practised to make their
last stand against the swarming hordes of the dead sea bottoms that had
driven them step by step to the uttermost pinnacle of the world where
they were now intrenched behind an impenetrable barrier of
superstition.

In addition to the green men there had been three principal races upon
Barsoom. The blacks, the whites, and a race of yellow men. As the
waters of the planet dried and the seas receded, all other resources
dwindled until life upon the planet became a constant battle for
survival.

The various races had made war upon one another for ages, and the three
higher types had easily bested the green savages of the water places of
the world, but now that the receding seas necessitated constant
abandonment of their fortified cities and forced upon them a more or
less nomadic life in which they became separated into smaller
communities they soon fell prey to the fierce hordes of green men. The
result was a partial amalgamation of the blacks, whites and yellows,
the result of which is shown in the present splendid race of red men.

I had always supposed that all traces of the original races had
disappeared from the face of Mars, yet within the past four days I had
found both whites and blacks in great multitudes. Could it be possible
that in some far-off corner of the planet there still existed a remnant
of the ancient race of yellow men?

My reveries were broken in upon by a low exclamation from the boy.

“At last, the lighted way,” he cried, and looking up I beheld at a long
distance before us a dim radiance.

As we advanced the light increased until presently we emerged into
well-lighted passageways. From then on our progress was rapid until we
came suddenly to the end of a corridor that let directly upon the ledge
surrounding the pool of the submarine.

The craft lay at her moorings with uncovered hatch. Raising his finger
to his lips and then tapping his sword in a significant manner, the
youth crept noiselessly toward the vessel. I was close at his heels.

Silently we dropped to the deserted deck, and on hands and knees
crawled toward the hatchway. A stealthy glance below revealed no guard
in sight, and so with the quickness and the soundlessness of cats we
dropped together into the main cabin of the submarine. Even here was no
sign of life. Quickly we covered and secured the hatch.

Then the boy stepped into the pilot house, touched a button and the
boat sank amid swirling waters toward the bottom of the shaft. Even
then there was no scurrying of feet as we had expected, and while the
boy remained to direct the boat I slid from cabin to cabin in futile
search for some member of the crew. The craft was entirely deserted.
Such good fortune seemed almost unbelievable.

When I returned to the pilot house to report the good news to my
companion he handed me a paper.

“This may explain the absence of the crew,” he said.

It was a radio-aerial message to the commander of the submarine:

“The slaves have risen. Come with what men you have and those that you
can gather on the way. Too late to get aid from Omean. They are
massacring all within the amphitheatre. Issus is threatened. Haste.


“ZITHAD”


“Zithad is Dator of the guards of Issus,” explained the youth. “We gave
them a bad scare—one that they will not soon forget.”

“Let us hope that it is but the beginning of the end of Issus,” I said.

“Only our first ancestor knows,” he replied.

We reached the submarine pool in Omean without incident. Here we
debated the wisdom of sinking the craft before leaving her, but finally
decided that it would add nothing to our chances for escape. There were
plenty of blacks on Omean to thwart us were we apprehended; however
many more might come from the temples and gardens of Issus would not in
any way decrease our chances.

We were now in a quandary as to how to pass the guards who patrolled
the island about the pool. At last I hit upon a plan.

“What is the name or title of the officer in charge of these guards?” I
asked the boy.

“A fellow named Torith was on duty when we entered this morning,” he
replied.

“Good. And what is the name of the commander of the submarine?”

“Yersted.”

I found a dispatch blank in the cabin and wrote the following order:

“Dator Torith: Return these two slaves at once to Shador.


“YERSTED”


“That will be the simpler way to return,” I said, smiling, as I handed
the forged order to the boy. “Come, we shall see now how well it
works.”

“But our swords!” he exclaimed. “What shall we say to explain them?”

“Since we cannot explain them we shall have to leave them behind us,” I
replied.

“Is it not the extreme of rashness to thus put ourselves again,
unarmed, in the power of the First Born?”

“It is the only way,” I answered. “You may trust me to find a way out
of the prison of Shador, and I think, once out, that we shall find no
great difficulty in arming ourselves once more in a country which
abounds so plentifully in armed men.”

“As you say,” he replied with a smile and shrug. “I could not follow
another leader who inspired greater confidence than you. Come, let us
put your ruse to the test.”

Boldly we emerged from the hatchway of the craft, leaving our swords
behind us, and strode to the main exit which led to the sentry’s post
and the office of the Dator of the guard.

At sight of us the members of the guard sprang forward in surprise, and
with levelled rifles halted us. I held out the message to one of them.
He took it and seeing to whom it was addressed turned and handed it to
Torith who was emerging from his office to learn the cause of the
commotion.

The black read the order, and for a moment eyed us with evident
suspicion.

“Where is Dator Yersted?” he asked, and my heart sank within me, as I
cursed myself for a stupid fool in not having sunk the submarine to
make good the lie that I must tell.

“His orders were to return immediately to the temple landing,” I
replied.

Torith took a half step toward the entrance to the pool as though to
corroborate my story. For that instant everything hung in the balance,
for had he done so and found the empty submarine still lying at her
wharf the whole weak fabric of my concoction would have tumbled about
our heads; but evidently he decided the message must be genuine, nor
indeed was there any good reason to doubt it since it would scarce have
seemed credible to him that two slaves would voluntarily have given
themselves into custody in any such manner as this. It was the very
boldness of the plan which rendered it successful.

“Were you connected with the rising of the slaves?” asked Torith. “We
have just had meagre reports of some such event.”

“All were involved,” I replied. “But it amounted to little. The guards
quickly overcame and killed the majority of us.”

He seemed satisfied with this reply. “Take them to Shador,” he ordered,
turning to one of his subordinates. We entered a small boat lying
beside the island, and in a few minutes were disembarking upon Shador.
Here we were returned to our respective cells; I with Xodar, the boy by
himself; and behind locked doors we were again prisoners of the First
Born.




CHAPTER XIII
A BREAK FOR LIBERTY


Xodar listened in incredulous astonishment to my narration of the
events which had transpired within the arena at the rites of Issus. He
could scarce conceive, even though he had already professed his doubt
as to the deity of Issus, that one could threaten her with sword in
hand and not be blasted into a thousand fragments by the mere fury of
her divine wrath.

“It is the final proof,” he said, at last. “No more is needed to
completely shatter the last remnant of my superstitious belief in the
divinity of Issus. She is only a wicked old woman, wielding a mighty
power for evil through machinations that have kept her own people and
all Barsoom in religious ignorance for ages.”

“She is still all-powerful here, however,” I replied. “So it behooves
us to leave at the first moment that appears at all propitious.”

“I hope that you may find a propitious moment,” he said, with a laugh,
“for it is certain that in all my life I have never seen one in which a
prisoner of the First Born might escape.”

“To-night will do as well as any,” I replied.

“It will soon be night,” said Xodar. “How may I aid in the adventure?”

“Can you swim?” I asked him.

“No slimy silian that haunts the depths of Korus is more at home in
water than is Xodar,” he replied.

“Good. The red one in all probability cannot swim,” I said, “since
there is scarce enough water in all their domains to float the tiniest
craft. One of us therefore will have to support him through the sea to
the craft we select. I had hoped that we might make the entire distance
below the surface, but I fear that the red youth could not thus perform
the trip. Even the bravest of the brave among them are terrorized at
the mere thought of deep water, for it has been ages since their
forebears saw a lake, a river or a sea.”

“The red one is to accompany us?” asked Xodar.

“Yes.”

“It is well. Three swords are better than two. Especially when the
third is as mighty as this fellow’s. I have seen him battle in the
arena at the rites of Issus many times. Never, until I saw you fight,
had I seen one who seemed unconquerable even in the face of great odds.
One might think you two master and pupil, or father and son. Come to
recall his face there is a resemblance between you. It is very marked
when you fight—there is the same grim smile, the same maddening
contempt for your adversary apparent in every movement of your bodies
and in every changing expression of your faces.”

“Be that as it may, Xodar, he is a great fighter. I think that we will
make a trio difficult to overcome, and if my friend Tars Tarkas, Jeddak
of Thark, were but one of us we could fight our way from one end of
Barsoom to the other even though the whole world were pitted against
us.”

“It will be,” said Xodar, “when they find from whence you have come.
That is but one of the superstitions which Issus has foisted upon a
credulous humanity. She works through the Holy Therns who are as
ignorant of her real self as are the Barsoomians of the outer world.
Her decrees are borne to the therns written in blood upon a strange
parchment. The poor deluded fools think that they are receiving the
revelations of a goddess through some supernatural agency, since they
find these messages upon their guarded altars to which none could have
access without detection. I myself have borne these messages for Issus
for many years. There is a long tunnel from the temple of Issus to the
principal temple of Matai Shang. It was dug ages ago by the slaves of
the First Born in such utter secrecy that no thern ever guessed its
existence.

“The therns for their part have temples dotted about the entire
civilized world. Here priests whom the people never see communicate the
doctrine of the Mysterious River Iss, the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea
of Korus to persuade the poor deluded creatures to take the voluntary
pilgrimage that swells the wealth of the Holy Therns and adds to the
numbers of their slaves.

“Thus the therns are used as the principal means for collecting the
wealth and labour that the First Born wrest from them as they need it.
Occasionally the First Born themselves make raids upon the outer world.
It is then that they capture many females of the royal houses of the
red men, and take the newest in battleships and the trained artisans
who build them, that they may copy what they cannot create.

“We are a non-productive race, priding ourselves upon our
non-productiveness. It is criminal for a First Born to labour or
invent. That is the work of the lower orders, who live merely that the
First Born may enjoy long lives of luxury and idleness. With us
fighting is all that counts; were it not for that there would be more
of the First Born than all the creatures of Barsoom could support, for
in so far as I know none of us ever dies a natural death. Our females
would live for ever but for the fact that we tire of them and remove
them to make place for others. Issus alone of all is protected against
death. She has lived for countless ages.”

“Would not the other Barsoomians live for ever but for the doctrine of
the voluntary pilgrimage which drags them to the bosom of Iss at or
before their thousandth year?” I asked him.

“I feel now that there is no doubt but that they are precisely the same
species of creature as the First Born, and I hope that I shall live to
fight for them in atonement of the sins I have committed against them
through the ignorance born of generations of false teaching.”

As he ceased speaking a weird call rang out across the waters of Omean.
I had heard it at the same time the previous evening and knew that it
marked the ending of the day, when the men of Omean spread their silks
upon the deck of battleship and cruiser and fall into the dreamless
sleep of Mars.

Our guard entered to inspect us for the last time before the new day
broke upon the world above. His duty was soon performed and the heavy
door of our prison closed behind him—we were alone for the night.

I gave him time to return to his quarters, as Xodar said he probably
would do, then I sprang to the grated window and surveyed the nearby
waters. At a little distance from the island, a quarter of a mile
perhaps, lay a monster battleship, while between her and the shore were
a number of smaller cruisers and one-man scouts. Upon the battleship
alone was there a watch. I could see him plainly in the upper works of
the ship, and as I watched I saw him spread his sleeping silks upon the
tiny platform in which he was stationed. Soon he threw himself at full
length upon his couch. The discipline on Omean was lax indeed. But it
is not to be wondered at since no enemy guessed the existence upon
Barsoom of such a fleet, or even of the First Born, or the Sea of
Omean. Why indeed should they maintain a watch?

Presently I dropped to the floor again and talked with Xodar,
describing the various craft I had seen.

“There is one there,” he said, “my personal property, built to carry
five men, that is the swiftest of the swift. If we can board her we can
at least make a memorable run for liberty,” and then he went on to
describe to me the equipment of the boat; her engines, and all that
went to make her the flier that she was.

In his explanation I recognized a trick of gearing that Kantos Kan had
taught me that time we sailed under false names in the navy of Zodanga
beneath Sab Than, the Prince. And I knew then that the First Born had
stolen it from the ships of Helium, for only they are thus geared. And
I knew too that Xodar spoke the truth when he lauded the speed of his
little craft, for nothing that cleaves the thin air of Mars can
approximate the speed of the ships of Helium.

We decided to wait for an hour at least until all the stragglers had
sought their silks. In the meantime I was to fetch the red youth to our
cell so that we would be in readiness to make our rash break for
freedom together.

I sprang to the top of our partition wall and pulled myself up on to
it. There I found a flat surface about a foot in width and along this I
walked until I came to the cell in which I saw the boy sitting upon his
bench. He had been leaning back against the wall looking up at the
glowing dome above Omean, and when he spied me balancing upon the
partition wall above him his eyes opened wide in astonishment. Then a
wide grin of appreciative understanding spread across his countenance.

As I stooped to drop to the floor beside him he motioned me to wait,
and coming close below me whispered: “Catch my hand; I can almost leap
to the top of that wall myself. I have tried it many times, and each
day I come a little closer. Some day I should have been able to make
it.”

I lay upon my belly across the wall and reached my hand far down toward
him. With a little run from the centre of the cell he sprang up until I
grasped his outstretched hand, and thus I pulled him to the wall’s top
beside me.

“You are the first jumper I ever saw among the red men of Barsoom,” I
said.

He smiled. “It is not strange. I will tell you why when we have more
time.”

Together we returned to the cell in which Xodar sat; descending to talk
with him until the hour had passed.

There we made our plans for the immediate future, binding ourselves by
a solemn oath to fight to the death for one another against whatsoever
enemies should confront us, for we knew that even should we succeed in
escaping the First Born we might still have a whole world against
us—the power of religious superstition is mighty.

It was agreed that I should navigate the craft after we had reached
her, and that if we made the outer world in safety we should attempt to
reach Helium without a stop.

“Why Helium?” asked the red youth.

“I am a prince of Helium,” I replied.

He gave me a peculiar look, but said nothing further on the subject. I
wondered at the time what the significance of his expression might be,
but in the press of other matters it soon left my mind, nor did I have
occasion to think of it again until later.

“Come,” I said at length, “now is as good a time as any. Let us go.”

Another moment found me at the top of the partition wall again with the
boy beside me. Unbuckling my harness I snapped it together with a
single long strap which I lowered to the waiting Xodar below. He
grasped the end and was soon sitting beside us.

“How simple,” he laughed.

“The balance should be even simpler,” I replied. Then I raised myself
to the top of the outer wall of the prison, just so that I could peer
over and locate the passing sentry. For a matter of five minutes I
waited and then he came in sight on his slow and snail-like beat about
the structure.

I watched him until he had made the turn at the end of the building
which carried him out of sight of the side of the prison that was to
witness our dash for freedom. The moment his form disappeared I grasped
Xodar and drew him to the top of the wall. Placing one end of my
harness strap in his hands I lowered him quickly to the ground below.
Then the boy grasped the strap and slid down to Xodar’s side.

In accordance with our arrangement they did not wait for me, but walked
slowly toward the water, a matter of a hundred yards, directly past the
guard-house filled with sleeping soldiers.

They had taken scarce a dozen steps when I too dropped to the ground
and followed them leisurely toward the shore. As I passed the
guard-house the thought of all the good blades lying there gave me
pause, for if ever men were to have need of swords it was my companions
and I on the perilous trip upon which we were about to embark.

I glanced toward Xodar and the youth and saw that they had slipped over
the edge of the dock into the water. In accordance with our plan they
were to remain there clinging to the metal rings which studded the
concrete-like substance of the dock at the water’s level, with only
their mouths and noses above the surface of the sea, until I should
join them.

The lure of the swords within the guard-house was strong upon me, and I
hesitated a moment, half inclined to risk the attempt to take the few
we needed. That he who hesitates is lost proved itself a true aphorism
in this instance, for another moment saw me creeping stealthily toward
the door of the guard-house.

Gently I pressed it open a crack; enough to discover a dozen blacks
stretched upon their silks in profound slumber. At the far side of the
room a rack held the swords and firearms of the men. Warily I pushed
the door a trifle wider to admit my body. A hinge gave out a resentful
groan. One of the men stirred, and my heart stood still. I cursed
myself for a fool to have thus jeopardized our chances for escape; but
there was nothing for it now but to see the adventure through.

With a spring as swift and as noiseless as a tiger’s I lit beside the
guardsman who had moved. My hands hovered about his throat awaiting the
moment that his eyes should open. For what seemed an eternity to my
overwrought nerves I remained poised thus. Then the fellow turned again
upon his side and resumed the even respiration of deep slumber.

Carefully I picked my way between and over the soldiers until I had
gained the rack at the far side of the room. Here I turned to survey
the sleeping men. All were quiet. Their regular breathing rose and fell
in a soothing rhythm that seemed to me the sweetest music I ever had
heard.

Gingerly I drew a long-sword from the rack. The scraping of the
scabbard against its holder as I withdrew it sounded like the filing of
cast iron with a great rasp, and I looked to see the room immediately
filled with alarmed and attacking guardsmen. But none stirred.

The second sword I withdrew noiselessly, but the third clanked in its
scabbard with a frightful din. I knew that it must awaken some of the
men at least, and was on the point of forestalling their attack by a
rapid charge for the doorway, when again, to my intense surprise, not a
black moved. Either they were wondrous heavy sleepers or else the
noises that I made were really much less than they seemed to me.

I was about to leave the rack when my attention was attracted by the
revolvers. I knew that I could not carry more than one away with me,
for I was already too heavily laden to move quietly with any degree of
safety or speed. As I took one of them from its pin my eye fell for the
first time on an open window beside the rack. Ah, here was a splendid
means of escape, for it let directly upon the dock, not twenty feet
from the water’s edge.

And as I congratulated myself, I heard the door opposite me open, and
there looking me full in the face stood the officer of the guard. He
evidently took in the situation at a glance and appreciated the gravity
of it as quickly as I, for our revolvers came up simultaneously and the
sounds of the two reports were as one as we touched the buttons on the
grips that exploded the cartridges.

I felt the wind of his bullet as it whizzed past my ear, and at the
same instant I saw him crumple to the ground. Where I hit him I do not
know, nor if I killed him, for scarce had he started to collapse when I
was through the window at my rear. In another second the waters of
Omean closed above my head, and the three of us were making for the
little flier a hundred yards away.

Xodar was burdened with the boy, and I with the three long-swords. The
revolver I had dropped, so that while we were both strong swimmers it
seemed to me that we moved at a snail’s pace through the water. I was
swimming entirely beneath the surface, but Xodar was compelled to rise
often to let the youth breathe, so it was a wonder that we were not
discovered long before we were.

In fact we reached the boat’s side and were all aboard before the watch
upon the battleship, aroused by the shots, detected us. Then an alarm
gun bellowed from a ship’s bow, its deep boom reverberating in
deafening tones beneath the rocky dome of Omean.

Instantly the sleeping thousands were awake. The decks of a thousand
monster craft teemed with fighting-men, for an alarm on Omean was a
thing of rare occurrence.

We cast away before the sound of the first gun had died, and another
second saw us rising swiftly from the surface of the sea. I lay at full
length along the deck with the levers and buttons of control before me.
Xodar and the boy were stretched directly behind me, prone also that we
might offer as little resistance to the air as possible.

“Rise high,” whispered Xodar. “They dare not fire their heavy guns
toward the dome—the fragments of the shells would drop back among their
own craft. If we are high enough our keel plates will protect us from
rifle fire.”

I did as he bade. Below us we could see the men leaping into the water
by hundreds, and striking out for the small cruisers and one-man fliers
that lay moored about the big ships. The larger craft were getting
under way, following us rapidly, but not rising from the water.

“A little to your right,” cried Xodar, for there are no points of
compass upon Omean where every direction is due north.

The pandemonium that had broken out below us was deafening. Rifles
cracked, officers shouted orders, men yelled directions to one another
from the water and from the decks of myriad boats, while through all
ran the purr of countless propellers cutting water and air.

I had not dared pull my speed lever to the highest for fear of
overrunning the mouth of the shaft that passed from Omean’s dome to the
world above, but even so we were hitting a clip that I doubt has ever
been equalled on the windless sea.

The smaller fliers were commencing to rise toward us when Xodar
shouted: “The shaft! The shaft! Dead ahead,” and I saw the opening,
black and yawning in the glowing dome of this underworld.

A ten-man cruiser was rising directly in front to cut off our escape.
It was the only vessel that stood in our way, but at the rate that it
was traveling it would come between us and the shaft in plenty of time
to thwart our plans.

It was rising at an angle of about forty-five degrees dead ahead of us,
with the evident intention of combing us with grappling hooks from
above as it skimmed low over our deck.

There was but one forlorn hope for us, and I took it. It was useless to
try to pass over her, for that would have allowed her to force us
against the rocky dome above, and we were already too near that as it
was. To have attempted to dive below her would have put us entirely at
her mercy, and precisely where she wanted us. On either side a hundred
other menacing craft were hastening toward us. The alternative was
filled with risk—in fact it was all risk, with but a slender chance of
success.

As we neared the cruiser I rose as though to pass above her, so that
she would do just what she did do, rise at a steeper angle to force me
still higher. Then as we were almost upon her I yelled to my companions
to hold tight, and throwing the little vessel into her highest speed I
deflected her bows at the same instant until we were running
horizontally and at terrific velocity straight for the cruiser’s keel.

Her commander may have seen my intentions then, but it was too late.
Almost at the instant of impact I turned my bows upward, and then with
a shattering jolt we were in collision. What I had hoped for happened.
The cruiser, already tilted at a perilous angle, was carried completely
over backward by the impact of my smaller vessel. Her crew fell
twisting and screaming through the air to the water far below, while
the cruiser, her propellers still madly churning, dived swiftly
headforemost after them to the bottom of the Sea of Omean.

The collision crushed our steel bows, and notwithstanding every effort
on our part came near to hurling us from the deck. As it was we landed
in a wildly clutching heap at the very extremity of the flier, where
Xodar and I succeeded in grasping the hand-rail, but the boy would have
plunged overboard had I not fortunately grasped his ankle as he was
already partially over.

Unguided, our vessel careened wildly in its mad flight, rising ever
nearer the rocks above. It took but an instant, however, for me to
regain the levers, and with the roof barely fifty feet above I turned
her nose once more into the horizontal plane and headed her again for
the black mouth of the shaft.

The collision had retarded our progress and now a hundred swift scouts
were close upon us. Xodar had told me that ascending the shaft by
virtue of our repulsive rays alone would give our enemies their best
chance to overtake us, since our propellers would be idle and in rising
we would be outclassed by many of our pursuers. The swifter craft are
seldom equipped with large buoyancy tanks, since the added bulk of them
tends to reduce a vessel’s speed.

As many boats were now quite close to us it was inevitable that we
would be quickly overhauled in the shaft, and captured or killed in
short order.

To me there always seems a way to gain the opposite side of an
obstacle. If one cannot pass over it, or below it, or around it, why
then there is but a single alternative left, and that is to pass
through it. I could not get around the fact that many of these other
boats could rise faster than ours by the fact of their greater
buoyancy, but I was none the less determined to reach the outer world
far in advance of them or die a death of my own choosing in event of
failure.

“Reverse?” screamed Xodar, behind me. “For the love of your first
ancestor, reverse. We are at the shaft.”

“Hold tight!” I screamed in reply. “Grasp the boy and hold tight—we are
going straight up the shaft.”

The words were scarce out of my mouth as we swept beneath the
pitch-black opening. I threw the bow hard up, dragged the speed lever
to its last notch, and clutching a stanchion with one hand and the
steering-wheel with the other hung on like grim death and consigned my
soul to its author.

I heard a little exclamation of surprise from Xodar, followed by a grim
laugh. The boy laughed too and said something which I could not catch
for the whistling of the wind of our awful speed.

I looked above my head, hoping to catch the gleam of stars by which I
could direct our course and hold the hurtling thing that bore us true
to the centre of the shaft. To have touched the side at the speed we
were making would doubtless have resulted in instant death for us all.
But not a star showed above—only utter and impenetrable darkness.

Then I glanced below me, and there I saw a rapidly diminishing circle
of light—the mouth of the opening above the phosphorescent radiance of
Omean. By this I steered, endeavouring to keep the circle of light
below me ever perfect. At best it was but a slender cord that held us
from destruction, and I think that I steered that night more by
intuition and blind faith than by skill or reason.

We were not long in the shaft, and possibly the very fact of our
enormous speed saved us, for evidently we started in the right
direction and so quickly were we out again that we had no time to alter
our course. Omean lies perhaps two miles below the surface crust of
Mars. Our speed must have approximated two hundred miles an hour, for
Martian fliers are swift, so that at most we were in the shaft not over
forty seconds.

We must have been out of it for some seconds before I realised that we
had accomplished the impossible. Black darkness enshrouded all about
us. There were neither moons nor stars. Never before had I seen such a
thing upon Mars, and for the moment I was nonplussed. Then the
explanation came to me. It was summer at the south pole. The ice cap
was melting and those meteoric phenomena, clouds, unknown upon the
greater part of Barsoom, were shutting out the light of heaven from
this portion of the planet.

Fortunate indeed it was for us, nor did it take me long to grasp the
opportunity for escape which this happy condition offered us. Keeping
the boat’s nose at a stiff angle I raced her for the impenetrable
curtain which Nature had hung above this dying world to shut us out
from the sight of our pursuing enemies.

We plunged through the cold damp fog without diminishing our speed, and
in a moment emerged into the glorious light of the two moons and the
million stars. I dropped into a horizontal course and headed due north.
Our enemies were a good half-hour behind us with no conception of our
direction. We had performed the miraculous and come through a thousand
dangers unscathed—we had escaped from the land of the First Born. No
other prisoners in all the ages of Barsoom had done this thing, and now
as I looked back upon it it did not seem to have been so difficult
after all.

I said as much to Xodar, over my shoulder.

“It is very wonderful, nevertheless,” he replied. “No one else could
have accomplished it but John Carter.”

At the sound of that name the boy jumped to his feet.

“John Carter!” he cried. “John Carter! Why, man, John Carter, Prince of
Helium, has been dead for years. I am his son.”




CHAPTER XIV
THE EYES IN THE DARK


My son! I could not believe my ears. Slowly I rose and faced the
handsome youth. Now that I looked at him closely I commenced to see why
his face and personality had attracted me so strongly. There was much
of his mother’s incomparable beauty in his clear-cut features, but it
was strongly masculine beauty, and his grey eyes and the expression of
them were mine.

The boy stood facing me, half hope and half uncertainty in his look.

“Tell me of your mother,” I said. “Tell me all you can of the years
that I have been robbed by a relentless fate of her dear
companionship.”

With a cry of pleasure he sprang toward me and threw his arms about my
neck, and for a brief moment as I held my boy close to me the tears
welled to my eyes and I was like to have choked after the manner of
some maudlin fool—but I do not regret it, nor am I ashamed. A long life
has taught me that a man may seem weak where women and children are
concerned and yet be anything but a weakling in the sterner avenues of
life.

“Your stature, your manner, the terrible ferocity of your
swordsmanship,” said the boy, “are as my mother has described them to
me a thousand times—but even with such evidence I could scarce credit
the truth of what seemed so improbable to me, however much I desired it
to be true. Do you know what thing it was that convinced me more than
all the others?”

“What, my boy?” I asked.

“Your first words to me—they were of my mother. None else but the man
who loved her as she has told me my father did would have thought first
of her.”

“For long years, my son, I can scarce recall a moment that the radiant
vision of your mother’s face has not been ever before me. Tell me of
her.”

“Those who have known her longest say that she has not changed, unless
it be to grow more beautiful—were that possible. Only, when she thinks
I am not about to see her, her face grows very sad, and, oh, so
wistful. She thinks ever of you, my father, and all Helium mourns with
her and for her. Her grandfather’s people love her. They loved you
also, and fairly worship your memory as the saviour of Barsoom.

“Each year that brings its anniversary of the day that saw you racing
across a near dead world to unlock the secret of that awful portal
behind which lay the mighty power of life for countless millions a
great festival is held in your honour; but there are tears mingled with
the thanksgiving—tears of real regret that the author of the happiness
is not with them to share the joy of living he died to give them. Upon
all Barsoom there is no greater name than John Carter.”

“And by what name has your mother called you, my boy?” I asked.

“The people of Helium asked that I be named with my father’s name, but
my mother said no, that you and she had chosen a name for me together,
and that your wish must be honoured before all others, so the name that
she called me is the one that you desired, a combination of hers and
yours—Carthoris.”

Xodar had been at the wheel as I talked with my son, and now he called
me.

“She is dropping badly by the head, John Carter,” he said. “So long as
we were rising at a stiff angle it was not noticeable, but now that I
am trying to keep a horizontal course it is different. The wound in her
bow has opened one of her forward ray tanks.”

It was true, and after I had examined the damage I found it a much
graver matter than I had anticipated. Not only was the forced angle at
which we were compelled to maintain the bow in order to keep a
horizontal course greatly impeding our speed, but at the rate that we
were losing our repulsive rays from the forward tanks it was but a
question of an hour or more when we would be floating stern up and
helpless.

We had slightly reduced our speed with the dawning of a sense of
security, but now I took the helm once more and pulled the noble little
engine wide open, so that again we raced north at terrific velocity. In
the meantime Carthoris and Xodar with tools in hand were puttering with
the great rent in the bow in a hopeless endeavour to stem the tide of
escaping rays.

It was still dark when we passed the northern boundary of the ice cap
and the area of clouds. Below us lay a typical Martian landscape.
Rolling ochre sea bottom of long dead seas, low surrounding hills, with
here and there the grim and silent cities of the dead past; great piles
of mighty architecture tenanted only by age-old memories of a once
powerful race, and by the great white apes of Barsoom.

It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain our little vessel
in a horizontal position. Lower and lower sagged the bow until it
became necessary to stop the engine to prevent our flight terminating
in a swift dive to the ground.

As the sun rose and the light of a new day swept away the darkness of
night our craft gave a final spasmodic plunge, turned half upon her
side, and then with deck tilting at a sickening angle swung in a slow
circle, her bow dropping further below her stern each moment.

To hand-rail and stanchion we clung, and finally as we saw the end
approaching, snapped the buckles of our harness to the rings at her
sides. In another moment the deck reared at an angle of ninety degrees
and we hung in our leather with feet dangling a thousand yards above
the ground.

I was swinging quite close to the controlling devices, so I reached out
to the lever that directed the rays of repulsion. The boat responded to
the touch, and very gently we began to sink toward the ground.

It was fully half an hour before we touched. Directly north of us rose
a rather lofty range of hills, toward which we decided to make our way,
since they afforded greater opportunity for concealment from the
pursuers we were confident might stumble in this direction.

An hour later found us in the time-rounded gullies of the hills, amid
the beautiful flowering plants that abound in the arid waste places of
Barsoom. There we found numbers of huge milk-giving shrubs—that strange
plant which serves in great part as food and drink for the wild hordes
of green men. It was indeed a boon to us, for we all were nearly
famished.

Beneath a cluster of these which afforded perfect concealment from
wandering air scouts, we lay down to sleep—for me the first time in
many hours. This was the beginning of my fifth day upon Barsoom since I
had found myself suddenly translated from my cottage on the Hudson to
Dor, the valley beautiful, the valley hideous. In all this time I had
slept but twice, though once the clock around within the storehouse of
the therns.

It was mid-afternoon when I was awakened by some one seizing my hand
and covering it with kisses. With a start I opened my eyes to look into
the beautiful face of Thuvia.

“My Prince! My Prince!” she cried, in an ecstasy of happiness. “’Tis
you whom I had mourned as dead. My ancestors have been good to me; I
have not lived in vain.”

The girl’s voice awoke Xodar and Carthoris. The boy gazed upon the
woman in surprise, but she did not seem to realize the presence of
another than I. She would have thrown her arms about my neck and
smothered me with caresses, had I not gently but firmly disengaged
myself.

“Come, come, Thuvia,” I said soothingly; “you are overwrought by the
danger and hardships you have passed through. You forget yourself, as
you forget that I am the husband of the Princess of Helium.”

“I forget nothing, my Prince,” she replied. “You have spoken no word of
love to me, nor do I expect that you ever shall; but nothing can
prevent me loving you. I would not take the place of Dejah Thoris. My
greatest ambition is to serve you, my Prince, for ever as your slave.
No greater boon could I ask, no greater honour could I crave, no
greater happiness could I hope.”

As I have before said, I am no ladies’ man, and I must admit that I
seldom have felt so uncomfortable and embarrassed as I did that moment.
While I was quite familiar with the Martian custom which allows female
slaves to Martian men, whose high and chivalrous honour is always ample
protection for every woman in his household, yet I had never myself
chosen other than men as my body servants.

“And I ever return to Helium, Thuvia,” I said, “you shall go with me,
but as an honoured equal, and not as a slave. There you shall find
plenty of handsome young nobles who would face Issus herself to win a
smile from you, and we shall have you married in short order to one of
the best of them. Forget your foolish gratitude-begotten infatuation,
which your innocence has mistaken for love. I like your friendship
better, Thuvia.”

“You are my master; it shall be as you say,” she replied simply, but
there was a note of sadness in her voice.

“How came you here, Thuvia?” I asked. “And where is Tars Tarkas?”

“The great Thark, I fear, is dead,” she replied sadly. “He was a mighty
fighter, but a multitude of green warriors of another horde than his
overwhelmed him. The last that I saw of him they were bearing him,
wounded and bleeding, to the deserted city from which they had sallied
to attack us.”

“You are not sure that he is dead, then?” I asked. “And where is this
city of which you speak?”

“It is just beyond this range of hills. The vessel in which you so
nobly resigned a place that we might find escape defied our small skill
in navigation, with the result that we drifted aimlessly about for two
days. Then we decided to abandon the craft and attempt to make our way
on foot to the nearest waterway. Yesterday we crossed these hills and
came upon the dead city beyond. We had passed within its streets and
were walking toward the central portion, when at an intersecting avenue
we saw a body of green warriors approaching.

“Tars Tarkas was in advance, and they saw him, but me they did not see.
The Thark sprang back to my side and forced me into an adjacent
doorway, where he told me to remain in hiding until I could escape,
making my way to Helium if possible.

“‘There will be no escape for me now,’ he said, ‘for these be the
Warhoon of the South. When they have seen my metal it will be to the
death.’

“Then he stepped out to meet them. Ah, my Prince, such fighting! For an
hour they swarmed about him, until the Warhoon dead formed a hill where
he had stood; but at last they overwhelmed him, those behind pushing
the foremost upon him until there remained no space to swing his great
sword. Then he stumbled and went down and they rolled over him like a
huge wave. When they carried him away toward the heart of the city, he
was dead, I think, for I did not see him move.”

“Before we go farther we must be sure,” I said. “I cannot leave Tars
Tarkas alive among the Warhoons. To-night I shall enter the city and
make sure.”

“And I shall go with you,” spoke Carthoris.

“And I,” said Xodar.

“Neither one of you shall go,” I replied. “It is work that requires
stealth and strategy, not force. One man alone may succeed where more
would invite disaster. I shall go alone. If I need your help, I will
return for you.”

They did not like it, but both were good soldiers, and it had been
agreed that I should command. The sun already was low, so that I did
not have long to wait before the sudden darkness of Barsoom engulfed
us.

With a parting word of instructions to Carthoris and Xodar, in case I
should not return, I bade them all farewell and set forth at a rapid
dogtrot toward the city.

As I emerged from the hills the nearer moon was winging its wild flight
through the heavens, its bright beams turning to burnished silver the
barbaric splendour of the ancient metropolis. The city had been built
upon the gently rolling foothills that in the dim and distant past had
sloped down to meet the sea. It was due to this fact that I had no
difficulty in entering the streets unobserved.

The green hordes that use these deserted cities seldom occupy more than
a few squares about the central plaza, and as they come and go always
across the dead sea bottoms that the cities face, it is usually a
matter of comparative ease to enter from the hillside.

Once within the streets, I kept close in the dense shadows of the
walls. At intersections I halted a moment to make sure that none was in
sight before I sprang quickly to the shadows of the opposite side. Thus
I made the journey to the vicinity of the plaza without detection. As I
approached the purlieus of the inhabited portion of the city I was made
aware of the proximity of the warriors’ quarters by the squealing and
grunting of the thoats and zitidars corralled within the hollow
courtyards formed by the buildings surrounding each square.

These old familiar sounds that are so distinctive of green Martian life
sent a thrill of pleasure surging through me. It was as one might feel
on coming home after a long absence. It was amid such sounds that I had
first courted the incomparable Dejah Thoris in the age-old marble halls
of the dead city of Korad.

As I stood in the shadows at the far corner of the first square which
housed members of the horde, I saw warriors emerging from several of
the buildings. They all went in the same direction, toward a great
building which stood in the centre of the plaza. My knowledge of green
Martian customs convinced me that this was either the quarters of the
principal chieftain or contained the audience chamber wherein the
Jeddak met his jeds and lesser chieftains. In either event, it was
evident that something was afoot which might have a bearing on the
recent capture of Tars Tarkas.

To reach this building, which I now felt it imperative that I do, I
must needs traverse the entire length of one square and cross a broad
avenue and a portion of the plaza. From the noises of the animals which
came from every courtyard about me, I knew that there were many people
in the surrounding buildings—probably several communities of the great
horde of the Warhoons of the South.

To pass undetected among all these people was in itself a difficult
task, but if I was to find and rescue the great Thark I must expect
even more formidable obstacles before success could be mine. I had
entered the city from the south and now stood on the corner of the
avenue through which I had passed and the first intersecting avenue
south of the plaza. The buildings upon the south side of this square
did not appear to be inhabited, as I could see no lights, and so I
decided to gain the inner courtyard through one of them.

Nothing occurred to interrupt my progress through the deserted pile I
chose, and I came into the inner court close to the rear walls of the
east buildings without detection. Within the court a great herd of
thoats and zitidars moved restlessly about, cropping the moss-like
ochre vegetation which overgrows practically the entire uncultivated
area of Mars. What breeze there was came from the north-west, so there
was little danger that the beasts would scent me. Had they, their
squealing and grunting would have grown to such a volume as to attract
the attention of the warriors within the buildings.

Close to the east wall, beneath the overhanging balconies of the second
floors, I crept in dense shadows the full length of the courtyard,
until I came to the buildings at the north end. These were lighted for
about three floors up, but above the third floor all was dark.

To pass through the lighted rooms was, of course, out of the question,
since they swarmed with green Martian men and women. My only path lay
through the upper floors, and to gain these it was necessary to scale
the face of the wall. The reaching of the balcony of the second floor
was a matter of easy accomplishment—an agile leap gave my hands a grasp
upon the stone hand-rail above. In another instant I had drawn myself
up on the balcony.

Here through the open windows I saw the green folk squatting upon their
sleeping silks and furs, grunting an occasional monosyllable, which, in
connection with their wondrous telepathic powers, is ample for their
conversational requirements. As I drew closer to listen to their words
a warrior entered the room from the hall beyond.

“Come, Tan Gama,” he cried, “we are to take the Thark before Kab Kadja.
Bring another with you.”

The warrior addressed arose and, beckoning to a fellow squatting near,
the three turned and left the apartment.

If I could but follow them the chance might come to free Tars Tarkas at
once. At least I would learn the location of his prison.

At my right was a door leading from the balcony into the building. It
was at the end of an unlighted hall, and on the impulse of the moment I
stepped within. The hall was broad and led straight through to the
front of the building. On either side were the doorways of the various
apartments which lined it.

I had no more than entered the corridor than I saw the three warriors
at the other end—those whom I had just seen leaving the apartment. Then
a turn to the right took them from my sight again. Quickly I hastened
along the hallway in pursuit. My gait was reckless, but I felt that
Fate had been kind indeed to throw such an opportunity within my grasp,
and I could not afford to allow it to elude me now.

At the far end of the corridor I found a spiral stairway leading to the
floors above and below. The three had evidently left the floor by this
avenue. That they had gone down and not up I was sure from my knowledge
of these ancient buildings and the methods of the Warhoons.

I myself had once been a prisoner of the cruel hordes of northern
Warhoon, and the memory of the underground dungeon in which I lay still
is vivid in my memory. And so I felt certain that Tars Tarkas lay in
the dark pits beneath some nearby building, and that in that direction
I should find the trail of the three warriors leading to his cell.

Nor was I wrong. At the bottom of the runway, or rather at the landing
on the floor below, I saw that the shaft descended into the pits
beneath, and as I glanced down the flickering light of a torch revealed
the presence of the three I was trailing.

Down they went toward the pits beneath the structure, and at a safe
distance behind I followed the flicker of their torch. The way led
through a maze of tortuous corridors, unlighted save for the wavering
light they carried. We had gone perhaps a hundred yards when the party
turned abruptly through a doorway at their right. I hastened on as
rapidly as I dared through the darkness until I reached the point at
which they had left the corridor. There, through an open door, I saw
them removing the chains that secured the great Thark, Tars Tarkas, to
the wall.

Hustling him roughly between them, they came immediately from the
chamber, so quickly in fact that I was near to being apprehended. But I
managed to run along the corridor in the direction I had been going in
my pursuit of them far enough to be without the radius of their meagre
light as they emerged from the cell.

I had naturally assumed that they would return with Tars Tarkas the
same way that they had come, which would have carried them away from
me; but, to my chagrin, they wheeled directly in my direction as they
left the room. There was nothing for me but to hasten on in advance and
keep out of the light of their torch. I dared not attempt to halt in
the darkness of any of the many intersecting corridors, for I knew
nothing of the direction they might take. Chance was as likely as not
to carry me into the very corridor they might choose to enter.

The sensation of moving rapidly through these dark passages was far
from reassuring. I knew not at what moment I might plunge headlong into
some terrible pit or meet with some of the ghoulish creatures that
inhabit these lower worlds beneath the dead cities of dying Mars. There
filtered to me a faint radiance from the torch of the men behind—just
enough to permit me to trace the direction of the winding passageways
directly before me, and so keep me from dashing myself against the
walls at the turns.

Presently I came to a place where five corridors diverged from a common
point. I had hastened along one of them for some little distance when
suddenly the faint light of the torch disappeared from behind me. I
paused to listen for sounds of the party behind me, but the silence was
as utter as the silence of the tomb.

Quickly I realized that the warriors had taken one of the other
corridors with their prisoner, and so I hastened back with a feeling of
considerable relief to take up a much safer and more desirable position
behind them. It was much slower work returning, however, than it had
been coming, for now the darkness was as utter as the silence.

It was necessary to feel every foot of the way back with my hand
against the side wall, that I might not pass the spot where the five
roads radiated. After what seemed an eternity to me, I reached the
place and recognized it by groping across the entrances to the several
corridors until I had counted five of them. In not one, however, showed
the faintest sign of light.

I listened intently, but the naked feet of the green men sent back no
guiding echoes, though presently I thought I detected the clank of side
arms in the far distance of the middle corridor. Up this, then, I
hastened, searching for the light, and stopping to listen occasionally
for a repetition of the sound; but soon I was forced to admit that I
must have been following a blind lead, as only darkness and silence
rewarded my efforts.

Again I retraced my steps toward the parting of the ways, when to my
surprise I came upon the entrance to three diverging corridors, any one
of which I might have traversed in my hasty dash after the false clue I
had been following. Here was a pretty fix, indeed! Once back at the
point where the five passageways met, I might wait with some assurance
for the return of the warriors with Tars Tarkas. My knowledge of their
customs lent colour to the belief that he was but being escorted to the
audience chamber to have sentence passed upon him. I had not the
slightest doubt but that they would preserve so doughty a warrior as
the great Thark for the rare sport he would furnish at the Great Games.

But unless I could find my way back to that point the chances were most
excellent that I would wander for days through the awful blackness,
until, overcome by thirst and hunger, I lay down to die, or—What was
that!

A faint shuffling sounded behind me, and as I cast a hasty glance over
my shoulder my blood froze in my veins for the thing I saw there. It
was not so much fear of the present danger as it was the horrifying
memories it recalled of that time I near went mad over the corpse of
the man I had killed in the dungeons of the Warhoons, when blazing eyes
came out of the dark recesses and dragged the thing that had been a man
from my clutches and I heard it scraping over the stone of my prison as
they bore it away to their terrible feast.

And now in these black pits of the other Warhoons I looked into those
same fiery eyes, blazing at me through the terrible darkness, revealing
no sign of the beast behind them. I think that the most fearsome
attribute of these awesome creatures is their silence and the fact that
one never sees them—nothing but those baleful eyes glaring unblinkingly
out of the dark void behind.

Grasping my long-sword tightly in my hand, I backed slowly along the
corridor away from the thing that watched me, but ever as I retreated
the eyes advanced, nor was there any sound, not even the sound of
breathing, except the occasional shuffling sound as of the dragging of
a dead limb, that had first attracted my attention.

On and on I went, but I could not escape my sinister pursuer. Suddenly
I heard the shuffling noise at my right, and, looking, saw another pair
of eyes, evidently approaching from an intersecting corridor. As I
started to renew my slow retreat I heard the noise repeated behind me,
and then before I could turn I heard it again at my left.

The things were all about me. They had me surrounded at the
intersection of two corridors. Retreat was cut off in all directions,
unless I chose to charge one of the beasts. Even then I had no doubt
but that the others would hurl themselves upon my back. I could not
even guess the size or nature of the weird creatures. That they were of
goodly proportions I guessed from the fact that the eyes were on a
level with my own.

Why is it that darkness so magnifies our dangers? By day I would have
charged the great banth itself, had I thought it necessary, but hemmed
in by the darkness of these silent pits I hesitated before a pair of
eyes.

Soon I saw that the matter shortly would be taken entirely from my
hands, for the eyes at my right were moving slowly nearer me, as were
those at my left and those behind and before me. Gradually they were
closing in upon me—but still that awful stealthy silence!

For what seemed hours the eyes approached gradually closer and closer,
until I felt that I should go mad for the horror of it. I had been
constantly turning this way and that to prevent any sudden rush from
behind, until I was fairly worn out. At length I could endure it no
longer, and, taking a fresh grasp upon my long-sword, I turned suddenly
and charged down upon one of my tormentors.

As I was almost upon it the thing retreated before me, but a sound from
behind caused me to wheel in time to see three pairs of eyes rushing at
me from the rear. With a cry of rage I turned to meet the cowardly
beasts, but as I advanced they retreated as had their fellow. Another
glance over my shoulder discovered the first eyes sneaking on me again.
And again I charged, only to see the eyes retreat before me and hear
the muffled rush of the three at my back.

Thus we continued, the eyes always a little closer in the end than they
had been before, until I thought that I should go mad with the terrible
strain of the ordeal. That they were waiting to spring upon my back
seemed evident, and that it would not be long before they succeeded was
equally apparent, for I could not endure the wear of this repeated
charge and countercharge indefinitely. In fact, I could feel myself
weakening from the mental and physical strain I had been undergoing.

At that moment I caught another glimpse from the corner of my eye of
the single pair of eyes at my back making a sudden rush upon me. I
turned to meet the charge; there was a quick rush of the three from the
other direction; but I determined to pursue the single pair until I
should have at least settled my account with one of the beasts and thus
be relieved of the strain of meeting attacks from both directions.

There was no sound in the corridor, only that of my own breathing, yet
I knew that those three uncanny creatures were almost upon me. The eyes
in front were not retreating so rapidly now; I was almost within sword
reach of them. I raised my sword arm to deal the blow that should free
me, and then I felt a heavy body upon my back. A cold, moist, slimy
something fastened itself upon my throat. I stumbled and went down.




CHAPTER XV
FLIGHT AND PURSUIT


I could not have been unconscious more than a few seconds, and yet I
know that I was unconscious, for the next thing I realized was that a
growing radiance was illuminating the corridor about me and the eyes
were gone.

I was unharmed except for a slight bruise upon my forehead where it had
struck the stone flagging as I fell.

I sprang to my feet to ascertain the cause of the light. It came from a
torch in the hand of one of a party of four green warriors, who were
coming rapidly down the corridor toward me. They had not yet seen me,
and so I lost no time in slipping into the first intersecting corridor
that I could find. This time, however, I did not advance so far away
from the main corridor as on the other occasion that had resulted in my
losing Tars Tarkas and his guards.

The party came rapidly toward the opening of the passageway in which I
crouched against the wall. As they passed by I breathed a sigh of
relief. I had not been discovered, and, best of all, the party was the
same that I had followed into the pits. It consisted of Tars Tarkas and
his three guards.

I fell in behind them and soon we were at the cell in which the great
Thark had been chained. Two of the warriors remained without while the
man with the keys entered with the Thark to fasten his irons upon him
once more. The two outside started to stroll slowly in the direction of
the spiral runway which led to the floors above, and in a moment were
lost to view beyond a turn in the corridor.

The torch had been stuck in a socket beside the door, so that its rays
illuminated both the corridor and the cell at the same time. As I saw
the two warriors disappear I approached the entrance to the cell, with
a well-defined plan already formulated.

While I disliked the thought of carrying out the thing that I had
decided upon, there seemed no alternative if Tars Tarkas and I were to
go back together to my little camp in the hills.

Keeping near the wall, I came quite close to the door to Tars Tarkas’
cell, and there I stood with my longsword above my head, grasped with
both hands, that I might bring it down in one quick cut upon the skull
of the jailer as he emerged.

I dislike to dwell upon what followed after I heard the footsteps of
the man as he approached the doorway. It is enough that within another
minute or two, Tars Tarkas, wearing the metal of a Warhoon chief, was
hurrying down the corridor toward the spiral runway, bearing the
Warhoon’s torch to light his way. A dozen paces behind him followed
John Carter, Prince of Helium.

The two companions of the man who lay now beside the door of the cell
that had been Tars Tarkas’ had just started to ascend the runway as the
Thark came in view.

“Why so long, Tan Gama?” cried one of the men.

“I had trouble with a lock,” replied Tars Tarkas. “And now I find that
I have left my short-sword in the Thark’s cell. Go you on, I’ll return
and fetch it.”

“As you will, Tan Gama,” replied he who had before spoken. “We shall
see you above directly.”

“Yes,” replied Tars Tarkas, and turned as though to retrace his steps
to the cell, but he only waited until the two had disappeared at the
floor above. Then I joined him, we extinguished the torch, and together
we crept toward the spiral incline that led to the upper floors of the
building.

At the first floor we found that the hallway ran but halfway through,
necessitating the crossing of a rear room full of green folk, ere we
could reach the inner courtyard, so there was but one thing left for us
to do, and that was to gain the second floor and the hallway through
which I had traversed the length of the building.

Cautiously we ascended. We could hear the sounds of conversation coming
from the room above, but the hall still was unlighted, nor was any one
in sight as we gained the top of the runway. Together we threaded the
long hall and reached the balcony overlooking the courtyard, without
being detected.

At our right was the window letting into the room in which I had seen
Tan Gama and the other warriors as they started to Tars Tarkas’ cell
earlier in the evening. His companions had returned here, and we now
overheard a portion of their conversation.

“What can be detaining Tan Gama?” asked one.

“He certainly could not be all this time fetching his shortsword from
the Thark’s cell,” spoke another.

“His short-sword?” asked a woman. “What mean you?”

“Tan Gama left his short-sword in the Thark’s cell,” explained the
first speaker, “and left us at the runway, to return and get it.”

“Tan Gama wore no short-sword this night,” said the woman. “It was
broken in to-day’s battle with the Thark, and Tan Gama gave it to me to
repair. See, I have it here,” and as she spoke she drew Tan Gama’s
short-sword from beneath her sleeping silks and furs.

The warriors sprang to their feet.

“There is something amiss here,” cried one.

“’Tis even what I myself thought when Tan Gama left us at the runway,”
said another. “Methought then that his voice sounded strangely.”

“Come! let us hasten to the pits.”

We waited to hear no more. Slinging my harness into a long single
strap, I lowered Tars Tarkas to the courtyard beneath, and an instant
later dropped to his side.

We had spoken scarcely a dozen words since I had felled Tan Gama at the
cell door and seen in the torch’s light the expression of utter
bewilderment upon the great Thark’s face.

“By this time,” he had said, “I should have learned to wonder at
nothing which John Carter accomplishes.” That was all. He did not need
to tell me that he appreciated the friendship which had prompted me to
risk my life to rescue him, nor did he need to say that he was glad to
see me.

This fierce green warrior had been the first to greet me that day, now
twenty years gone, which had witnessed my first advent upon Mars. He
had met me with levelled spear and cruel hatred in his heart as he
charged down upon me, bending low at the side of his mighty thoat as I
stood beside the incubator of his horde upon the dead sea bottom beyond
Korad. And now among the inhabitants of two worlds I counted none a
better friend than Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of the Tharks.

As we reached the courtyard we stood in the shadows beneath the balcony
for a moment to discuss our plans.

“There be five now in the party, Tars Tarkas,” I said; “Thuvia, Xodar,
Carthoris, and ourselves. We shall need five thoats to bear us.”

“Carthoris!” he cried. “Your son?”

“Yes. I found him in the prison of Shador, on the Sea of Omean, in the
land of the First Born.”

“I know not any of these places, John Carter. Be they upon Barsoom?”

“Upon and below, my friend; but wait until we shall have made good our
escape, and you shall hear the strangest narrative that ever a
Barsoomian of the outer world gave ear to. Now we must steal our thoats
and be well away to the north before these fellows discover how we have
tricked them.”

In safety we reached the great gates at the far end of the courtyard,
through which it was necessary to take our thoats to the avenue beyond.
It is no easy matter to handle five of these great, fierce beasts,
which by nature are as wild and ferocious as their masters and held in
subjection by cruelty and brute force alone.

As we approached them they sniffed our unfamiliar scent and with
squeals of rage circled about us. Their long, massive necks upreared
raised their great, gaping mouths high above our heads. They are
fearsome appearing brutes at best, but when they are aroused they are
fully as dangerous as they look. The thoat stands a good ten feet at
the shoulder. His hide is sleek and hairless, and of a dark slate
colour on back and sides, shading down his eight legs to a vivid yellow
at the huge, padded, nailless feet; the belly is pure white. A broad,
flat tail, larger at the tip than at the root, completes the picture of
this ferocious green Martian mount—a fit war steed for these warlike
people.

As the thoats are guided by telepathic means alone, there is no need
for rein or bridle, and so our object now was to find two that would
obey our unspoken commands. As they charged about us we succeeded in
mastering them sufficiently to prevent any concerted attack upon us,
but the din of their squealing was certain to bring investigating
warriors into the courtyard were it to continue much longer.

At length I was successful in reaching the side of one great brute, and
ere he knew what I was about I was firmly seated astride his glossy
back. A moment later Tars Tarkas had caught and mounted another, and
then between us we herded three or four more toward the great gates.

Tars Tarkas rode ahead and, leaning down to the latch, threw the
barriers open, while I held the loose thoats from breaking back to the
herd. Then together we rode through into the avenue with our stolen
mounts and, without waiting to close the gates, hurried off toward the
southern boundary of the city.

Thus far our escape had been little short of marvellous, nor did our
good fortune desert us, for we passed the outer purlieus of the dead
city and came to our camp without hearing even the faintest sound of
pursuit.

Here a low whistle, the prearranged signal, apprised the balance of our
party that I was returning, and we were met by the three with every
manifestation of enthusiastic rejoicing.

But little time was wasted in narration of our adventure. Tars Tarkas
and Carthoris exchanged the dignified and formal greetings common upon
Barsoom, but I could tell intuitively that the Thark loved my boy and
that Carthoris reciprocated his affection.

Xodar and the green Jeddak were formally presented to each other. Then
Thuvia was lifted to the least fractious thoat, Xodar and Carthoris
mounted two others, and we set out at a rapid pace toward the east. At
the far extremity of the city we circled toward the north, and under
the glorious rays of the two moons we sped noiselessly across the dead
sea bottom, away from the Warhoons and the First Born, but to what new
dangers and adventures we knew not.

Toward noon of the following day we halted to rest our mounts and
ourselves. The beasts we hobbled, that they might move slowly about
cropping the ochre moss-like vegetation which constitutes both food and
drink for them on the march. Thuvia volunteered to remain on watch
while the balance of the party slept for an hour.

It seemed to me that I had but closed my eyes when I felt her hand upon
my shoulder and heard her soft voice warning me of a new danger.

“Arise, O Prince,” she whispered. “There be that behind us which has
the appearance of a great body of pursuers.”

The girl stood pointing in the direction from whence we had come, and
as I arose and looked, I, too, thought that I could detect a thin dark
line on the far horizon. I awoke the others. Tars Tarkas, whose giant
stature towered high above the rest of us, could see the farthest.

“It is a great body of mounted men,” he said, “and they are travelling
at high speed.”

There was no time to be lost. We sprang to our hobbled thoats, freed
them, and mounted. Then we turned our faces once more toward the north
and took our flight again at the highest speed of our slowest beast.

For the balance of the day and all the following night we raced across
that ochre wilderness with the pursuers at our back ever gaining upon
us. Slowly but surely they were lessening the distance between us. Just
before dark they had been close enough for us to plainly distinguish
that they were green Martians, and all during the long night we
distinctly heard the clanking of their accoutrements behind us.

As the sun rose on the second day of our flight it disclosed the
pursuing horde not a half-mile in our rear. As they saw us a fiendish
shout of triumph rose from their ranks.

Several miles in advance lay a range of hills—the farther shore of the
dead sea we had been crossing. Could we but reach these hills our
chances of escape would be greatly enhanced, but Thuvia’s mount,
although carrying the lightest burden, already was showing signs of
exhaustion. I was riding beside her when suddenly her animal staggered
and lurched against mine. I saw that he was going down, but ere he fell
I snatched the girl from his back and swung her to a place upon my own
thoat, behind me, where she clung with her arms about me.

This double burden soon proved too much for my already overtaxed beast,
and thus our speed was terribly diminished, for the others would
proceed no faster than the slowest of us could go. In that little party
there was not one who would desert another; yet we were of different
countries, different colours, different races, different religions—and
one of us was of a different world.

We were quite close to the hills, but the Warhoons were gaining so
rapidly that we had given up all hope of reaching them in time. Thuvia
and I were in the rear, for our beast was lagging more and more.
Suddenly I felt the girl’s warm lips press a kiss upon my shoulder.
“For thy sake, O my Prince,” she murmured. Then her arms slipped from
about my waist and she was gone.

I turned and saw that she had deliberately slipped to the ground in the
very path of the cruel demons who pursued us, thinking that by
lightening the burden of my mount it might thus be enabled to bear me
to the safety of the hills. Poor child! She should have known John
Carter better than that.

Turning my thoat, I urged him after her, hoping to reach her side and
bear her on again in our hopeless flight. Carthoris must have glanced
behind him at about the same time and taken in the situation, for by
the time I had reached Thuvia’s side he was there also, and, springing
from his mount, he threw her upon its back and, turning the animal’s
head toward the hills, gave the beast a sharp crack across the rump
with the flat of his sword. Then he attempted to do the same with mine.

The brave boy’s act of chivalrous self-sacrifice filled me with pride,
nor did I care that it had wrested from us our last frail chance for
escape. The Warhoons were now close upon us. Tars Tarkas and Xodar had
discovered our absence and were charging rapidly to our support.
Everything pointed toward a splendid ending of my second journey to
Barsoom. I hated to go out without having seen my divine Princess, and
held her in my arms once again; but if it were not writ upon the book
of Fate that such was to be, then would I take the most that was coming
to me, and in these last few moments that were to be vouchsafed me
before I passed over into that unguessed future I could at least give
such an account of myself in my chosen vocation as would leave the
Warhoons of the South food for discourse for the next twenty
generations.

As Carthoris was not mounted, I slipped from the back of my own mount
and took my place at his side to meet the charge of the howling devils
bearing down upon us. A moment later Tars Tarkas and Xodar ranged
themselves on either hand, turning their thoats loose that we might all
be on an equal footing.

The Warhoons were perhaps a hundred yards from us when a loud explosion
sounded from above and behind us, and almost at the same instant a
shell burst in their advancing ranks. At once all was confusion. A
hundred warriors toppled to the ground. Riderless thoats plunged hither
and thither among the dead and dying. Dismounted warriors were trampled
underfoot in the stampede which followed. All semblance of order had
left the ranks of the green men, and as they looked far above our heads
to trace the origin of this unexpected attack, disorder turned to
retreat and retreat to a wild panic. In another moment they were racing
as madly away from us as they had before been charging down upon us.

We turned to look in the direction from whence the first report had
come, and there we saw, just clearing the tops of the nearer hills, a
great battleship swinging majestically through the air. Her bow gun
spoke again even as we looked, and another shell burst among the
fleeing Warhoons.

As she drew nearer I could not repress a wild cry of elation, for upon
her bows I saw the device of Helium.




CHAPTER XVI
UNDER ARREST


As Carthoris, Xodar, Tars Tarkas, and I stood gazing at the magnificent
vessel which meant so much to all of us, we saw a second and then a
third top the summit of the hills and glide gracefully after their
sister.

Now a score of one-man air scouts were launching from the upper decks
of the nearer vessel, and in a moment more were speeding in long, swift
dives to the ground about us.

In another instant we were surrounded by armed sailors, and an officer
had stepped forward to address us, when his eyes fell upon Carthoris.
With an exclamation of surprised pleasure he sprang forward, and,
placing his hands upon the boy’s shoulder, called him by name.

“Carthoris, my Prince,” he cried, “Kaor! Kaor! Hor Vastus greets the
son of Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, and of her husband, John
Carter. Where have you been, O my Prince? All Helium has been plunged
in sorrow. Terrible have been the calamities that have befallen your
great-grandsire’s mighty nation since the fatal day that saw you leave
our midst.”

“Grieve not, my good Hor Vastus,” cried Carthoris, “since I bring not
back myself alone to cheer my mother’s heart and the hearts of my
beloved people, but also one whom all Barsoom loved best—her greatest
warrior and her saviour—John Carter, Prince of Helium!”

Hor Vastus turned in the direction indicated by Carthoris, and as his
eyes fell upon me he was like to have collapsed from sheer surprise.

“John Carter!” he exclaimed, and then a sudden troubled look came into
his eyes. “My Prince,” he started, “where hast thou—” and then he
stopped, but I knew the question that his lips dared not frame. The
loyal fellow would not be the one to force from mine a confession of
the terrible truth that I had returned from the bosom of the Iss, the
River of Mystery, back from the shore of the Lost Sea of Korus, and the
Valley Dor.

“Ah, my Prince,” he continued, as though no thought had interrupted his
greeting, “that you are back is sufficient, and let Hor Vastus’ sword
have the high honour of being first at thy feet.” With these words the
noble fellow unbuckled his scabbard and flung his sword upon the ground
before me.

Could you know the customs and the character of red Martians you would
appreciate the depth of meaning that that simple act conveyed to me and
to all about us who witnessed it. The thing was equivalent to saying,
“My sword, my body, my life, my soul are yours to do with as you wish.
Until death and after death I look to you alone for authority for my
every act. Be you right or wrong, your word shall be my only truth.
Whoso raises his hand against you must answer to my sword.”

It is the oath of fealty that men occasionally pay to a Jeddak whose
high character and chivalrous acts have inspired the enthusiastic love
of his followers. Never had I known this high tribute paid to a lesser
mortal. There was but one response possible. I stooped and lifted the
sword from the ground, raised the hilt to my lips, and then, stepping
to Hor Vastus, I buckled the weapon upon him with my own hands.

“Hor Vastus,” I said, placing my hand upon his shoulder, “you know best
the promptings of your own heart. That I shall need your sword I have
little doubt, but accept from John Carter upon his sacred honour the
assurance that he will never call upon you to draw this sword other
than in the cause of truth, justice, and righteousness.”

“That I knew, my Prince,” he replied, “ere ever I threw my beloved
blade at thy feet.”

As we spoke other fliers came and went between the ground and the
battleship, and presently a larger boat was launched from above, one
capable of carrying a dozen persons, perhaps, and dropped lightly near
us. As she touched, an officer sprang from her deck to the ground, and,
advancing to Hor Vastus, saluted.

“Kantos Kan desires that this party whom we have rescued be brought
immediately to the deck of the _Xavarian_,” he said.

As we approached the little craft I looked about for the members of my
party and for the first time noticed that Thuvia was not among them.
Questioning elicited the fact that none had seen her since Carthoris
had sent her thoat galloping madly toward the hills, in the hope of
carrying her out of harm’s way.

Immediately Hor Vastus dispatched a dozen air scouts in as many
directions to search for her. It could not be possible that she had
gone far since we had last seen her. We others stepped to the deck of
the craft that had been sent to fetch us, and a moment later were upon
the _Xavarian_.

The first man to greet me was Kantos Kan himself. My old friend had won
to the highest place in the navy of Helium, but he was still to me the
same brave comrade who had shared with me the privations of a Warhoon
dungeon, the terrible atrocities of the Great Games, and later the
dangers of our search for Dejah Thoris within the hostile city of
Zodanga.

Then I had been an unknown wanderer upon a strange planet, and he a
simple padwar in the navy of Helium. To-day he commanded all Helium’s
great terrors of the skies, and I was a Prince of the House of Tardos
Mors, Jeddak of Helium.

He did not ask me where I had been. Like Hor Vastus, he too dreaded the
truth and would not be the one to wrest a statement from me. That it
must come some time he well knew, but until it came he seemed satisfied
to but know that I was with him once more. He greeted Carthoris and
Tars Tarkas with the keenest delight, but he asked neither where he had
been. He could scarcely keep his hands off the boy.

“You do not know, John Carter,” he said to me, “how we of Helium love
this son of yours. It is as though all the great love we bore his noble
father and his poor mother had been centred in him. When it became
known that he was lost, ten million people wept.”

“What mean you, Kantos Kan,” I whispered, “by ‘his poor mother’?” for
the words had seemed to carry a sinister meaning which I could not
fathom.

He drew me to one side.

“For a year,” he said, “Ever since Carthoris disappeared, Dejah Thoris
has grieved and mourned for her lost boy. The blow of years ago, when
you did not return from the atmosphere plant, was lessened to some
extent by the duties of motherhood, for your son broke his white shell
that very night.”

“That she suffered terribly then, all Helium knew, for did not all
Helium suffer with her the loss of her lord! But with the boy gone
there was nothing left, and after expedition upon expedition returned
with the same hopeless tale of no clue as to his whereabouts, our
beloved Princess drooped lower and lower, until all who saw her felt
that it could be but a matter of days ere she went to join her loved
ones within the precincts of the Valley Dor.

“As a last resort, Mors Kajak, her father, and Tardos Mors, her
grandfather, took command of two mighty expeditions, and a month ago
sailed away to explore every inch of ground in the northern hemisphere
of Barsoom. For two weeks no word has come back from them, but rumours
were rife that they had met with a terrible disaster and that all were
dead.

“About this time Zat Arras renewed his importunities for her hand in
marriage. He has been for ever after her since you disappeared. She
hated him and feared him, but with both her father and grandfather
gone, Zat Arras was very powerful, for he is still Jed of Zodanga, to
which position, you will remember, Tardos Mors appointed him after you
had refused the honour.

“He had a secret audience with her six days ago. What took place none
knows, but the next day Dejah Thoris had disappeared, and with her had
gone a dozen of her household guard and body servants, including Sola
the green woman—Tars Tarkas’ daughter, you recall. No word left they of
their intentions, but it is always thus with those who go upon the
voluntary pilgrimage from which none returns. We cannot think aught
than that Dejah Thoris has sought the icy bosom of Iss, and that her
devoted servants have chosen to accompany her.

“Zat Arras was at Helium when she disappeared. He commands this fleet
which has been searching for her since. No trace of her have we found,
and I fear that it be a futile quest.”

While we talked, Hor Vastus’ fliers were returning to the _Xavarian_.
Not one, however, had discovered a trace of Thuvia. I was much
depressed over the news of Dejah Thoris’ disappearance, and now there
was added the further burden of apprehension concerning the fate of
this girl whom I believed to be the daughter of some proud Barsoomian
house, and it had been my intention to make every effort to return her
to her people.

I was about to ask Kantos Kan to prosecute a further search for her
when a flier from the flagship of the fleet arrived at the _Xavarian_
with an officer bearing a message to Kantos Kan from Arras.

My friend read the dispatch and then turned to me.

“Zat Arras commands me to bring our ‘prisoners’ before him. There is
naught else to do. He is supreme in Helium, yet it would be far more in
keeping with chivalry and good taste were he to come hither and greet
the saviour of Barsoom with the honours that are his due.”

“You know full well, my friend,” I said, smiling, “that Zat Arras has
good cause to hate me. Nothing would please him better than to
humiliate me and then to kill me. Now that he has so excellent an
excuse, let us go and see if he has the courage to take advantage of
it.”

Summoning Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, and Xodar, we entered the small flier
with Kantos Kan and Zat Arras’ officer, and in a moment were stepping
to the deck of Zat Arras’ flagship.

As we approached the Jed of Zodanga no sign of greeting or recognition
crossed his face; not even to Carthoris did he vouchsafe a friendly
word. His attitude was cold, haughty, and uncompromising.

“Kaor, Zat Arras,” I said in greeting, but he did not respond.

“Why were these prisoners not disarmed?” he asked to Kantos Kan.

“They are not prisoners, Zat Arras,” replied the officer.

“Two of them are of Helium’s noblest family. Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of
Thark, is Tardos Mors’ best beloved ally. The other is a friend and
companion of the Prince of Helium—that is enough for me to know.”

“It is not enough for me, however,” retorted Zat Arras. “More must I
hear from those who have taken the pilgrimage than their names. Where
have you been, John Carter?”

“I have just come from the Valley Dor and the Land of the First Born,
Zat Arras,” I replied.

“Ah!” he exclaimed in evident pleasure, “you do not deny it, then? You
have returned from the bosom of Iss?”

“I have come back from a land of false hope, from a valley of torture
and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches
of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a
painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most
frightful form.”

“Cease, blasphemer!” cried Zat Arras. “Hope not to save thy cowardly
carcass by inventing horrid lies to—” But he got no further. One does
not call John Carter “coward” and “liar” thus lightly, and Zat Arras
should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was
at his side and one hand grasped his throat.

“Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arras, you will find me still the same
John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such
names and live—without apologizing.” And with that I commenced to bend
him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat.

“Seize him!” cried Zat Arras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to
assist him.

Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me.

“Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see
these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men
will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the
revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist.”

At his words I released Zat Arras and, turning my back upon him, walked
toward the ship’s rail.

“Come, Kantos Kan,” I said, “the Prince of Helium would return to the
_Xavarian_.”

None interfered. Zat Arras stood white and trembling amidst his
officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew
toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of
Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him.

“You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter,” he said.

I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after
stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes
later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium.

Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the
gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the
further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arras attempt
to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to
fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his
daughter. Xodar alone was care-free—a fugitive and outlaw, he could be
no worse off in Helium than elsewhere.

“Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our
blades,” he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be
gratified.

Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division
into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered
about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while
about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most
courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious
belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame
them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may
be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people.

By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our
adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged
the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers—lying heretics. Even
those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did
so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our
veracity—it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter
how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a
tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is
indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people.

Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the
First Born.

“It is enough,” he said, “that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter
by countenancing you at all—do not ask me to add still further to my
sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest
heresy.”

I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and
enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached
Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned
I feared that the enmity of Zat Arras might weigh heavily against us,
for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him
were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless
follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest
and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John
Carter in the face of god, man, or devil.

On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would
demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed
dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with
anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave
the terrible question of Helium’s plight but scant attention at that
time.

There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the
frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be
passing—the horrid plant men—the ferocious white apes. At times I would
cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful
thing from my mind.

It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet
tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in
great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen
surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by
radio-aerogram of our approach.

From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar,
and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters
within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted
to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the
felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing
stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all,
as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or
returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the
Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds
of jeering or cheering citizens.

I knew that Zat Arras dared not trust the people near to us, for he
feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a
demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the
crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only
guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only
his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple
of Reward.

We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking
the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the
Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in
the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed
as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly—there were
neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above
them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept.

Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arras to inform us
that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall
of the temple at the 1st zode[1] on the following day, or about 8:40
A.M. Earth time.

 [1] Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time,
 distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly
 their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain
 many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since
 the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in
 classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable
 and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the
 interest of Captain Carter’s story or to the sum total of human
 knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in
 these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract
 from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested,
 however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours
 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten
 equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes
 are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is
 composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly
 second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of
 the full table appearing in Captain Carter’s notes.

TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 	1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . .
	1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . . 	1 revolution of Mars upon its
axis.




CHAPTER XVII
THE DEATH SENTENCE


A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a
strong guard of Zat Arras’ officers appeared at our quarters to conduct
us to the great hall of the temple.

In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of
Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall.
Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of
Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to
the rostrum.

As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom
upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men
of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw
no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and
it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green
hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little
justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who
had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga’s broad avenues,
looting, burning, and murdering.

About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity.
All classes were represented—all ages, and both sexes. As we entered
the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon
the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death
enveloped the ten thousand spectators.

The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the
circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small
platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing
the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take
his place while his case was being heard.

Zat Arras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate.
As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway
leading to the platform, he arose and called my name.

“John Carter,” he cried, “take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to
be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the
reward you have earned thereby.” Then turning to and fro toward the
audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to
be determined.

“Know you, O judges and people of Helium,” he said, “that John Carter,
one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the
Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the
presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred
Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the
Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and
of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that
see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned
from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in
violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion.

“He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be
made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you—here can be
no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to
John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?”

“Death!” shouted one of the judges.

And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand
on high, cried: “Justice! Justice! Justice!” It was Kantos Kan, and as
all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and
sprang upon the platform.

“What manner of justice be this?” he cried to Zat Arras. “The defendant
has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his
behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial
treatment for the Prince of Helium.”

A great cry arose from the audience then: “Justice! Justice! Justice!”
and Zat Arras dared not deny them.

“Speak, then,” he snarled, turning to me; “but blaspheme not against
the things that are sacred upon Barsoom.”

“Men of Helium,” I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over
the heads of my judges, “how can John Carter expect justice from the
men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of
Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It
is not in his own cause that he speaks now—it is in thine. In the cause
of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It
is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have
seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the
Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the
plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the
cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries
them to from homes of love and life and happiness.

“Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter.
How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among
the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among
the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his
own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or
to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without
understanding.

“There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not
owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed
myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so,
men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard,
that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the
false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death
that other day.

“It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of
Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arras has taken my sword from me,
so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?”

“Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium,” cried a great noble from the
audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building
rocked with the noise of their demonstration.

Zat Arras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was
expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I
talked with the people of Helium.

But when I had finished, Zat Arras arose and, turning to the judges,
said in a low tone: “My nobles, you have heard John Carter’s plea;
every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be
not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further
blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?”

“Death to the blasphemer!” cried one, springing to his feet, and in an
instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised
swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict.

If the people did not hear Zat Arras’ charge, they certainly did hear
the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder
about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the
platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand
for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool
and level voice.

“You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium’s
noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the
verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is
the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arras and
his judges,” and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his
sword at my feet.

In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding
past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of
Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred
blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arras and his
officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the
swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners.

“Come,” said Kantos Kan, “we will escort John Carter and his party to
his own palace,” and they formed about us and started toward the stairs
leading to the Aisle of Hope.

“Stop!” cried Zat Arras. “Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the
Throne of Righteousness.”

The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic
troops within the temple, so Zat Arras was confident that his orders
would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition
that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne.

From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed
threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: “Tardos Mors
is dead—a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium.” As I heard
that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers
of Zat Arras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would
end in civil war.

“Hold!” I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. “Let no
man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge
Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can
foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son.
No man’s life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the
biased judgment of Zat Arras than be the cause of civil strife in
Helium.

“Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter
rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be
back at the end of a year a second trial may be held—the thing has a
precedent.” And then turning to Zat Arras, I said in a low voice:
“Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the
chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of
swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom—not
even Tardos Mors himself—can avert the consequences. What say you?
Speak quickly.”

The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath
us.

“Stay your hands, men of Helium,” he shouted, his voice trembling with
rage. “The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution
has not been set. I, Zat Arras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal
connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and
Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors
Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go.”

No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes
fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack.

“Clear the temple,” commanded Zat Arras, in a low tone to one of his
officers.

Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I
stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main
entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and
filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arras, Jed of
Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage.

Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood
upon the Throne of Righteousness with me.

“Come,” said Kantos Kan to me, “we will escort you to your palace, my
Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas.” And with a
haughty sneer for Zat Arras upon his handsome lips, he turned and
strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the
hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay
us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the
temple.

In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway
for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed
through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my
old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them.
They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to
them.

“Ah, master,” cried one, “if our divine Princess were but here this
would be a day indeed.”

Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might
hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him
with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss.
It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his
daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long
pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had
told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of
suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In
marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier
human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity.

It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the
great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We
were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little
court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent
with our royal rank.

The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there
were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our
sides of the table—midway of the third side Dejah Thoris’ high-backed,
carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and
jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days
when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her
bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it,
though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have
been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing
with her merry gaiety.

At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris’ empty
place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the
board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of
his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian board is always at
the hostess’s right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris
for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium.

Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris’ side of the table.
There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened
party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all,
and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors
Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium,
should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great
Jeddak.

Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting,
as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or
rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A
slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of
people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the
heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman.

“Dejah Thoris is found!” he cried. “A messenger from Dejah Thoris!”

I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall
overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates—they were upon the
opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not
waste time in circling the great board—with a single leap I cleared
table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below
lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding
about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I
vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party.

As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola.

“Where is the Princess of Helium?” I cried.

The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me.

“O my Prince! My Prince!” she cried. “She is gone for ever. Even now
she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom
have stolen her.”




CHAPTER XVIII
SOLA’S STORY


Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she
had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she
told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris.

“Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arras, Dejah Thoris
attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had
not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arras I knew that
something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and
when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be
told her destination.

“Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my
fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved
Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor.
We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was
faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she
feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we
disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the
last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we
went out into the night toward the south.

“The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter
we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far
due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet
of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter,
and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess’s
guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain.
Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared.

“When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates,
she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her
dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use
our hands.

“The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty
large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers.
That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance
of the fleet returned with a prisoner—a young red woman whom they had
picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a
fleet of three red Martian battleships.

“From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the
black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped
them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young
woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the
commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later
she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and
myself.

“The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that
many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of
her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of
Ptarth. And then she asked Dejah Thoris who she might be, and when she
heard she fell upon her knees and kissed Dejah Thoris’ fettered hands,
and told her that that very morning she had been with John Carter,
Prince of Helium, and Carthoris, her son.

“Dejah Thoris could not believe her at first, but finally when the girl
had narrated all the strange adventures that had befallen her since she
had met John Carter, and told her of the things John Carter, and
Carthoris, and Xodar had narrated of their adventures in the Land of
the First Born, Dejah Thoris knew that it could be none other than the
Prince of Helium; ‘For who,’ she said, ‘upon all Barsoom other than
John Carter could have done the deeds you tell of.’ And when Thuvia
told Dejah Thoris of her love for John Carter, and his loyalty and
devotion to the Princess of his choice, Dejah Thoris broke down and
wept—cursing Zat Arras and the cruel fate that had driven her from
Helium but a few brief days before the return of her beloved lord.

“‘I do not blame you for loving him, Thuvia,’ she said; ‘and that your
affection for him is pure and sincere I can well believe from the
candour of your avowal of it to me.’

“The fleet continued north nearly to Helium, but last night they
evidently realized that John Carter had indeed escaped them and so they
turned toward the south once more. Shortly thereafter a guard entered
our compartment and dragged me to the deck.

“‘There is no place in the Land of the First Born for a green one,’ he
said, and with that he gave me a terrific shove that carried me
toppling from the deck of the battleship. Evidently this seemed to him
the easiest way of ridding the vessel of my presence and killing me at
the same time.

“But a kind fate intervened, and by a miracle I escaped with but slight
bruises. The ship was moving slowly at the time, and as I lunged
overboard into the darkness beneath I shuddered at the awful plunge I
thought awaited me, for all day the fleet had sailed thousands of feet
above the ground; but to my utter surprise I struck upon a soft mass of
vegetation not twenty feet from the deck of the ship. In fact, the keel
of the vessel must have been grazing the surface of the ground at the
time.

“I lay all night where I had fallen and the next morning brought an
explanation of the fortunate coincidence that had saved me from a
terrible death. As the sun rose I saw a vast panorama of sea bottom and
distant hills lying far below me. I was upon the highest peak of a
lofty range. The fleet in the darkness of the preceding night had
barely grazed the crest of the hills, and in the brief span that they
hovered close to the surface the black guard had pitched me, as he
supposed, to my death.

“A few miles west of me was a great waterway. When I reached it I found
to my delight that it belonged to Helium. Here a thoat was procured for
me—the rest you know.”

For many minutes none spoke. Dejah Thoris in the clutches of the First
Born! I shuddered at the thought, but of a sudden the old fire of
unconquerable self-confidence surged through me. I sprang to my feet,
and with back-thrown shoulders and upraised sword took a solemn vow to
reach, rescue, and revenge my Princess.

A hundred swords leaped from a hundred scabbards, and a hundred
fighting-men sprang to the table-top and pledged me their lives and
fortunes to the expedition. Already my plans were formulated. I thanked
each loyal friend, and leaving Carthoris to entertain them, withdrew to
my own audience chamber with Kantos Kan, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and Hor
Vastus.

Here we discussed the details of our expedition until long after dark.
Xodar was positive that Issus would choose both Dejah Thoris and Thuvia
to serve her for a year.

“For that length of time at least they will be comparatively safe,” he
said, “and we will at least know where to look for them.”

In the matter of equipping a fleet to enter Omean the details were left
to Kantos Kan and Xodar. The former agreed to take such vessels as we
required into dock as rapidly as possible, where Xodar would direct
their equipment with water propellers.

For many years the black had been in charge of the refitting of
captured battleships that they might navigate Omean, and so was
familiar with the construction of the propellers, housings, and the
auxiliary gearing required.

It was estimated that it would require six months to complete our
preparations in view of the fact that the utmost secrecy must be
maintained to keep the project from the ears of Zat Arras. Kantos Kan
was confident now that the man’s ambitions were fully aroused and that
nothing short of the title of Jeddak of Helium would satisfy him.

“I doubt,” he said, “if he would even welcome Dejah Thoris’ return, for
it would mean another nearer the throne than he. With you and Carthoris
out of the way there would be little to prevent him from assuming the
title of Jeddak, and you may rest assured that so long as he is supreme
here there is no safety for either of you.”

“There is a way,” cried Hor Vastus, “to thwart him effectually and for
ever.”

“What?” I asked.

He smiled.

“I shall whisper it here, but some day I shall stand upon the dome of
the Temple of Reward and shout it to cheering multitudes below.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kantos Kan.

“John Carter, Jeddak of Helium,” said Hor Vastus in a low voice.

The eyes of my companions lighted, and grim smiles of pleasure and
anticipation overspread their faces, as each eye turned toward me
questioningly. But I shook my head.

“No, my friends,” I said, smiling, “I thank you, but it cannot be. Not
yet, at least. When we know that Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak are gone to
return no more; if I be here, then I shall join you all to see that the
people of Helium are permitted to choose fairly their next Jeddak. Whom
they choose may count upon the loyalty of my sword, nor shall I seek
the honour for myself. Until then Tardos Mors is Jeddak of Helium, and
Zat Arras is his representative.”

“As you will, John Carter,” said Hor Vastus, “but—What was that?” he
whispered, pointing toward the window overlooking the gardens.

The words were scarce out of his mouth ere he had sprung to the balcony
without.

“There he goes!” he cried excitedly. “The guards! Below there! The
guards!”

We were close behind him, and all saw the figure of a man run quickly
across a little piece of sward and disappear in the shrubbery beyond.

“He was on the balcony when I first saw him,” cried Hor Vastus. “Quick!
Let us follow him!”

Together we ran to the gardens, but even though we scoured the grounds
with the entire guard for hours, no trace could we find of the night
marauder.

“What do you make of it, Kantos Kan?” asked Tars Tarkas.

“A spy sent by Zat Arras,” he replied. “It was ever his way.”

“He will have something interesting to report to his master then,”
laughed Hor Vastus.

“I hope he heard only our references to a new Jeddak,” I said. “If he
overheard our plans to rescue Dejah Thoris, it will mean civil war, for
he will attempt to thwart us, and in that I will not be thwarted. There
would I turn against Tardos Mors himself, were it necessary. If it
throws all Helium into a bloody conflict, I shall go on with these
plans to save my Princess. Nothing shall stay me now short of death,
and should I die, my friends, will you take oath to prosecute the
search for her and bring her back in safety to her grandfather’s
court?”

Upon the hilt of his sword each of them swore to do as I had asked.

It was agreed that the battleships that were to be remodelled should be
ordered to Hastor, another Heliumetic city, far to the south-west.
Kantos Kan thought that the docks there, in addition to their regular
work, would accommodate at least six battleships at a time. As he was
commander-in-chief of the navy, it would be a simple matter for him to
order the vessels there as they could be handled, and thereafter keep
the remodelled fleet in remote parts of the empire until we should be
ready to assemble it for the dash upon Omean.

It was late that night before our conference broke up, but each man
there had his particular duties outlined, and the details of the entire
plan had been mapped out.

Kantos Kan and Xodar were to attend to the remodelling of the ships.
Tars Tarkas was to get into communication with Thark and learn the
sentiments of his people toward his return from Dor. If favourable, he
was to repair immediately to Thark and devote his time to the
assembling of a great horde of green warriors whom it was our plan to
send in transports directly to the Valley Dor and the Temple of Issus,
while the fleet entered Omean and destroyed the vessels of the First
Born.

Upon Hor Vastus devolved the delicate mission of organising a secret
force of fighting-men sworn to follow John Carter wherever he might
lead. As we estimated that it would require over a million men to man
the thousand great battleships we intended to use on Omean and the
transports for the green men as well as the ships that were to convoy
the transports, it was no trifling job that Hor Vastus had before him.

After they had left I bid Carthoris good-night, for I was very tired,
and going to my own apartments, bathed and lay down upon my sleeping
silks and furs for the first good night’s sleep I had had an
opportunity to look forward to since I had returned to Barsoom. But
even now I was to be disappointed.

How long I slept I do not know. When I awoke suddenly it was to find a
half-dozen powerful men upon me, a gag already in my mouth, and a
moment later my arms and legs securely bound. So quickly had they
worked and to such good purpose, that I was utterly beyond the power to
resist them by the time I was fully awake.

Never a word spoke they, and the gag effectually prevented me speaking.
Silently they lifted me and bore me toward the door of my chamber. As
they passed the window through which the farther moon was casting its
brilliant beams, I saw that each of the party had his face swathed in
layers of silk—I could not recognize one of them.

When they had come into the corridor with me, they turned toward a
secret panel in the wall which led to the passage that terminated in
the pits beneath the palace. That any knew of this panel outside my own
household, I was doubtful. Yet the leader of the band did not hesitate
a moment. He stepped directly to the panel, touched the concealed
button, and as the door swung open he stood aside while his companions
entered with me. Then he closed the panel behind him and followed us.

Down through the passageways to the pits we went. The leader rapped
upon it with the hilt of his sword—three quick, sharp blows, a pause,
then three more, another pause, and then two. A second later the wall
swung in, and I was pushed within a brilliantly lighted chamber in
which sat three richly trapped men.

One of them turned toward me with a sardonic smile upon his thin, cruel
lips—it was Zat Arras.




CHAPTER XIX
BLACK DESPAIR


“Ah,” said Zat Arras, “to what kindly circumstance am I indebted for
the pleasure of this unexpected visit from the Prince of Helium?”

While he was speaking, one of my guards had removed the gag from my
mouth, but I made no reply to Zat Arras: simply standing there in
silence with level gaze fixed upon the Jed of Zodanga. And I doubt not
that my expression was coloured by the contempt I felt for the man.

The eyes of those within the chamber were fixed first upon me and then
upon Zat Arras, until finally a flush of anger crept slowly over his
face.

“You may go,” he said to those who had brought me, and when only his
two companions and ourselves were left in the chamber, he spoke to me
again in a voice of ice—very slowly and deliberately, with many pauses,
as though he would choose his words cautiously.

“John Carter,” he said, “by the edict of custom, by the law of our
religion, and by the verdict of an impartial court, you are condemned
to die. The people cannot save you—I alone may accomplish that. You are
absolutely in my power to do with as I wish—I may kill you, or I may
free you, and should I elect to kill you, none would be the wiser.

“Should you go free in Helium for a year, in accordance with the
conditions of your reprieve, there is little fear that the people would
ever insist upon the execution of the sentence imposed upon you.

“You may go free within two minutes, upon one condition. Tardos Mors
will never return to Helium. Neither will Mors Kajak, nor Dejah Thoris.
Helium must select a new Jeddak within the year. Zat Arras would be
Jeddak of Helium. Say that you will espouse my cause. This is the price
of your freedom. I am done.”

I knew it was within the scope of Zat Arras’ cruel heart to destroy me,
and if I were dead I could see little reason to doubt that he might
easily become Jeddak of Helium. Free, I could prosecute the search for
Dejah Thoris. Were I dead, my brave comrades might not be able to carry
out our plans. So, by refusing to accede to his request, it was quite
probable that not only would I not prevent him from becoming Jeddak of
Helium, but that I would be the means of sealing Dejah Thoris’ fate—of
consigning her, through my refusal, to the horrors of the arena of
Issus.

For a moment I was perplexed, but for a moment only. The proud daughter
of a thousand Jeddaks would choose death to a dishonorable alliance
such as this, nor could John Carter do less for Helium than his
Princess would do.

Then I turned to Zat Arras.

“There can be no alliance,” I said, “between a traitor to Helium and a
prince of the House of Tardos Mors. I do not believe, Zat Arras, that
the great Jeddak is dead.”

Zat Arras shrugged his shoulders.

“It will not be long, John Carter,” he said, “that your opinions will
be of interest even to yourself, so make the best of them while you
can. Zat Arras will permit you in due time to reflect further upon the
magnanimous offer he has made you. Into the silence and darkness of the
pits you will enter upon your reflection this night with the knowledge
that should you fail within a reasonable time to agree to the
alternative which has been offered you, never shall you emerge from the
darkness and the silence again. Nor shall you know at what minute the
hand will reach out through the darkness and the silence with the keen
dagger that shall rob you of your last chance to win again the warmth
and the freedom and joyousness of the outer world.”

Zat Arras clapped his hands as he ceased speaking. The guards returned.

Zat Arras waved his hand in my direction.

“To the pits,” he said. That was all. Four men accompanied me from the
chamber, and with a radium hand-light to illumine the way, escorted me
through seemingly interminable tunnels, down, ever down beneath the
city of Helium.

At length they halted within a fair-sized chamber. There were rings set
in the rocky walls. To them chains were fastened, and at the ends of
many of the chains were human skeletons. One of these they kicked
aside, and, unlocking the huge padlock that had held a chain about what
had once been a human ankle, they snapped the iron band about my own
leg. Then they left me, taking the light with them.

Utter darkness prevailed. For a few minutes I could hear the clanking
of accoutrements, but even this grew fainter and fainter, until at last
the silence was as complete as the darkness. I was alone with my
gruesome companions—with the bones of dead men whose fate was likely
but the index of my own.

How long I stood listening in the darkness I do not know, but the
silence was unbroken, and at last I sunk to the hard floor of my
prison, where, leaning my head against the stony wall, I slept.

It must have been several hours later that I awakened to find a young
man standing before me. In one hand he bore a light, in the other a
receptacle containing a gruel-like mixture—the common prison fare of
Barsoom.

“Zat Arras sends you greetings,” said the young man, “and commands me
to inform you that though he is fully advised of the plot to make you
Jeddak of Helium, he is, however, not inclined to withdraw the offer
which he has made you. To gain your freedom you have but to request me
to advise Zat Arras that you accept the terms of his proposition.”

I but shook my head. The youth said no more, and, after placing the
food upon the floor at my side, returned up the corridor, taking the
light with him.

Twice a day for many days this youth came to my cell with food, and
ever the same greetings from Zat Arras. For a long time I tried to
engage him in conversation upon other matters, but he would not talk,
and so, at length, I desisted.

For months I sought to devise methods to inform Carthoris of my
whereabouts. For months I scraped and scraped upon a single link of the
massive chain which held me, hoping eventually to wear it through, that
I might follow the youth back through the winding tunnels to a point
where I could make a break for liberty.

I was beside myself with anxiety for knowledge of the progress of the
expedition which was to rescue Dejah Thoris. I felt that Carthoris
would not let the matter drop, were he free to act, but in so far as I
knew, he also might be a prisoner in Zat Arras’ pits.

That Zat Arras’ spy had overheard our conversation relative to the
selection of a new Jeddak, I knew, and scarcely a half-dozen minutes
prior we had discussed the details of the plan to rescue Dejah Thoris.
The chances were that that matter, too, was well known to him.
Carthoris, Kantos Kan, Tars Tarkas, Hor Vastus, and Xodar might even
now be the victims of Zat Arras’ assassins, or else his prisoners.

I determined to make at least one more effort to learn something, and
to this end I adopted strategy when next the youth came to my cell. I
had noticed that he was a handsome fellow, about the size and age of
Carthoris. And I had also noticed that his shabby trappings but illy
comported with his dignified and noble bearing.

It was with these observations as a basis that I opened my negotiations
with him upon his next subsequent visit.

“You have been very kind to me during my imprisonment here,” I said to
him, “and as I feel that I have at best but a very short time to live,
I wish, ere it is too late, to furnish substantial testimony of my
appreciation of all that you have done to render my imprisonment
bearable.

“Promptly you have brought my food each day, seeing that it was pure
and of sufficient quantity. Never by word or deed have you attempted to
take advantage of my defenceless condition to insult or torture me. You
have been uniformly courteous and considerate—it is this more than any
other thing which prompts my feeling of gratitude and my desire to give
you some slight token of it.

“In the guard-room of my palace are many fine trappings. Go thou there
and select the harness which most pleases you—it shall be yours. All I
ask is that you wear it, that I may know that my wish has been
realized. Tell me that you will do it.”

The boy’s eyes had lighted with pleasure as I spoke, and I saw him
glance from his rusty trappings to the magnificence of my own. For a
moment he stood in thought before he spoke, and for that moment my
heart fairly ceased beating—so much for me there was which hung upon
the substance of his answer.

“And I went to the palace of the Prince of Helium with any such demand,
they would laugh at me and, into the bargain, would more than likely
throw me headforemost into the avenue. No, it cannot be, though I thank
you for the offer. Why, if Zat Arras even dreamed that I contemplated
such a thing he would have my heart cut out of me.”

“There can be no harm in it, my boy,” I urged. “By night you may go to
my palace with a note from me to Carthoris, my son. You may read the
note before you deliver it, that you may know that it contains nothing
harmful to Zat Arras. My son will be discreet, and so none but us three
need know. It is very simple, and such a harmless act that it could be
condemned by no one.”

Again he stood silently in deep thought.

“And there is a jewelled short-sword which I took from the body of a
northern Jeddak. When you get the harness, see that Carthoris gives you
that also. With it and the harness which you may select there will be
no more handsomely accoutred warrior in all Zodanga.

“Bring writing materials when you come next to my cell, and within a
few hours we shall see you garbed in a style befitting your birth and
carriage.”

Still in thought, and without speaking, he turned and left me. I could
not guess what his decision might be, and for hours I sat fretting over
the outcome of the matter.

If he accepted a message to Carthoris it would mean to me that
Carthoris still lived and was free. If the youth returned wearing the
harness and the sword, I would know that Carthoris had received my note
and that he knew that I still lived. That the bearer of the note was a
Zodangan would be sufficient to explain to Carthoris that I was a
prisoner of Zat Arras.

It was with feelings of excited expectancy which I could scarce hide
that I heard the youth’s approach upon the occasion of his next regular
visit. I did not speak beyond my accustomed greeting of him. As he
placed the food upon the floor by my side he also deposited writing
materials at the same time.

My heart fairly bounded for joy. I had won my point. For a moment I
looked at the materials in feigned surprise, but soon I permitted an
expression of dawning comprehension to come into my face, and then,
picking them up, I penned a brief order to Carthoris to deliver to
Parthak a harness of his selection and the short-sword which I
described. That was all. But it meant everything to me and to
Carthoris.

I laid the note open upon the floor. Parthak picked it up and, without
a word, left me.

As nearly as I could estimate, I had at this time been in the pits for
three hundred days. If anything was to be done to save Dejah Thoris it
must be done quickly, for, were she not already dead, her end must soon
come, since those whom Issus chose lived but a single year.

The next time I heard approaching footsteps I could scarce await to see
if Parthak wore the harness and the sword, but judge, if you can, my
chagrin and disappointment when I saw that he who bore my food was not
Parthak.

“What has become of Parthak?” I asked, but the fellow would not answer,
and as soon as he had deposited my food, turned and retraced his steps
to the world above.

Days came and went, and still my new jailer continued his duties, nor
would he ever speak a word to me, either in reply to the simplest
question or of his own initiative.

I could only speculate on the cause of Parthak’s removal, but that it
was connected in some way directly with the note I had given him was
most apparent to me. After all my rejoicing, I was no better off than
before, for now I did not even know that Carthoris lived, for if
Parthak had wished to raise himself in the estimation of Zat Arras he
would have permitted me to go on precisely as I did, so that he could
carry my note to his master, in proof of his own loyalty and devotion.

Thirty days had passed since I had given the youth the note. Three
hundred and thirty days had passed since my incarceration. As closely
as I could figure, there remained a bare thirty days ere Dejah Thoris
would be ordered to the arena for the rites of Issus.

As the terrible picture forced itself vividly across my imagination, I
buried my face in my arms, and only with the greatest difficulty was it
that I repressed the tears that welled to my eyes despite my every
effort. To think of that beautiful creature torn and rended by the
cruel fangs of the hideous white apes! It was unthinkable. Such a
horrid fact could not be; and yet my reason told me that within thirty
days my incomparable Princess would be fought over in the arena of the
First Born by those very wild beasts; that her bleeding corpse would be
dragged through the dirt and the dust, until at last a part of it would
be rescued to be served as food upon the tables of the black nobles.

I think that I should have gone crazy but for the sound of my
approaching jailer. It distracted my attention from the terrible
thoughts that had been occupying my entire mind. Now a new and grim
determination came to me. I would make one super-human effort to
escape. Kill my jailer by a ruse, and trust to fate to lead me to the
outer world in safety.

With the thought came instant action. I threw myself upon the floor of
my cell close by the wall, in a strained and distorted posture, as
though I were dead after a struggle or convulsions. When he should
stoop over me I had but to grasp his throat with one hand and strike
him a terrific blow with the slack of my chain, which I gripped firmly
in my right hand for the purpose.

Nearer and nearer came the doomed man. Now I heard him halt before me.
There was a muttered exclamation, and then a step as he came to my
side. I felt him kneel beside me. My grip tightened upon the chain. He
leaned close to me. I must open my eyes to find his throat, grasp it,
and strike one mighty final blow all at the same instant.

The thing worked just as I had planned. So brief was the interval
between the opening of my eyes and the fall of the chain that I could
not check it, though in that minute interval I recognized the face so
close to mine as that of my son, Carthoris.

God! What cruel and malign fate had worked to such a frightful end!
What devious chain of circumstances had led my boy to my side at this
one particular minute of our lives when I could strike him down and
kill him, in ignorance of his identity! A benign though tardy
Providence blurred my vision and my mind as I sank into unconsciousness
across the lifeless body of my only son.

When I regained consciousness it was to feel a cool, firm hand pressed
upon my forehead. For an instant I did not open my eyes. I was
endeavouring to gather the loose ends of many thoughts and memories
which flitted elusively through my tired and overwrought brain.

At length came the cruel recollection of the thing that I had done in
my last conscious act, and then I dared not to open my eyes for fear of
what I should see lying beside me. I wondered who it could be who
ministered to me. Carthoris must have had a companion whom I had not
seen. Well, I must face the inevitable some time, so why not now, and
with a sigh I opened my eyes.

Leaning over me was Carthoris, a great bruise upon his forehead where
the chain had struck, but alive, thank God, alive! There was no one
with him. Reaching out my arms, I took my boy within them, and if ever
there arose from any planet a fervent prayer of gratitude, it was there
beneath the crust of dying Mars as I thanked the Eternal Mystery for my
son’s life.

The brief instant in which I had seen and recognized Carthoris before
the chain fell must have been ample to check the force of the blow. He
told me that he had lain unconscious for a time—how long he did not
know.

“How came you here at all?” I asked, mystified that he had found me
without a guide.

“It was by your wit in apprising me of your existence and imprisonment
through the youth, Parthak. Until he came for his harness and his
sword, we had thought you dead. When I had read your note I did as you
had bid, giving Parthak his choice of the harnesses in the guardroom,
and later bringing the jewelled short-sword to him; but the minute that
I had fulfilled the promise you evidently had made him, my obligation
to him ceased. Then I commenced to question him, but he would give me
no information as to your whereabouts. He was intensely loyal to Zat
Arras.

“Finally I gave him a fair choice between freedom and the pits beneath
the palace—the price of freedom to be full information as to where you
were imprisoned and directions which would lead us to you; but still he
maintained his stubborn partisanship. Despairing, I had him removed to
the pits, where he still is.

“No threats of torture or death, no bribes, however fabulous, would
move him. His only reply to all our importunities was that whenever
Parthak died, were it to-morrow or a thousand years hence, no man could
truly say, ‘A traitor is gone to his deserts.’

“Finally, Xodar, who is a fiend for subtle craftiness, evolved a plan
whereby we might worm the information from him. And so I caused Hor
Vastus to be harnessed in the metal of a Zodangan soldier and chained
in Parthak’s cell beside him. For fifteen days the noble Hor Vastus has
languished in the darkness of the pits, but not in vain. Little by
little he won the confidence and friendship of the Zodangan, until only
to-day Parthak, thinking that he was speaking not only to a countryman,
but to a dear friend, revealed to Hor Vastus the exact cell in which
you lay.

“It took me but a short time to locate the plans of the pits of Helium
among the official papers. To come to you, though, was a trifle more
difficult matter. As you know, while all the pits beneath the city are
connected, there are but single entrances from those beneath each
section and its neighbour, and that at the upper level just underneath
the ground.

“Of course, these openings which lead from contiguous pits to those
beneath government buildings are always guarded, and so, while I easily
came to the entrance to the pits beneath the palace which Zat Arras is
occupying, I found there a Zodangan soldier on guard. There I left him
when I had gone by, but his soul was no longer with him.

“And here I am, just in time to be nearly killed by you,” he ended,
laughing.

As he talked Carthoris had been working at the lock which held my
fetters, and now, with an exclamation of pleasure, he dropped the end
of the chain to the floor, and I stood up once more, freed from the
galling irons I had chafed in for almost a year.

He had brought a long-sword and a dagger for me, and thus armed we set
out upon the return journey to my palace.

At the point where we left the pits of Zat Arras we found the body of
the guard Carthoris had slain. It had not yet been discovered, and, in
order to still further delay search and mystify the jed’s people, we
carried the body with us for a short distance, hiding it in a tiny cell
off the main corridor of the pits beneath an adjoining estate.

Some half-hour later we came to the pits beneath our own palace, and
soon thereafter emerged into the audience chamber itself, where we
found Kantos Kan, Tars Tarkas, Hor Vastus, and Xodar awaiting us most
impatiently.

No time was lost in fruitless recounting of my imprisonment. What I
desired to know was how well the plans we had laid nearly a year ago
had been carried out.

“It has taken much longer than we had expected,” replied Kantos Kan.
“The fact that we were compelled to maintain utter secrecy has
handicapped us terribly. Zat Arras’ spies are everywhere. Yet, to the
best of my knowledge, no word of our real plans has reached the
villain’s ear.

“To-night there lies about the great docks at Hastor a fleet of a
thousand of the mightiest battleships that ever sailed above Barsoom,
and each equipped to navigate the air of Omean and the waters of Omean
itself. Upon each battleship there are five ten-man cruisers, and ten
five-man scouts, and a hundred one-man scouts; in all, one hundred and
sixteen thousand craft fitted with both air and water propellers.

“At Thark lie the transports for the green warriors of Tars Tarkas,
nine hundred large troopships, and with them their convoys. Seven days
ago all was in readiness, but we waited in the hope that by so doing
your rescue might be encompassed in time for you to command the
expedition. It is well we waited, my Prince.”

“How is it, Tars Tarkas,” I asked, “that the men of Thark take not the
accustomed action against one who returns from the bosom of Iss?”

“They sent a council of fifty chieftains to talk with me here,” replied
the Thark. “We are a just people, and when I had told them the entire
story they were as one man in agreeing that their action toward me
would be guided by the action of Helium toward John Carter. In the
meantime, at their request, I was to resume my throne as Jeddak of
Thark, that I might negotiate with neighboring hordes for warriors to
compose the land forces of the expedition. I have done that which I
agreed. Two hundred and fifty thousand fighting men, gathered from the
ice cap at the north to the ice cap at the south, and representing a
thousand different communities, from a hundred wild and warlike hordes,
fill the great city of Thark to-night. They are ready to sail for the
Land of the First Born when I give the word and fight there until I bid
them stop. All they ask is the loot they take and transportation to
their own territories when the fighting and the looting are over. I am
done.”

“And thou, Hor Vastus,” I asked, “what has been thy success?”

“A million veteran fighting-men from Helium’s thin waterways man the
battleships, the transports, and the convoys,” he replied. “Each is
sworn to loyalty and secrecy, nor were enough recruited from a single
district to cause suspicion.”

“Good!” I cried. “Each has done his duty, and now, Kantos Kan, may we
not repair at once to Hastor and get under way before to-morrow’s sun?”

“We should lose no time, Prince,” replied Kantos Kan. “Already the
people of Hastor are questioning the purpose of so great a fleet fully
manned with fighting-men. I wonder much that word of it has not before
reached Zat Arras. A cruiser awaits above at your own dock; let us
leave at—” A fusillade of shots from the palace gardens just without
cut short his further words.

Together we rushed to the balcony in time to see a dozen members of my
palace guard disappear in the shadows of some distant shrubbery as in
pursuit of one who fled. Directly beneath us upon the scarlet sward a
handful of guardsmen were stooping above a still and prostrate form.

While we watched they lifted the figure in their arms and at my command
bore it to the audience chamber where we had been in council. When they
stretched the body at our feet we saw that it was that of a red man in
the prime of life—his metal was plain, such as common soldiers wear, or
those who wish to conceal their identity.

“Another of Zat Arras’ spies,” said Hor Vastus.

“So it would seem,” I replied, and then to the guard: “You may remove
the body.”

“Wait!” said Xodar. “If you will, Prince, ask that a cloth and a little
thoat oil be brought.”

I nodded to one of the soldiers, who left the chamber, returning
presently with the things that Xodar had requested. The black kneeled
beside the body and, dipping a corner of the cloth in the thoat oil,
rubbed for a moment on the dead face before him. Then he turned to me
with a smile, pointing to his work. I looked and saw that where Xodar
had applied the thoat oil the face was white, as white as mine, and
then Xodar seized the black hair of the corpse and with a sudden wrench
tore it all away, revealing a hairless pate beneath.

Guardsmen and nobles pressed close about the silent witness upon the
marble floor. Many were the exclamations of astonishment and
questioning wonder as Xodar’s acts confirmed the suspicion which he had
held.

“A thern!” whispered Tars Tarkas.

“Worse than that, I fear,” replied Xodar. “But let us see.”

With that he drew his dagger and cut open a locked pouch which had
dangled from the thern’s harness, and from it he brought forth a
circlet of gold set with a large gem—it was the mate to that which I
had taken from Sator Throg.

“He was a Holy Thern,” said Xodar. “Fortunate indeed it is for us that
he did not escape.”

The officer of the guard entered the chamber at this juncture.

“My Prince,” he said, “I have to report that this fellow’s companion
escaped us. I think that it was with the connivance of one or more of
the men at the gate. I have ordered them all under arrest.”

Xodar handed him the thoat oil and cloth.

“With this you may discover the spy among you,” he said.

I at once ordered a secret search within the city, for every Martian
noble maintains a secret service of his own.

A half-hour later the officer of the guard came again to report. This
time it was to confirm our worst fears—half the guards at the gate that
night had been therns disguised as red men.

“Come!” I cried. “We must lose no time. On to Hastor at once. Should
the therns attempt to check us at the southern verge of the ice cap it
may result in the wrecking of all our plans and the total destruction
of the expedition.”

Ten minutes later we were speeding through the night toward Hastor,
prepared to strike the first blow for the preservation of Dejah Thoris.




CHAPTER XX
THE AIR BATTLE


Two hours after leaving my palace at Helium, or about midnight, Kantos
Kan, Xodar, and I arrived at Hastor. Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, and Hor
Vastus had gone directly to Thark upon another cruiser.

The transports were to get under way immediately and move slowly south.
The fleet of battleships would overtake them on the morning of the
second day.

At Hastor we found all in readiness, and so perfectly had Kantos Kan
planned every detail of the campaign that within ten minutes of our
arrival the first of the fleet had soared aloft from its dock, and
thereafter, at the rate of one a second, the great ships floated
gracefully out into the night to form a long, thin line which stretched
for miles toward the south.

It was not until after we had entered the cabin of Kantos Kan that I
thought to ask the date, for up to now I was not positive how long I
had lain in the pits of Zat Arras. When Kantos Kan told me, I realized
with a pang of dismay that I had misreckoned the time while I lay in
the utter darkness of my cell. Three hundred and sixty-five days had
passed—it was too late to save Dejah Thoris.

The expedition was no longer one of rescue but of revenge. I did not
remind Kantos Kan of the terrible fact that ere we could hope to enter
the Temple of Issus, the Princess of Helium would be no more. In so far
as I knew she might be already dead, for I did not know the exact date
on which she first viewed Issus.

What now the value of burdening my friends with my added personal
sorrows—they had shared quite enough of them with me in the past.
Hereafter I would keep my grief to myself, and so I said nothing to any
other of the fact that we were too late. The expedition could yet do
much if it could but teach the people of Barsoom the facts of the cruel
deception that had been worked upon them for countless ages, and thus
save thousands each year from the horrid fate that awaited them at the
conclusion of the voluntary pilgrimage.

If it could open to the red men the fair Valley Dor it would have
accomplished much, and in the Land of Lost Souls between the Mountains
of Otz and the ice barrier were many broad acres that needed no
irrigation to bear rich harvests.

Here at the bottom of a dying world was the only naturally productive
area upon its surface. Here alone were dews and rains, here alone was
an open sea, here was water in plenty; and all this was but the
stamping ground of fierce brutes and from its beauteous and fertile
expanse the wicked remnants of two once mighty races barred all the
other millions of Barsoom. Could I but succeed in once breaking down
the barrier of religious superstition which had kept the red races from
this El Dorado it would be a fitting memorial to the immortal virtues
of my Princess—I should have again served Barsoom and Dejah Thoris’
martyrdom would not have been in vain.

On the morning of the second day we raised the great fleet of
transports and their consorts at the first flood of dawn, and soon were
near enough to exchange signals. I may mention here that
radio-aerograms are seldom if ever used in war time, or for the
transmission of secret dispatches at any time, for as often as one
nation discovers a new cipher, or invents a new instrument for wireless
purposes its neighbours bend every effort until they are able to
intercept and translate the messages. For so long a time has this gone
on that practically every possibility of wireless communication has
been exhausted and no nation dares transmit dispatches of importance in
this way.

Tars Tarkas reported all well with the transports. The battleships
passed through to take an advanced position, and the combined fleets
moved slowly over the ice cap, hugging the surface closely to prevent
detection by the therns whose land we were approaching.

Far in advance of all a thin line of one-man air scouts protected us
from surprise, and on either side they flanked us, while a smaller
number brought up the rear some twenty miles behind the transports. In
this formation we had progressed toward the entrance to Omean for
several hours when one of our scouts returned from the front to report
that the cone-like summit of the entrance was in sight. At almost the
same instant another scout from the left flank came racing toward the
flagship.

His very speed bespoke the importance of his information. Kantos Kan
and I awaited him upon the little forward deck which corresponds with
the bridge of earthly battleships. Scarcely had his tiny flier come to
rest upon the broad landing-deck of the flagship ere he was bounding up
the stairway to the deck where we stood.

“A great fleet of battleships south-south-east, my Prince,” he cried.
“There must be several thousands and they are bearing down directly
upon us.”

“The thern spies were not in the palace of John Carter for nothing,”
said Kantos Kan to me. “Your orders, Prince.”

“Dispatch ten battleships to guard the entrance to Omean, with orders
to let no hostile enter or leave the shaft. That will bottle up the
great fleet of the First Born.

“Form the balance of the battleships into a great V with the apex
pointing directly south-south-east. Order the transports, surrounded by
their convoys, to follow closely in the wake of the battleships until
the point of the V has entered the enemies’ line, then the V must open
outward at the apex, the battleships of each leg engage the enemy
fiercely and drive him back to form a lane through his line into which
the transports with their convoys must race at top speed that they may
gain a position above the temples and gardens of the therns.

“Here let them land and teach the Holy Therns such a lesson in
ferocious warfare as they will not forget for countless ages. It had
not been my intention to be distracted from the main issue of the
campaign, but we must settle this attack with the therns once and for
all, or there will be no peace for us while our fleet remains near Dor,
and our chances of ever returning to the outer world will be greatly
minimized.”

Kantos Kan saluted and turned to deliver my instructions to his waiting
aides. In an incredibly short space of time the formation of the
battleships changed in accordance with my commands, the ten that were
to guard the way to Omean were speeding toward their destination, and
the troopships and convoys were closing up in preparation for the spurt
through the lane.

The order of full speed ahead was given, the fleet sprang through the
air like coursing greyhounds, and in another moment the ships of the
enemy were in full view. They formed a ragged line as far as the eye
could reach in either direction and about three ships deep. So sudden
was our onslaught that they had no time to prepare for it. It was as
unexpected as lightning from a clear sky.

Every phase of my plan worked splendidly. Our huge ships mowed their
way entirely through the line of thern battlecraft; then the V opened
up and a broad lane appeared through which the transports leaped toward
the temples of the therns which could now be plainly seen glistening in
the sunlight. By the time the therns had rallied from the attack a
hundred thousand green warriors were already pouring through their
courts and gardens, while a hundred and fifty thousand others leaned
from low swinging transports to direct their almost uncanny
marksmanship upon the thern soldiery that manned the ramparts, or
attempted to defend the temples.

Now the two great fleets closed in a titanic struggle far above the
fiendish din of battle in the gorgeous gardens of the therns. Slowly
the two lines of Helium’s battleships joined their ends, and then
commenced the circling within the line of the enemy which is so marked
a characteristic of Barsoomian naval warfare.

Around and around in each other’s tracks moved the ships under Kantos
Kan, until at length they formed nearly a perfect circle. By this time
they were moving at high speed so that they presented a difficult
target for the enemy. Broadside after broadside they delivered as each
vessel came in line with the ships of the therns. The latter attempted
to rush in and break up the formation, but it was like stopping a buzz
saw with the bare hand.

From my position on the deck beside Kantos Kan I saw ship after ship of
the enemy take the awful, sickening dive which proclaims its total
destruction. Slowly we manoeuvered our circle of death until we hung
above the gardens where our green warriors were engaged. The order was
passed down for them to embark. Then they rose slowly to a position
within the centre of the circle.

In the meantime the therns’ fire had practically ceased. They had had
enough of us and were only too glad to let us go on our way in peace.
But our escape was not to be encompassed with such ease, for scarcely
had we gotten under way once more in the direction of the entrance to
Omean than we saw far to the north a great black line topping the
horizon. It could be nothing other than a fleet of war.

Whose or whither bound, we could not even conjecture. When they had
come close enough to make us out at all, Kantos Kan’s operator received
a radio-aerogram, which he immediately handed to my companion. He read
the thing and handed it to me.

“Kantos Kan:” it read. “Surrender, in the name of the Jeddak of Helium,
for you cannot escape,” and it was signed, “Zat Arras.”

The therns must have caught and translated the message almost as soon
as did we, for they immediately renewed hostilities when they realized
that we were soon to be set upon by other enemies.

Before Zat Arras had approached near enough to fire a shot we were
again hotly engaged with the thern fleet, and as soon as he drew near
he too commenced to pour a terrific fusillade of heavy shot into us.
Ship after ship reeled and staggered into uselessness beneath the
pitiless fire that we were undergoing.

The thing could not last much longer. I ordered the transports to
descend again into the gardens of the therns.

“Wreak your vengeance to the utmost,” was my message to the green
allies, “for by night there will be none left to avenge your wrongs.”

Presently I saw the ten battleships that had been ordered to hold the
shaft of Omean. They were returning at full speed, firing their stern
batteries almost continuously. There could be but one explanation. They
were being pursued by another hostile fleet. Well, the situation could
be no worse. The expedition already was doomed. No man that had
embarked upon it would return across that dreary ice cap. How I wished
that I might face Zat Arras with my longsword for just an instant
before I died! It was he who had caused our failure.

As I watched the oncoming ten I saw their pursuers race swiftly into
sight. It was another great fleet; for a moment I could not believe my
eyes, but finally I was forced to admit that the most fatal calamity
had overtaken the expedition, for the fleet I saw was none other than
the fleet of the First Born, that should have been safely bottled up in
Omean. What a series of misfortunes and disasters! What awful fate
hovered over me, that I should have been so terribly thwarted at every
angle of my search for my lost love! Could it be possible that the
curse of Issus was upon me! That there was, indeed, some malign
divinity in that hideous carcass! I would not believe it, and, throwing
back my shoulders, I ran to the deck below to join my men in repelling
boarders from one of the thern craft that had grappled us broadside. In
the wild lust of hand-to-hand combat my old dauntless hopefulness
returned. And as thern after thern went down beneath my blade, I could
almost feel that we should win success in the end, even from apparent
failure.

My presence among the men so greatly inspirited them that they fell
upon the luckless whites with such terrible ferocity that within a few
moments we had turned the tables upon them and a second later as we
swarmed their own decks I had the satisfaction of seeing their
commander take the long leap from the bows of his vessel in token of
surrender and defeat.

Then I joined Kantos Kan. He had been watching what had taken place on
the deck below, and it seemed to have given him a new thought.
Immediately he passed an order to one of his officers, and presently
the colours of the Prince of Helium broke from every point of the
flagship. A great cheer arose from the men of our own ship, a cheer
that was taken up by every other vessel of our expedition as they in
turn broke my colours from their upper works.

Then Kantos Kan sprang his coup. A signal legible to every sailor of
all the fleets engaged in that fierce struggle was strung aloft upon
the flagship.

“Men of Helium for the Prince of Helium against all his enemies,” it
read. Presently my colours broke from one of Zat Arras’ ships. Then
from another and another. On some we could see fierce battles waging
between the Zodangan soldiery and the Heliumetic crews, but eventually
the colours of the Prince of Helium floated above every ship that had
followed Zat Arras upon our trail—only his flagship flew them not.

Zat Arras had brought five thousand ships. The sky was black with the
three enormous fleets. It was Helium against the field now, and the
fight had settled to countless individual duels. There could be little
or no manoeuvering of fleets in that crowded, fire-split sky.

Zat Arras’ flagship was close to my own. I could see the thin features
of the man from where I stood. His Zodangan crew was pouring broadside
after broadside into us and we were returning their fire with equal
ferocity. Closer and closer came the two vessels until but a few yards
intervened. Grapplers and boarders lined the contiguous rails of each.
We were preparing for the death struggle with our hated enemy.

There was but a yard between the two mighty ships as the first
grappling irons were hurled. I rushed to the deck to be with my men as
they boarded. Just as the vessels came together with a slight shock, I
forced my way through the lines and was the first to spring to the deck
of Zat Arras’ ship. After me poured a yelling, cheering, cursing throng
of Helium’s best fighting-men. Nothing could withstand them in the
fever of battle lust which enthralled them.

Down went the Zodangans before that surging tide of war, and as my men
cleared the lower decks I sprang to the forward deck where stood Zat
Arras.

“You are my prisoner, Zat Arras,” I cried. “Yield and you shall have
quarter.”

For a moment I could not tell whether he contemplated acceding to my
demand or facing me with drawn sword. For an instant he stood
hesitating, and then throwing down his arms he turned and rushed to the
opposite side of the deck. Before I could overtake him he had sprung to
the rail and hurled himself headforemost into the awful depths below.

And thus came Zat Arras, Jed of Zodanga, to his end.

On and on went that strange battle. The therns and blacks had not
combined against us. Wherever thern ship met ship of the First Born was
a battle royal, and in this I thought I saw our salvation. Wherever
messages could be passed between us that could not be intercepted by
our enemies I passed the word that all our vessels were to withdraw
from the fight as rapidly as possible, taking a position to the west
and south of the combatants. I also sent an air scout to the fighting
green men in the gardens below to re-embark, and to the transports to
join us.

My commanders were further instructed that when engaged with an enemy
to draw him as rapidly as possible toward a ship of his hereditary
foeman, and by careful manoeuvring to force the two to engage, thus
leaving himself free to withdraw. This stratagem worked to perfection,
and just before the sun went down I had the satisfaction of seeing all
that was left of my once mighty fleet gathered nearly twenty miles
southwest of the still terrific battle between the blacks and whites.

I now transferred Xodar to another battleship and sent him with all the
transports and five thousand battleships directly overhead to the
Temple of Issus. Carthoris and I, with Kantos Kan, took the remaining
ships and headed for the entrance to Omean.

Our plan now was to attempt to make a combined assault upon Issus at
dawn of the following day. Tars Tarkas with his green warriors and Hor
Vastus with the red men, guided by Xodar, were to land within the
garden of Issus or the surrounding plains; while Carthoris, Kantos Kan,
and I were to lead our smaller force from the sea of Omean through the
pits beneath the temple, which Carthoris knew so well.

I now learned for the first time the cause of my ten ships’ retreat
from the mouth of the shaft. It seemed that when they had come upon the
shaft the navy of the First Born were already issuing from its mouth.
Fully twenty vessels had emerged, and though they gave battle
immediately in an effort to stem the tide that rolled from the black
pit, the odds against them were too great and they were forced to flee.

With great caution we approached the shaft, under cover of darkness. At
a distance of several miles I caused the fleet to be halted, and from
there Carthoris went ahead alone upon a one-man flier to reconnoitre.
In perhaps half an hour he returned to report that there was no sign of
a patrol boat or of the enemy in any form, and so we moved swiftly and
noiselessly forward once more toward Omean.

At the mouth of the shaft we stopped again for a moment for all the
vessels to reach their previously appointed stations, then with the
flagship I dropped quickly into the black depths, while one by one the
other vessels followed me in quick succession.

We had decided to stake all on the chance that we would be able to
reach the temple by the subterranean way and so we left no guard of
vessels at the shaft’s mouth. Nor would it have profited us any to have
done so, for we did not have sufficient force all told to have
withstood the vast navy of the First Born had they returned to engage
us.

For the safety of our entrance upon Omean we depended largely upon the
very boldness of it, believing that it would be some little time before
the First Born on guard there would realize that it was an enemy and
not their own returning fleet that was entering the vault of the buried
sea.

And such proved to be the case. In fact, four hundred of my fleet of
five hundred rested safely upon the bosom of Omean before the first
shot was fired. The battle was short and hot, but there could have been
but one outcome, for the First Born in the carelessness of fancied
security had left but a handful of ancient and obsolete hulks to guard
their mighty harbour.

It was at Carthoris’ suggestion that we landed our prisoners under
guard upon a couple of the larger islands, and then towed the ships of
the First Born to the shaft, where we managed to wedge a number of them
securely in the interior of the great well. Then we turned on the
buoyance rays in the balance of them and let them rise by themselves to
further block the passage to Omean as they came into contact with the
vessels already lodged there.

We now felt that it would be some time at least before the returning
First Born could reach the surface of Omean, and that we would have
ample opportunity to make for the subterranean passages which lead to
Issus. One of the first steps I took was to hasten personally with a
good-sized force to the island of the submarine, which I took without
resistance on the part of the small guard there.

I found the submarine in its pool, and at once placed a strong guard
upon it and the island, where I remained to wait the coming of
Carthoris and the others.

Among the prisoners was Yersted, commander of the submarine. He
recognized me from the three trips that I had taken with him during my
captivity among the First Born.

“How does it seem,” I asked him, “to have the tables turned? To be
prisoner of your erstwhile captive?”

He smiled, a very grim smile pregnant with hidden meaning.

“It will not be for long, John Carter,” he replied. “We have been
expecting you and we are prepared.”

“So it would appear,” I answered, “for you were all ready to become my
prisoners with scarce a blow struck on either side.”

“The fleet must have missed you,” he said, “but it will return to
Omean, and then that will be a very different matter—for John Carter.”

“I do not know that the fleet has missed me as yet,” I said, but of
course he did not grasp my meaning, and only looked puzzled.

“Many prisoners travel to Issus in your grim craft, Yersted?” I asked.

“Very many,” he assented.

“Might you remember one whom men called Dejah Thoris?”

“Well, indeed, for her great beauty, and then, too, for the fact that
she was wife to the first mortal that ever escaped from Issus through
all the countless ages of her godhood. And the way that Issus remembers
her best as the wife of one and the mother of another who raised their
hands against the Goddess of Life Eternal.”

I shuddered for fear of the cowardly revenge that I knew Issus might
have taken upon the innocent Dejah Thoris for the sacrilege of her son
and her husband.

“And where is Dejah Thoris now?” I asked, knowing that he would say the
words I most dreaded, but yet I loved her so that I could not refrain
from hearing even the worst about her fate so that it fell from the
lips of one who had seen her but recently. It was to me as though it
brought her closer to me.

“Yesterday the monthly rites of Issus were held,” replied Yersted, “and
I saw her then sitting in her accustomed place at the foot of Issus.”

“What,” I cried, “she is not dead, then?”

“Why, no,” replied the black, “it has been no year since she gazed upon
the divine glory of the radiant face of—”

“No year?” I interrupted.

“Why, no,” insisted Yersted. “It cannot have been upward of three
hundred and seventy or eighty days.”

A great light burst upon me. How stupid I had been! I could scarcely
retain an outward exhibition of my great joy. Why had I forgotten the
great difference in the length of Martian and Earthly years! The ten
Earth years I had spent upon Barsoom had encompassed but five years and
ninety-six days of Martian time, whose days are forty-one minutes
longer than ours, and whose years number six hundred and eighty-seven
days.

I am in time! I am in time! The words surged through my brain again and
again, until at last I must have voiced them audibly, for Yersted shook
his head.

“In time to save your Princess?” he asked, and then without waiting for
my reply, “No, John Carter, Issus will not give up her own. She knows
that you are coming, and ere ever a vandal foot is set within the
precincts of the Temple of Issus, if such a calamity should befall,
Dejah Thoris will be put away for ever from the last faint hope of
rescue.”

“You mean that she will be killed merely to thwart me?” I asked.

“Not that, other than as a last resort,” he replied. “Hast ever heard
of the Temple of the Sun? It is there that they will put her. It lies
far within the inner court of the Temple of Issus, a little temple that
raises a thin spire far above the spires and minarets of the great
temple that surrounds it. Beneath it, in the ground, there lies the
main body of the temple consisting in six hundred and eighty-seven
circular chambers, one below another. To each chamber a single corridor
leads through solid rock from the pits of Issus.

“As the entire Temple of the Sun revolves once with each revolution of
Barsoom about the sun, but once each year does the entrance to each
separate chamber come opposite the mouth of the corridor which forms
its only link to the world without.

“Here Issus puts those who displease her, but whom she does not care to
execute forthwith. Or to punish a noble of the First Born she may cause
him to be placed within a chamber of the Temple of the Sun for a year.
Ofttimes she imprisons an executioner with the condemned, that death
may come in a certain horrible form upon a given day, or again but
enough food is deposited in the chamber to sustain life but the number
of days that Issus has allotted for mental anguish.

“Thus will Dejah Thoris die, and her fate will be sealed by the first
alien foot that crosses the threshold of Issus.”

So I was to be thwarted in the end, although I had performed the
miraculous and come within a few short moments of my divine Princess,
yet was I as far from her as when I stood upon the banks of the Hudson
forty-eight million miles away.




CHAPTER XXI
THROUGH FLOOD AND FLAME


Yersted’s information convinced me that there was no time to be lost. I
must reach the Temple of Issus secretly before the forces under Tars
Tarkas assaulted at dawn. Once within its hated walls I was positive
that I could overcome the guards of Issus and bear away my Princess,
for at my back I would have a force ample for the occasion.

No sooner had Carthoris and the others joined me than we commenced the
transportation of our men through the submerged passage to the mouth of
the gangways which lead from the submarine pool at the temple end of
the watery tunnel to the pits of Issus.

Many trips were required, but at last all stood safely together again
at the beginning of the end of our quest. Five thousand strong we were,
all seasoned fighting-men of the most warlike race of the red men of
Barsoom.

As Carthoris alone knew the hidden ways of the tunnels we could not
divide the party and attack the temple at several points at once as
would have been most desirable, and so it was decided that he lead us
all as quickly as possible to a point near the temple’s centre.

As we were about to leave the pool and enter the corridor, an officer
called my attention to the waters upon which the submarine floated. At
first they seemed to be merely agitated as from the movement of some
great body beneath the surface, and I at once conjectured that another
submarine was rising to the surface in pursuit of us; but presently it
became apparent that the level of the waters was rising, not with
extreme rapidity, but very surely, and that soon they would overflow
the sides of the pool and submerge the floor of the chamber.

For a moment I did not fully grasp the terrible import of the slowly
rising water. It was Carthoris who realized the full meaning of the
thing—its cause and the reason for it.

“Haste!” he cried. “If we delay, we all are lost. The pumps of Omean
have been stopped. They would drown us like rats in a trap. We must
reach the upper levels of the pits in advance of the flood or we shall
never reach them. Come.”

“Lead the way, Carthoris,” I cried. “We will follow.”

At my command, the youth leaped into one of the corridors, and in
column of twos the soldiers followed him in good order, each company
entering the corridor only at the command of its dwar, or captain.

Before the last company filed from the chamber the water was ankle
deep, and that the men were nervous was quite evident. Entirely
unaccustomed to water except in quantities sufficient for drinking and
bathing purposes the red Martians instinctively shrank from it in such
formidable depths and menacing activity. That they were undaunted while
it swirled and eddied about their ankles, spoke well for their bravery
and their discipline.

I was the last to leave the chamber of the submarine, and as I followed
the rear of the column toward the corridor, I moved through water to my
knees. The corridor, too, was flooded to the same depth, for its floor
was on a level with the floor of the chamber from which it led, nor was
there any perceptible rise for many yards.

The march of the troops through the corridor was as rapid as was
consistent with the number of men that moved through so narrow a
passage, but it was not ample to permit us to gain appreciably on the
pursuing tide. As the level of the passage rose, so, too, did the
waters rise until it soon became apparent to me, who brought up the
rear, that they were gaining rapidly upon us. I could understand the
reason for this, as with the narrowing expanse of Omean as the waters
rose toward the apex of its dome, the rapidity of its rise would
increase in inverse ratio to the ever-lessening space to be filled.

Long ere the last of the column could hope to reach the upper pits
which lay above the danger point I was convinced that the waters would
surge after us in overwhelming volume, and that fully half the
expedition would be snuffed out.

As I cast about for some means of saving as many as possible of the
doomed men, I saw a diverging corridor which seemed to rise at a steep
angle at my right. The waters were now swirling about my waist. The men
directly before me were quickly becoming panic-stricken. Something must
be done at once or they would rush forward upon their fellows in a mad
stampede that would result in trampling down hundreds beneath the flood
and eventually clogging the passage beyond any hope of retreat for
those in advance.

Raising my voice to its utmost, I shouted my command to the dwars ahead
of me.

“Call back the last twenty-five utans,” I shouted. “Here seems a way of
escape. Turn back and follow me.”

My orders were obeyed by nearer thirty utans, so that some three
thousand men came about and hastened into the teeth of the flood to
reach the corridor up which I directed them.

As the first dwar passed in with his utan I cautioned him to listen
closely for my commands, and under no circumstances to venture into the
open, or leave the pits for the temple proper until I should have come
up with him, “or you know that I died before I could reach you.”

The officer saluted and left me. The men filed rapidly past me and
entered the diverging corridor which I hoped would lead to safety. The
water rose breast high. Men stumbled, floundered, and went down. Many I
grasped and set upon their feet again, but alone the work was greater
than I could cope with. Soldiers were being swept beneath the boiling
torrent, never to rise. At length the dwar of the 10th utan took a
stand beside me. He was a valorous soldier, Gur Tus by name, and
together we kept the now thoroughly frightened troops in the semblance
of order and rescued many that would have drowned otherwise.

Djor Kantos, son of Kantos Kan, and a padwar of the fifth utan joined
us when his utan reached the opening through which the men were
fleeing. Thereafter not a man was lost of all the hundreds that
remained to pass from the main corridor to the branch.

As the last utan was filing past us the waters had risen until they
surged about our necks, but we clasped hands and stood our ground until
the last man had passed to the comparative safety of the new
passageway. Here we found an immediate and steep ascent, so that within
a hundred yards we had reached a point above the waters.

For a few minutes we continued rapidly up the steep grade, which I
hoped would soon bring us quickly to the upper pits that let into the
Temple of Issus. But I was to meet with a cruel disappointment.

Suddenly I heard a cry of “fire” far ahead, followed almost at once by
cries of terror and the loud commands of dwars and padwars who were
evidently attempting to direct their men away from some grave danger.
At last the report came back to us. “They have fired the pits ahead.”
“We are hemmed in by flames in front and flood behind.” “Help, John
Carter; we are suffocating,” and then there swept back upon us at the
rear a wave of dense smoke that sent us, stumbling and blinded, into a
choking retreat.

There was naught to do other than seek a new avenue of escape. The fire
and smoke were to be feared a thousand times over the water, and so I
seized upon the first gallery which led out of and up from the
suffocating smoke that was engulfing us.

Again I stood to one side while the soldiers hastened through on the
new way. Some two thousand must have passed at a rapid run, when the
stream ceased, but I was not sure that all had been rescued who had not
passed the point of origin of the flames, and so to assure myself that
no poor devil was left behind to die a horrible death, unsuccoured, I
ran quickly up the gallery in the direction of the flames which I could
now see burning with a dull glow far ahead.

It was hot and stifling work, but at last I reached a point where the
fire lit up the corridor sufficiently for me to see that no soldier of
Helium lay between me and the conflagration—what was in it or upon the
far side I could not know, nor could any man have passed through that
seething hell of chemicals and lived to learn.

Having satisfied my sense of duty, I turned and ran rapidly back to the
corridor through which my men had passed. To my horror, however, I
found that my retreat in this direction had been blocked—across the
mouth of the corridor stood a massive steel grating that had evidently
been lowered from its resting-place above for the purpose of
effectually cutting off my escape.

That our principal movements were known to the First Born I could not
have doubted, in view of the attack of the fleet upon us the day
before, nor could the stopping of the pumps of Omean at the
psychological moment have been due to chance, nor the starting of a
chemical combustion within the one corridor through which we were
advancing upon the Temple of Issus been due to aught than
well-calculated design.

And now the dropping of the steel gate to pen me effectually between
fire and flood seemed to indicate that invisible eyes were upon us at
every moment. What chance had I, then, to rescue Dejah Thoris were I to
be compelled to fight foes who never showed themselves. A thousand
times I berated myself for being drawn into such a trap as I might have
known these pits easily could be. Now I saw that it would have been
much better to have kept our force intact and made a concerted attack
upon the temple from the valley side, trusting to chance and our great
fighting ability to have overwhelmed the First Born and compelled the
safe delivery of Dejah Thoris to me.

The smoke from the fire was forcing me further and further back down
the corridor toward the waters which I could hear surging through the
darkness. With my men had gone the last torch, nor was this corridor
lighted by the radiance of phosphorescent rock as were those of the
lower levels. It was this fact that assured me that I was not far from
the upper pits which lie directly beneath the temple.

Finally I felt the lapping waters about my feet. The smoke was thick
behind me. My suffering was intense. There seemed but one thing to do,
and that to choose the easier death which confronted me, and so I moved
on down the corridor until the cold waters of Omean closed about me,
and I swam on through utter blackness toward—what?

The instinct of self-preservation is strong even when one, unafraid and
in the possession of his highest reasoning faculties, knows that
death—positive and unalterable—lies just ahead. And so I swam slowly
on, waiting for my head to touch the top of the corridor, which would
mean that I had reached the limit of my flight and the point where I
must sink for ever to an unmarked grave.

But to my surprise I ran against a blank wall before I reached a point
where the waters came to the roof of the corridor. Could I be mistaken?
I felt around. No, I had come to the main corridor, and still there was
a breathing space between the surface of the water and the rocky
ceiling above. And then I turned up the main corridor in the direction
that Carthoris and the head of the column had passed a half-hour
before. On and on I swam, my heart growing lighter at every stroke, for
I knew that I was approaching closer and closer to the point where
there would be no chance that the waters ahead could be deeper than
they were about me. I was positive that I must soon feel the solid
floor beneath my feet again and that once more my chance would come to
reach the Temple of Issus and the side of the fair prisoner who
languished there.

But even as hope was at its highest I felt the sudden shock of contact
as my head struck the rocks above. The worst, then, had come to me. I
had reached one of those rare places where a Martian tunnel dips
suddenly to a lower level. Somewhere beyond I knew that it rose again,
but of what value was that to me, since I did not know how great the
distance that it maintained a level entirely beneath the surface of the
water!

There was but a single forlorn hope, and I took it. Filling my lungs
with air, I dived beneath the surface and swam through the inky, icy
blackness on and on along the submerged gallery. Time and time again I
rose with upstretched hand, only to feel the disappointing rocks close
above me.

Not for much longer would my lungs withstand the strain upon them. I
felt that I must soon succumb, nor was there any retreating now that I
had gone this far. I knew positively that I could never endure to
retrace my path now to the point from which I had felt the waters close
above my head. Death stared me in the face, nor ever can I recall a
time that I so distinctly felt the icy breath from his dead lips upon
my brow.

One more frantic effort I made with my fast ebbing strength. Weakly I
rose for the last time—my tortured lungs gasped for the breath that
would fill them with a strange and numbing element, but instead I felt
the revivifying breath of life-giving air surge through my starving
nostrils into my dying lungs. I was saved.

A few more strokes brought me to a point where my feet touched the
floor, and soon thereafter I was above the water level entirely, and
racing like mad along the corridor searching for the first doorway that
would lead me to Issus. If I could not have Dejah Thoris again I was at
least determined to avenge her death, nor would any life satisfy me
other than that of the fiend incarnate who was the cause of such
immeasurable suffering upon Barsoom.

Sooner than I had expected I came to what appeared to me to be a sudden
exit into the temple above. It was at the right side of the corridor,
which ran on, probably, to other entrances to the pile above.

To me one point was as good as another. What knew I where any of them
led! And so without waiting to be again discovered and thwarted, I ran
quickly up the short, steep incline and pushed open the doorway at its
end.

The portal swung slowly in, and before it could be slammed against me I
sprang into the chamber beyond. Although not yet dawn, the room was
brilliantly lighted. Its sole occupant lay prone upon a low couch at
the further side, apparently in sleep. From the hangings and sumptuous
furniture of the room I judged it to be a living-room of some
priestess, possibly of Issus herself.

At the thought the blood tingled through my veins. What, indeed, if
fortune had been kind enough to place the hideous creature alone and
unguarded in my hands. With her as hostage I could force acquiescence
to my every demand. Cautiously I approached the recumbent figure, on
noiseless feet. Closer and closer I came to it, but I had crossed but
little more than half the chamber when the figure stirred, and, as I
sprang, rose and faced me.

At first an expression of terror overspread the features of the woman
who confronted me—then startled incredulity—hope—thanksgiving.

My heart pounded within my breast as I advanced toward her—tears came
to my eyes—and the words that would have poured forth in a perfect
torrent choked in my throat as I opened my arms and took into them once
more the woman I loved—Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium.




CHAPTER XXII
VICTORY AND DEFEAT


“John Carter, John Carter,” she sobbed, with her dear head upon my
shoulder; “even now I can scarce believe the witness of my own eyes.
When the girl, Thuvia, told me that you had returned to Barsoom, I
listened, but I could not understand, for it seemed that such happiness
would be impossible for one who had suffered so in silent loneliness
for all these long years. At last, when I realized that it was truth,
and then came to know the awful place in which I was held prisoner, I
learned to doubt that even you could reach me here.

“As the days passed, and moon after moon went by without bringing even
the faintest rumour of you, I resigned myself to my fate. And now that
you have come, scarce can I believe it. For an hour I have heard the
sounds of conflict within the palace. I knew not what they meant, but I
have hoped against hope that it might be the men of Helium headed by my
Prince.

“And tell me, what of Carthoris, our son?”

“He was with me less than an hour since, Dejah Thoris,” I replied. “It
must have been he whose men you have heard battling within the
precincts of the temple.

“Where is Issus?” I asked suddenly.

Dejah Thoris shrugged her shoulders.

“She sent me under guard to this room just before the fighting began
within the temple halls. She said that she would send for me later. She
seemed very angry and somewhat fearful. Never have I seen her act in so
uncertain and almost terrified a manner. Now I know that it must have
been because she had learned that John Carter, Prince of Helium, was
approaching to demand an accounting of her for the imprisonment of his
Princess.”

The sounds of conflict, the clash of arms, the shouting and the
hurrying of many feet came to us from various parts of the temple. I
knew that I was needed there, but I dared not leave Dejah Thoris, nor
dared I take her with me into the turmoil and danger of battle.

At last I bethought me of the pits from which I had just emerged. Why
not secrete her there until I could return and fetch her away in safety
and for ever from this awful place. I explained my plan to her.

For a moment she clung more closely to me.

“I cannot bear to be parted from you now, even for a moment, John
Carter,” she said. “I shudder at the thought of being alone again where
that terrible creature might discover me. You do not know her. None can
imagine her ferocious cruelty who has not witnessed her daily acts for
over half a year. It has taken me nearly all this time to realize even
the things that I have seen with my own eyes.”

“I shall not leave you, then, my Princess,” I replied.

She was silent for a moment, then she drew my face to hers and kissed
me.

“Go, John Carter,” she said. “Our son is there, and the soldiers of
Helium, fighting for the Princess of Helium. Where they are you should
be. I must not think of myself now, but of them and of my husband’s
duty. I may not stand in the way of that. Hide me in the pits, and go.”

I led her to the door through which I had entered the chamber from
below. There I pressed her dear form to me, and then, though it tore my
heart to do it, and filled me only with the blackest shadows of
terrible foreboding, I guided her across the threshold, kissed her once
again, and closed the door upon her.

Without hesitating longer, I hurried from the chamber in the direction
of the greatest tumult. Scarce half a dozen chambers had I traversed
before I came upon the theatre of a fierce struggle. The blacks were
massed at the entrance to a great chamber where they were attempting to
block the further progress of a body of red men toward the inner sacred
precincts of the temple.

Coming from within as I did, I found myself behind the blacks, and,
without waiting to even calculate their numbers or the foolhardiness of
my venture, I charged swiftly across the chamber and fell upon them
from the rear with my keen long-sword.

As I struck the first blow I cried aloud, “For Helium!” And then I
rained cut after cut upon the surprised warriors, while the reds
without took heart at the sound of my voice, and with shouts of “John
Carter! John Carter!” redoubled their efforts so effectually that
before the blacks could recover from their temporary demoralization
their ranks were broken and the red men had burst into the chamber.

The fight within that room, had it had but a competent chronicler,
would go down in the annals of Barsoom as a historic memorial to the
grim ferocity of her warlike people. Five hundred men fought there that
day, the black men against the red. No man asked quarter or gave it. As
though by common assent they fought, as though to determine once and
for all their right to live, in accordance with the law of the survival
of the fittest.

I think we all knew that upon the outcome of this battle would hinge
for ever the relative positions of these two races upon Barsoom. It was
a battle between the old and the new, but not for once did I question
the outcome of it. With Carthoris at my side I fought for the red men
of Barsoom and for their total emancipation from the throttling bondage
of a hideous superstition.

Back and forth across the room we surged, until the floor was ankle
deep in blood, and dead men lay so thickly there that half the time we
stood upon their bodies as we fought. As we swung toward the great
windows which overlooked the gardens of Issus a sight met my gaze which
sent a wave of exultation over me.

“Look!” I cried. “Men of the First Born, look!”

For an instant the fighting ceased, and with one accord every eye
turned in the direction I had indicated, and the sight they saw was one
no man of the First Born had ever imagined could be.

Across the gardens, from side to side, stood a wavering line of black
warriors, while beyond them and forcing them ever back was a great
horde of green warriors astride their mighty thoats. And as we watched,
one, fiercer and more grimly terrible than his fellows, rode forward
from the rear, and as he came he shouted some fierce command to his
terrible legion.

It was Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark, and as he couched his great
forty-foot metal-shod lance we saw his warriors do likewise. Then it
was that we interpreted his command. Twenty yards now separated the
green men from the black line. Another word from the great Thark, and
with a wild and terrifying battle-cry the green warriors charged. For a
moment the black line held, but only for a moment—then the fearsome
beasts that bore equally terrible riders passed completely through it.

After them came utan upon utan of red men. The green horde broke to
surround the temple. The red men charged for the interior, and then we
turned to continue our interrupted battle; but our foes had vanished.

My first thought was of Dejah Thoris. Calling to Carthoris that I had
found his mother, I started on a run toward the chamber where I had
left her, with my boy close beside me. After us came those of our
little force who had survived the bloody conflict.

The moment I entered the room I saw that some one had been there since
I had left. A silk lay upon the floor. It had not been there before.
There were also a dagger and several metal ornaments strewn about as
though torn from their wearer in a struggle. But worst of all, the door
leading to the pits where I had hidden my Princess was ajar.

With a bound I was before it, and, thrusting it open, rushed within.
Dejah Thoris had vanished. I called her name aloud again and again, but
there was no response. I think in that instant I hovered upon the verge
of insanity. I do not recall what I said or did, but I know that for an
instant I was seized with the rage of a maniac.

“Issus!” I cried. “Issus! Where is Issus? Search the temple for her,
but let no man harm her but John Carter. Carthoris, where are the
apartments of Issus?”

“This way,” cried the boy, and, without waiting to know that I had
heard him, he dashed off at breakneck speed, further into the bowels of
the temple. As fast as he went, however, I was still beside him, urging
him on to greater speed.

At last we came to a great carved door, and through this Carthoris
dashed, a foot ahead of me. Within, we came upon such a scene as I had
witnessed within the temple once before—the throne of Issus, with the
reclining slaves, and about it the ranks of soldiery.

We did not even give the men a chance to draw, so quickly were we upon
them. With a single cut I struck down two in the front rank. And then
by the mere weight and momentum of my body, I rushed completely through
the two remaining ranks and sprang upon the dais beside the carved
sorapus throne.

The repulsive creature, squatting there in terror, attempted to escape
me and leap into a trap behind her. But this time I was not to be
outwitted by any such petty subterfuge. Before she had half arisen I
had grasped her by the arm, and then, as I saw the guard starting to
make a concerted rush upon me from all sides, I whipped out my dagger
and, holding it close to that vile breast, ordered them to halt.

“Back!” I cried to them. “Back! The first black foot that is planted
upon this platform sends my dagger into Issus’ heart.”

For an instant they hesitated. Then an officer ordered them back, while
from the outer corridor there swept into the throne room at the heels
of my little party of survivors a full thousand red men under Kantos
Kan, Hor Vastus, and Xodar.

“Where is Dejah Thoris?” I cried to the thing within my hands.

For a moment her eyes roved wildly about the scene beneath her. I think
that it took a moment for the true condition to make any impression
upon her—she could not at first realize that the temple had fallen
before the assault of men of the outer world. When she did, there must
have come, too, a terrible realization of what it meant to her—the loss
of power—humiliation—the exposure of the fraud and imposture which she
had for so long played upon her own people.

There was just one thing needed to complete the reality of the picture
she was seeing, and that was added by the highest noble of her
realm—the high priest of her religion—the prime minister of her
government.

“Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal,” he cried, “arise in the
might of thy righteous wrath and with one single wave of thy omnipotent
hand strike dead thy blasphemers! Let not one escape. Issus, thy people
depend upon thee. Daughter of the Lesser Moon, thou only art
all-powerful. Thou only canst save thy people. I am done. We await thy
will. Strike!”

And then it was that she went mad. A screaming, gibbering maniac
writhed in my grasp. It bit and clawed and scratched in impotent fury.
And then it laughed a weird and terrible laughter that froze the blood.
The slave girls upon the dais shrieked and cowered away. And the thing
jumped at them and gnashed its teeth and then spat upon them from
frothing lips. God, but it was a horrid sight.

Finally, I shook the thing, hoping to recall it for a moment to
rationality.

“Where is Dejah Thoris?” I cried again.

The awful creature in my grasp mumbled inarticulately for a moment,
then a sudden gleam of cunning shot into those hideous, close-set eyes.

“Dejah Thoris? Dejah Thoris?” and then that shrill, unearthly laugh
pierced our ears once more.

“Yes, Dejah Thoris—I know. And Thuvia, and Phaidor, daughter of Matai
Shang. They each love John Carter. Ha-ah! but it is droll. Together for
a year they will meditate within the Temple of the Sun, but ere the
year is quite gone there will be no more food for them. Ho-oh! what
divine entertainment,” and she licked the froth from her cruel lips.
“There will be no more food—except each other. Ha-ah! Ha-ah!”

The horror of the suggestion nearly paralysed me. To this awful fate
the creature within my power had condemned my Princess. I trembled in
the ferocity of my rage. As a terrier shakes a rat I shook Issus,
Goddess of Life Eternal.

“Countermand your orders!” I cried. “Recall the condemned. Haste, or
you die!”

“It is too late. Ha-ah! Ha-ah!” and then she commenced her gibbering
and shrieking again.

Almost of its own volition, my dagger flew up above that putrid heart.
But something stayed my hand, and I am now glad that it did. It were a
terrible thing to have struck down a woman with one’s own hand. But a
fitter fate occurred to me for this false deity.

“First Born,” I cried, turning to those who stood within the chamber,
“you have seen to-day the impotency of Issus—the gods are impotent.
Issus is no god. She is a cruel and wicked old woman, who has deceived
and played upon you for ages. Take her. John Carter, Prince of Helium,
would not contaminate his hand with her blood,” and with that I pushed
the raving beast, whom a short half-hour before a whole world had
worshipped as divine, from the platform of her throne into the waiting
clutches of her betrayed and vengeful people.

Spying Xodar among the officers of the red men, I called him to lead me
quickly to the Temple of the Sun, and, without waiting to learn what
fate the First Born would wreak upon their goddess, I rushed from the
chamber with Xodar, Carthoris, Hor Vastus, Kantos Kan, and a score of
other red nobles.

The black led us rapidly through the inner chambers of the temple,
until we stood within the central court—a great circular space paved
with a transparent marble of exquisite whiteness. Before us rose a
golden temple wrought in the most wondrous and fanciful designs, inlaid
with diamond, ruby, sapphire, turquoise, emerald, and the thousand
nameless gems of Mars, which far transcend in loveliness and purity of
ray the most priceless stones of Earth.

“This way,” cried Xodar, leading us toward the entrance to a tunnel
which opened in the courtyard beside the temple. Just as we were on the
point of descending we heard a deep-toned roar burst from the Temple of
Issus, which we had but just quitted, and then a red man, Djor Kantos,
padwar of the fifth utan, broke from a nearby gate, crying to us to
return.

“The blacks have fired the temple,” he cried. “In a thousand places it
is burning now. Haste to the outer gardens, or you are lost.”

As he spoke we saw smoke pouring from a dozen windows looking out upon
the courtyard of the Temple of the Sun, and far above the highest
minaret of Issus hung an ever-growing pall of smoke.

“Go back! Go back!” I cried to those who had accompanied me. “The way!
Xodar; point the way and leave me. I shall reach my Princess yet.”

“Follow me, John Carter,” replied Xodar, and without waiting for my
reply he dashed down into the tunnel at our feet. At his heels I ran
down through a half-dozen tiers of galleries, until at last he led me
along a level floor at the end of which I discerned a lighted chamber.

Massive bars blocked our further progress, but beyond I saw her—my
incomparable Princess, and with her were Thuvia and Phaidor. When she
saw me she rushed toward the bars that separated us. Already the
chamber had turned upon its slow way so far that but a portion of the
opening in the temple wall was opposite the barred end of the corridor.
Slowly the interval was closing. In a short time there would be but a
tiny crack, and then even that would be closed, and for a long
Barsoomian year the chamber would slowly revolve until once more for a
brief day the aperture in its wall would pass the corridor’s end.

But in the meantime what horrible things would go on within that
chamber!

“Xodar!” I cried. “Can no power stop this awful revolving thing? Is
there none who holds the secret of these terrible bars?”

“None, I fear, whom we could fetch in time, though I shall go and make
the attempt. Wait for me here.”

After he had left I stood and talked with Dejah Thoris, and she
stretched her dear hand through those cruel bars that I might hold it
until the last moment.

Thuvia and Phaidor came close also, but when Thuvia saw that we would
be alone she withdrew to the further side of the chamber. Not so the
daughter of Matai Shang.

“John Carter,” she said, “this be the last time that you shall see any
of us. Tell me that you love me, that I may die happy.”

“I love only the Princess of Helium,” I replied quietly. “I am sorry,
Phaidor, but it is as I have told you from the beginning.”

She bit her lip and turned away, but not before I saw the black and
ugly scowl she turned upon Dejah Thoris. Thereafter she stood a little
way apart, but not so far as I should have desired, for I had many
little confidences to impart to my long-lost love.

For a few minutes we stood thus talking in low tones. Ever smaller and
smaller grew the opening. In a short time now it would be too small
even to permit the slender form of my Princess to pass. Oh, why did not
Xodar haste. Above we could hear the faint echoes of a great tumult. It
was the multitude of black and red and green men fighting their way
through the fire from the burning Temple of Issus.

A draught from above brought the fumes of smoke to our nostrils. As we
stood waiting for Xodar the smoke became thicker and thicker. Presently
we heard shouting at the far end of the corridor, and hurrying feet.

“Come back, John Carter, come back!” cried a voice, “even the pits are
burning.”

In a moment a dozen men broke through the now blinding smoke to my
side. There was Carthoris, and Kantos Kan, and Hor Vastus, and Xodar,
with a few more who had followed me to the temple court.

“There is no hope, John Carter,” cried Xodar. “The keeper of the keys
is dead and his keys are not upon his carcass. Our only hope is to
quench this conflagration and trust to fate that a year will find your
Princess alive and well. I have brought sufficient food to last them.
When this crack closes no smoke can reach them, and if we hasten to
extinguish the flames I believe they will be safe.”

“Go, then, yourself and take these others with you,” I replied. “I
shall remain here beside my Princess until a merciful death releases me
from my anguish. I care not to live.”

As I spoke Xodar had been tossing a great number of tiny cans within
the prison cell. The remaining crack was not over an inch in width a
moment later. Dejah Thoris stood as close to it as she could,
whispering words of hope and courage to me, and urging me to save
myself.

Suddenly beyond her I saw the beautiful face of Phaidor contorted into
an expression of malign hatred. As my eyes met hers she spoke.

“Think not, John Carter, that you may so lightly cast aside the love of
Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang. Nor ever hope to hold thy Dejah
Thoris in thy arms again. Wait you the long, long year; but know that
when the waiting is over it shall be Phaidor’s arms which shall welcome
you—not those of the Princess of Helium. Behold, she dies!”

And as she finished speaking I saw her raise a dagger on high, and then
I saw another figure. It was Thuvia’s. As the dagger fell toward the
unprotected breast of my love, Thuvia was almost between them. A
blinding gust of smoke blotted out the tragedy within that fearsome
cell—a shriek rang out, a single shriek, as the dagger fell.

The smoke cleared away, but we stood gazing upon a blank wall. The last
crevice had closed, and for a long year that hideous chamber would
retain its secret from the eyes of men.

They urged me to leave.

“In a moment it will be too late,” cried Xodar. “There is, in fact, but
a bare chance that we can come through to the outer garden alive even
now. I have ordered the pumps started, and in five minutes the pits
will be flooded. If we would not drown like rats in a trap we must
hasten above and make a dash for safety through the burning temple.”

“Go,” I urged them. “Let me die here beside my Princess—there is no
hope or happiness elsewhere for me. When they carry her dear body from
that terrible place a year hence let them find the body of her lord
awaiting her.”

Of what happened after that I have only a confused recollection. It
seems as though I struggled with many men, and then that I was picked
bodily from the ground and borne away. I do not know. I have never
asked, nor has any other who was there that day intruded on my sorrow
or recalled to my mind the occurrences which they know could but at
best reopen the terrible wound within my heart.

Ah! If I could but know one thing, what a burden of suspense would be
lifted from my shoulders! But whether the assassin’s dagger reached one
fair bosom or another, only time will divulge.