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Recording by Scott Merrill
Thuvia, Maid of Mars
By Edgar Rice Burroughs
CHAPTER I CARTHORIS AND THUVIA
Upon a massive bench of polished ersite beneath the gorgeous blooms of a giant pimalia a woman
sat. Her shapely, sandalled foot tapped impatiently upon the jewel-strewn walk that wound beneath
the stately sorapus trees across the scarlet sward of the royal gardens of Thuvan Dihn,
Jeddak of Ptarth, as a dark-haired, red-skinned warrior bent low toward her, whispering heated
words close to her ear. "Ah, Thuvia of Ptarth," he cried, "you are
cold even before the fiery blasts of my consuming love! No harder than your heart, nor colder
is the hard, cold ersite of this thrice happy bench which supports your divine and fadeless
form! Tell me, O Thuvia of Ptarth, that I may still hope that though you do not love
me now, yet some day, some day, my princess, I"
The girl sprang to her feet with an exclamation of surprise and displeasure. Her queenly head
was poised haughtily upon her smooth red shoulders. Her dark eyes looked angrily into those of
the man. "You forget yourself, and the customs of Barsoom,
Astok," she said. "I have given you no right thus to address the daughter of Thuvan Dihn,
nor have you won such a right." The man reached suddenly forth and grasped
her by the arm. "You shall be my princess!" he cried. "By
the breast of Issus, thou shalt, nor shall any other come between Astok, Prince of Dusar,
and his heart's desire. Tell me that there is another, and I shall cut out his foul heart
and fling it to the wild calots of the dead sea-bottoms!"
At touch of the man's hand upon her flesh the girl went pallid beneath her coppery skin,
for the persons of the royal women of the courts of Mars are held but little less than
sacred. The act of Astok, Prince of Dusar, was profanation. There was no terror in the
eyes of Thuvia of Ptarth only horror for the thing the man had done and for its possible
consequences. "Release me." Her voice was level frigid.
The man muttered incoherently and drew her roughly toward him.
"Release me!" she repeated sharply, "or I call the guard, and the Prince of Dusar knows
what that will mean." Quickly he threw his right arm about her shoulders
and strove to draw her face to his lips. With a little cry she struck him full in the mouth
with the massive bracelets that circled her free arm.
"Calot!" she exclaimed, and then: "The guard! The guard! Hasten in protection of the Princess
of Ptarth!" In answer to her call a dozen guardsmen came
racing across the scarlet sward, their gleaming long-swords naked in the sun, the metal of
their accoutrements clanking against that of their leathern harness, and in their throats
hoarse shouts of rage at the sight which met their eyes.
But before they had passed half across the royal garden to where Astok of Dusar still
held the struggling girl in his grasp, another figure sprang from a cluster of dense foliage
that half hid a golden fountain close at hand. A tall, straight youth he was, with black
hair and keen grey eyes; broad of shoulder and narrow of hip; a clean-limbed fighting
man. His skin was but faintly tinged with the copper colour that marks the red men of
Mars from the other races of the dying planet he was like them, and yet there was a subtle
difference greater even than that which lay in his lighter skin and his grey eyes.
There was a difference, too, in his movements. He came on in great leaps that carried him
so swiftly over the ground that the speed of the guardsmen was as nothing by comparison.
Astok still clutched Thuvia's wrist as the young warrior confronted him. The new-comer
wasted no time and he spoke but a single word. "Calot!" he snapped, and then his clenched
fist landed beneath the other's chin, lifting him high into the air and depositing him in
a crumpled heap within the centre of the pimalia bush beside the ersite bench.
Her champion turned toward the girl. "Kaor, Thuvia of Ptarth!" he cried. "It seems that
fate timed my visit well." "Kaor, Carthoris of Helium!" the princess
returned the young man's greeting, "and what less could one expect of the son of such a
sire?" He bowed his acknowledgment of the compliment
to his father, John Carter, Warlord of Mars. And then the guardsmen, panting from their
charge, came up just as the Prince of Dusar, bleeding at the mouth, and with drawn sword,
crawled from the entanglement of the pimalia. Astok would have leaped to mortal combat with
the son of Dejah Thoris, but the guardsmen pressed about him, preventing, though it was
clearly evident that naught would have better pleased Carthoris of Helium.
"But say the word, Thuvia of Ptarth," he begged, "and naught will give me greater pleasure
than meting to this fellow the punishment he has earned."
"It cannot be, Carthoris," she replied. "Even though he has forfeited all claim upon my
consideration, yet is he the guest of the jeddak, my father, and to him alone may he
account for the unpardonable act he has committed." "As you say, Thuvia," replied the Heliumite.
"But afterward he shall account to Carthoris, Prince of Helium, for this affront to the
daughter of my father's friend." As he spoke, though, there burned in his eyes a fire that
proclaimed a nearer, dearer cause for his championship of this glorious daughter of
Barsoom. The maid's cheek darkened beneath the satin
of her transparent skin, and the eyes of Astok, Prince of Dusar, darkened, too, as he read
that which passed unspoken between the two in the royal gardens of the jeddak.
"And thou to me," he snapped at Carthoris, answering the young man's challenge.
The guard still surrounded Astok. It was a difficult position for the young officer who
commanded it. His prisoner was the son of a mighty jeddak; he was the guest of Thuvan
Dihn until but now an honoured guest upon whom every royal dignity had been showered.
To arrest him forcibly could mean naught else than war, and yet he had done that which in
the eyes of the Ptarth warrior merited death. The young man hesitated. He looked toward
his princess. She, too, guessed all that hung upon the action of the coming moment. For
many years Dusar and Ptarth had been at peace with each other. Their great merchant ships
plied back and forth between the larger cities of the two nations. Even now, far above the
gold-shot scarlet dome of the jeddak's palace, she could see the huge bulk of a giant freighter
taking its majestic way through the thin Barsoomian air toward the west and Dusar.
By a word she might plunge these two mighty nations into a bloody conflict that would
drain them of their bravest blood and their incalculable riches, leaving them all helpless
against the inroads of their envious and less powerful neighbors, and at last a prey to
the savage green hordes of the dead sea-bottoms. No sense of fear influenced her decision,
for fear is seldom known to the children of Mars. It was rather a sense of the responsibility
that she, the daughter of their jeddak, felt for the welfare of her father's people.
"I called you, Padwar," she said to the lieutenant of the guard, "to protect the person of your
princess, and to keep the peace that must not be violated within the royal gardens of
the jeddak. That is all. You will escort me to the palace, and the Prince of Helium will
accompany me." Without another glance in the direction of
Astok she turned, and taking Carthoris' proffered hand, moved slowly toward the massive marble
pile that housed the ruler of Ptarth and his glittering court. On either side marched a
file of guardsmen. Thus Thuvia of Ptarth found a way out of a dilemma, escaping the necessity
of placing her father's royal guest under forcible restraint, and at the same time separating
the two princes, who otherwise would have been at each other's throat the moment she
and the guard had departed. Beside the pimalia stood Astok, his dark eyes
narrowed to mere slits of hate beneath his lowering brows as he watched the retreating
forms of the woman who had aroused the fiercest passions of his nature and the man whom he
now believed to be the one who stood between his love and its consummation.
As they disappeared within the structure Astok shrugged his shoulders, and with a murmured
oath crossed the gardens toward another wing of the building where he and his retinue were
housed. That night he took formal leave of Thuvan
Dihn, and though no mention was made of the happening within the garden, it was plain
to see through the cold mask of the jeddak's courtesy that only the customs of royal hospitality
restrained him from voicing the contempt he felt for the Prince of Dusar.
Carthoris was not present at the leave-taking, nor was Thuvia. The ceremony was as stiff
and formal as court etiquette could make it, and when the last of the Dusarians clambered
over the rail of the battleship that had brought them upon this fateful visit to the court
of Ptarth, and the mighty engine of destruction had risen slowly from the ways of the landing-stage,
a note of relief was apparent in the voice of Thuvan Dihn as he turned to one of his
officers with a word of comment upon a subject foreign to that which had been uppermost in
the minds of all for hours. But, after all, was it so foreign?
"Inform Prince Sovan," he directed, "that it is our wish that the fleet which departed
for Kaol this morning be recalled to cruise to the west of Ptarth."
As the warship, bearing Astok back to the court of his father, turned toward the west,
Thuvia of Ptarth, sitting upon the same bench where the Prince of Dusar had affronted her,
watched the twinkling lights of the craft growing smaller in the distance. Beside her,
in the brilliant light of the nearer moon, sat Carthoris. His eyes were not upon the
dim bulk of the battleship, but on the profile of the girl's upturned face.
"Thuvia," he whispered. The girl turned her eyes toward his. His hand
stole out to find hers, but she drew her own gently away.
"Thuvia of Ptarth, I love you!" cried the young warrior. "Tell me that it does not offend."
She shook her head sadly. "The love of Carthoris of Helium," she said simply, "could be naught
but an honour to any woman; but you must not speak, my friend, of bestowing upon me that
which I may not reciprocate." The young man got slowly to his feet. His
eyes were wide in astonishment. It never had occurred to the Prince of Helium that Thuvia
of Ptarth might love another. "But at Kadabra!" he exclaimed. "And later
here at your father's court, what did you do, Thuvia of Ptarth, that might have warned
me that you could not return my love?" "And what did I do, Carthoris of Helium,"
she returned, "that might lead you to believe that I DID return it?"
He paused in thought, and then shook his head. "Nothing, Thuvia, that is true; yet I could
have sworn you loved me. Indeed, you well knew how near to worship has been my love
for you." "And how might I know it, Carthoris?" she
asked innocently. "Did you ever tell me as much? Ever before have words of love for me
fallen from your lips?" "But you MUST have known it!" he exclaimed.
"I am like my father witless in matters of the heart, and of a poor way with women; yet
the jewels that strew these royal garden paths the trees, the flowers, the sward all must
have read the love that has filled my heart since first my eyes were made new by imaging
your perfect face and form; so how could you alone have been blind to it?"
"Do the maids of Helium pay court to their men?" asked Thuvia.
"You are playing with me!" exclaimed Carthoris. "Say that you are but playing, and that after
all you love me, Thuvia!" "I cannot tell you that, Carthoris, for I
am promised to another." Her tone was level, but was there not within
it the hint of an infinite depth of sadness? Who may say?
"Promised to another?" Carthoris scarcely breathed the words. His face went almost white,
and then his head came up as befitted him in whose veins flowed the blood of the overlord
of a world. "Carthoris of Helium wishes you every happiness
with the man of your choice," he said. "With " and then he hesitated, waiting for her to
fill in the name. "Kulan Tith, Jeddak of Kaol," she replied.
"My father's friend and Ptarth's most puissant ally."
The young man looked at her intently for a moment before he spoke again.
"You love him, Thuvia of Ptarth?" he asked. "I am promised to him," she replied simply.
He did not press her. "He is of Barsoom's noblest blood and mightiest fighters," mused
Carthoris. "My father's friend and mine would that it might have been another!" he muttered
almost savagely. What the girl thought was hidden by the mask of her expression, which
was tinged only by a little shadow of sadness that might have been for Carthoris, herself,
or for them both. Carthoris of Helium did not ask, though he
noted it, for his loyalty to Kulan Tith was the loyalty of the blood of John Carter of
Virginia for a friend, greater than which could be no loyalty.
He raised a jewel-encrusted bit of the girl's magnificent trappings to his lips.
"To the honour and happiness of Kulan Tith and the priceless jewel that has been bestowed
upon him," he said, and though his voice was husky there was the true ring of sincerity
in it. "I told you that I loved you, Thuvia, before I knew that you were promised to another.
I may not tell you it again, but I am glad that you know it, for there is no dishonour
in it either to you or to Kulan Tith or to myself. My love is such that it may embrace
as well Kulan Tith if you love him." There was almost a question in the statement.
"I am promised to him," she replied. Carthoris backed slowly away. He laid one
hand upon his heart, the other upon the pommel of his long-sword.
"These are yours always," he said. A moment later he had entered the palace, and was gone
from the girl's sight. Had he returned at once he would have found
her prone upon the ersite bench, her face buried in her arms. Was she weeping? There
was none to see.
Carthoris of Helium had come all unannounced to the court of his father's friend that day.
He had come alone in a small flier, sure of the same welcome that always awaited him at
Ptarth. As there had been no formality in his coming there was no need of formality
in his going. To Thuvan Dihn he explained that he had been
but testing an invention of his own with which his flier was equipped a clever improvement
of the ordinary Martian air compass, which, when set for a certain destination, will remain
constantly fixed thereon, making it only necessary to keep a vessel's prow always in the direction
of the compass needle to reach any given point upon Barsoom by the shortest route.
Carthoris' improvement upon this consisted of an auxiliary device which steered the craft
mechanically in the direction of the compass, and upon arrival directly over the point for
which the compass was set, brought the craft to a standstill and lowered it, also automatically,
to the ground. "You readily discern the advantages of this
invention," he was saying to Thuvan Dihn, who had accompanied him to the landing-stage
upon the palace roof to inspect the compass and bid his young friend farewell.
A dozen officers of the court with several body servants were grouped behind the jeddak
and his guest, eager listeners to the conversation so eager on the part of one of the servants
that he was twice rebuked by a noble for his forwardness in pushing himself ahead of his
betters to view the intricate mechanism of the wonderful "controlling destination compass,"
as the thing was called. "For example," continued Carthoris, "I have
an all-night trip before me, as to-night. I set the pointer here upon the right-hand
dial which represents the eastern hemisphere of Barsoom, so that the point rests upon the
exact latitude and longitude of Helium. Then I start the engine, roll up in my sleeping
silks and furs, and with lights burning, race through the air toward Helium, confident that
at the appointed hour I shall drop gently toward the landing-stage upon my own palace,
whether I am still asleep or no." "Provided," suggested Thuvan Dihn, "you do
not chance to collide with some other night wanderer in the meanwhile."
Carthoris smiled. "No danger of that," he replied. "See here," and he indicated a device
at the right of the destination compass. "This is my 'obstruction evader,' as I call it.
This visible device is the switch which throws the mechanism on or off. The instrument itself
is below deck, geared both to the steering apparatus and the control levers.
"It is quite simple, being nothing more than a radium generator diffusing radio-activity
in all directions to a distance of a hundred yards or so from the flier. Should this enveloping
force be interrupted in any direction a delicate instrument immediately apprehends the irregularity,
at the same time imparting an impulse to a magnetic device which in turn actuates the
steering mechanism, diverting the bow of the flier away from the obstacle until the craft's
radio-activity sphere is no longer in contact with the obstruction, then she falls once
more into her normal course. Should the disturbance approach from the rear, as in case of a faster-moving
craft overhauling me, the mechanism actuates the speed control as well as the steering
gear, and the flier shoots ahead and either up or down, as the oncoming vessel is upon
a lower or higher plane than herself. "In aggravated cases, that is when the obstructions
are many, or of such a nature as to deflect the bow more than forty-five degrees in any
direction, or when the craft has reached its destination and dropped to within a hundred
yards of the ground, the mechanism brings her to a full stop, at the same time sounding
a loud alarm which will instantly awaken the pilot. You see I have anticipated almost every
contingency." Thuvan Dihn smiled his appreciation of the
marvellous device. The forward servant pushed almost to the flier's side. His eyes were
narrowed to slits. "All but one," he said.
The nobles looked at him in astonishment, and one of them grasped the fellow none too
gently by the shoulder to push him back to his proper place. Carthoris raised his hand.
"Wait," he urged. "Let us hear what the man has to say no creation of mortal mind is perfect.
Perchance he has detected a weakness that it will be well to know at once. Come, my
good fellow, and what may be the one contingency I have overlooked?"
As he spoke Carthoris observed the servant closely for the first time. He saw a man of
giant stature and handsome, as are all those of the race of Martian red men; but the fellow's
lips were thin and cruel, and across one cheek was the faint, white line of a sword-cut from
the right temple to the corner of the mouth. "Come," urged the Prince of Helium. "Speak!"
The man hesitated. It was evident that he regretted the temerity that had made him the
centre of interested observation. But at last, seeing no alternative, he spoke.
"It might be tampered with," he said, "by an enemy."
Carthoris drew a small key from his leathern pocket-pouch.
"Look at this," he said, handing it to the man. "If you know aught of locks, you will
know that the mechanism which this unlooses is beyond the cunning of a picker of locks.
It guards the vitals of the instrument from crafty tampering. Without it an enemy must
half wreck the device to reach its heart, leaving his handiwork apparent to the most
casual observer." The servant took the key, glanced at it shrewdly,
and then as he made to return it to Carthoris dropped it upon the marble flagging. Turning
to look for it he planted the sole of his sandal full upon the glittering object. For
an instant he bore all his weight upon the foot that covered the key, then he stepped
back and with an exclamation as of pleasure that he had found it, stooped, recovered it,
and returned it to the Heliumite. Then he dropped back to his station behind the nobles
and was forgotten. A moment later Carthoris had made his adieux
to Thuvan Dihn and his nobles, and with lights twinkling had risen into the star-shot void
of the Martian night.
CHAPTER II SLAVERY
As the ruler of Ptarth, followed by his courtiers, descended from the landing-stage above the
palace, the servants dropped into their places in the rear of their royal or noble masters,
and behind the others one lingered to the last. Then quickly stooping he snatched the
sandal from his right foot, slipping it into his pocket-pouch.
When the party had come to the lower levels, and the jeddak had dispersed them by a sign,
none noticed that the forward fellow who had drawn so much attention to himself before
the Prince of Helium departed, was no longer among the other servants.
To whose retinue he had been attached none had thought to inquire, for the followers
of a Martian noble are many, coming and going at the whim of their master, so that a new
face is scarcely ever questioned, as the fact that a man has passed within the palace walls
is considered proof positive that his loyalty to the jeddak is beyond question, so rigid
is the examination of each who seeks service with the nobles of the court.
A good rule that, and only relaxed by courtesy in favour of the retinue of visiting royalty
from a friendly foreign power. It was late in the morning of the next day
that a giant serving man in the harness of the house of a great Ptarth noble passed out
into the city from the palace gates. Along one broad avenue and then another he strode
briskly until he had passed beyond the district of the nobles and had come to the place of
shops. Here he sought a pretentious building that rose spire-like toward the heavens, its
outer walls elaborately wrought with delicate carvings and intricate mosaics.
It was the Palace of Peace in which were housed the representatives of the foreign powers,
or rather in which were located their embassies; for the ministers themselves dwelt in gorgeous
palaces within the district occupied by the nobles.
Here the man sought the embassy of Dusar. A clerk arose questioningly as he entered,
and at his request to have a word with the minister asked his credentials. The visitor
slipped a plain metal armlet from above his elbow, and pointing to an inscription upon
its inner surface, whispered a word or two to the clerk.
The latter's eyes went wide, and his attitude turned at once to one of deference. He bowed
the stranger to a seat, and hastened to an inner room with the armlet in his hand. A
moment later he reappeared and conducted the caller into the presence of the minister.
For a long time the two were closeted together, and when at last the giant serving man emerged
from the inner office his expression was cast in a smile of sinister satisfaction. From
the Palace of Peace he hurried directly to the palace of the Dusarian minister.
That night two swift fliers left the same palace top. One sped its rapid course toward
Helium; the other
Thuvia of Ptarth strolled in the gardens of her father's palace, as was her nightly custom
before retiring. Her silks and furs were drawn about her, for the air of Mars is chill after
the sun has taken his quick plunge beneath the planet's western verge.
The girl's thoughts wandered from her impending nuptials, that would make her empress of Kaol,
to the person of the trim young Heliumite who had laid his heart at her feet the preceding
day. Whether it was pity or regret that saddened
her expression as she gazed toward the southern heavens where she had watched the lights of
his flier disappear the previous night, it would be difficult to say.
So, too, is it impossible to conjecture just what her emotions may have been as she discerned
the lights of a flier speeding rapidly out of the distance from that very direction,
as though impelled toward her garden by the very intensity of the princess' thoughts.
She saw it circle lower above the palace until she was positive that it but hovered in preparation
for a landing. Presently the powerful rays of its searchlight
shot downward from the bow. They fell upon the landing-stage for a brief instant, revealing
the figures of the Ptarthian guard, picking into brilliant points of fire the gems upon
their gorgeous harnesses. Then the blazing eye swept onward across the
burnished domes and graceful minarets, down into court and park and garden to pause at
last upon the ersite bench and the girl standing there beside it, her face upturned full toward
the flier. For but an instant the searchlight halted
upon Thuvia of Ptarth, then it was extinguished as suddenly as it had come to life. The flier
passed on above her to disappear beyond a grove of lofty skeel trees that grew within
the palace grounds. The girl stood for some time as it had left
her, except that her head was bent and her eyes downcast in thought.
Who but Carthoris could it have been? She tried to feel anger that he should have returned
thus, spying upon her; but she found it difficult to be angry with the young prince of Helium.
What mad caprice could have induced him so to transgress the etiquette of nations? For
lesser things great powers had gone to war. The princess in her was shocked and angered
but what of the girl! And the guard what of them? Evidently they,
too, had been so much surprised by the unprecedented action of the stranger that they had not even
challenged; but that they had no thought to let the thing go unnoticed was quickly evidenced
by the skirring of motors upon the landing-stage and the quick shooting airward of a long-lined
patrol boat. Thuvia watched it dart swiftly eastward. So,
too, did other eyes watch. Within the dense shadows of the skeel grove,
in a wide avenue beneath o'erspreading foliage, a flier hung a dozen feet above the ground.
From its deck keen eyes watched the far-fanning searchlight of the patrol boat. No light shone
from the enshadowed craft. Upon its deck was the silence of the tomb. Its crew of a half-dozen
red warriors watched the lights of the patrol boat diminishing in the distance.
"The intellects of our ancestors are with us to-night," said one in a low tone.
"No plan ever carried better," returned another. "They did precisely as the prince foretold."
He who had first spoken turned toward the man who squatted before the control board.
"Now!" he whispered. There was no other order given. Every man upon the craft had evidently
been well schooled in each detail of that night's work. Silently the dark hull crept
beneath the cathedral arches of the dark and silent grove.
Thuvia of Ptarth, gazing toward the east, saw the blacker blot against the blackness
of the trees as the craft topped the buttressed garden wall. She saw the dim bulk incline
gently downward toward the scarlet sward of the garden.
She knew that men came not thus with honourable intent. Yet she did not cry aloud to alarm
the near-by guardsmen, nor did she flee to the safety of the palace.
Why? I can see her shrug her shapely shoulders
in reply as she voices the age-old, universal answer of the woman: Because!
Scarce had the flier touched the ground when four men leaped from its deck. They ran forward
toward the girl. Still she made no sign of alarm, standing
as though hypnotized. Or could it have been as one who awaited a welcome visitor?
Not until they were quite close to her did she move. Then the nearer moon, rising above
the surrounding foliage, touched their faces, lighting all with the brilliancy of her silver
rays. Thuvia of Ptarth saw only strangers warriors
in the harness of Dusar. Now she took fright, but too late!
Before she could voice but a single cry, rough hands seized her. A heavy silken scarf was
wound about her head. She was lifted in strong arms and borne to the deck of the flier. There
was the sudden whirl of propellers, the rushing of air against her body, and, from far beneath
the shouting and the challenge from the guard. Racing toward the south another flier sped
toward Helium. In its cabin a tall red man bent over the soft sole of an upturned sandal.
With delicate instruments he measured the faint imprint of a small object which appeared
there. Upon a pad beside him was the outline of a key, and here he noted the results of
his measurements. A smile played upon his lips as he completed
his task and turned to one who waited at the opposite side of the table.
"The man is a genius," he remarked. "Only a genius could have evolved such a lock
as this is designed to spring. Here, take the sketch, Larok, and give all thine own
genius full and unfettered freedom in reproducing it in metal."
The warrior-artificer bowed. "Man builds naught," he said, "that man may not destroy." Then
he left the cabin with the sketch. As dawn broke upon the lofty towers which
mark the twin cities of Helium the scarlet tower of one and the yellow tower of its sister
a flier floated lazily out of the north. Upon its bow was emblazoned the signia of
a lesser noble of a far city of the empire of Helium. Its leisurely approach and the
evident confidence with which it moved across the city aroused no suspicion in the minds
of the sleepy guard. Their round of duty nearly done, they had little thought beyond the coming
of those who were to relieve them. Peace reigned throughout Helium. Stagnant,
emasculating peace. Helium had no enemies. There was naught to fear.
Without haste the nearest air patrol swung sluggishly about and approached the stranger.
At easy speaking distance the officer upon her deck hailed the incoming craft.
The cheery "Kaor!" and the plausible explanation that the owner had come from distant parts
for a few days of pleasure in gay Helium sufficed. The air-patrol boat sheered off, passing again
upon its way. The stranger continued toward a public landing-stage, where she dropped
into the ways and came to rest. At about the same time a warrior entered her
cabin. "It is done, Vas Kor," he said, handing a
small metal key to the tall noble who had just risen from his sleeping silks and furs.
"Good!" exclaimed the latter. "You must have worked upon it all during the night, Larok."
The warrior nodded. "Now fetch me the Heliumetic metal you wrought
some days since," commanded Vas Kor. This done, the warrior assisted his master
to replace the handsome jewelled metal of his harness with the plainer ornaments of
an ordinary fighting man of Helium, and with the insignia of the same house that appeared
upon the bow of the flier. Vas Kor breakfasted on board. Then he emerged
upon the aerial dock, entered an elevator, and was borne quickly to the street below,
where he was soon engulfed by the early morning throng of workers hastening to their daily
duties. Among them his warrior trappings were no more
remarkable than is a pair of trousers upon Broadway. All Martian men are warriors, save
those physically unable to bear arms. The tradesman and his clerk clank with their martial
trappings as they pursue their vocations. The schoolboy, coming into the world, as he
does, almost adult from the snowy shell that has encompassed his development for five long
years, knows so little of life without a sword at his hip that he would feel the same discomfiture
at going abroad unarmed that an Earth boy would experience in walking the streets knicker-bockerless.
Vas Kor's destination lay in Greater Helium, which lies some seventy-five miles across
the level plain from Lesser Helium. He had landed at the latter city because the air
patrol is less suspicious and alert than that above the larger metropolis where lies the
palace of the jeddak. As he moved with the throng in the parklike
canyon of the thoroughfare the life of an awakening Martian city was in evidence about
him. Houses, raised high upon their slender metal columns for the night were dropping
gently toward the ground. Among the flowers upon the scarlet sward which lies about the
buildings children were already playing, and comely women laughing and chatting with their
neighbours as they culled gorgeous blossoms for the vases within doors.
The pleasant "kaor" of the Barsoomian greeting fell continually upon the ears of the stranger
as friends and neighbours took up the duties of a new day.
The district in which he had landed was residential a district of merchants of the more prosperous
sort. Everywhere were evidences of luxury and wealth. Slaves appeared upon every housetop
with gorgeous silks and costly furs, laying them in the sun for airing. Jewel-encrusted
women lolled even thus early upon the carven balconies before their sleeping apartments.
Later in the day they would repair to the roofs when the slaves had arranged couches
and pitched silken canopies to shade them from the sun.
Strains of inspiring music broke pleasantly from open windows, for the Martians have solved
the problem of attuning the nerves pleasantly to the sudden transition from sleep to waking
that proves so difficult a thing for most Earth folk.
Above him raced the long, light passenger fliers, plying, each in its proper plane,
between the numerous landing-stages for internal passenger traffic. Landing-stages that tower
high into the heavens are for the great international passenger liners. Freighters have other landing-stages
at various lower levels, to within a couple of hundred feet of the ground; nor dare any
flier rise or drop from one plane to another except in certain restricted districts where
horizontal traffic is forbidden. Along the close-cropped sward which paves
the avenue ground fliers were moving in continuous lines in opposite directions. For the greater
part they skimmed along the surface of the sward, soaring gracefully into the air at
times to pass over a slower-going driver ahead, or at intersections, where the north and south
traffic has the right of way and the east and west must rise above it.
From private hangars upon many a roof top fliers were darting into the line of traffic.
Gay farewells and parting admonitions mingled with the whirring of motors and the subdued
noises of the city. Yet with all the swift movement and the countless
thousands rushing hither and thither, the predominant suggestion was that of luxurious
ease and soft noiselessness. Martians dislike harsh, discordant clamour.
The only loud noises they can abide are the martial sounds of war, the clash of arms,
the collision of two mighty dreadnoughts of the air. To them there is no sweeter music
than this. At the intersection of two broad avenues Vas
Kor descended from the street level to one of the great pneumatic stations of the city.
Here he paid before a little wicket the fare to his destination with a couple of the dull,
oval coins of Helium. Beyond the gatekeeper he came to a slowly
moving line of what to Earthly eyes would have appeared to be conical-nosed, eight-foot
projectiles for some giant gun. In slow procession the things moved in single file along a grooved
track. A half dozen attendants assisted passengers to enter, or directed these carriers to their
proper destination. Vas Kor approached one that was empty. Upon
its nose was a dial and a pointer. He set the pointer for a certain station in Greater
Helium, raised the arched lid of the thing, stepped in and lay down upon the upholstered
bottom. An attendant closed the lid, which locked with a little click, and the carrier
continued its slow way. Presently it switched itself automatically
to another track, to enter, a moment later, one of the series of dark-mouthed tubes.
The instant that its entire length was within the black aperture it sprang forward with
the speed of a rifle ball. There was an instant of whizzing a soft, though sudden, stop, and
slowly the carrier emerged upon another platform, another attendant raised the lid and Vas Kor
stepped out at the station beneath the centre of Greater Helium, seventy-five miles from
the point at which he had embarked. Here he sought the street level, stepping
immediately into a waiting ground flier. He spoke no word to the slave sitting in the
driver's seat. It was evident that he had been expected, and that the fellow had received
his instructions before his coming. Scarcely had Vas Kor taken his seat when the
flier went quickly into the fast-moving procession, turning presently from the broad and crowded
avenue into a less congested street. Presently it left the thronged district behind to enter
a section of small shops, where it stopped before the entrance to one which bore the
sign of a dealer in foreign silks. Vas Kor entered the low-ceiling room. A man
at the far end motioned him toward an inner apartment, giving no further sign of recognition
until he had passed in after the caller and closed the door.
Then he faced his visitor, saluting deferentially. "Most noble" he commenced, but Vas Kor silenced
him with a gesture. "No formalities," he said. "We must forget
that I am aught other than your slave. If all has been as carefully carried out as it
has been planned, we have no time to waste. Instead we should be upon our way to the slave
market. Are you ready?" The merchant nodded, and, turning to a great
chest, produced the unemblazoned trappings of a slave. These Vas Kor immediately donned.
Then the two passed from the shop through a rear door, traversed a winding alley to
an avenue beyond, where they entered a flier which awaited them.
Five minutes later the merchant was leading his slave to the public market, where a great
concourse of people filled the great open space in the centre of which stood the slave
block. The crowds were enormous to-day, for Carthoris,
Prince of Helium, was to be the principal bidder.
One by one the masters mounted the rostrum beside the slave block upon which stood their
chattels. Briefly and clearly each recounted the virtues of his particular offering.
When all were done, the major-domo of the Prince of Helium recalled to the block such
as had favourably impressed him. For such he had made a fair offer.
There was little haggling as to price, and none at all when Vas Kor was placed upon the
block. His merchant-master accepted the first offer that was made for him, and thus a Dusarian
noble entered the household of Carthoris.
CHAPTER III TREACHERY
The day following the coming of Vas Kor to the palace of the Prince of Helium great excitement
reigned throughout the twin cities, reaching its climax in the palace of Carthoris. Word
had come of the abduction of Thuvia of Ptarth from her father's court, and with it the veiled
hint that the Prince of Helium might be suspected of considerable knowledge of the act and the
whereabouts of the princess. In the council chamber of John Carter, Warlord
of Mars, was Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium; Mors Kajak, his son, Jed of Lesser Helium;
Carthoris, and a score of the great nobles of the empire.
"There must be no war between Ptarth and Helium, my son," said John Carter. "That you are innocent
of the charge that has been placed against you by insinuation, we well know; but Thuvan
Dihn must know it well, too. "There is but one who may convince him, and
that one be you. You must hasten at once to the court of Ptarth, and by your presence
there as well as by your words assure him that his suspicions are groundless. Bear with
you the authority of the Warlord of Barsoom, and of the Jeddak of Helium to offer every
resource of the allied powers to assist Thuvan Dihn to recover his daughter and punish her
abductors, whomsoever they may be. "Go! I know that I do not need to urge upon
you the necessity for haste." Carthoris left the council chamber, and hastened
to his palace. Here slaves were busy in a moment setting
things to rights for the departure of their master. Several worked about the swift flier
that would bear the Prince of Helium rapidly toward Ptarth.
At last all was done. But two armed slaves remained on guard. The setting sun hung low
above the horizon. In a moment darkness would envelop all.
One of the guardsmen, a giant of a fellow across whose right cheek there ran a thin
scar from temple to mouth, approached his companion. His gaze was directed beyond and
above his comrade. When he had come quite close he spoke.
"What strange craft is that?" he asked. The other turned about quickly to gaze heavenward.
Scarce was his back turned toward the giant than the short-sword of the latter was plunged
beneath his left shoulder blade, straight through his heart.
Voiceless, the soldier sank in his tracks stone dead. Quickly the murderer dragged the
corpse into the black shadows within the hangar. Then he returned to the flier.
Drawing a cunningly wrought key from his pocket-pouch, he removed the cover of the right-hand dial
of the controlling destination compass. For a moment he studied the construction of the
mechanism beneath. Then he returned the dial to its place, set the pointer, and removed
it again to note the resultant change in the position of the parts affected by the act.
A smile crossed his lips. With a pair of cutters he snipped off the projection which extended
through the dial from the external pointer now the latter might be moved to any point
upon the dial without affecting the mechanism below. In other words, the eastern hemisphere
dial was useless. Now he turned his attention to the western
dial. This he set upon a certain point. Afterward he removed the cover of this dial also, and
with keen tool cut the steel finger from the under side of the pointer.
As quickly as possible he replaced the second dial cover, and resumed his place on guard.
To all intents and purposes the compass was as efficient as before; but, as a matter of
fact, the moving of the pointers upon the dials resulted now in no corresponding shift
of the mechanism beneath and the device was set, immovably, upon a destination of the
slave's own choosing. Presently came Carthoris, accompanied by but
a handful of his gentlemen. He cast but a casual glance upon the single slave who stood
guard. The fellow's thin, cruel lips, and the sword-cut that ran from temple to mouth
aroused the suggestion of an unpleasant memory within him. He wondered where Saran Tal had
found the man then the matter faded from his thoughts, and in another moment the Prince
of Helium was laughing and chatting with his companions, though below the surface his heart
was cold with dread, for what contingencies confronted Thuvia of Ptarth he could not even
guess. First to his mind, naturally, had sprung the
thought that Astok of Dusar had stolen the fair Ptarthian; but almost simultaneously
with the report of the abduction had come news of the great fetes at Dusar in honour
of the return of the jeddak's son to the court of his father.
It could not have been he, thought Carthoris, for on the very night that Thuvia was taken
Astok had been in Dusar, and yet He entered the flier, exchanging casual remarks
with his companions as he unlocked the mechanism of the compass and set the pointer upon the
capital city of Ptarth. With a word of farewell he touched the button
which controlled the repulsive rays, and as the flier rose lightly into the air, the engine
purred in answer to the touch of his finger upon a second button, the propellers whirred
as his hand drew back the speed lever, and Carthoris, Prince of Helium, was off into
the gorgeous Martian night beneath the hurtling moons and the million stars.
Scarce had the flier found its speed ere the man, wrapping his sleeping silks and furs
about him, stretched at full length upon the narrow deck to sleep.
But sleep did not come at once at his bidding. Instead, his thoughts ran riot in his brain,
driving sleep away. He recalled the words of Thuvia of Ptarth, words that had half assured
him that she loved him; for when he had asked her if she loved Kulan Tith, she had answered
only that she was promised to him. Now he saw that her reply was open to more
than a single construction. It might, of course, mean that she did not love Kulan Tith; and
so, by inference, be taken to mean that she loved another.
But what assurance was there that the other was Carthoris of Helium?
The more he thought upon it the more positive he became that not only was there no assurance
in her words that she loved him, but none either in any act of hers. No, the fact was,
she did not love him. She loved another. She had not been abducted she had fled willingly
with her lover. With such pleasant thoughts filling him alternately
with despair and rage, Carthoris at last dropped into the sleep of utter mental exhaustion.
The breaking of the sudden dawn found him still asleep. His flier was rushing swiftly
above a barren, ochre plain the world-old bottom of a long-dead Martian sea.
In the distance rose low hills. Toward these the craft was headed. As it approached them,
a great promontory might have been seen from its deck, stretching out into what had once
been a mighty ocean, and circling back once more to enclose the forgotten harbour of a
forgotten city, which still stretched back from its deserted quays, an imposing pile
of wondrous architecture of a long-dead past. The countless dismal windows, vacant and forlorn,
stared, sightless, from their marble walls; the whole sad city taking on the semblance
of scattered mounds of dead men's sun-bleached skulls the casements having the appearance
of eyeless sockets, the portals, grinning jaws.
Closer came the flier, but now its speed was diminishing yet this was not Ptarth.
Above the central plaza it stopped, slowly settling Marsward. Within a hundred yards
of the ground it came to rest, floating gently in the light air, and at the same instant
an alarm sounded at the sleeper's ear. Carthoris sprang to his feet. Below him he
looked to see the teeming metropolis of Ptarth. Beside him, already, there should have been
an air patrol. He gazed about in bewildered astonishment.
There indeed was a great city, but it was not Ptarth. No multitudes surged through its
broad avenues. No signs of life broke the dead monotony of its deserted roof tops. No
gorgeous silks, no priceless furs lent life and colour to the cold marble and the gleaming
ersite. No patrol boat lay ready with its familiar
challenge. Silent and empty lay the great city empty and silent the surrounding air.
What had happened? Carthoris examined the dial of his compass.
The pointer was set upon Ptarth. Could the creature of his genius have thus betrayed
him? He would not believe it. Quickly he unlocked the cover, turning it
back upon its hinge. A single glance showed him the truth, or at least a part of it the
steel projection that communicated the movement of the pointer upon the dial to the heart
of the mechanism beneath had been severed. Who could have done the thing and why?
Carthoris could not hazard even a faint guess. But the thing now was to learn in what portion
of the world he was, and then take up his interrupted journey once more.
If it had been the purpose of some enemy to delay him, he had succeeded well, thought
Carthoris, as he unlocked the cover of the second, dial the first having shown that its
pointer had not been set at all. Beneath the second dial he found the steel
pin severed as in the other, but the controlling mechanism had first been set for a point upon
the western hemisphere. He had just time to judge his location roughly
at some place south-west of Helium, and at a considerable distance from the twin cities,
when he was startled by a woman's scream beneath him.
Leaning over the side of the flier, he saw what appeared to be a red woman being dragged
across the plaza by a huge green warrior one of those fierce, cruel denizens of the dead
sea-bottoms and deserted cities of dying Mars. Carthoris waited to see no more. Reaching
for the control board, he sent his craft racing plummet-like toward the ground.
The green man was hurrying his captive toward a huge thoat that browsed upon the ochre vegetation
of the once scarlet-gorgeous plaza. At the same instant a dozen red warriors leaped from
the entrance of a nearby ersite palace, pursuing the abductor with naked swords and shouts
of rageful warning. Once the woman turned her face upward toward
the falling flier, and in the single swift glance Carthoris saw that it was Thuvia of
Ptarth!
CHAPTER IV A GREEN MAN'S CAPTIVE
When the light of day broke upon the little craft to whose deck the Princess of Ptarth
had been snatched from her father's garden, Thuvia saw that the night had wrought a change
in her abductors. No longer did their trappings gleam with the
metal of Dusar, but instead there was emblazoned there the insignia of the Prince of Helium.
The girl felt renewed hope, for she could not believe that in the heart of Carthoris
could lie intent to harm her. She spoke to the warrior squatting before
the control board. "Last night you wore the trappings of a Dusarian,"
she said. "Now your metal is that of Helium. What means it?"
The man looked at her with a grin. "The Prince of Helium is no fool," he said.
Just then an officer emerged from the tiny cabin. He reprimanded the warrior for conversing
with the prisoner, nor would he himself reply to any of her inquiries.
No harm was offered her during the journey, and so they came at last to their destination
with the girl no wiser as to her abductors or their purpose than at first.
Here the flier settled slowly into the plaza of one of those mute monuments of Mars' dead
and forgotten past the deserted cities that fringe the sad ochre sea-bottoms where once
rolled the mighty floods upon whose bosoms moved the maritime commerce of the peoples
that are gone for ever. Thuvia of Ptarth was no stranger to such places.
During her wanderings in search of the River Iss, that time she had set out upon what,
for countless ages, had been the last, long pilgrimage of Martians, toward the Valley
Dor, where lies the Lost Sea of Korus, she had encountered several of these sad reminders
of the greatness and the glory of ancient Barsoom.
And again, during her flight from the temples of the Holy Therns with Tars Tarkas, Jeddak
of Thark, she had seen them, with their weird and ghostly inmates, the great white apes
of Barsoom. She knew, too, that many of them were used
now by the nomadic tribes of green men, but that among them all was no city that the red
men did not shun, for without exception they stood amidst vast, waterless tracts, unsuited
for the continued sustenance of the dominant race of Martians.
Why, then, should they be bringing her to such a place? There was but a single answer.
Such was the nature of their work that they must needs seek the seclusion that a dead
city afforded. The girl trembled at thought of her plight.
For two days her captors kept her within a huge palace that even in decay reflected the
splendour of the age which its youth had known. Just before dawn on the third day she had
been aroused by the voices of two of her abductors. "He should be here by dawn," one was saying.
"Have her in readiness upon the plaza else he will never land. The moment he finds that
he is in a strange country he will turn about methinks the prince's plan is weak in this
one spot." "There was no other way," replied the other.
"It is wondrous work to get them both here at all, and even if we do not succeed in luring
him to the ground, we shall have accomplished much."
Just then the speaker caught the eyes of Thuvia upon him, revealed by the quick-moving patch
of light cast by Thuria in her mad race through the heavens.
With a quick sign to the other, he ceased speaking, and advancing toward the girl, motioned
her to rise. Then he led her out into the night toward the centre of the great plaza.
"Stand here," he commanded, "until we come for you. We shall be watching, and should
you attempt to escape it will go ill with you much worse than death. Such are the prince's
orders." Then he turned and retraced his steps toward
the palace, leaving her alone in the midst of the unseen terrors of the haunted city,
for in truth these places are haunted in the belief of many Martians who still cling to
an ancient superstition which teaches that the spirits of Holy Therns who die before
their allotted one thousand years, pass, on occasions, into the bodies of the great white
apes. To Thuvia, however, the real danger of attack
by one of these ferocious, manlike beasts was quite sufficient. She no longer believed
in the weird soul transmigration that the therns had taught her before she was rescued
from their clutches by John Carter; but she well knew the horrid fate that awaited her
should one of the terrible beasts chance to spy her during its nocturnal prowlings.
What was that? Surely she could not be mistaken. Something
had moved, stealthily, in the shadow of one of the great monoliths that line the avenue
where it entered the plaza opposite her! Thar Ban, jed among the hordes of Torquas,
rode swiftly across the ochre vegetation of the dead sea-bottom toward the ruins of ancient
Aaanthor. He had ridden far that night, and fast, for
he had but come from the despoiling of the incubator of a neighbouring green horde with
which the hordes of Torquas were perpetually warring.
His giant thoat was far from jaded, yet it would be well, thought Thar Ban, to permit
him to graze upon the ochre moss which grows to greater height within the protected courtyards
of deserted cities, where the soil is richer than on the sea-bottoms, and the plants partly
shaded from the sun during the cloudless Martian day.
Within the tiny stems of this dry-seeming plant is sufficient moisture for the needs
of the huge bodies of the mighty thoats, which can exist for months without water, and for
days without even the slight moisture which the ochre moss contains.
As Thar Ban rode noiselessly up the broad avenue which leads from the quays of Aaanthor
to the great central plaza, he and his mount might have been mistaken for spectres from
a world of dreams, so grotesque the man and beast, so soundless the great thoat's padded,
nailless feet upon the moss-grown flagging of the ancient pavement.
The man was a splendid specimen of his race. Fully fifteen feet towered his great height
from sole to pate. The moonlight glistened against his glossy green hide, sparkling the
jewels of his heavy harness and the ornaments that weighted his four muscular arms, while
the upcurving tusks that protruded from his lower jaw gleamed white and terrible.
At the side of his thoat were slung his long radium rifle and his great, forty-foot, metal-shod
spear, while from his own harness depended his long-sword and his short-sword, as well
as his lesser weapons. His protruding eyes and antennae-like ears
were turning constantly hither and thither, for Thar Ban was yet in the country of the
enemy, and, too, there was always the menace of the great white apes, which, John Carter
was wont to say, are the only creatures that can arouse in the *** of these fierce
denizens of the dead sea-bottoms even the remotest semblance of fear.
As the rider neared the plaza, he reined suddenly in. His slender, tubular ears pointed rigidly
forward. An unwonted sound had reached them. Voices! And where there were voices, outside
of Torquas, there, too, were enemies. All the world of wide Barsoom contained naught
but enemies for the fierce Torquasians. Thar Ban dismounted. Keeping in the shadows
of the great monoliths that line the Avenue of Quays of sleeping Aaanthor, he approached
the plaza. Directly behind him, as a hound at heel, came the slate-grey thoat, his white
belly shadowed by his barrel, his vivid yellow feet merging into the yellow of the moss beneath
them. In the centre of the plaza Thar Ban saw the
figure of a red woman. A red warrior was conversing with her. Now the man turned and retraced
his steps toward the palace at the opposite side of the plaza.
Thar Ban watched until he had disappeared within the yawning portal. Here was a captive
worth having! Seldom did a female of their hereditary enemies fall to the lot of a green
man. Thar Ban licked his thin lips. Thuvia of Ptarth watched the shadow behind
the monolith at the opening to the avenue opposite her. She hoped that it might be but
the figment of an overwrought imagination. But no! Now, clearly and distinctly, she saw
it move. It came from behind the screening shelter of the ersite shaft.
The sudden light of the rising sun fell upon it. The girl trembled. The THING was a huge
green warrior! Swiftly it sprang toward her. She screamed
and tried to flee; but she had scarce turned toward the palace when a giant hand fell upon
her arm, she was whirled about, and half dragged, half carried toward a huge thoat that was
slowly grazing out of the avenue's mouth on to the ochre moss of the plaza.
At the same instant she turned her face upward toward the whirring sound of something above
her, and there she saw a swift flier dropping toward her, the head and shoulders of a man
leaning far over the side; but the man's features were deeply shadowed, so that she did not
recognize them. Now from behind her came the shouts of her
red abductors. They were racing madly after him who dared to steal what they already had
stolen. As Thar Ban reached the side of his mount
he snatched his long radium rifle from its boot, and, wheeling, poured three shots into
the oncoming red men. Such is the uncanny marksmanship of these
Martian savages that three red warriors dropped in their tracks as three projectiles exploded
in their vitals. The others halted, nor did they dare return
the fire for fear of wounding the girl. Then Thar Ban vaulted to the back of his thoat,
Thuvia of Ptarth still in his arms, and with a savage cry of triumph disappeared down the
black canyon of the Avenue of Quays between the sullen palaces of forgotten Aaanthor.
Carthoris' flier had not touched the ground before he had sprung from its deck to race
after the swift thoat, whose eight long legs were sending it down the avenue at the rate
of an express train; but the men of Dusar who still remained alive had no mind to permit
so valuable a capture to escape them. They had lost the girl. That would be a difficult
thing to explain to Astok; but some leniency might be expected could they carry the Prince
of Helium to their master instead. So the three who remained set upon Carthoris
with their long-swords, crying to him to surrender; but they might as successfully have cried
aloud to Thuria to cease her mad hurtling through the Barsoomian sky, for Carthoris
of Helium was a true son of the Warlord of Mars and his incomparable Dejah Thoris.
Carthoris' long-sword had been already in his hand as he leaped from the deck of the
flier, so the instant that he realized the menace of the three red warriors, he wheeled
to face them, meeting their onslaught as only John Carter himself might have done.
So swift his sword, so mighty and agile his half-earthly muscles, that one of his opponents
was down, crimsoning the ochre moss with his life-blood, when he had scarce made a single
pass at Carthoris. Now the two remaining Dusarians rushed simultaneously
upon the Heliumite. Three long-swords clashed and sparkled in the moonlight, until the great
white apes, roused from their slumbers, crept to the lowering windows of the dead city to
view the bloody scene beneath them. Thrice was Carthoris touched, so that the
red blood ran down his face, blinding him and dyeing his broad chest. With his free
hand he wiped the gore from his eyes, and with the fighting smile of his father touching
his lips, leaped upon his antagonists with renewed fury.
A single cut of his heavy sword severed the head of one of them, and then the other, backing
away clear of that point of death, turned and fled toward the palace at his back.
Carthoris made no step to pursue. He had other concern than the meting of even well-deserved
punishment to strange men who masqueraded in the metal of his own house, for he had
seen that these men were tricked out in the insignia that marked his personal followers.
Turning quickly toward his flier, he was soon rising from the plaza in pursuit of Thar Ban.
The red warrior whom he had put to flight turned in the entrance to the palace, and,
seeing Carthoris' intent, snatched a rifle from those that he and his fellows had left
leaning against the wall as they had rushed out with drawn swords to prevent the theft
of their prisoner. Few red men are good shots, for the sword
is their chosen weapon; so now as the Dusarian drew bead upon the rising flier, and touched
the button upon his rifle's stock, it was more to chance than proficiency that he owed
the partial success of his aim. The projectile grazed the flier's side, the
opaque coating breaking sufficiently to permit daylight to strike in upon the powder phial
within the bullet's nose. There was a sharp explosion. Carthoris felt his craft reel drunkenly
beneath him, and the engine stopped. The momentum the air boat had gained carried
her on over the city toward the sea-bottom beyond.
The red warrior in the plaza fired several more shots, none of which scored. Then a lofty
minaret shut the drifting quarry from his view.
In the distance before him Carthoris could see the green warrior bearing Thuvia of Ptarth
away upon his mighty thoat. The direction of his flight was toward the north-west of
Aaanthor, where lay a mountainous country little known to red men.
The Heliumite now gave his attention to his injured craft. A close examination revealed
the fact that one of the buoyancy tanks had been punctured, but the engine itself was
uninjured. A splinter from the projectile had damaged
one of the control levers beyond the possibility of repair outside a machine shop; but after
considerable tinkering, Carthoris was able to propel his wounded flier at low speed,
a rate which could not approach the rapid gait of the thoat, whose eight long, powerful
legs carried it over the ochre vegetation of the dead sea-bottom at terrific speed.
The Prince of Helium chafed and fretted at the slowness of his pursuit, yet he was thankful
that the damage was no worse, for now he could at least move more rapidly than on foot.
But even this meagre satisfaction was soon to be denied him, for presently the flier
commenced to sag toward the port and by the bow. The damage to the buoyancy tanks had
evidently been more grievous than he had at first believed.
All the balance of that long day Carthoris crawled erratically through the still air,
the bow of the flier sinking lower and lower, and the list to port becoming more and more
alarming, until at last, near dark, he was floating almost bowdown, his harness buckled
to a heavy deck ring to keep him from being precipitated to the ground below.
His forward movement was now confined to a slow drifting with the gentle breeze that
blew out of the south-east, and when this died down with the setting of the sun, he
let the flier sink gently to the mossy carpet beneath.
Far before him loomed the mountains toward which the green man had been fleeing when
last he had seen him, and with dogged resolution the son of John Carter, endowed with the indomitable
will of his mighty sire, took up the pursuit on foot.
All that night he forged ahead until, with the dawning of a new day, he entered the low
foothills that guard the approach to the fastness of the mountains of Torquas.
Rugged, granitic walls towered before him. Nowhere could he discern an opening through
the formidable barrier; yet somewhere into this inhospitable world of stone the green
warrior had borne the woman of the red man's heart's desire.
Across the yielding moss of the sea-bottom there had been no spoor to follow, for the
soft pads of the thoat but pressed down in his swift passage the resilient vegetation
which sprang up again behind his fleeting feet, leaving no sign.
But here in the hills, where loose rock occasionally strewed the way; where black loam and wild
flowers partially replaced the sombre monotony of the waste places of the lowlands, Carthoris
hoped to find some sign that would lead him in the right direction.
Yet, search as he would, the baffling mystery of the trail seemed likely to remain for ever
unsolved. It was drawing toward the day's close once
more when the keen eyes of the Heliumite discerned the tawny yellow of a sleek hide moving among
the boulders several hundred yards to his left.
Crouching quickly behind a large rock, Carthoris watched the thing before him. It was a huge
banth, one of those savage Barsoomian lions that roam the desolate hills of the dying
planet. The creature's nose was close to the ground.
It was evident that he was following the spoor of meat by scent.
As Carthoris watched him, a great hope leaped into the man's heart. Here, possibly, might
lie the solution to the mystery he had been endeavouring to solve. This hungry carnivore,
keen always for the flesh of man, might even now be trailing the two whom Carthoris sought.
Cautiously the youth crept out upon the trail of the man-eater. Along the foot of the perpendicular
cliff the creature moved, sniffing at the invisible spoor, and now and then emitting
the low moan of the hunting banth. Carthoris had followed the creature for but
a few minutes when it disappeared as suddenly and mysteriously as though dissolved into
thin air. The man leaped to his feet. Not again was
he to be cheated as the man had cheated him. He sprang forward at a reckless pace to the
spot at which he last had seen the great, skulking brute.
Before him loomed the sheer cliff, its face unbroken by any aperture into which the huge
banth might have wormed its great carcass. Beside him was a small, flat boulder, not
larger than the deck of a ten-man flier, nor standing to a greater height than twice his
own stature. Perhaps the banth was in hiding behind this?
The brute might have discovered the man upon his trail, and even now be lying in wait for
his easy prey. Cautiously, with drawn long-sword, Carthoris
crept around the corner of the rock. There was no banth there, but something which surprised
him infinitely more than would the presence of twenty banths.
Before him yawned the mouth of a dark cave leading downward into the ground. Through
this the banth must have disappeared. Was it his lair? Within its dark and forbidding
interior might there not lurk not one but many of the fearsome creatures?
Carthoris did not know, nor, with the thought that had been spurring him onward upon the
trail of the creature uppermost in his mind, did he much care; for into this gloomy cavern
he was sure the banth had trailed the green man and his captive, and into it he, too,
would follow, content to give his life in the service of the woman he loved.
Not an instant did he hesitate, nor yet did he advance rashly; but with ready sword and
cautious steps, for the way was dark, he stole on. As he advanced, the obscurity became impenetrable
blackness.
CHAPTER V THE FAIR RACE
Downward along a smooth, broad floor led the strange tunnel, for such Carthoris was now
convinced was the nature of the shaft he at first had thought but a cave.
Before him he could hear the occasional low moans of the banth, and presently from behind
came a similar uncanny note. Another banth had entered the passageway on HIS trail!
His position was anything but pleasant. His eyes could not penetrate the darkness even
to the distinguishing of his hand before his face, while the banths, he knew, could see
quite well, though absence of light were utter. No other sounds came to his ears than the
dismal, bloodthirsty moanings of the beast ahead and the beast behind.
The tunnel had led straight, from where he had entered it beneath the side of the rock
furthest from the unscaleable cliffs, toward the mighty barrier that had baffled him so
long. Now it was running almost level, and presently
he noted a gradual ascent. The beast behind him was gaining upon him,
crowding him perilously close upon the heels of the beast in front. Presently he should
have to do battle with one, or both. More firmly he gripped his weapon.
Now he could hear the breathing of the banth at his heels. Not for much longer could he
delay the encounter. Long since he had become assured that the
tunnel led beneath the cliffs to the opposite side of the barrier, and he had hoped that
he might reach the moonlit open before being compelled to grapple with either of the monsters.
The sun had been setting as he entered the tunnel, and the way had been sufficiently
long to assure him that darkness now reigned upon the world without. He glanced behind
him. Blazing out of the darkness, seemingly not ten paces behind, glared two flaming points
of fire. As the savage eyes met his, the beast emitted a frightful roar and then he charged.
To face that savage mountain of onrushing ferocity, to stand unshaken before the hideous
fangs that he knew were bared in slavering blood-thirstiness, though he could not see
them, required nerves of steel; but of such were the nerves of Carthoris of Helium.
He had the brute's eyes to guide his point, and, as true as the sword hand of his mighty
sire, his guided the keen point to one of those blazing orbs, even as he leaped lightly
to one side. With a hideous scream of pain and rage, the
wounded banth hurtled, clawing, past him. Then it turned to charge once more; but this
time Carthoris saw but a single gleaming point of fiery hate directed upon him.
Again the needle point met its flashing target. Again the horrid cry of the stricken beast
reverberated through the rocky tunnel, shocking in its torture-laden shrillness, deafening
in its terrific volume. But now, as it turned to charge again, the
man had no guide whereby to direct his point. He heard the scraping of the padded feet upon
the rocky floor. He knew the thing was charging down upon him once again, but he could see
nothing. Yet, if he could not see his antagonist, neither
could his antagonist now see him. Leaping, as he thought, to the exact centre
of the tunnel, he held his sword point ready on a line with the beast's chest. It was all
that he could do, hoping that chance might send the point into the savage heart as he
went down beneath the great body. So quickly was the thing over that Carthoris
could scarce believe his senses as the mighty body rushed madly past him. Either he had
not placed himself in the centre of the tunnel, or else the blinded banth had erred in its
calculations. However, the huge body missed him by a foot,
and the creature continued on down the tunnel as though in pursuit of the prey that had
eluded him. Carthoris, too, followed the same direction,
nor was it long before his heart was gladdened by the sight of the moonlit exit from the
long, dark passage. Before him lay a deep hollow, entirely surrounded
by gigantic cliffs. The surface of the valley was dotted with enormous trees, a strange
sight so far from a Martian waterway. The ground itself was clothed in brilliant scarlet
sward, picked out with innumerable patches of gorgeous wild flowers.
Beneath the glorious effulgence of the two moons the scene was one of indescribable loveliness,
tinged with the weirdness of strange enchantment. For only an instant, however, did his gaze
rest upon the natural beauties outspread before him. Almost immediately they were riveted
upon the figure of a great banth standing across the carcass of a new-killed thoat.
The huge beast, his tawny mane bristling around his hideous head, kept his eyes fixed upon
another banth that charged erratically hither and thither, with shrill screams of pain,
and horrid roars of hate and rage. Carthoris quickly guessed that the second
brute was the one he had blinded during the fight in the tunnel, but it was the dead thoat
that centred his interest more than either of the savage carnivores.
The harness was still upon the body of the huge Martian mount, and Carthoris could not
doubt but that this was the very animal upon which the green warrior had borne away Thuvia
of Ptarth. But where were the rider and his prisoner?
The Prince of Helium shuddered as he thought upon the probability of the fate that had
overtaken them. Human flesh is the food most craved by the
fierce Barsoomian lion, whose great carcass and giant thews require enormous quantities
of meat to sustain them. Two human bodies would have but whetted the
creature's appetite, and that he had killed and eaten the green man and the red girl seemed
only too likely to Carthoris. He had left the carcass of the mighty thoat to be devoured
after having consumed the more tooth-some portion of his banquet.
Now the sightless banth, in its savage, aimless charging and counter-charging, had passed
beyond the kill of its fellow, and there the light breeze that was blowing wafted the scent
of new blood to its nostrils. No longer were its movements erratic. With
outstretched tail and foaming jaws it charged straight as an arrow, for the body of the
thoat and the mighty creature of destruction that stood with forepaws upon the slate-grey
side, waiting to defend its meat. When the charging banth was twenty paces from
the dead thoat the killer gave vent to its hideous challenge, and with a mighty spring
leaped forward to meet it. The battle that ensued awed even the warlike
Barsoomian. The mad rending, the hideous and deafening roaring, the implacable savagery
of the blood-stained beasts held him in the paralysis of fascination, and when it was
over and the two creatures, their heads and shoulders torn to ribbons, lay with their
dead jaws still buried in each other's bodies, Carthoris tore himself from the spell only
by an effort of the will. Hurrying to the side of the dead thoat, he
searched for traces of the girl he feared had shared the thoat's fate, but nowhere could
he discover anything to confirm his fears. With slightly lightened heart he started out
to explore the valley, but scarce a dozen steps had he taken when the glistening of
a jewelled bauble lying on the sward caught his eye.
As he picked it up his first glance showed him that it was a woman's hair ornament, and
emblazoned upon it was the insignia of the royal house of Ptarth.
But, sinister discovery, blood, still wet, splotched the magnificent jewels of the setting.
Carthoris half choked as the dire possibilities which the thing suggested presented themselves
to his imagination. Yet he could not, would not believe it.
It was impossible that that radiant creature could have met so hideous an end. It was incredible
that the glorious Thuvia should ever cease to be.
Upon his already jewel-encrusted harness, to the strap that crossed his great chest
beneath which beat his loyal heart, Carthoris, Prince of Helium, fastened the gleaming thing
that Thuvia of Ptarth had worn, and wearing, had made holy to the Heliumite.
Then he proceeded upon his way into the heart of the unknown valley.
For the most part the giant trees shut off his view to any but the most limited distances.
Occasionally he caught glimpses of the towering hills that bounded the valley upon every side,
and though they stood out clear beneath the light of the two moons, he knew that they
were far off, and that the extent of the valley was immense.
For half the night he continued his search, until presently he was brought to a sudden
halt by the distant sound of squealing thoats. Guided by the noise of these habitually angry
beasts, he stole forward through the trees until at last he came upon a level, treeless
plain, in the centre of which a mighty city reared its burnished domes and vividly coloured
towers. About the walled city the red man saw a huge
encampment of the green warriors of the dead sea-bottoms, and as he let his eyes rove carefully
over the city he realized that here was no deserted metropolis of a dead past.
But what city could it be? His studies had taught him that in this little-explored portion
of Barsoom the fierce tribe of Torquasian green men ruled supreme, and that as yet no
red man had succeeded in piercing to the heart of their domain to return again to the world
of civilization. The men of Torquas had perfected huge guns
with which their uncanny marksmanship had permitted them to repulse the few determined
efforts that near-by red nations had made to explore their country by means of battle
fleets of airships. That he was within the boundary of Torquas,
Carthoris was sure, but that there existed there such a wondrous city he never had dreamed,
nor had the chronicles of the past even hinted at such a possibility, for the Torquasians
were known to live, as did the other green men of Mars, within the deserted cities that
dotted the dying planet, nor ever had any green horde built so much as a single edifice,
other than the low-walled incubators where their young are hatched by the sun's heat.
The encircling camp of green warriors lay about five hundred yards from the city's walls.
Between it and the city was no semblance of breastwork or other protection against rifle
or cannon fire; yet distinctly now in the light of the rising sun Carthoris could see
many figures moving along the summit of the high wall, and upon the roof tops beyond.
That they were beings like himself he was sure, though they were at too great distance
from him for him to be positive that they were red men.
Almost immediately after sunrise the green warriors commenced firing upon the little
figures upon the wall. To Carthoris' surprise the fire was not returned, but presently the
last of the city's inhabitants had sought shelter from the weird marksmanship of the
green men, and no further sign of life was visible beyond the wall.
Then Carthoris, keeping within the shelter of the trees that fringed the plain, began
circling the rear of the besiegers' line, hoping against hope that somewhere he would
obtain sight of Thuvia of Ptarth, for even now he could not believe that she was dead.
That he was not discovered was a miracle, for mounted warriors were constantly riding
back and forth from the camp into the forest; but the long day wore on and still he continued
his seemingly fruitless quest, until, near sunset, he came opposite a mighty gate in
the city's western wall. Here seemed to be the principal force of the
attacking horde. Here a great platform had been erected whereon Carthoris could see squatting
a huge green warrior, surrounded by others of his kind.
This, then, must be the notorious Hortan Gur, Jeddak of Torquas, the fierce old ogre of
the south-western hemisphere, as only for a jeddak are platforms raised in temporary
camps or upon the march by the green hordes of Barsoom.
As the Heliumite watched he saw another green warrior push his way forward toward the rostrum.
Beside him he dragged a captive, and as the surrounding warriors parted to let the two
pass, Carthoris caught a fleeting glimpse of the prisoner.
His heart leaped in rejoicing. Thuvia of Ptarth still lived!
It was with difficulty that Carthoris restrained the impulse to rush forward to the side of
the Ptarthian princess; but in the end his better judgment prevailed, for in the face
of such odds he knew that he should have been but throwing away, uselessly, any future opportunity
he might have to succour her. He saw her dragged to the foot of the rostrum.
He saw Hortan Gur address her. He could not hear the creature's words, nor Thuvia's reply;
but it must have angered the green monster, for Carthoris saw him leap toward the prisoner,
striking her a cruel blow across the face with his metal-banded arm.
Then the son of John Carter, Jeddak of Jeddaks, Warlord of Barsoom, went mad. The old, blood-red
haze through which his sire had glared at countless foes, floated before his eyes.
His half-Earthly muscles, responding quickly to his will, sent him in enormous leaps and
bounds toward the green monster that had struck the woman he loved.
The Torquasians were not looking in the direction of the forest. All eyes had been upon the
figures of the girl and their jeddak, and loud was the hideous laughter that rang out
in appreciation of the wit of the green emperor's reply to his prisoner's appeal for liberty.
Carthoris had covered about half the distance between the forest and the green warriors,
when a new factor succeeded in still further directing the attention of the latter from
him. Upon a high tower within the beleaguered city
a man appeared. From his upturned mouth there issued a series of frightful shrieks; uncanny
shrieks that swept, shrill and terrifying, across the city's walls, over the heads of
the besiegers, and out across the forest to the uttermost confines of the valley.
Once, twice, thrice the fearsome sound smote upon the ears of the listening green men and
then far, far off across the broad woods came sharp and clear from the distance an answering
shriek. It was but the first. From every point rose
similar savage cries, until the world seemed to tremble to their reverberations.
The green warriors looked nervously this way and that. They knew not fear, as Earth men
may know it; but in the face of the unusual their wonted self-assurance deserted them.
And then the great gate in the city wall opposite the platform of Hortan Gur swung suddenly
wide. From it issued as strange a sight as Carthoris ever had witnessed, though at the
moment he had time to cast but a single fleeting glance at the tall bowmen emerging through
the portal behind their long, oval shields; to note their flowing auburn hair; and to
realize that the growling things at their side were fierce Barsoomian lions.
Then he was in the midst of the astonished Torquasians. With drawn long-sword he was
among them, and to Thuvia of Ptarth, whose startled eyes were the first to fall upon
him, it seemed that she was looking upon John Carter himself, so strangely similar to the
fighting of the father was that of the son. Even to the famous fighting smile of the Virginian
was the resemblance true. And the sword arm! Ah, the subtleness of it, and the speed!
All about was turmoil and confusion. Green warriors were leaping to the backs of their
restive, squealing thoats. Calots were growling out their savage gutturals, whining to be
at the throats of the oncoming foemen. Thar Ban and another by the side of the rostrum
had been the first to note the coming of Carthoris, and it was with them he battled for possession
of the red girl, while the others hastened to meet the host advancing from the beleaguered
city. Carthoris sought both to defend Thuvia of
Ptarth and reach the side of the hideous Hortan Gur that he might avenge the blow the creature
had struck the girl. He succeeded in reaching the rostrum, over
the dead bodies of two warriors who had turned to join Thar Ban and his companion in repulsing
this adventurous red man, just as Hortan Gur was about to leap from it to the back of his
thoat. The attention of the green warriors turned
principally upon the bowmen advancing upon them from the city, and upon the savage banths
that paced beside them cruel beasts of war, infinitely more terrible than their own savage
calots. As Carthoris leaped to the rostrum he drew
Thuvia up beside him, and then he turned upon the departing jeddak with an angry challenge
and a sword thrust. As the Heliumite's point pricked his green
hide, Hortan Gur turned upon his adversary with a snarl, but at the same instant two
of his chieftains called to him to hasten, for the charge of the fair-skinned inhabitants
of the city was developing into a more serious matter than the Torquasians had anticipated.
Instead of remaining to battle with the red man, Hortan Gur promised him his attention
after he had disposed of the presumptuous citizens of the walled city, and, leaping
astride his thoat, galloped off to meet the rapidly advancing bowmen.
The other warriors quickly followed their jeddak, leaving Thuvia and Carthoris alone
upon the platform. Between them and the city raged a terrific
battle. The fair-skinned warriors, armed only with their long bows and a kind of short-handled
war-axe, were almost helpless beneath the savage mounted green men at close quarters;
but at a distance their sharp arrows did fully as much execution as the radium projectiles
of the green men. But if the warriors themselves were outclassed,
not so their savage companions, the fierce banths. Scarce had the two lines come together
when hundreds of these appalling creatures had leaped among the Torquasians, dragging
warriors from their thoats dragging down the huge thoats themselves, and bringing consternation
to all before them. The numbers of the citizenry, too, was to
their advantage, for it seemed that scarce a warrior fell but his place was taken by
a score more, in such a constant stream did they pour from the city's great gate.
And so it came, what with the ferocity of the banths and the numbers of the bowmen,
that at last the Torquasians fell back, until presently the platform upon which stood Carthoris
and Thuvia lay directly in the centre of the fight.
That neither was struck by a bullet or an arrow seemed a miracle to both; but at last
the tide had rolled completely past them, so that they were alone between the fighters
and the city, except for the dying and the dead, and a score or so of growling banths,
less well trained than their fellows, who prowled among the corpses seeking meat.
To Carthoris the strangest part of the battle had been the terrific toll taken by the bowmen
with their relatively puny weapons. Nowhere that he could see was there a single wounded
green man, but the corpses of their dead lay thick upon the field of battle.
Death seemed to follow instantly the slightest pinprick of a bowman's arrow, nor apparently
did one ever miss its goal. There could be but one explanation: the missiles were poison-tipped.
Presently the sounds of conflict died in the distant forest. Quiet reigned, broken only
by the growling of the devouring banths. Carthoris turned toward Thuvia of Ptarth. As yet neither
had spoken. "Where are we, Thuvia?" he asked.
The girl looked at him questioningly. His very presence had seemed to proclaim a guilty
knowledge of her abduction. How else might he have known the destination of the flier
that brought her! "Who should know better than the Prince of
Helium?" she asked in return. "Did he not come hither of his own free will?"
"From Aaanthor I came voluntarily upon the trail of the green man who had stolen you,
Thuvia," he replied; "but from the time I left Helium until I awoke above Aaanthor I
thought myself bound for Ptarth. "It had been intimated that I had guilty knowledge
of your abduction," he explained simply, "and I was hastening to the jeddak, your father,
to convince him of the falsity of the charge, and to give my service to your recovery. Before
I left Helium some one tampered with my compass, so that it bore me to Aaanthor instead of
to Ptarth. That is all. You believe me?" "But the warriors who stole me from the garden!"
she exclaimed. "After we arrived at Aaanthor they wore the metal of the Prince of Helium.
When they took me they were trapped in Dusarian harness. There seemed but a single explanation.
Whoever dared the outrage wished to put the onus upon another, should he be detected in
the act; but once safely away from Ptarth he felt safe in having his minions return
to their own harness." "You believe that I did this thing, Thuvia?"
he asked. "Ah, Carthoris," she replied sadly, "I did
not wish to believe it; but when everything pointed to you even then I would not believe
it." "I did not do it, Thuvia," he said. "But let
me be entirely honest with you. As much as I love your father, as much as I respect Kulan
Tith, to whom you are betrothed, as well as I know the frightful consequences that must
have followed such an act of mine, hurling into war, as it would, three of the greatest
nations of Barsoom yet, notwithstanding all this, I should not have hesitated to take
you thus, Thuvia of Ptarth, had you even hinted that it would not have displeased YOU.
"But you did nothing of the kind, and so I am here, not in my own service, but in yours,
and in the service of the man to whom you are promised, to save you for him, if it lies
within the power of man to do so," he concluded, almost bitterly.
Thuvia of Ptarth looked into his face for several moments. Her breast was rising and
falling as though to some resistless emotion. She half took a step toward him. Her lips
parted as though to speak swiftly and impetuously. And then she conquered whatever had moved
her. "The future acts of the Prince of Helium,"
she said coldly, "must constitute the proof of his past honesty of purpose."
Carthoris was hurt by the girl's tone, as much as by the doubt as to his integrity which
her words implied. He had half hoped that she might hint that
his love would be acceptable certainly there was due him at least a little gratitude for
his recent acts in her behalf; but the best he received was cold skepticism.
The Prince of Helium shrugged his broad shoulders. The girl noted it, and the little smile that
touched his lips, so that it became her turn to be hurt.
Of course she had not meant to hurt him. He might have known that after what he had said
she could not do anything to encourage him! But he need not have made his indifference
quite so palpable. The men of Helium were noted for their gallantry not for boorishness.
Possibly it was the Earth blood that flowed in his veins.
How could she know that the shrug was but Carthoris' way of attempting, by physical
effort, to cast blighting sorrow from his heart, or that the smile upon his lips was
the fighting smile of his father with which the son gave outward evidence of the determination
he had reached to submerge his own great love in his efforts to save Thuvia of Ptarth for
another, because he believed that she loved this other!
He reverted to his original question. "Where are we?" he asked. "I do not know."
"Nor I," replied the girl. "Those who stole me from Ptarth spoke among themselves of Aaanthor,
so that I thought it possible that the ancient city to which they took me was that famous
ruin; but where we may be now I have no idea." "When the bowmen return we shall doubtless
learn all that there is to know," said Carthoris. "Let us hope that they prove friendly. What
race may they be? Only in the most ancient of our legends and in the mural paintings
of the deserted cities of the dead sea-bottoms are depicted such a race of auburn-haired,
fair-skinned people. Can it be that we have stumbled upon a surviving city of the past
which all Barsoom believes buried beneath the ages?"
Thuvia was looking toward the forest into which the green men and the pursuing bowmen
had disappeared. From a great distance came the hideous cries of banths, and an occasional
shot. "It is strange that they do not return," said
the girl. "One would expect to see the wounded limping
or being carried back to the city," replied Carthoris, with a puzzled frown. "But how
about the wounded nearer the city? Have they carried them within?"
Both turned their eyes toward the field between them and the walled city, where the fighting
had been most furious. There were the banths, still growling about
their hideous feast. Carthoris looked at Thuvia in astonishment.
Then he pointed toward the field. "Where are they?" he whispered. "WHAT HAS
BECOME OF THEIR DEAD AND WOUNDED?"
CHAPTER VI THE JEDDAK OF LOTHAR
The girl looked her incredulity. "They lay in piles," she murmured. "There
were thousands of them but a minute ago." "And now," continued Carthoris, "there remain
but the banths and the carcasses of the green men."
"They must have sent forth and carried the dead bowmen away while we were talking," said
the girl. "It is impossible!" replied Carthoris. "Thousands
of dead lay there upon the field but a moment since. It would have required many hours to
have removed them. The thing is uncanny." "I had hoped," said Thuvia, "that we might
find an asylum with these fair-skinned people. Notwithstanding their valour upon the field
of battle, they did not strike me as a ferocious or warlike people. I had been about to suggest
that we seek entrance to the city, but now I scarce know if I care to venture among people
whose dead vanish into thin air." "Let us chance it," replied Carthoris. "We
can be no worse off within their walls than without. Here we may fall prey to the banths
or the no less fierce Torquasians. There, at least, we shall find beings moulded after
our own images. "All that causes me to hesitate," he added,
"is the danger of taking you past so many banths. A single sword would scarce prevail
were even a couple of them to charge simultaneously." "Do not fear on that score," replied the girl,
smiling. "The banths will not harm us." As she spoke she descended from the platform,
and with Carthoris at her side stepped fearlessly out upon the bloody field in the direction
of the walled city of mystery. They had advanced but a short distance when
a banth, looking up from its gory feast, descried them. With an angry roar the beast walked
quickly in their direction, and at the sound of its voice a score of others followed its
example. Carthoris drew his long-sword. The girl stole
a quick glance at his face. She saw the smile upon his lips, and it was as wine to sick
nerves; for even upon warlike Barsoom where all men are brave, woman reacts quickly to
quiet indifference to danger to dare-deviltry that is without bombast.
"You may return your sword," she said. "I told you that the banths would not harm us.
Look!" and as she spoke she stepped quickly toward the nearest animal.
Carthoris would have leaped after her to protect her, but with a gesture she motioned him back.
He heard her calling to the banths in a low, singsong voice that was half purr.
Instantly the great heads went up and all the wicked eyes were riveted upon the figure
of the girl. Then, stealthily, they commenced moving toward her. She had stopped now and
was standing waiting them. One, closer to her than the others, hesitated.
She spoke to him imperiously, as a master might speak to a refractory hound.
The great carnivore let its head droop, and with tail between its legs came slinking to
the girl's feet, and after it came the others until she was entirely surrounded by the savage
maneaters. Turning she led them to where Carthoris stood.
They growled a little as they neared the man, but a few sharp words of command put them
in their places. "How do you do it?" exclaimed Carthoris.
"Your father once asked me that same question in the galleries of the Golden Cliffs within
the Otz Mountains, beneath the temples of the therns. I could not answer him, nor can
I answer you. I do not know whence comes my power over them, but ever since the day that
Sator Throg threw me among them in the banth pit of the Holy Therns, and the great creatures
fawned upon instead of devouring me, I ever have had the same strange power over them.
They come at my call and do my bidding, even as the faithful Woola does the bidding of
your mighty sire." With a word the girl dispersed the fierce
pack. Roaring, they returned to their interrupted feast, while Carthoris and Thuvia passed among
them toward the walled city. As they advanced the man looked with wonder
upon the dead bodies of those of the green men that had not been devoured or mauled by
the banths. He called the girl's attention to them. No
arrows protruded from the great carcasses. Nowhere upon any of them was the sign of mortal
wound, nor even slightest scratch or abrasion. Before the bowmen's dead had disappeared the
corpses of the Torquasians had bristled with the deadly arrows of their foes. Where had
the slender messengers of death departed? What unseen hand had plucked them from the
bodies of the slain? Despite himself Carthoris could scarce repress
a shudder of apprehension as he glanced toward the silent city before them. No longer was
sign of life visible upon wall or roof top. All was quiet brooding, ominous quiet.
Yet he was sure that eyes watched them from somewhere behind that blank wall.
He glanced at Thuvia. She was advancing with wide eyes fixed upon the city gate. He looked
in the direction of her gaze, but saw nothing. His gaze upon her seemed to arouse her as
from a lethargy. She glanced up at him, a quick, brave smile touching her lips, and
then, as though the act was involuntary, she came close to his side and placed one of her
hands in his. He guessed that something within her that
was beyond her conscious control was appealing to him for protection. He threw an arm about
her, and thus they crossed the field. She did not draw away from him. It is doubtful
that she realized that his arm was there, so engrossed was she in the mystery of the
strange city before them. They stopped before the gate. It was a mighty
thing. From its construction Carthoris could but dimly speculate upon its unthinkable antiquity.
It was circular, closing a circular aperture, and the Heliumite knew from his study of ancient
Barsoomian architecture that it rolled to one side, like a huge wheel, into an aperture
in the wall. Even such world-old cities as ancient Aaanthor
were as yet undreamed of when the races lived that built such gates as these.
As he stood speculating upon the identity of this forgotten city, a voice spoke to them
from above. Both looked up. There, leaning over the edge of the high wall, was a man.
His hair was auburn, his skin fair fairer even than that of John Carter, the Virginian.
His forehead was high, his eyes large and intelligent.
The language that he used was intelligible to the two below, yet there was a marked difference
between it and their Barsoomian tongue. "Who are you?" he asked. "And what do you
here before the gate of Lothar?" "We are friends," replied Carthoris. "This
be the princess, Thuvia of Ptarth, who was captured by the Torquasian horde. I am Carthoris
of Helium, Prince of the house of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, and son of John Carter,
Warlord of Mars, and of his wife, Dejah Thoris." "'Ptarth'?" repeated the man. "'Helium'?"
He shook his head. "I never have heard of these places, nor did I know that there dwelt
upon Barsoom a race of thy strange colour. Where may these cities lie, of which you speak?
From our loftiest tower we have never seen another city than Lothar."
Carthoris pointed toward the north-east. "In that direction lie Helium and Ptarth,"
he said. "Helium is over eight thousand haads from Lothar, while Ptarth lies nine thousand
five hundred
haads north-east of Helium."[1] Still the man shook his head.
"I know of nothing beyond the Lotharian hills," he said. "Naught may live there beside the
hideous green hordes of Torquas. They have conquered all Barsoom except this single valley
and the city of Lothar. Here we have defied them for countless ages, though periodically
they renew their attempts to destroy us. From whence you come I cannot guess unless you
be descended from the slaves the Torquasians captured in early times when they reduced
the outer world to their vassalage; but we had heard that they destroyed all other races
but their own." Carthoris tried to explain that the Torquasians
ruled but a relatively tiny part of the surface of Barsoom, and even this only because their
domain held nothing to attract the red race; but the Lotharian could not seem to conceive
of anything beyond the valley of Lothar other than a trackless waste peopled by the ferocious
green hordes of Torquas. After considerable parleying he consented
to admit them to the city, and a moment later the wheel-like gate rolled back within its
niche, and Thuvia and Carthoris entered the city of Lothar.
All about them were evidences of fabulous wealth. The facades of the buildings fronting
upon the avenue within the wall were richly carven, and about the windows and doors were
ofttimes set foot-wide borders of precious stones, intricate mosaics, or tablets of beaten
gold bearing bas-reliefs depicting what may have been bits of the history of this forgotten
people. He with whom they had conversed across the
wall was in the avenue to receive them. About him were a hundred or more men of the same
race. All were clothed in flowing robes and all were beardless.
Their attitude was more of fearful suspicion than antagonism. They followed the new-comers
with their eyes; but spoke no word to them. Carthoris could not but notice the fact that
though the city had been but a short time before surrounded by a horde of bloodthirsty
demons yet none of the citizens appeared to be armed, nor was there sign of soldiery about.
He wondered if all the fighting men had sallied forth in one supreme effort to rout the foe,
leaving the city all unguarded. He asked their host.
The man smiled. "No creature other than a score or so of our
sacred banths has left Lothar to-day," he replied.
"But the soldiers the bowmen!" exclaimed Carthoris. "We saw thousands emerge from this very gate,
overwhelming the hordes of Torquas and putting them to rout with their deadly arrows and
their fierce banths." Still the man smiled his knowing smile.
"Look!" he cried, and pointed down a broad avenue before him.
Carthoris and Thuvia followed the direction indicated, and there, marching bravely in
the sunlight, they saw advancing toward them a great army of bowmen.
"Ah!" exclaimed Thuvia. "They have returned through another gate, or perchance these be
the troops that remained to defend the city?" Again the fellow smiled his uncanny smile.
"There are no soldiers in Lothar," he said. "Look!"
Both Carthoris and Thuvia had turned toward him while he spoke, and now as they turned
back again toward the advancing regiments their eyes went wide in astonishment, for
the broad avenue before them was as deserted as the tomb.
"And those who marched out upon the hordes to-day?" whispered Carthoris. "They, too,
were unreal?" The man nodded.
"But their arrows slew the green warriors," insisted Thuvia.
"Let us go before Tario," replied the Lotharian. "He will tell you that which he deems it best
you know. I might tell you too much." "Who is Tario?" asked Carthoris.
"Jeddak of Lothar," replied the guide, leading them up the broad avenue down which they had
but a moment since seen the phantom army marching. For half an hour they walked along lovely
avenues between the most gorgeous buildings that the two had ever seen. Few people were
in evidence. Carthoris could not but note the deserted appearance of the mighty city.
At last they came to the royal palace. Carthoris saw it from a distance, and guessing the nature
of the magnificent pile wondered that even here there should be so little sign of activity
and life. Not even a single guard was visible before
the great entrance gate, nor in the gardens beyond, into which he could see, was there
sign of the myriad life that pulses within the precincts of the royal estates of the
red jeddaks. "Here," said their guide, "is the palace of
Tario." As he spoke Carthoris again let his gaze rest
upon the wondrous palace. With a startled exclamation he rubbed his eyes and looked
again. No! He could not be mistaken. Before the massive gate stood a score of sentries.
Within, the avenue leading to the main building was lined on either side by ranks of bowmen.
The gardens were dotted with officers and soldiers moving quickly to and fro, as though
bent upon the duties of the minute. What manner of people were these who could
conjure an army out of thin air? He glanced toward Thuvia. She, too, evidently had witnessed
the transformation. With a little shudder she pressed more closely
toward him. "What do you make of it?" she whispered. "It
is most uncanny." "I cannot account for it," replied Carthoris,
"unless we have gone mad." Carthoris turned quickly toward the Lotharian.
The fellow was smiling broadly. "I thought that you just said that there were
no soldiers in Lothar," said the Heliumite, with a gesture toward the guardsmen. "What
are these?" "Ask Tario," replied the other. "We shall
soon be before him." Nor was it long before they entered a lofty
chamber at one end of which a man reclined upon a rich couch that stood upon a high dais.
As the trio approached, the man turned dreamy eyes sleepily upon them. Twenty feet from
the dais their conductor halted, and, whispering to Thuvia and Carthoris to follow his example,
threw himself headlong to the floor. Then rising to hands and knees, he commenced crawling
toward the foot of the throne, swinging his head to and fro and wiggling his body as you
have seen a hound do when approaching its master.
Thuvia glanced quickly toward Carthoris. He was standing erect, with high-held head and
arms folded across his broad chest. A haughty smile curved his lips.
The man upon the dais was eyeing him intently, and Carthoris of Helium was looking straight
in the other's face. "Who be these, Jav?" asked the man of him
who crawled upon his belly along the floor. "O Tario, most glorious Jeddak," replied Jav,
"these be strangers who came with the hordes of Torquas to our gates, saying that they
were prisoners of the green men. They tell strange tales of cities far beyond Lothar."
"Arise, Jav," commanded Tario, "and ask these two why they show not to Tario the respect
that is his due." Jav arose and faced the strangers. At sight
of their erect positions his face went livid. He leaped toward them.
"Creatures!" he screamed. "Down! Down upon your bellies before the last of the jeddaks
of Barsoom!"
generally translated Barsoomian symbols of time, distance, etc., into their Earthly equivalent,
as being more easily understood by Earth readers. For those of a more studious turn of mind
it may be interesting to know the Martian table of linear measurement, and so I give
it here: 10 sofads = 1 ad
200 ads = 1 haad 100 haads = 1 karad
360 karads = 1 circumference of Mars at equator. A haad, or Barsoomian mile, contains about
2,339 Earth feet. A karad is one degree. A sofad about 1.17 Earth inches.
CHAPTER VII THE PHANTOM BOWMEN
As Jav leaped toward him Carthoris laid his hand upon the hilt of his long-sword. The
Lotharian halted. The great apartment was empty save for the four at the dais, yet as
Jav stepped back from the menace of the Heliumite's threatening attitude the latter found himself
surrounded by a score of bowmen. From whence had they sprung? Both Carthoris
and Thuvia looked their astonishment. Now the former's sword leaped from its scabbard,
and at the same instant the bowmen drew back their slim shafts.
Tario had half raised himself upon one elbow. For the first time he saw the full figure
of Thuvia, who had been concealed behind the person of Carthoris.
"Enough!" cried the jeddak, raising a protesting hand, but at that very instant the sword of
the Heliumite cut viciously at its nearest antagonist.
As the keen edge reached its goal Carthoris let the point fall to the floor, as with wide
eyes he stepped backward in consternation, throwing the back of his left hand across
his brow. His steel had cut but empty air his antagonist had vanished there were no
bowmen in the room! "It is evident that these are strangers,"
said Tario to Jav. "Let us first determine that they knowingly affronted us before we
take measures for punishment." Then he turned to Carthoris, but ever his
gaze wandered to the perfect lines of Thuvia's glorious figure, which the harness of a Barsoomian
princess accentuated rather than concealed. "Who are you," he asked, "who knows not the
etiquette of the court of the last of jeddaks?" "I am Carthoris, Prince of Helium," replied
the Heliumite. "And this is Thuvia, Princess of Ptarth. In the courts of our fathers men
do not prostrate themselves before royalty. Not since the First Born tore their immortal
goddess limb from limb have men crawled upon their bellies to any throne upon Barsoom.
Now think you that the daughter of one mighty jeddak and the son of another would so humiliate
themselves?" Tario looked at Carthoris for a long time.
At last he spoke. "There is no other jeddak upon Barsoom than
Tario," he said. "There is no other race than that of Lothar, unless the hordes of Torquas
may be dignified by such an appellation. Lotharians are white; your skins are red. There are no
women left upon Barsoom. Your companion is a woman."
He half rose from the couch, leaning far forward and pointing an accusing finger at Carthoris.
"You are a lie!" he shrieked. "You are both lies, and you dare to come before Tario, last
and mightiest of the jeddaks of Barsoom, and assert your reality. Some one shall pay well
for this, Jav, and unless I mistake it is yourself who has dared thus flippantly to
trifle with the good nature of your jeddak. "Remove the man. Leave the woman. We shall
see if both be lies. And later, Jav, you shall suffer for your temerity. There be few of
us left, but Komal must be fed. Go!" Carthoris could see that Jav trembled as he
prostrated himself once more before his ruler, and then, rising, turned toward the Prince
of Helium. "Come!" he said.
"And leave the Princess of Ptarth here alone?" cried Carthoris.
Jav brushed closely past him, whispering: "Follow me he cannot harm her, except to kill;
and that he can do whether you remain or not. We had best go now trust me."
Carthoris did not understand, but something in the urgency of the other's tone assured
him, and so he turned away, but not without a glance toward Thuvia in which he attempted
to make her understand that it was in her own interest that he left her.
For answer she turned her back full upon him, but not without first throwing him such a
look of contempt that brought the scarlet to his cheek.
Then he hesitated, but Jav seized him by the wrist.
"Come!" he whispered. "Or he will have the bowmen upon you, and this time there will
be no escape. Did you not see how futile is your steel against thin air!"
Carthoris turned unwillingly to follow. As the two left the room he turned to his companion.
"If I may not kill thin air," he asked, "how, then, shall I fear that thin air may kill
me?" "You saw the Torquasians fall before the bowmen?"
asked Jav. Carthoris nodded.
"So would you fall before them, and without one single chance for self-defence or revenge."
As they talked Jav led Carthoris to a small room in one of the numerous towers of the
palace. Here were couches, and Jav bid the Heliumite be seated.
For several minutes the Lotharian eyed his prisoner, for such Carthoris now realized
himself to be. "I am half convinced that you are real," he
said at last. Carthoris laughed.
"Of course I am real," he said. "What caused you to doubt it? Can you not see me, feel
me?" "So may I see and feel the bowmen," replied
Jav, "and yet we all know that they, at least, are not real."
Carthoris showed by the expression of his face his puzzlement at each new reference
to the mysterious bowmen the vanishing soldiery of Lothar.
"What, then, may they be?" he asked. "You really do not know?" asked Jav.
Carthoris shook his head negatively. "I can almost believe that you have told us
the truth and that you are really from another part of Barsoom, or from another world. But
tell me, in your own country have you no bowmen to strike terror to the hearts of the green
hordesmen as they slay in company with the fierce banths of war?"
"We have soldiers," replied Carthoris. "We of the red race are all soldiers, but we have
no bowmen to defend us, such as yours. We defend ourselves."
"You go out and get killed by your enemies!" cried Jav incredulously.
"Certainly," replied Carthoris. "How do the Lotharians?"
"You have seen," replied the other. "We send out our deathless archers deathless because
they are lifeless, existing only in the imaginations of our enemies. It is really our giant minds
that defend us, sending out legions of imaginary warriors to materialize before the mind's
eye of the foe. "They see them they see their bows drawn back
they see their slender arrows speed with unerring precision toward their hearts. And they die
killed by the power of suggestion." "But the archers that are slain?" exclaimed
Carthoris. "You call them deathless, and yet I saw their dead bodies piled high upon the
battlefield. How may that be?" "It is but to lend reality to the scene,"
replied Jav. "We picture many of our own defenders killed that the Torquasians may not guess
that there are really no flesh and blood creatures opposing them.
"Once that truth became implanted in their minds, it is the theory of many of us, no
longer would they fall prey to the suggestion of the deadly arrows, for greater would be
the suggestion of the truth, and the more powerful suggestion would prevail it is law."
"And the banths?" questioned Carthoris. "They, too, were but creatures of suggestion?"
"Some of them were real," replied Jav. "Those that accompanied the archers in pursuit of
the Torquasians were unreal. Like the archers, they never returned, but, having served their
purpose, vanished with the bowmen when the rout of the enemy was assured.
"Those that remained about the field were real. Those we loosed as scavengers to devour
the bodies of the dead of Torquas. This thing is demanded by the realists among us. I am
a realist. Tario is an etherealist. "The etherealists maintain that there is no
such thing as matter that all is mind. They say that none of us exists, except in the
imagination of his fellows, other than as an intangible, invisible mentality.
"According to Tario, it is but necessary that we all unite in imagining that there are no
dead Torquasians beneath our walls, and there will be none, nor any need of scavenging banths."
"You, then, do not hold Tario's beliefs?" asked Carthoris.
"In part only," replied the Lotharian. "I believe, in fact I know, that there are some
truly ethereal creatures. Tario is one, I am convinced. He has no existence except in
the imaginations of his people. "Of course, it is the contention of all us
realists that all etherealists are but figments of the imagination. They contend that no food
is necessary, nor do they eat; but any one of the most rudimentary intelligence must
realize that food is a necessity to creatures having actual existence."
"Yes," agreed Carthoris, "not having eaten to-day I can readily agree with you."
"Ah, pardon me," exclaimed Jav. "Pray be seated and satisfy your hunger," and with a wave
of his hand he indicated a bountifully laden table that had not been there an instant before
he spoke. Of that Carthoris was positive, for he had searched the room diligently with
his eyes several times. "It is well," continued Jav, "that you did
not fall into the hands of an etherealist. Then, indeed, would you have gone hungry."
"But," exclaimed Carthoris, "this is not real food it was not here an instant since, and
real food does not materialize out of thin air."
Jav looked hurt. "There is no real food or water in Lothar,"
he said; "nor has there been for countless ages. Upon such as you now see before you
have we existed since the dawn of history. Upon such, then, may you exist."
"But I thought you were a realist," exclaimed Carthoris.
"Indeed," cried Jav, "what more realistic than this bounteous feast? It is just here
that we differ most from the etherealists. They claim that it is unnecessary to imagine
food; but we have found that for the maintenance of life we must thrice daily sit down to hearty
meals. "The food that one eats is supposed to undergo
certain chemical changes during the process of digestion and assimilation, the result,
of course, being the rebuilding of wasted tissue.
"Now we all know that mind is all, though we may differ in the interpretation of its
various manifestations. Tario maintains that there is no such thing as substance, all being
created from the substanceless matter of the brain.
"We realists, however, know better. We know that mind has the power to maintain substance
even though it may not be able to create substance the latter is still an open question. And
so we know that in order to maintain our physical bodies we must cause all our organs properly
to function. "This we accomplish by materializing food-thoughts,
and by partaking of the food thus created. We chew, we swallow, we digest. All our organs
function precisely as if we had partaken of material food. And what is the result? What
must be the result? The chemical changes take place through both direct and indirect suggestion,
and we live and thrive." Carthoris eyed the food before him. It seemed
real enough. He lifted a morsel to his lips. There was substance indeed. And flavour as
well. Yes, even his palate was deceived. Jav watched him, smiling, as he ate.
"Is it not entirely satisfying?" he asked. "I must admit that it is," replied Carthoris.
"But tell me, how does Tario live, and the other etherealists who maintain that food
is unnecessary?" Jav scratched his head.
"That is a question we often discuss," he replied. "It is the strongest evidence we
have of the non-existence of the etherealists; but who may know other than Komal?"
"Who is Komal?" asked Carthoris. "I heard your jeddak speak of him."
Jav bent low toward the ear of the Heliumite, looking fearfully about before he spoke.
"Komal is the essence," he whispered. "Even the etherealists admit that mind itself must
have substance in order to transmit to imaginings the appearance of substance. For if there
really was no such thing as substance it could not be suggested what never has been cannot
be imagined. Do you follow me?" "I am groping," replied Carthoris dryly.
"So the essence must be substance," continued Jav. "Komal is the essence of the All, as
it were. He is maintained by substance. He eats. He eats the real. To be explicit, he
eats the realists. That is Tario's work. "He says that inasmuch as we maintain that
we alone are real we should, to be consistent, admit that we alone are proper food for Komal.
Sometimes, as to-day, we find other food for him. He is very fond of Torquasians."
"And Komal is a man?" asked Carthoris. "He is All, I told you," replied Jav. "I know
not how to explain him in words that you will understand. He is the beginning and the end.
All life emanates from Komal, since the substance which feeds the brain with imaginings radiates
from the body of Komal. "Should Komal cease to eat, all life upon
Barsoom would cease to be. He cannot die, but he might cease to eat, and, thus, to radiate."
"And he feeds upon the men and women of your belief?" cried Carthoris.
"Women!" exclaimed Jav. "There are no women in Lothar. The last of the Lotharian females
perished ages since, upon that cruel and terrible journey across the muddy plains that fringed
the half-dried seas, when the green hordes scourged us across the world to this our last
hiding-place our impregnable fortress of Lothar. "Scarce twenty thousand men of all the countless
millions of our race lived to reach Lothar. Among us were no women and no children. All
these had perished by the way. "As time went on, we, too, were dying and
the race fast approaching extinction, when the Great Truth was revealed to us, that mind
is all. Many more died before we perfected our powers, but at last we were able to defy
death when we fully understood that death was merely a state of mind.
"Then came the creation of mind-people, or rather the materialization of imaginings.
We first put these to practical use when the Torquasians discovered our retreat, and fortunate
for us it was that it required ages of search upon their part before they found the single
tiny entrance to the valley of Lothar. "That day we threw our first bowmen against
them. The intention was purely to frighten them away by the vast numbers of bowmen which
we could muster upon our walls. All Lothar bristled with the bows and arrows of our ethereal
host. "But the Torquasians did not frighten. They
are lower than the beasts they know no fear. They rushed upon our walls, and standing upon
the shoulders of others they built human approaches to the wall tops, and were on the very point
of surging in upon us and overwhelming us. "Not an arrow had been discharged by our bowmen
we did but cause them to run to and fro along the wall top, screaming taunts and threats
at the enemy. "Presently I thought to attempt the thing
THE GREAT THING. I centred all my mighty intellect upon the bowmen of my own creation each of
us produces and directs as many bowmen as his mentality and imagination is capable of.
"I caused them to fit arrows to their bows for the first time. I made them take aim at
the hearts of the green men. I made the green men see all this, and then I made them see
the arrows fly, and I made them think that the points pierced their hearts.
"It was all that was necessary. By hundreds they toppled from our walls, and when my fellows
saw what I had done they were quick to follow my example, so that presently the hordes of
Torquas had retreated beyond the range of our arrows.
"We might have killed them at any distance, but one rule of war we have maintained from
the first the rule of realism. We do nothing, or rather we cause our bowmen to do nothing
within sight of the enemy that is beyond the understanding of the foe. Otherwise they might
guess the truth, and that would be the end of us.
"But after the Torquasians had retreated beyond bowshot, they turned upon us with their terrible
rifles, and by constant popping at us made life miserable within our walls.
"So then I bethought the scheme to hurl our bowmen through the gates upon them. You have
seen this day how well it works. For ages they have come down upon us at intervals,
but always with the same results." "And all this is due to your intellect, Jav?"
asked Carthoris. "I should think that you would be high in the councils of your people."
"I am," replied Jav, proudly. "I am next to Tario."
"But why, then, your cringing manner of approaching the throne?"
"Tario demands it. He is jealous of me. He only awaits the slightest excuse to feed me
to Komal. He fears that I may some day usurp his power."
Carthoris suddenly sprang from the table. "Jav!" he exclaimed. "I am a beast! Here I
have been eating my fill, while the Princess of Ptarth may perchance be still without food.
Let us return and find some means of furnishing her with nourishment."
The Lotharian shook his head. "Tario would not permit it," he said. "He
will, doubtless, make an etherealist of her." "But I must go to her," insisted Carthoris.
"You say that there are no women in Lothar. Then she must be among men, and if this be
so I intend to be near where I may defend her if the need arises."
"Tario will have his way," insisted Jav. "He sent you away and you may not return until
he sends for you." "Then I shall go without waiting to be sent
for." "Do not forget the bowmen," cautioned Jav.
"I do not forget them," replied Carthoris, but he did not tell Jav that he remembered
something else that the Lotharian had let drop something that was but a conjecture,
possibly, and yet one well worth pinning a forlorn hope to, should necessity arise.
Carthoris started to leave the room. Jav stepped before him, barring his way.
"I have learned to like you, red man," he said; "but do not forget that Tario is still
my jeddak, and that Tario has commanded that you remain here."
Carthoris was about to reply, when there came faintly to the ears of both a woman's cry
for help. With a sweep of his arm the Prince of Helium
brushed the Lotharian aside, and with drawn sword sprang into the corridor without.
CHAPTER VIII THE HALL OF DOOM
As Thuvia of Ptarth saw Carthoris depart from the presence of Tario, leaving her alone with
the man, a sudden qualm of terror seized her. There was an air of mystery pervading the
stately chamber. Its furnishings and appointments bespoke wealth and culture, and carried the
suggestion that the room was often the scene of royal functions which filled it to its
capacity. And yet nowhere about her, in antechamber
or corridor, was there sign of any other being than herself and the recumbent figure of Tario,
the jeddak, who watched her through half-closed eyes from the gorgeous trappings of his regal
couch. For a time after the departure of Jav and
Carthoris the man eyed her intently. Then he spoke.
"Come nearer," he said, and, as she approached: "Whose creature are you? Who has dared materialize
his imaginings of woman? It is contrary to the customs and the royal edicts of Lothar.
Tell me, woman, from whose brain have you sprung? Jav's? No, do not deny it. I know
that it could be no other than that envious realist. He seeks to tempt me. He would see
me fall beneath the spell of your charms, and then he, your master, would direct my
destiny and my end. I see it all! I see it all!"
The blood of indignation and anger had been rising to Thuvia's face. Her chin was up,
a haughty curve upon her perfect lips. "I know naught," she cried, "of what you are
prating! I am Thuvia, Princess of Ptarth. I am no man's 'creature.' Never before to-day
did I lay eyes upon him you call Jav, nor upon your ridiculous city, of which even the
greatest nations of Barsoom have never dreamed. "My charms are not for you, nor such as you.
They are not for sale or barter, even though the price were a real throne. And as for using
them to win your worse than futile power" She ended her sentence with a shrug of her
shapely shoulders, and a little scornful laugh. When she had finished Tario was sitting upon
the edge of his couch, his feet upon the floor. He was leaning forward with eyes no longer
half closed, but wide with a startled expression in them.
He did not seem to note the LESE MAJESTE of her words and manner. There was evidently
something more startling and compelling about her speech than that.
Slowly he came to his feet. "By the fangs of Komal!" he muttered. "But
you are REAL! A REAL woman! No dream! No vain and foolish figment of the mind!"
He took a step toward her, with hands outstretched. "Come!" he whispered. "Come, woman! For countless
ages have I dreamed that some day you would come. And now that you are here I can scarce
believe the testimony of my eyes. Even now, knowing that you are real, I still half dread
that you may be a lie." Thuvia shrank back. She thought the man mad.
Her hand stole to the jewelled hilt of her dagger. The man saw the move, and stopped.
A cunning expression entered his eyes. Then they became at once dreamy and penetrating
as they fairly bored into the girl's brain. Thuvia suddenly felt a change coming over
her. What the cause of it she did not guess; but somehow the man before her began to assume
a new relationship within her heart. No longer was he a strange and mysterious
enemy, but an old and trusted friend. Her hand slipped from the dagger's hilt. Tario
came closer. He spoke gentle, friendly words, and she answered him in a voice that seemed
hers and yet another's. He was beside her now. His hand was up her
shoulder. His eyes were down-bent toward hers. She looked up into his face. His gaze seemed
to bore straight through her to some hidden spring of sentiment within her.
Her lips parted in sudden awe and wonder at the strange revealment of her inner self that
was being laid bare before her consciousness. She had known Tario for ever. He was more
than friend to her. She moved a little closer to him. In one swift flood of light she knew
the truth. She loved Tario, Jeddak of Lothar! She had always loved him.
The man, seeing the success of his strategy, could not restrain a faint smile of satisfaction.
Whether there was something in the expression of his face, or whether from Carthoris of
Helium in a far chamber of the palace came a more powerful suggestion, who may say? But
something there was that suddenly dispelled the strange, hypnotic influence of the man.
As though a mask had been torn from her eyes, Thuvia suddenly saw Tario as she had formerly
seen him, and, accustomed as she was to the strange manifestations of highly developed
mentality which are common upon Barsoom, she quickly guessed enough of the truth to know
that she was in grave danger. Quickly she took a step backward, tearing
herself from his grasp. But the momentary contact had aroused within Tario all the long-buried
passions of his loveless existence. With a muffled cry he sprang upon her, throwing
his arms about her and attempting to drag her lips to his.
"Woman!" he cried. "Lovely woman! Tario would make you queen of Lothar. Listen to me! Listen
to the love of the last of the jeddaks of Barsoom."
Thuvia struggled to free herself from his embrace.
"Stop, creature!" she cried. "Stop! I do not love you. Stop, or I shall scream for help!"
Tario laughed in her face. "'Scream for help,'" he mimicked. "And who
within the halls of Lothar is there who might come in answer to your call? Who would dare
enter the presence of Tario, unsummoned?" "There is one," she replied, "who would come,
and, coming, dare to cut you down upon your own throne, if he thought that you had offered
affront to Thuvia of Ptarth!" "Who, Jav?" asked Tario.
"Not Jav, nor any other soft-skinned Lotharian," she replied; "but a real man, a real warrior
Carthoris of Helium!" Again the man laughed at her.
"You forget the bowmen," he reminded her. "What could your red warrior accomplish against
my fearless legions?" Again he caught her roughly to him, dragging
her towards his couch. "If you will not be my queen," he said, "you
shall be my slave." "Neither!" cried the girl.
As she spoke the single word there was a quick move of her right hand; Tario, releasing her,
staggered back, both hands pressed to his side. At the same instant the room filled
with bowmen, and then the jeddak of Lothar sank senseless to the marble floor.
At the instant that he lost consciousness the bowmen were about to release their arrows
into Thuvia's heart. Involuntarily she gave a single cry for help, though she knew that
not even Carthoris of Helium could save her now.
Then she closed her eyes and waited for the end. No slender shafts pierced her tender
side. She raised her lids to see what stayed the hand of her executioners.
The room was empty save for herself and the still form of the jeddak of Lothar lying at
her feet, a little pool of crimson staining the white marble of the floor beside him.
Tario was unconscious. Thuvia was amazed. Where were the bowmen?
Why had they not loosed their shafts? What could it all mean?
An instant before the room had been mysteriously filled with armed men, evidently called to
protect their jeddak; yet now, with the evidence of her deed plain before them, they had vanished
as mysteriously as they had come, leaving her alone with the body of their ruler, into
whose side she had slipped her long, keen blade.
The girl glanced apprehensively about, first for signs of the return of the bowmen, and
then for some means of escape. The wall behind the dais was pierced by two
small doorways, hidden by heavy hangings. Thuvia was running quickly towards one of
these when she heard the clank of a warrior's metal at the end of the apartment behind her.
Ah, if she had but an instant more of time she could have reached that screening arras
and, perchance, have found some avenue of escape behind it; but now it was too late
she had been discovered! With a feeling that was akin to apathy she
turned to meet her fate, and there, before her, running swiftly across the broad chamber
to her side, was Carthoris, his naked long-sword gleaming in his hand.
For days she had doubted the intentions of the Heliumite. She had thought him a party
to her abduction. Since Fate had thrown them together she had scarce favoured him with
more than the most perfunctory replies to his remarks, unless at such times as the weird
and uncanny happenings at Lothar had surprised her out of her reserve.
She knew that Carthoris of Helium would fight for her; but whether to save her for himself
or another, she was in doubt. He knew that she was promised to Kulan Tith,
Jeddak of Kaol, but if he had been instrumental in her abduction, his motives could not be
prompted by loyalty to his friend, or regard for her honour.
And yet, as she saw him coming across the marble floor of the audience chamber of Tario
of Lothar, his fine eyes filled with apprehension for her safety, his splendid figure personifying
all that is finest in the fighting men of martial Mars, she could not believe that any
faintest trace of perfidy lurked beneath so glorious an exterior.
Never, she thought, in all her life had the sight of any man been so welcome to her. It
was with difficulty that she refrained from rushing forward to meet him.
She knew that he loved her; but, in time, she recalled that she was promised to Kulan
Tith. Not even might she trust herself to show too great gratitude to the Heliumite,
lest he misunderstand. Carthoris was by her side now. His quick glance
had taken in the scene within the room the still figure of the jeddak sprawled upon the
floor the girl hastening toward a shrouded exit.
"Did he harm you, Thuvia?" he asked. She held up her crimsoned blade that he might
see it. "No," she said, "he did not harm me."
A grim smile lighted Carthoris' face. "Praised be our first ancestor!" he murmured.
"And now let us see if we may not make good our escape from this accursed city before
the Lotharians discover that their jeddak is no more."
With the firm authority that sat so well upon him in whose veins flowed the blood of John
Carter of Virginia and Dejah Thoris of Helium, he grasped her hand and, turning back across
the hall, strode toward the great doorway through which Jav had brought them into the
presence of the jeddak earlier in the day. They had almost reached the threshold when
a figure sprang into the apartment through another entrance. It was Jav. He, too, took
in the scene within at a glance. Carthoris turned to face him, his sword ready
in his hand, and his great body shielding the slender figure of the girl.
"Come, Jav of Lothar!" he cried. "Let us face the issue at once, for only one of us may
for the new Princess of Helium and her royal mate!"