The Chessmen of Mars

THE CHESSMEN OF MARS

PRELUDE

JOHN CARTER COMES TO EARTH

Shea had just beaten me at chess, as usual, and, also as usual, I had

gleaned what questionable satisfaction I might by twitting him with

this indication of failing mentality by calling his attention for the

_n_th time to that theory, propounded by certain scientists, which is

based upon the assertion that phenomenal chess players are always found

to be from the ranks of children under twelve, adults over seventy-two

or the mentally defective--a theory that is lightly ignored upon those

rare occasions that I win. Shea had gone to bed and I should have

followed suit, for we are always in the saddle here before sunrise; but

instead I sat there before the chess table in the library, idly blowing

smoke at the dishonored head of my defeated king.

While thus profitably employed I heard the east door of the living-room

open and someone enter. I thought it was Shea returning to speak with

me on some matter of tomorrow's work; but when I raised my eyes to the

doorway that connects the two rooms I saw framed there the figure of a

bronzed giant, his otherwise naked body trapped with a jewel-encrusted

harness from which there hung at one side an ornate short-sword and at

the other a pistol of strange pattern. The black hair, the steel-gray

eyes, brave and smiling, the noble features--I recognized them at once,

and leaping to my feet I advanced with outstretched hand.

"John Carter!" I cried. "You?"

"None other, my son," he replied, taking my hand in one of his and

placing the other upon my shoulder.

"And what are you doing here?" I asked. "It has been long years since

you revisited Earth, and never before in the trappings of Mars. Lord!

but it is good to see you--and not a day older in appearance than when

you trotted me on your knee in my babyhood. How do you explain it, John

Carter, Warlord of Mars, or do you try to explain it?"

"Why attempt to explain the inexplicable?" he replied. "As I have told

you before, I am a very old man. I do not know how old I am. I recall

no childhood; but recollect only having been always as you see me now

and as you saw me first when you were five years old. You, yourself,

have aged, though not as much as most men in a corresponding number of

years, which may be accounted for by the fact that the same blood runs

in our veins; but I have not aged at all. I have discussed the question

with a noted Martian scientist, a friend of mine; but his theories are

still only theories. However, I am content with the fact--I never age,

and I love life and the vigor of youth.

"And now as to your natural question as to what brings me to Earth

again and in this, to earthly eyes, strange habiliment. We may thank

Kar Komak, the bowman of Lothar. It was he who gave me the idea upon

which I have been experimenting until at last I have achieved success.

As you know I have long possessed the power to cross the void in

spirit, but never before have I been able to impart to inanimate things

a similar power. Now, however, you see me for the first time precisely

as my Martian fellows see me--you see the very short-sword that has

tasted the blood of many a savage foeman; the harness with the devices

of Helium and the insignia of my rank; the pistol that was presented to

me by Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark.

"Aside from seeing you, which is my principal reason for being here,

and satisfying myself that I can transport inanimate things from Mars

to Earth, and therefore animate things if I so desire, I have no

purpose. Earth is not for me. My every interest is upon Barsoom--my

wife, my children, my work; all are there. I will spend a quiet evening

with you and then back to the world I love even better than I love

life."

As he spoke he dropped into the chair upon the opposite side of the

chess table.

"You spoke of children," I said. "Have you more than Carthoris?"

"A daughter," he replied, "only a little younger than Carthoris, and,

barring one, the fairest thing that ever breathed the thin air of dying

Mars. Only Dejah Thoris, her mother, could be more beautiful than Tara

of Helium."

For a moment he fingered the chessmen idly. "We have a game on Mars

similar to chess," he said, "very similar. And there is a race there

that plays it grimly with men and naked swords. We call the game jetan.

It is played on a board like yours, except that there are a hundred

squares and we use twenty pieces on each side. I never see it played

without thinking of Tara of Helium and what befell her among the

chessmen of Barsoom. Would you like to hear her story?"

I said that I would and so he told it to me, and now I shall try to

re-tell it for you as nearly in the words of The Warlord of Mars as I

can recall them, but in the third person. If there be inconsistencies

and errors, let the blame fall not upon John Carter, but rather upon my

faulty memory, where it belongs. It is a strange tale and utterly

Barsoomian.

CHAPTER I

TARA IN A TANTRUM

Tara of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which she

had been reclining, stretched her lithe body languidly, and crossed

toward the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronze

disc depended from the low ceiling. Her carriage was that of health and

physical perfection--the effortless harmony of faultless coordination.

A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about

her body; her black hair was piled high upon her head. With a wooden

stick she tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the

summons was answered by a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to be

greeted similarly by her mistress.

"Are my father's guests arriving?" asked the princess.

"Yes, Tara of Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seen

Kantos Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and Djor

Kantos, son of Kantos Kan," she shot a roguish glance at her mistress

as she mentioned Djor Kantos' name, "and--oh, there were others, many

have come."

"The bath, then, Uthia," said her mistress. "And why, Uthia," she

added, "do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djor

Kantos?"

The slave girl laughed gaily. "It is so plain to all that he worships

you," she replied.

"It is not plain to me," said Tara of Helium. "He is the friend of my

brother, Carthoris, and so he is here much; but not to see me. It is

his friendship for Carthoris that brings him thus often to the palace

of my father."

"But Carthoris is hunting in the north with Talu, Jeddak of Okar,"

Uthia reminded her.

"My bath, Uthia!" cried Tara of Helium. "That tongue of yours will

bring you to some misadventure yet."

"The bath is ready, Tara of Helium," the girl responded, her eyes still

twinkling with merriment, for she well knew that in the heart of her

mistress was no anger that could displace the love of the princess for

her slave. Preceding the daughter of The Warlord she opened the door of

an adjoining room where lay the bath--a gleaming pool of scented water

in a marble basin. Golden stanchions supported a chain of gold

encircling it and leading down into the water on either side of marble

steps. A glass dome let in the sun-light, which flooded the interior,

glancing from the polished white of the marble walls and the procession

of bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid with

gold in a broad band that circled the room.

Tara of Helium removed the scarf from about her and handed it to the

slave. Slowly she descended the steps to the water, the temperature of

which she tested with a symmetrical foot, undeformed by tight shoes and

high heels--a lovely foot, as God intended that feet should be and

seldom are. Finding the water to her liking, the girl swam leisurely to

and fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the seal she swam, now

at the surface, now below, her smooth muscles rolling softly beneath

her clear skin--a wordless song of health and happiness and grace.

Presently she emerged and gave herself into the hands of the slave

girl, who rubbed the body of her mistress with a sweet smelling

semi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skin

was covered with a foamy lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, a

drying with soft towels, and the bath was over. Typical of the life of

the princess was the simple elegance of her bath--no retinue of useless

slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another half

hour her hair was dried and built into the strange, but becoming,

coiffure of her station; her leathern trappings, encrusted with gold

and jewels, had been adjusted to her figure and she was ready to mingle

with the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the

palace of The Warlord.

As she left her apartments to make her way to the gardens where the

guests were congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the House of

the Prince of Helium upon their harness, followed a few paces behind

her, grim reminders that the assassin's blade may never be ignored upon

Barsoom, where, in a measure, it counterbalances the great natural span

of human life, which is estimated at not less than a thousand years.

As they neared the entrance to the garden another woman, similarly

guarded, approached them from another quarter of the great palace. As

she neared them Tara of Helium turned toward her with a smile and a

happy greeting, while her guards knelt with bowed heads in willing and

voluntary adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always, solely at

the command of their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet Dejah

Thoris, whose deathless beauty had more than once brought them to

bloody warfare with other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love of

the people of Helium for the mate of John Carter it amounted

practically to worship, as though she were indeed the goddess that she

looked.

The mother and daughter exchanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" of

greeting and kissed. Then together they entered the gardens where the

guests were. A huge warrior drew his short-sword and struck his metal

shield with the flat of it, the brazen sound ringing out above the

laughter and the speech.

"The Princess comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess comes! Tara

of Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the two

women inclined their heads; the guards fell back upon either side of

the entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to pay their respects;

the laughing and the talking were resumed and Dejah Thoris and her

daughter moved simply and naturally among their guests, no suggestion

of differing rank apparent in the bearing of any who were there, though

there was more than a single Jeddak and many common warriors whose only

title lay in brave deeds, or noble patriotism. Thus it is upon Mars

where men are judged upon their own merits rather than upon those of

their grandsires, even though pride of lineage be great.

Tara of Helium let her slow gaze wander among the throng of guests

until presently it halted upon one she sought. Was the faint shadow of

a frown that crossed her brow an indication of displeasure at the sight

that met her eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the noonday sun

distress her? Who may say! She had been reared to believe that one day

she should wed Djor Kantos, son of her father's best friend. It had

been the dearest wish of Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this should

be, and Tara of Helium had accepted it as a matter of all but

accomplished fact. Djor Kantos had seemed to accept the matter in the

same way. They had spoken of it casually as something that would, as a

matter of course, take place in the indefinite future, as, for

instance, his promotion in the navy, in which he was now a padwar; or

the set functions of the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors, Jeddak

of Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had puzzled

Tara of Helium upon the rare occasions she gave it thought, for she

knew that people who were to wed were usually much occupied with the

matter of love and she had all of a woman's curiosity--she wondered

what love was like. She was very fond of Djor Kantos and she knew that

he was very fond of her. They liked to be together, for they liked the

same things and the same people and the same books and their dancing

was a joy, not only to themselves but to those who watched them. She

could not imagine wanting to marry anyone other than Djor Kantos.

So perhaps it was only the sun that made her brows contract just the

tiniest bit at the same instant that she discovered Djor Kantos sitting

in earnest conversation with Olvia Marthis, daughter of the Jed of

Hastor. It was Djor Kantos' duty immediately to pay his respects to

Dejah Thoris and Tara of Helium; but he did not do so and presently the

daughter of The Warlord frowned indeed. She looked long at Olvia

Marthis, and though she had seen her many times before and knew her

well, she looked at her today through new eyes that saw, apparently for

the first time, that the girl from Hastor was noticeably beautiful even

among those other beautiful women of Helium. Tara of Helium was

disturbed. She attempted to analyze her emotions; but found it

difficult. Olvia Marthis was her friend--she was very fond of her and

she felt no anger toward her. Was she angry with Djor Kantos? No, she

finally decided that she was not. It was merely surprise, then, that

she felt--surprise that Djor Kantos could be more interested in another

than in herself. She was about to cross the garden and join them when

she heard her father's voice directly behind her.

"Tara of Helium!" he called, and she turned to see him approaching with

a strange warrior whose harness and metal bore devices with which she

was unfamiliar. Even among the gorgeous trappings of the men of Helium

and the visitors from distant empires those of the stranger were

remarkable for their barbaric splendor. The leather of his harness was

completely hidden beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set with

brilliant diamonds, as were the scabbards of his swords and the ornate

holster that held his long, Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlit

garden at the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant rays of his

countless gems enveloping him as in an aureole of light imparted to his

noble figure a suggestion of godliness.

"Tara of Helium, I bring you Gahan, Jed of Gathol," said John Carter,

after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.

"Kaor! Gahan, Jed of Gathol," returned Tara of Helium.

"My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," said the young chieftain.

The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersite

bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.

"Far Gathol," mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been connected

with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I

cannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have never

before seen a Gatholian."

"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Helium

and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little free

city, which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium," added

Gahan. "But what we lack in power we make up in pride," he continued,

laughing. "We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It

is one of the few that has retained its freedom, and this despite the

fact that its ancient diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike

practically all the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible

as ever."

"Tell me of Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me with

interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed

detracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.

Nor did Gahan seem displeased with the excuse for further monopolizing

the society of his fair companion. His eyes seemed chained to her

exquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a rounded

breast, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or the

symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaric

magnificence.

"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built upon

an island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. As

the ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, the

summit of which was the island upon which she had been built, until

today she covers the slopes from summit to base, while the bowels of

the great hill are honeycombed with the galleries of her mines.

Entirely surrounding us is a great salt marsh, which protects us from

invasion by land, while the rugged and ofttimes vertical topography of

our mountain renders the landing of hostile airships a precarious

undertaking."

"That, and your brave warriors?" suggested the girl.

Gahan smiled. "We do not speak of that except to enemies," he said,

"and then with tongues of steel rather than of flesh."

"But what practice in the art of war has a people which nature has thus

protected from attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had liked the young

jed's answer to her previous question, but yet in whose mind persisted

a vague conviction of the possible effeminacy of her companion,

induced, doubtless, by the magnificence of his trappings and weapons

which carried a suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.

"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeat

on countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune from

attack," he explained, "for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamond

treasury that there yet may be found those who will risk almost certain

defeat in an effort to loot our unconquered city; so thus we find

occasional practice in the exercise of arms; but there is more to

Gathol than the mountain city. My country extends from Polodona

(Equator) north ten karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to the

twentieth west, including thus a million square haads, the greater

proportion of which is fine grazing land where run our great herds of

thoats and zitidars.

"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herdsmen must indeed be

warriors or we should have no herds, and you may be assured they get

plenty of fighting. Then there is our constant need of workers in the

mines. The Gatholians consider themselves a race of warriors and as

such prefer not to labor in the mines. The law is, however, that each

male Gatholian shall give an hour a day in labor to the government.

That is practically the only tax that is levied upon them. They prefer

however, to furnish a substitute to perform this labor, and as our own

people will not hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessary

to obtain slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not won

without fighting. We sell these slaves in the public market, the

proceeds going, half and half, to the government and the warriors who

bring them in. The purchasers are credited with the amount of labor

performed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year a good slave

will have performed the labor tax of his master for six years, and if

slaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted to return to his own

people."

"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating his

gorgeous trappings with a quizzical smile.

Gahan laughed. "We are a vain people," he admitted, good-naturedly,

"and it is possible that we place too much value on personal

appearances. We vie with one another in the splendor of our

accoutrements when trapped for the observance of the lighter duties of

life, though when we take the field our leather is the plainest I ever

have seen worn by fighting men of Barsoom. We pride ourselves, too,

upon our physical beauty, and especially upon the beauty of our women.

May I dare to say, Tara of Helium, that I am hoping for the day when

you will visit Gathol that my people may see one who is really

beautiful?"

"The women of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon the

tongue of the flatterer," rejoined the girl, but Gahan, Jed of Gathol,

observed that she smiled as she said it.

A bugle sounded, clear and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "The

Dance of Barsoom!" exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it,

Tara of Helium."

The girl glanced in the direction of the bench where she had last seen

Djor Kantos. He was not in sight. She inclined her head in assent to

the claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among the guests,

distributing small musical instruments of a single string. Upon each

instrument were characters which indicated the pitch and length of its

tone. The instruments were of skeel, the string of gut, and were shaped

to fit the left forearm of the dancer, to which it was strapped. There

was also a ring wound with gut which was worn between the first and

second joints of the index finger of the right hand and which, when

passed over the string of the instrument, elicited the single note

required of the dancer.

The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward the

expanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where the

dance was to be held, when Djor Kantos came hurriedly toward Tara of

Helium. "I claim--" he exclaimed as he neared her; but she interrupted

him with a gesture.

"You are too late, Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No laggard

may claim Tara of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also Olvia

Marthis, whom I have never seen wait long to be claimed for this or any

other dance."

"I have already lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.

"And you mean to say that you came for Tara of Helium only after having

lost Olvia Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating displeasure.

"Oh, Tara of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the young

man. "Was it not natural that I should assume that you would expect me,

who alone has claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelve

times past?"

"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" she

questioned. "Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for no laggard,"

and she threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward the assembling

dancers with Gahan, Jed of far Gathol.

The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formal

dancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours, though it

is infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before a Martian youth

of either sex may attend an important social function where there is

dancing, he must have become proficient in at least three dances--The

Dance of Barsoom, his national dance, and the dance of his city. In

these three dances the dancers furnish their own music, which never

varies; nor do the steps or figures vary, having been handed down from

time immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but

The Dance of Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and harmony--there is

no grotesque posturing, no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has been

described as the interpretation of the highest ideals of a world that

aspired to grace and beauty and chastity in woman, and strength and

dignity and loyalty in man.

Today, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate, led

in the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them in

possession of the silent admiration of the guests it was the

resplendent Jed of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In the

ever-changing figures of the dance the man found himself now with the

girl's hand in his and again with an arm about the lithe body that the

jeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the girl, though she had

danced a thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time the

personal contact of a man's arm against her naked flesh. It troubled

her that she should notice it, and she looked up questioningly and

almost with displeasure at the man as though it was his fault. Their

eyes met and she saw in his that which she had never seen in the eyes

of Djor Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and they both

stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into

each other's eyes. It was Gahan of Gathol who spoke first.

"Tara of Helium, I love you!" he said.

The girl drew herself to her full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgets

himself," she exclaimed haughtily.

"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Tara of Helium," he

replied. Fiercely he pressed the soft hand that he still retained from

the last position of the dance. "I love you, Tara of Helium," he

repeated. "Why should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just

now did not refuse to see--and answer?"

"What meanest thou?" she cried. "Are the men of Gathol such boors,

then?"

"They are neither boors nor fools," he replied, quietly. "They know

when they love a woman--and when she loves them."

Tara of Helium stamped her little foot in anger. "Go!" she said,

"before it is necessary to acquaint my father with the dishonor of his

guest."

She turned and walked away. "Wait!" cried the man. "Just another word."

"Of apology?" she asked.

"Of prophecy," he said.

"I do not care to hear it," replied Tara of Helium, and left him

standing there. She was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafter

returned to her own quarter of the palace, where she stood for a long

time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Helium

toward the northwest.

Presently she turned angrily away. "I hate him!" she exclaimed aloud.

"Whom?" inquired the privileged Uthia.

Tara of Helium stamped her foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed of

Gathol," she replied.

Uthia raised her slim brows.

At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the corner

of the room and crossed to Tara of Helium where it stood looking up

into her face. She placed her hand upon the ugly head. "Dear old

Woola," she said; "no love could be deeper than yours, yet it never

offends. Would that men might pattern themselves after you!"

CHAPTER II

AT THE GALE'S MERCY

Tara of Helium did not return to her father's guests, but awaited in

her own apartments the word from Djor Kantos which she knew must come,

begging her to return to the gardens. She would then refuse, haughtily.

But no appeal came from Djor Kantos. At first Tara of Helium was angry,

then she was hurt, and always she was puzzled. She could not

understand. Occasionally she thought of the Jed of Gathol and then she

would stamp her foot, for she was very angry indeed with Gahan. The

presumption of the man! He had insinuated that he read love for him in

her eyes. Never had she been so insulted and humiliated. Never had she

so thoroughly hated a man. Suddenly she turned toward Uthia.

"My flying leather!" she commanded.

"But the guests!" exclaimed the slave girl. "Your father, The Warlord,

will expect you to return."

"He will be disappointed," snapped Tara of Helium.

The slave hesitated. "He does not approve of your flying alone," she

reminded her mistress.

The young princess sprang to her feet and seized the unhappy slave by

the shoulders, shaking her. "You are becoming unbearable, Uthia," she

cried. "Soon there will be no alternative than to send you to the

public slave-market. Then possibly you will find a master to your

liking."

Tears came to the soft eyes of the slave girl. "It is because I love

you, my princess," she said softly. Tara of Helium melted. She took the

slave in her arms and kissed her.

"I have the disposition of a thoat, Uthia," she said. "Forgive me! I

love you and there is nothing that I would not do for you and nothing

would I do to harm you. Again, as I have so often in the past, I offer

you your freedom."

"I do not wish my freedom if it will separate me from you, Tara of

Helium," replied Uthia. "I am happy here with you--I think that I

should die without you."

Again the girls kissed. "And you will not fly alone, then?" questioned

the slave.

Tara of Helium laughed and pinched her companion. "You persistent

little pest," she cried. "Of course I shall fly--does not Tara of

Helium always do that which pleases her?"

Uthia shook her head sorrowfully. "Alas! she does," she admitted. "Iron

is the Warlord of Barsoom to the influences of all but two. In the

hands of Dejah Thoris and Tara of Helium he is as potters' clay."

"Then run and fetch my flying leather like the sweet slave you are,"

directed the mistress.

* * * * *

Far out across the ochre sea-bottoms beyond the twin cities of Helium

raced the swift flier of Tara of Helium. Thrilling to the speed and the

buoyancy and the obedience of the little craft the girl drove toward

the northwest. Why she should choose that direction she did not pause

to consider. Perhaps because in that direction lay the least known

areas of Barsoom, and, ergo, Romance, Mystery, and Adventure. In that

direction also lay far Gathol; but to that fact she gave no conscious

thought.

She did, however, think occasionally of the jed of that distant

kingdom, but the reaction to these thoughts was scarcely pleasurable.

They still brought a flush of shame to her cheeks and a surge of angry

blood to her heart. She was very angry with the Jed of Gathol, and

though she should never see him again she was quite sure that hate of

him would remain fresh in her memory forever. Mostly her thoughts

revolved about another--Djor Kantos. And when she thought of him she

thought also of Olvia Marthis of Hastor. Tara of Helium thought that

she was jealous of the fair Olvia and it made her very angry to think

that. She was angry with Djor Kantos and herself, but she was not angry

at all with Olvia Marthis, whom she loved, and so of course she was not

jealous really. The trouble was, that Tara of Helium had failed for

once to have her own way. Djor Kantos had not come running like a

willing slave when she had expected him, and, ah, here was the nub of

the whole thing! Gahan, Jed of Gathol, a stranger, had been a witness

to her humiliation. He had seen her unclaimed at the beginning of a

great function and he had had to come to her rescue to save her, as he

doubtless thought, from the inglorious fate of a wall-flower. At the

recurring thought, Tara of Helium could feel her whole body burning

with scarlet shame and then she went suddenly white and cold with rage;

whereupon she turned her flier about so abruptly that she was all but

torn from her lashings upon the flat, narrow deck. She reached home

just before dark. The guests had departed. Quiet had descended upon the

palace. An hour later she joined her father and mother at the evening

meal.

"You deserted us, Tara of Helium," said John Carter. "It is not what

the guests of John Carter should expect."

"They did not come to see me," replied Tara of Helium. "I did not ask

them."

"They were no less your guests," replied her father.

The girl rose, and came and stood beside him and put her arms about his

neck.

"My proper old Virginian," she cried, rumpling his shock of black hair.

"In Virginia you would be turned over your father's knee and spanked,"

said the man, smiling.

She crept into his lap and kissed him. "You do not love me any more,"

she announced. "No one loves me," but she could not compose her

features into a pout because bubbling laughter insisted upon breaking

through.

"The trouble is there are too many who love you," he said. "And now

there is another."

"Indeed!" she cried. "What do you mean?"

"Gahan of Gathol has asked permission to woo you."

The girl sat up very straight and tilted her chin in the air. "I would

not wed with a walking diamond-mine," she said. "I will not have him."

"I told him as much," replied her father, "and that you were as good as

betrothed to another. He was very courteous about it; but at the same

time he gave me to understand that he was accustomed to getting what he

wanted and that he wanted you very much. I suppose it will mean another

war. Your mother's beauty kept Helium at war for many years, and--well,

Tara of Helium, if I were a young man I should doubtless be willing to

set all Barsoom afire to win you, as I still would to keep your divine

mother," and he smiled across the sorapus table and its golden service

at the undimmed beauty of Mars' most beautiful woman.

"Our little girl should not yet be troubled with such matters," said

Dejah Thoris. "Remember, John Carter, that you are not dealing with an

Earth child, whose span of life would be more than half completed

before a daughter of Barsoom reached actual maturity."

"But do not the daughters of Barsoom sometimes marry as early as

twenty?" he insisted.

"Yes, but they will still be desirable in the eyes of men after forty

generations of Earth folk have returned to dust--there is no hurry, at

least, upon Barsoom. We do not fade and decay here as you tell me those

of your planet do, though you, yourself, belie your own words. When the

time seems proper Tara of Helium shall wed with Djor Kantos, and until

then let us give the matter no further thought."

"No," said the girl, "the subject irks me, and I shall not marry Djor

Kantos, or another--I do not intend to wed."

Her father and mother looked at her and smiled. "When Gahan of Gathol

returns he may carry you off," said the former.

"He has gone?" asked the girl.

"His flier departs for Gathol in the morning," John Carter replied.

"I have seen the last of him then," remarked Tara of Helium with a sigh

of relief.

"He says not," returned John Carter.

The girl dismissed the subject with a shrug and the conversation passed

to other topics. A letter had arrived from Thuvia of Ptarth, who was

visiting at her father's court while Carthoris, her mate, hunted in

Okar. Word had been received that the Tharks and Warhoons were again at

war, or rather that there had been an engagement, for war was their

habitual state. In the memory of man there had been no peace between

these two savage green hordes--only a single temporary truce. Two new

battleships had been launched at Hastor. A little band of holy therns

was attempting to revive the ancient and discredited religion of Issus,

who they claimed still lived in spirit and had communicated with them.

There were rumors of war from Dusar. A scientist claimed to have

discovered human life on the further moon. A madman had attempted to

destroy the atmosphere plant. Seven people had been assassinated in

Greater Helium during the last ten zodes, (the equivalent of an Earth

day).

Following the meal Dejah Thoris and The Warlord played at jetan, the

Barsoomian game of chess, which is played upon a board of a hundred

alternate black and orange squares. One player has twenty black pieces,

the other, twenty orange pieces. A brief description of the game may

interest those Earth readers who care for chess, and will not be lost

upon those who pursue this narrative to its conclusion, since before

they are done they will find that a knowledge of jetan will add to the

interest and the thrills that are in store for them.

The men are placed upon the board as in chess upon the first two rows

next the players. In order from left to right on the line of squares

nearest the players, the jetan pieces are Warrior, Padwar, Dwar, Flier,

Chief, Princess, Flier, Dwar, Padwar, Warrior. In the next line all are

Panthans except the end pieces, which are called Thoats, and represent

mounted warriors.

The Panthans, which are represented as warriors with one feather, may

move one space in any direction except backward; the Thoats, mounted

warriors with three feathers, may move one straight and one diagonal,

and may jump intervening pieces; Warriors, foot soldiers with two

feathers, straight in any direction, or diagonally, two spaces;

Padwars, lieutenants wearing two feathers, two diagonal in any

direction, or combination; Dwars, captains wearing three feathers,

three spaces straight in any direction, or combination; Fliers,

represented by a propellor with three blades, three spaces in any

direction, or combination, diagonally, and may jump intervening pieces;

the Chief, indicated by a diadem with ten jewels, three spaces in any

direction, straight, or diagonal; Princess, diadem with a single jewel,

same as Chief, and can jump intervening pieces.

The game is won when a player places any of his pieces on the same

square with his opponent's Princess, or when a Chief takes a Chief. It

is drawn when a Chief is taken by any opposing piece other than the

opposing Chief; or when both sides have been reduced to three pieces,

or less, of equal value, and the game is not terminated in the

following ten moves, five apiece. This is but a general outline of the

game, briefly stated.

It was this game that Dejah Thoris and John Carter were playing when

Tara of Helium bid them good night, retiring to her own quarters and

her sleeping silks and furs. "Until morning, my beloved," she called

back to them as she passed from the apartment, nor little did she

guess, nor her parents, that this might indeed be the last time that

they would ever set eyes upon her.

The morning broke dull and gray. Ominous clouds billowed restlessly and

low. Beneath them torn fragments scudded toward the northwest. From her

window Tara of Helium looked out upon this unusual scene. Dense clouds

seldom overcast the Barsoomian sky. At this hour of the day it was her

custom to ride one of those small thoats that are the saddle animals of

the red Martians, but the sight of the billowing clouds lured her to a

new adventure. Uthia still slept and the girl did not disturb her.

Instead, she dressed quietly and went to the hangar upon the roof of

the palace directly above her quarters where her own swift flier was

housed. She had never driven through the clouds. It was an adventure

that always she had longed to experience. The wind was strong and it

was with difficulty that she maneuvered the craft from the hangar

without accident, but once away it raced swiftly out above the twin

cities. The buffeting winds caught and tossed it, and the girl laughed

aloud in sheer joy of the resultant thrills. She handled the little

ship like a veteran, though few veterans would have faced the menace of

such a storm in so light a craft. Swiftly she rose toward the clouds,

racing with the scudding streamers of the storm-swept fragments, and a

moment later she was swallowed by the dense masses billowing above.

Here was a new world, a world of chaos unpeopled except for herself;

but it was a cold, damp, lonely world and she found it depressing after

the novelty of it had been dissipated, by an overpowering sense of the

magnitude of the forces surging about her. Suddenly she felt very

lonely and very cold and very little. Hurriedly, therefore, she rose

until presently her craft broke through into the glorious sunlight that

transformed the upper surface of the somber element into rolling masses

of burnished silver. Here it was still cold, but without the dampness

of the clouds, and in the eye of the brilliant sun her spirits rose

with the mounting needle of her altimeter. Gazing at the clouds, now

far beneath, the girl experienced the sensation of hanging stationary

in mid-heaven; but the whirring of her propellor, the wind beating upon

her, the high figures that rose and fell beneath the glass of her

speedometer, these told her that her speed was terrific. It was then

that she determined to turn back.

The first attempt she made above the clouds, but it was unsuccessful.

To her surprise she discovered that she could not even turn against the

high wind, which rocked and buffeted the frail craft. Then she dropped

swiftly to the dark and wind-swept zone between the hurtling clouds and

the gloomy surface of the shadowed ground. Here she tried again to

force the nose of the flier back toward Helium, but the tempest seized

the frail thing and hurled it remorselessly about, rolling it over and

over and tossing it as it were a cork in a cataract. At last the girl

succeeded in righting the flier, perilously close to the ground. Never

before had she been so close to death, yet she was not terrified. Her

coolness had saved her, that and the strength of the deck lashings that

held her. Traveling with the storm she was safe, but where was it

bearing her? She pictured the apprehension of her father and mother

when she failed to appear at the morning meal. They would find her

flier missing and they would guess that somewhere in the path of the

storm it lay a wrecked and tangled mass upon her dead body, and then

brave men would go out in search of her, risking their lives; and that

lives would be lost in the search, she knew, for she realized now that

never in her life-time had such a tempest raged upon Barsoom.

She must turn back! She must reach Helium before her mad lust for

thrills had cost the sacrifice of a single courageous life! She

determined that greater safety and likelihood of success lay above the

clouds, and once again she rose through the chilling, wind-tossed

vapor. Her speed again was terrific, for the wind seemed to have

increased rather than to have lessened. She sought gradually to check

the swift flight of her craft, but though she finally succeeded in

reversing her motor the wind but carried her on as it would. Then it

was that Tara of Helium lost her temper. Had her world not always bowed

in acquiescence to her every wish? What were these elements that they

dared to thwart her? She would demonstrate to them that the daughter of

The Warlord was not to be denied! They would learn that Tara of Helium

might not be ruled even by the forces of nature!

And so she drove her motor forward again and then with her firm, white

teeth set in grim determination she drove the steering lever far down

to port with the intention of forcing the nose of her craft straight

into the teeth of the wind, and the wind seized the frail thing and

toppled it over upon its back, and twisted and turned it and hurled it

over and over; the propellor raced for an instant in an air pocket and

then the tempest seized it again and twisted it from its shaft, leaving

the girl helpless upon an unmanageable atom that rose and fell, and

rolled and tumbled--the sport of the elements she had defied. Tara of

Helium's first sensation was one of surprise--that she had failed to

have her own way. Then she commenced to feel concern--not for her own

safety but for the anxiety of her parents and the dangers that the

inevitable searchers must face. She reproached herself for the

thoughtless selfishness that had jeopardized the peace and safety of

others. She realized her own grave danger, too; but she was still

unterrified, as befitted the daughter of Dejah Thoris and John Carter.

She knew that her buoyancy tanks might keep her afloat indefinitely,

but she had neither food nor water, and she was being borne toward the

least-known area of Barsoom. Perhaps it would be better to land

immediately and await the coming of the searchers, rather than to allow

herself to be carried still further from Helium, thus greatly reducing

the chances of early discovery; but when she dropped toward the ground

she discovered that the violence of the wind rendered an attempt to

land tantamount to destruction and she rose again, rapidly.

Carried along a few hundred feet above the ground she was better able

to appreciate the Titanic proportions of the storm than when she had

flown in the comparative serenity of the zone above the clouds, for now

she could distinctly see the effect of the wind upon the surface of

Barsoom. The air was filled with dust and flying bits of vegetation and

when the storm carried her across an irrigated area of farm land she

saw great trees and stone walls and buildings lifted high in air and

scattered broadcast over the devastated country; and then she was

carried swiftly on to other sights that forced in upon her

consciousness a rapidly growing conviction that after all Tara of

Helium was a very small and insignificant and helpless person. It was

quite a shock to her self-pride while it lasted, and toward evening she

was ready to believe that it was going to last forever. There had been

no abatement in the ferocity of the tempest, nor was there indication

of any. She could only guess at the distance she had been carried for

she could not believe in the correctness of the high figures that had

been piled upon the record of her odometer. They seemed unbelievable

and yet, had she known it, they were quite true--in twelve hours she

had flown and been carried by the storm full seven thousand haads. Just

before dark she was carried over one of the deserted cities of ancient

Mars. It was Torquas, but she did not know it. Had she, she might

readily have been forgiven for abandoning the last vestige of hope, for

to the people of Helium Torquas seems as remote as do the South Sea

Islands to us. And still the tempest, its fury unabated, bore her on.

All that night she hurtled through the dark beneath the clouds, or rose

to race through the moonlit void beneath the glory of Barsoom's two

satellites. She was cold and hungry and altogether miserable, but her

brave little spirit refused to admit that her plight was hopeless even

though reason proclaimed the truth. Her reply to reason, sometime

spoken aloud in sudden defiance, recalled the Spartan stubbornness of

her sire in the face of certain annihilation: "I still live!"

That morning there had been an early visitor at the palace of The

Warlord. It was Gahan, Jed of Gathol. He had arrived shortly after the

absence of Tara of Helium had been noted, and in the excitement he had

remained unannounced until John Carter had happened upon him in the

great reception corridor of the palace as The Warlord was hurrying out

to arrange for the dispatch of ships in search of his daughter.

Gahan read the concern upon the face of The Warlord. "Forgive me if I

intrude, John Carter," he said. "I but came to ask the indulgence of

another day since it would be fool-hardy to attempt to navigate a ship

in such a storm."

"Remain, Gahan, a welcome guest until you choose to leave us," replied

The Warlord; "but you must forgive any seeming inattention upon the

part of Helium until my daughter is restored to us."

"You daughter! Restored! What do you mean?" exclaimed the Gatholian. "I

do not understand."

"She is gone, together with her light flier. That is all we know. We

can only assume that she decided to fly before the morning meal and was

caught in the clutches of the tempest. You will pardon me, Gahan, if I

leave you abruptly--I am arranging to send ships in search of her;" but

Gahan, Jed of Gathol, was already speeding in the direction of the

palace gate. There he leaped upon a waiting thoat and followed by two

warriors in the metal of Gathol, he dashed through the avenues of

Helium toward the palace that had been set aside for his entertainment.

CHAPTER III

THE HEADLESS HUMANS

Above the roof of the palace that housed the Jed of Gathol and his

entourage, the cruiser Vanator tore at her stout moorings. The groaning

tackle bespoke the mad fury of the gale, while the worried faces of

those members of the crew whose duties demanded their presence on the

straining craft gave corroborative evidence of the gravity of the

situation. Only stout lashings prevented these men from being swept

from the deck, while those upon the roof below were constantly

compelled to cling to rails and stanchions to save themselves from

being carried away by each new burst of meteoric fury. Upon the prow of

the Vanator was painted the device of Gathol, but no pennants were

displayed in the upper works since the storm had carried away several

in rapid succession, just as it seemed to the watching men that it must

carry away the ship itself. They could not believe that any tackle

could withstand for long this Titanic force. To each of the twelve

lashings clung a brawny warrior with drawn short-sword. Had but a

single mooring given to the power of the tempest eleven short-swords

would have cut the others; since, partially moored, the ship was

doomed, while free in the tempest it stood at least some slight chance

for life.

"By the blood of Issus, I believe they will hold!" screamed one warrior

to another.

"And if they do not hold may the spirits of our ancestors reward the

brave warriors upon the Vanator," replied another of those upon the

roof of the palace, "for it will not be long from the moment her cables

part before her crew dons the leather of the dead; but yet, Tanus, I

believe they will hold. Give thanks at least that we did not sail

before the tempest fell, since now each of us has a chance to live."

"Yes," replied Tanus, "I should hate to be abroad today upon the

stoutest ship that sails the Barsoomian sky."

It was then that Gahan the Jed appeared upon the roof. With him were

the balance of his own party and a dozen warriors of Helium. The young

chief turned to his followers.

"I sail at once upon the Vanator," he said, "in search of Tara of

Helium who is thought to have been carried away upon a one-man flier by

the storm. I do not need to explain to you the slender chances the

Vanator has to withstand the fury of the tempest, nor will I order you

to your deaths. Let those who wish remain behind without dishonor. The

others will follow me," and he leaped for the rope ladder that lashed

wildly in the gale.

The first man to follow him was Tanus and when the last reached the

deck of the cruiser there remained upon the palace roof only the twelve

warriors of Helium, who, with naked swords, had taken the posts of the

Gatholians at the moorings.

Not a single warrior who had remained aboard the Vanator would leave

her now.

"I expected no less," said Gahan, as with the help of those already on

the deck he and the others found secure lashings. The commander of the

Vanator shook his head. He loved his trim craft, the pride of her class

in the little navy of Gathol. It was of her he thought--not of himself.

He saw her lying torn and twisted upon the ochre vegetation of some

distant sea-bottom, to be presently overrun and looted by some savage,

green horde. He looked at Gahan.

"Are you ready, San Tothis?" asked the jed.

"All is ready."

"Then cut away!"

Word was passed across the deck and over the side to the Heliumetic

warriors below that at the third gun they were to cut away. Twelve keen

swords must strike simultaneously and with equal power, and each must

sever completely and instantly three strands of heavy cable that no

loose end fouling a block bring immediate disaster upon the Vanator.

Boom! The voice of the signal gun rolled down through the screaming

wind to the twelve warriors upon the roof. Boom! Twelve swords were

raised above twelve brawny shoulders. Boom! Twelve keen edges severed

twelve complaining moorings, clean and as one.

The Vanator, her propellors whirling, shot forward with the storm. The

tempest struck her in the stern as with a mailed fist and stood the

great ship upon her nose, and then it caught her and spun her as a

child's top spins; and upon the palace roof the twelve men looked on in

silent helplessness and prayed for the souls of the brave warriors who

were going to their death. And others saw, from Helium's lofty landing

stages and from a thousand hangars upon a thousand roofs; but only for

an instant did the preparations stop that would send other brave men

into the frightful maelstrom of that apparently hopeless search, for

such is the courage of the warriors of Barsoom.

But the Vanator did not fall to the ground, within sight of the city at

least, though as long as the watchers could see her never for an

instant did she rest upon an even keel. Sometimes she lay upon one side

or the other, or again she hurtled along keel up, or rolled over and

over, or stood upon her nose or her tail at the caprice of the great

force that carried her along. And the watchers saw that this great ship

was merely being blown away with the other bits of debris great and

small that filled the sky. Never in the memory of man or the annals of

recorded history had such a storm raged across the face of Barsoom.

And in another instant was the Vanator forgotten as the lofty, scarlet

tower that had marked Lesser Helium for ages crashed to ground,

carrying death and demolition upon the city beneath. Panic reigned. A

fire broke out in the ruins. The city's every force seemed crippled,

and it was then that The Warlord ordered the men that were about to set

forth in search of Tara of Helium to devote their energies to the

salvation of the city, for he too had witnessed the start of the

Vanator and realized the futility of wasting men who were needed sorely

if Lesser Helium was to be saved from utter destruction.

Shortly after noon of the second day the storm commenced to abate, and

before the sun went down, the little craft upon which Tara of Helium

had hovered between life and death these many hours drifted slowly

before a gentle breeze above a landscape of rolling hills that once had

been lofty mountains upon a Martian continent. The girl was exhausted

from loss of sleep, from lack of food and drink, and from the nervous

reaction consequent to the terrifying experiences through which she had

passed. In the near distance, just topping an intervening hill, she

caught a momentary glimpse of what appeared to be a dome-capped tower.

Quickly she dropped the flier until the hill shut it off from the view

of the possible occupants of the structure she had seen. The tower

meant to her the habitation of man, suggesting the presence of water

and, perhaps, of food. If the tower was the deserted relic of a bygone

age she would scarcely find food there, but there was still a chance

that there might be water. If it was inhabited, then must her approach

be cautious, for only enemies might be expected to abide in so far

distant a land. Tara of Helium knew that she must be far from the twin

cities of her grandfather's empire, but had she guessed within even a

thousand haads of the reality, she had been stunned by realization of

the utter hopelessness of her state.

Keeping the craft low, for the buoyancy tanks were still intact, the

girl skimmed the ground until the gently-moving wind had carried her to

the side of the last hill that intervened between her and the structure

she had thought a man-built tower. Here she brought the flier to the

ground among some stunted trees, and dragging it beneath one where it

might be somewhat hidden from craft passing above, she made it fast and

set forth to reconnoiter. Like most women of her class she was armed

only with a single slender blade, so that in such an emergency as now

confronted her she must depend almost solely upon her cleverness in

remaining undiscovered by enemies. With utmost caution she crept warily

toward the crest of the hill, taking advantage of every natural screen

that the landscape afforded to conceal her approach from possible

observers ahead, while momentarily she cast quick glances rearward lest

she be taken by surprise from that quarter.

She came at last to the summit, where, from the concealment of a low

bush, she could see what lay beyond. Beneath her spread a beautiful

valley surrounded by low hills. Dotting it were numerous circular

towers, dome-capped, and surrounding each tower was a stone wall

enclosing several acres of ground. The valley appeared to be in a high

state of cultivation. Upon the opposite side of the hill and just

beneath her was a tower and enclosure. It was the roof of the former

that had first attracted her attention. In all respects it seemed

identical in construction with those further out in the valley--a high,

plastered wall of massive construction surrounding a similarly

constructed tower, upon whose gray surface was painted in vivid colors

a strange device. The towers were about forty sofads in diameter,

approximately forty earth-feet, and sixty in height to the base of the

dome. To an Earth man they would have immediately suggested the silos

in which dairy farmers store ensilage for their herds; but closer

scrutiny, revealing an occasional embrasured opening together with the

strange construction of the domes, would have altered such a

conclusion. Tara of Helium saw that the domes seemed to be faced with

innumerable prisms of glass, those that were exposed to the declining

sun scintillating so gorgeously as to remind her suddenly of the

magnificent trappings of Gahan of Gathol. As she thought of the man she

shook her head angrily, and moved cautiously forward a foot or two that

she might get a less obstructed view of the nearer tower and its

enclosure.

As Tara of Helium looked down into the enclosure surrounding the

nearest tower, her brows contracted momentarily in frowning surprise,

and then her eyes went wide in an expression of incredulity tinged with

horror, for what she saw was a score or two of human bodies--naked and

headless. For a long moment she watched, breathless; unable to believe

the evidence of her own eyes--that these grewsome things moved and had

life! She saw them crawling about on hands and knees over and across

one another, searching about with their fingers. And she saw some of

them at troughs, for which the others seemed to be searching, and those

at the troughs were taking something from these receptacles and

apparently putting it in a hole where their necks should have been.

They were not far beneath her--she could see them distinctly and she

saw that there were the bodies of both men and women, and that they

were beautifully proportioned, and that their skin was similar to hers,

but of a slightly lighter red. At first she had thought that she was

looking upon a shambles and that the bodies, but recently decapitated,

were moving under the impulse of muscular reaction; but presently she

realized that this was their normal condition. The horror of them

fascinated her, so that she could scarce take her eyes from them. It

was evident from their groping hands that they were eyeless, and their

sluggish movements suggested a rudimentary nervous system and a

correspondingly minute brain. The girl wondered how they subsisted for

she could not, even by the wildest stretch of imagination, picture

these imperfect creatures as intelligent tillers of the soil. Yet that

the soil of the valley was tilled was evident and that these things had

food was equally so. But who tilled the soil? Who kept and fed these

unhappy things, and for what purpose? It was an enigma beyond her

powers of deduction.

The sight of food aroused again a consciousness of her own gnawing

hunger and the thirst that parched her throat. She could see both food

and water within the enclosure; but would she dare enter even should

she find means of ingress? She doubted it, since the very thought of

possible contact with these grewsome creatures sent a shudder through

her frame.

Then her eyes wandered again out across the valley until presently they

picked out what appeared to be a tiny stream winding its way through

the center of the farm lands--a strange sight upon Barsoom. Ah, if it

were but water! Then might she hope with a real hope, for the fields

would give her sustenance which she could gain by night, while by day

she hid among the surrounding hills, and sometime, yes, sometime she

knew, the searchers would come, for John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom,

would never cease to search for his daughter until every square haad of

the planet had been combed again and again. She knew him and she knew

the warriors of Helium and so she knew that could she but manage to

escape harm until they came, they would indeed come at last.

She would have to wait until dark before she dare venture into the

valley, and in the meantime she thought it well to search out a place

of safety nearby where she might be reasonably safe from savage beasts.

It was possible that the district was free from carnivora, but one

might never be sure in a strange land. As she was about to withdraw

behind the brow of the hill her attention was again attracted to the

enclosure below. Two figures had emerged from the tower. Their

beautiful bodies seemed identical with those of the headless creatures

among which they moved, but the newcomers were not headless. Upon their

shoulders were heads that seemed human, yet which the girl intuitively

sensed were not human. They were just a trifle too far away for her to

see them distinctly in the waning light of the dying day, but she knew

that they were too large, they were out of proportion to the perfectly

proportioned bodies, and they were oblate in form. She could see that

the men wore some manner of harness to which were slung the customary

long-sword and short-sword of the Barsoomian warrior, and that about

their short necks were massive leather collars cut to fit closely over

the shoulders and snugly to the lower part of the head. Their features

were scarce discernible, but there was a suggestion of grotesqueness

about them that carried to her a feeling of revulsion.

The two carried a long rope to which were fastened, at intervals of

about two sofads, what she later guessed were light manacles, for she

saw the warriors passing among the poor creatures in the enclosure and

about the right wrist of each they fastened one of the manacles. When

all had been thus fastened to the rope one of the warriors commenced to

pull and tug at the loose end as though attempting to drag the headless

company toward the tower, while the other went among them with a long,

light whip with which he flicked them upon the naked skin. Slowly,

dully, the creatures rose to their feet and between the tugging of the

warrior in front and the lashing of him behind the hopeless band was

finally herded within the tower. Tara of Helium shuddered as she turned

away. What manner of creatures were these?

Suddenly it was night. The Barsoomian day had ended, and then the brief

period of twilight that renders the transition from daylight to

darkness almost as abrupt as the switching off of an electric light,

and Tara of Helium had found no sanctuary. But perhaps there were no

beasts to fear, or rather to avoid--Tara of Helium liked not the word

fear. She would have been glad, however, had there been a cabin, even a

very tiny cabin, upon her small flier; but there was no cabin. The

interior of the hull was completely taken up by the buoyancy tanks. Ah,

she had it! How stupid of her not to have thought of it before! She

could moor the craft to the tree beneath which it rested and let it

rise the length of the rope. Lashed to the deck rings she would then be

safe from any roaming beast of prey that chanced along. In the morning

she could drop to the ground again before the craft was discovered.

As Tara of Helium crept over the brow of the hill down toward the

valley, her presence was hidden by the darkness of the night from the

sight of any chance observer who might be loitering by a window in the

nearby tower. Cluros, the farther moon, was just rising above the

horizon to commence his leisurely journey through the heavens. Eight

zodes later he would set--a trifle over nineteen and a half Earth

hours--and during that time Thuria, his vivacious mate, would have

circled the planet twice and be more than half way around on her third

trip. She had but just set. It would be more than three and a half

hours before she shot above the opposite horizon to hurtle, swift and

low, across the face of the dying planet. During this temporary absence

of the mad moon Tara of Helium hoped to find both food and water, and

gain again the safety of her flier's deck.

She groped her way through the darkness, giving the tower and its

enclosure as wide a berth as possible. Sometimes she stumbled, for in

the long shadows cast by the rising Cluros objects were grotesquely

distorted though the light from the moon was still not sufficient to be

of much assistance to her. Nor, as a matter of fact, did she want

light. She could find the stream in the dark, by the simple expedient

of going down hill until she walked into it and she had seen that

bearing trees and many crops grew throughout the valley, so that she

would pass food in plenty ere she reached the stream. If the moon

showed her the way more clearly and thus saved her from an occasional

fall, he would, too, show her more clearly to the strange denizens of

the towers, and that, of course, must not be. Could she have waited

until the following night conditions would have been better, since

Cluros would not appear in the heavens at all and so, during Thuria's

absence, utter darkness would reign; but the pangs of thirst and the

gnawing of hunger could be endured no longer with food and drink both

in sight, and so she had decided to risk discovery rather than suffer

longer.

Safely past the nearest tower, she moved as rapidly as she felt

consistent with safety, choosing her way wherever possible so that she

might take advantage of the shadows of the trees that grew at intervals

and at the same time discover those which bore fruit. In this latter

she met with almost immediate success, for the very third tree beneath

which she halted was heavy with ripe fruit. Never, thought Tara of

Helium, had aught so delicious impinged upon her palate, and yet it was

naught else than the almost tasteless usa, which is considered to be

palatable only after having been cooked and highly spiced. It grows

easily with little irrigation and the trees bear abundantly. The fruit,

which ranks high in food value, is one of the staple foods of the less

well-to-do, and because of its cheapness and nutritive value forms one

of the principal rations of both armies and navies upon Barsoom, a use

which has won for it a Martian sobriquet which, freely translated into

English, would be, The Fighting Potato. The girl was wise enough to eat

but sparingly, but she filled her pocket-pouch with the fruit before

she continued upon her way.

Two towers she passed before she came at last to the stream, and here

again was she temperate, drinking but little and that very slowly,

contenting herself with rinsing her mouth frequently and bathing her

face, her hands, and her feet; and even though the night was cold, as

Martian nights are, the sensation of refreshment more than compensated

for the physical discomfort of the low temperature. Replacing her

sandals she sought among the growing track near the stream for whatever

edible berries or tubers might be planted there, and found a couple of

varieties that could be eaten raw. With these she replaced some of the

usa in her pocket-pouch, not only to insure a variety but because she

found them more palatable. Occasionally she returned to the stream to

drink, but each time moderately. Always were her eyes and ears alert

for the first signs of danger, but she had neither seen nor heard aught

to disturb her. And presently the time approached when she felt she

must return to her flier lest she be caught in the revealing light of

low swinging Thuria. She dreaded leaving the water for she knew that

she must become very thirsty before she could hope to come again to the

stream. If she only had some little receptacle in which to carry water,

even a small amount would tide her over until the following night; but

she had nothing and so she must content herself as best she could with

the juices of the fruit and tubers she had gathered.

After a last drink at the stream, the longest and deepest she had

allowed herself, she rose to retrace her steps toward the hills; but

even as she did so she became suddenly tense with apprehension. What

was that? She could have sworn that she saw something move in the

shadows beneath a tree not far away. For a long minute the girl did not

move--she scarce breathed. Her eyes remained fixed upon the dense

shadows below the tree, her ears strained through the silence of the

night. A low moaning came down from the hills where her flier was

hidden. She knew it well--the weird note of the hunting banth. And the

great carnivore lay directly in her path. But he was not so close as

this other thing, hiding there in the shadows just a little way off.

What was it? It was the strain of uncertainty that weighed heaviest

upon her. Had she known the nature of the creature lurking there half

its menace would have vanished. She cast quickly about her in search of

some haven of refuge should the thing prove dangerous.

Again arose the moaning from the hills, but this time closer. Almost

immediately it was answered from the opposite side of the valley,

behind her, and then from the distance to the right of her, and twice

upon her left. Her eyes had found a tree, quite near. Slowly, and

without taking her eyes from the shadows of that other tree, she moved

toward the overhanging branches that might afford her sanctuary in the

event of need, and at her first move a low growl rose from the spot she

had been watching and she heard the sudden moving of a big body.

Simultaneously the creature shot into the moonlight in full charge upon

her, its tail erect, its tiny ears laid flat, its great mouth with its

multiple rows of sharp and powerful fangs already yawning for its prey,

its ten legs carrying it forward in great leaps, and now from the

beast's throat issued the frightful roar with which it seeks to

paralyze its prey. It was a banth--the great, maned lion of Barsoom.

Tara of Helium saw it coming and leaped for the tree toward which she

had been moving, and the banth realized her intention and redoubled his

speed. As his hideous roar awakened the echoes in the hills, so too it

awakened echoes in the valley; but these echoes came from the living

throats of others of his kind, until it seemed to the girl that Fate

had thrown her into the midst of a countless multitude of these savage

beasts.

Almost incredibly swift is the speed of a charging banth, and fortunate

it was that the girl had not been caught farther in the open. As it

was, her margin of safety was next to negligible, for as she swung

nimbly to the lower branches the creature in pursuit of her crashed

among the foliage almost upon her as it sprang upward to seize her. It

was only a combination of good fortune and agility that saved her. A

stout branch deflected the raking talons of the carnivore, but so close

was the call that a giant forearm brushed her flesh in the instant

before she scrambled to the higher branches.

Baffled, the banth gave vent to his rage and disappointment in a series

of frightful roars that caused the very ground to tremble, and to these

were added the roarings and the growlings and the moanings of his

fellows as they approached from every direction, in the hope of

wresting from him whatever of his kill they could take by craft or

prowess. And now he turned snarling upon them as they circled the tree,

while the girl, huddled in a crotch above them, looked down upon the

gaunt, yellow monsters padding on noiseless feet in a restless circle

about her. She wondered now at the strange freak of fate that had

permitted her to come down this far into the valley by night unharmed,

but even more she wondered how she was to return to the hills. She knew

that she would not dare venture it by night and she guessed, too, that

by day she might be confronted by even graver perils. To depend upon

this valley for sustenance she now saw to be beyond the pale of

possibility because of the banths that would keep her from food and

water by night, while the dwellers in the towers would doubtless make

it equally impossible for her to forage by day. There was but one

solution of her difficulty and that was to return to her flier and pray

that the wind would waft her to some less terrorful land; but when

might she return to the flier? The banths gave little evidence of

relinquishing hope of her, and even if they wandered out of sight would

she dare risk the attempt? She doubted it.

Hopeless indeed seemed her situation--hopeless it was.

CHAPTER IV

CAPTURED

As Thuria, swift racer of the night, shot again into the sky the scene

changed. As by magic a new aspect fell athwart the face of Nature. It

was as though in the instant one had been transported from one planet

to another. It was the age-old miracle of the Martian nights that is

always new, even to Martians--two moons resplendent in the heavens,

where one had been but now; conflicting, fast-changing shadows that

altered the very hills themselves; far Cluros, stately, majestic,

almost stationary, shedding his steady light upon the world below;

Thuria, a great and glorious orb, swinging swift across the vaulted

dome of the blue-black night, so low that she seemed to graze the

hills, a gorgeous spectacle that held the girl now beneath the spell of

its enchantment as it always had and always would.

"Ah, Thuria, mad queen of heaven!" murmured Tara of Helium. "The hills

pass in stately procession, their bosoms rising and falling; the trees

move in restless circles; the little grasses describe their little

arcs; and all is movement, restless, mysterious movement without sound,

while Thuria passes." The girl sighed and let her gaze fall again to

the stern realities beneath. There was no mystery in the huge banths.

He who had discovered her squatted there looking hungrily up at her.

Most of the others had wandered away in search of other prey, but a few

remained hoping yet to bury their fangs in that soft body.

The night wore on. Again Thuria left the heavens to her lord and

master, hurrying on to keep her tryst with the Sun in other skies. But

a single banth waited impatiently beneath the tree which harbored Tara

of Helium. The others had left, but their roars, and growls, and moans

thundered or rumbled, or floated back to her from near and far. What

prey found they in this little valley? There must be something that

they were accustomed to find here that they should be drawn in so great

numbers. The girl wondered what it could be.

How long the night! Numb, cold, and exhausted, Tara of Helium clung to

the tree in growing desperation, for once she had dozed and almost

fallen. Hope was low in her brave little heart. How much more could she

endure? She asked herself the question and then, with a brave shake of

her head, she squared her shoulders. "I still live!" she said aloud.

The banth looked up and growled.

Came Thuria again and after awhile the great Sun--a flaming lover,

pursuing his heart's desire. And Cluros, the cold husband, continued

his serene way, as placid as before his house had been violated by this

hot Lothario. And now the Sun and both Moons rode together in the sky,

lending their far mysteries to make weird the Martian dawn. Tara of

Helium looked out across the fair valley that spread upon all sides of

her. It was rich and beautiful, but even as she looked upon it she

shuddered, for to her mind came a picture of the headless things that

the towers and the walls hid. Those by day and the banths by night! Ah,

was it any wonder that she shuddered?

With the coming of the Sun the great Barsoomian lion rose to his feet.

He turned angry eyes upon the girl above him, voiced a single ominous

growl, and slunk away toward the hills. The girl watched him, and she

saw that he gave the towers as wide a berth as possible and that he

never took his eyes from one of them while he was passing it. Evidently

the inmates had taught these savage creatures to respect them.

Presently he passed from sight in a narrow defile, nor in any direction

that she could see was there another. Momentarily at least the

landscape was deserted. The girl wondered if she dared to attempt to

regain the hills and her flier. She dreaded the coming of the workmen

to the fields as she was sure they would come. She shrank from again

seeing the headless bodies, and found herself wondering if these things

would come out into the fields and work. She looked toward the nearest

tower. There was no sign of life there. The valley lay quiet now and

deserted. She lowered herself stiffly to the ground. Her muscles were

cramped and every move brought a twinge of pain. Pausing a moment to

drink again at the stream she felt refreshed and then turned without

more delay toward the hills. To cover the distance as quickly as

possible seemed the only plan to pursue. The trees no longer offered

concealment and so she did not go out of her way to be near them. The

hills seemed very far away. She had not thought, the night before, that

she had traveled so far. Really it had not been far, but now, with the

three towers to pass in broad daylight, the distance seemed great

indeed.

The second tower lay almost directly in her path. To make a detour

would not lessen the chance of detection, it would only lengthen the

period of her danger, and so she laid her course straight for the hill

where her flier was, regardless of the tower. As she passed the first

enclosure she thought that she heard the sound of movement within, but

the gate did not open and she breathed more easily when it lay behind

her. She came then to the second enclosure, the outer wall of which she

must circle, as it lay across her route. As she passed close along it

she distinctly heard not only movement within, but voices. In the

world-language of Barsoom she heard a man issuing instructions--so many

were to pick usa, so many were to irrigate this field, so many to

cultivate that, and so on, as a foreman lays out the day's work for his

crew.

Tara of Helium had just reached the gate in the outer wall. Without

warning it swung open toward her. She saw that for a moment it would

hide her from those within and in that moment she turned and ran,

keeping close to the wall, until, passing out of sight beyond the curve

of the structure, she came to the opposite side of the enclosure. Here,

panting from her exertion and from the excitement of her narrow escape,

she threw herself among some tall weeds that grew close to the foot of

the wall. There she lay trembling for some time, not even daring to

raise her head and look about. Never before had Tara of Helium felt the

paralyzing effects of terror. She was shocked and angry at herself,

that she, daughter of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, should exhibit

fear. Not even the fact that there had been none there to witness it

lessened her shame and anger, and the worst of it was she knew that

under similar circumstances she would again be equally as craven. It

was not the fear of death--she knew that. No, it was the thought of

those headless bodies and that she might see them and that they might

even touch her--lay hands upon her--seize her. She shuddered and

trembled at the thought.

After a while she gained sufficient command of herself to raise her

head and look about. To her horror she discovered that everywhere she

looked she saw people working in the fields or preparing to do so.

Workmen were coming from other towers. Little bands were passing to

this field and that. There were even some already at work within thirty

ads of her--about a hundred yards. There were ten, perhaps, in the

party nearest her, both men and women, and all were beautiful of form

and grotesque of face. So meager were their trappings that they were

practically naked; a fact that was in no way remarkable among the

tillers of the fields of Mars. Each wore the peculiar, high leather

collar that completely hid the neck, and each wore sufficient other

leather to support a single sword and a pocket-pouch. The leather was

very old and worn, showing long, hard service, and was absolutely plain

with the exception of a single device upon the left shoulder. The

heads, however, were covered with ornaments of precious metals and

jewels, so that little more than eyes, nose, and mouth were

discernible. These were hideously inhuman and yet grotesquely human at

the same time. The eyes were far apart and protruding, the nose scarce

more than two small, parallel slits set vertically above a round hole

that was the mouth. The heads were peculiarly repulsive--so much so

that it seemed unbelievable to the girl that they formed an integral

part of the beautiful bodies below them.

So fascinated was Tara of Helium that she could scarce take her eyes

from the strange creatures--a fact that was to prove her undoing, for

in order that she might see them she was forced to expose a part of her

own head and presently, to her consternation, she saw that one of the

creatures had stopped his work and was staring directly at her. She did

not dare move, for it was still possible that the thing had not seen

her, or at least was only suspicious that some creature lay hid among

the weeds. If she could allay this suspicion by remaining motionless

the creature might believe that he had been mistaken and return to his

work; but, alas, such was not to be the case. She saw the thing call

the attention of others to her and almost immediately four or five of

them started to move in her direction.

It was impossible now to escape discovery. Her only hope lay in flight.

If she could elude them and reach the hills and the flier ahead of them

she might escape, and that could be accomplished in but one

way--flight, immediate and swift. Leaping to her feet she darted along

the base of the wall which she must skirt to the opposite side, beyond

which lay the hill that was her goal. Her act was greeted by strange

whistling sounds from the things behind her, and casting a glance over

her shoulder she saw them all in rapid pursuit.

There were also shrill commands that she halt, but to these she paid no

attention. Before she had half circled the enclosure she discovered

that her chances for successful escape were great, since it was evident

to her that her pursuers were not so fleet as she. High indeed then

were her hopes as she came in sight of the hill, but they were soon

dashed by what lay before her, for there, in the fields that lay

between, were fully a hundred creatures similar to those behind her and

all were on the alert, evidently warned by the whistling of their

fellows. Instructions and commands were shouted to and fro, with the

result that those before her spread roughly into a great half circle to

intercept her, and when she turned to the right, hoping to elude the

net, she saw others coming from fields beyond, and to the left the same

was true. But Tara of Helium would not admit defeat. Without once

pausing she turned directly toward the center of the advancing

semi-circle, beyond which lay her single chance of escape, and as she

ran she drew her long, slim dagger. Like her valiant sire, if die she

must, she would die fighting. There were gaps in the thin line

confronting her and toward the widest of one of these she directed her

course. The things on either side of the opening guessed her intent for

they closed in to place themselves in her path. This widened the

openings on either side of them and as the girl appeared almost to rush

into their arms she turned suddenly at right angles, ran swiftly in the

new direction for a few yards, and then dashed quickly toward the hill

again. Now only a single warrior, with a wide gap on either side of

him, barred her clear way to freedom, though all the others were

speeding as rapidly as they could to intercept her. If she could pass

this one without too much delay she could escape, of that she was

certain. Her every hope hinged on this. The creature before her

realized it, too, for he moved cautiously, though swiftly, to intercept

her, as a Rugby fullback might maneuver in the realization that he

alone stood between the opposing team and a touchdown.

At first Tara of Helium had hoped that she might dodge him, for she

could not but guess that she was not only more fleet but infinitely

more agile than these strange creatures; but soon there came to her the

realization that in the time consumed in an attempt to elude his grasp

his nearer fellows would be upon her and escape then impossible, so she

chose instead to charge straight for him, and when he guessed her

decision he stood, half crouching and with outstretched arms, awaiting

her. In one hand was his sword, but a voice arose, crying in tones of

authority. "Take her alive! Do not harm her!" Instantly the fellow

returned his sword to its scabbard and then Tara of Helium was upon

him. Straight for that beautiful body she sprang and in the instant

that the arms closed to seize her her sharp blade drove deep into the

naked chest. The impact hurled them both to the ground and as Tara of

Helium sprang to her feet again she saw, to her horror, that the

loathsome head had rolled from the body and was now crawling away from

her on six short, spider-like legs. The body struggled spasmodically

and lay still. As brief as had been the delay caused by the encounter,

it still had been of sufficient duration to undo her, for even as she

rose two more of the things fell upon her and instantly thereafter she

was surrounded. Her blade sank once more into naked flesh and once more

a head rolled free and crawled away. Then they overpowered her and in

another moment she was surrounded by fully a hundred of the creatures,

all seeking to lay hands upon her. At first she thought that they

wished to tear her to pieces in revenge for her having slain two of

their fellows, but presently she realized that they were prompted more

by curiosity than by any sinister motive.

"Come!" said one of her captors, both of whom had retained a hold upon

her. As he spoke he tried to lead her away with him toward the nearest

tower.

"She belongs to me," cried the other. "Did not I capture her? She will

come with me to the tower of Moak."

"Never!" insisted the first. "She is Luud's. To Luud I will take her,

and whosoever interferes may feel the keenness of my sword--in the

head!" He almost shouted the last three words.

"Come! Enough of this," cried one who spoke with some show of

authority. "She was captured in Luud's fields--she will go to Luud."

"She was discovered in Moak's fields, at the very foot of the tower of

Moak," insisted he who had claimed her for Moak.

"You have heard the Nolach speak," cried the Luud. "It shall be as he

says."

"Not while this Moak holds a sword," replied the other. "Rather will I

cut her in twain and take my half to Moak than to relinquish her all to

Luud," and he drew his sword, or rather he laid his hand upon its hilt

in a threatening gesture; but before ever he could draw it the Luud had

whipped his out and with a fearful blow cut deep into the head of his

adversary. Instantly the big, round head collapsed, almost as a

punctured balloon collapses, as a grayish, semi-fluid matter spurted

from it. The protruding eyes, apparently lidless, merely stared, the

sphincter-like muscle of the mouth opened and closed, and then the head

toppled from the body to the ground. The body stood dully for a moment

and then slowly started to wander aimlessly about until one of the

others seized it by the arm.

One of the two heads crawling about on the ground now approached. "This

rykor belongs to Moak," it said. "I am a Moak. I will take it," and

without further discussion it commenced to crawl up the front of the

headless body, using its six short, spiderlike legs and two stout

chelae which grew just in front of its legs and strongly resembled

those of an Earthly lobster, except that they were both of the same

size. The body in the meantime stood in passive indifference, its arms

hanging idly at its sides. The head climbed to the shoulders and

settled itself inside the leather collar that now hid its chelae and

legs. Almost immediately the body gave evidence of intelligent

animation. It raised its hands and adjusted the collar more

comfortably, it took the head between its palms and settled it in place

and when it moved around it did not wander aimlessly, but instead its

steps were firm and to some purpose.

The girl watched all these things in growing wonder, and presently, no

other of the Moaks seeming inclined to dispute the right of the Luud to

her, she was led off by her captor toward the nearest tower. Several

accompanied them, including one who carried the loose head under his

arm. The head that was being carried conversed with the head upon the

shoulders of the thing that carried it. Tara of Helium shivered. It was

horrible! All that she had seen of these frightful creatures was

horrible. And to be a prisoner, wholly in their power. Shadow of her

first ancestor! What had she done to deserve so cruel a fate?

At the wall enclosing the tower they paused while one opened the gate

and then they passed within the enclosure, which, to the girl's horror,

she found filled with headless bodies. The creature who carried the

bodiless head now set its burden upon the ground and the latter

immediately crawled toward one of the bodies that was lying near by.

Some wandered stupidly to and fro, but this one lay still. It was a

female. The head crawled to it and made its way to the shoulders where

it settled itself. At once the body sprang lightly erect. Another of

those who had accompanied them from the fields approached with the

harness and collar that had been taken from the dead body that the head

had formerly topped. The new body now appropriated these and the hands

deftly adjusted them. The creature was now as good as before Tara of

Helium had struck down its former body with her slim blade. But there

was a difference. Before it had been male--now it was female. That,

however, seemed to make no difference to the head. In fact, Tara of

Helium had noticed during the scramble and the fight about her that sex

differences seemed of little moment to her captors. Males and females

had taken equal part in her pursuit, both were identically harnessed

and both carried swords, and she had seen as many females as males draw

their weapons at the moment that a quarrel between the two factions

seemed imminent.

The girl was given but brief opportunity for further observation of the

pitiful creatures in the enclosure as her captor, after having directed

the others to return to the fields, led her toward the tower, which

they entered, passing into an apartment about ten feet wide and twenty

long, in one end of which was a stairway leading to an upper level and

in the other an opening to a similar stairway leading downward. The

chamber, though on a level with the ground, was brilliantly lighted by

windows in its inner wall, the light coming from a circular court in

the center of the tower. The walls of this court appeared to be faced

with what resembled glazed, white tile and the whole interior of it was

flooded with dazzling light, a fact which immediately explained to the

girl the purpose of the glass prisms of which the domes were

constructed. The stairways themselves were sufficient to cause remark,

since in nearly all Barsoomian architecture inclined runways are

utilized for purposes of communication between different levels, and

especially is this true of the more ancient forms and of those of

remote districts where fewer changes have come to alter the customs of

antiquity.

Down the stairway her captor led Tara of Helium. Down and down through

chambers still lighted from the brilliant well. Occasionally they

passed others going in the opposite direction and these always stopped

to examine the girl and ask questions of her captor.

"I know nothing but that she was found in the fields and that I caught

her after a fight in which she slew two rykors and in which I slew a

Moak, and that I take her to Luud, to whom, of course, she belongs. If

Luud wishes to question her that is for Luud to do--not for me." Thus

always he answered the curious.

Presently they reached a room from which a circular tunnel led away

from the tower, and into this the creature conducted her. The tunnel

was some seven feet in diameter and flattened on the bottom to form a

walk. For a hundred feet from the tower it was lined with the same

tile-like material of the light well and amply illuminated by reflected

light from that source. Beyond it was faced with stone of various

shapes and sizes, neatly cut and fitted together--a very fine mosaic

without a pattern. There were branches, too, and other tunnels which

crossed this, and occasionally openings not more than a foot in

diameter; these latter being usually close to the floor. Above each of

these smaller openings was painted a different device, while upon the

walls of the larger tunnels at all intersections and points of

convergence hieroglyphics appeared. These the girl could not read

though she guessed that they were the names of the tunnels, or notices

indicating the points to which they led. She tried to study some of

them out, but there was not a character that was familiar to her, which

seemed strange, since, while the written languages of the various

nations of Barsoom differ, it still is true that they have many

characters and words in common.

She had tried to converse with her guard but he had not seemed inclined

to talk with her and she had finally desisted. She could not but note

that he had offered her no indignities, nor had he been either

unnecessarily rough or in any way cruel. The fact that she had slain

two of the bodies with her dagger had apparently aroused no animosity

or desire for revenge in the minds of the strange heads that surmounted

the bodies--even those whose bodies had been killed. She did not try to

understand it, since she could not approach the peculiar relationship

between the heads and the bodies of these creatures from the basis of

any past knowledge or experience of her own. So far their treatment of

her seemed to augur naught that might arouse her fears. Perhaps, after

all, she had been fortunate to fall into the hands of these strange

people, who might not only protect her from harm, but even aid her in

returning to Helium. That they were repulsive and uncanny she could not

forget, but if they meant her no harm she could, at least, overlook

their repulsiveness. Renewed hope aroused within her a spirit of

greater cheerfulness, and it was almost blithely now that she moved at

the side of her weird companion. She even caught herself humming a gay

little tune that was then popular in Helium. The creature at her side

turned its expressionless eyes upon her.

"What is that noise that you are making?" it asked.

"I was but humming an air," she replied.

"'Humming an air,'" he repeated. "I do not know what you mean; but do

it again, I like it."

This time she sang the words, while her companion listened intently.

His face gave no indication of what was passing in that strange head.

It was as devoid of expression as that of a spider. It reminded her of

a spider. When she had finished he turned toward her again.

"That was different," he said. "I liked that better, even, than the

other. How do you do it?"

"Why," she said, "it is singing. Do you not know what song is?"

"No," he replied. "Tell me how you do it."

"It is difficult to explain," she told him, "since any explanation of

it presupposes some knowledge of melody and of music, while your very

question indicates that you have no knowledge of either."

"No," he said, "I do not know what you are talking about; but tell me

how you do it."

"It is merely the melodious modulations of my voice," she explained.

"Listen!" and again she sang.

"I do not understand," he insisted; "but I like it. Could you teach me

to do it?"

"I do not know, but I shall be glad to try."

"We will see what Luud does with you," he said. "If he does not want

you I will keep you and you shall teach me to make sounds like that."

At his request she sang again as they continued their way along the

winding tunnel, which was now lighted by occasional bulbs which

appeared to be similar to the radium bulbs with which she was familiar

and which were common to all the nations of Barsoom, insofar as she

knew, having been perfected at so remote a period that their very

origin was lost in antiquity. They consist, usually, of a hemispherical

bowl of heavy glass in which is packed a compound containing what,

according to John Carter, must be radium. The bowl is then cemented

into a metal plate with a heavily insulated back and the whole affair

set in the masonry of wall or ceiling as desired, where it gives off

light of greater or less intensity, according to the composition of the

filling material, for an almost incalculable period of time.

As they proceeded they met a greater number of the inhabitants of this

underground world, and the girl noted that among many of these the

metal and harness were more ornate than had been those of the workers

in the fields above. The heads and bodies, however, were similar, even

identical, she thought. No one offered her harm and she was now

experiencing a feeling of relief almost akin to happiness, when her

guide turned suddenly into an opening on the right side of the tunnel

and she found herself in a large, well lighted chamber.

CHAPTER V

THE PERFECT BRAIN

The song that had been upon her lips as she entered died there--frozen

by the sight of horror that met her eyes. In the center of the chamber

a headless body lay upon the floor--a body that had been partially

devoured--while over and upon it crawled a half a dozen heads upon

their short, spider legs, and they tore at the flesh of the woman with

their chelae and carried the bits to their awful mouths. They were

eating human flesh--eating it raw!

Tara of Helium gasped in horror and turning away covered her eyes with

her palms.

"Come!" said her captor. "What is the matter?"

"They are eating the flesh of the woman," she whispered in tones of

horror.

"Why not?" he inquired. "Did you suppose that we kept the rykor for

labor alone? Ah, no. They are delicious when kept and fattened.

Fortunate, too, are those that are bred for food, since they are never

called upon to do aught but eat."

"It is hideous!" she cried.

He looked at her steadily for a moment, but whether in surprise, in

anger, or in pity his expressionless face did not reveal. Then he led

her on across the room past the frightful thing, from which she turned

away her eyes. Lying about the floor near the walls were half a dozen

headless bodies in harness. These she guessed had been abandoned

temporarily by the feasting heads until they again required their

services. In the walls of this room there were many of the small, round

openings she had noticed in various parts of the tunnels, the purpose

of which she could not guess.

They passed through another corridor and then into a second chamber,

larger than the first and more brilliantly illuminated. Within were

several of the creatures with heads and bodies assembled, while many

headless bodies lay about near the walls. Here her captor halted and

spoke to one of the occupants of the chamber.

"I seek Luud," he said. "I bring to Luud a creature that I captured in

the fields above."

The others crowded about to examine Tara of Helium. One of them

whistled, whereupon the girl learned something of the smaller openings

in the walls, for almost immediately there crawled from them, like

giant spiders, a score or more of the hideous heads. Each sought one of

the recumbent bodies and fastened itself in place. Immediately the

bodies reacted to the intelligent direction of the heads. They arose,

the hands adjusted the leather collars and put the balance of the

harness in order, then the creatures crossed the room to where Tara of

Helium stood. She noted that their leather was more highly ornamented

than that worn by any of the others she had previously seen, and so she

guessed that these must be higher in authority than the others. Nor was

she mistaken. The demeanor of her captor indicated it. He addressed

them as one who holds intercourse with superiors.

Several of those who examined her felt her flesh, pinching it gently

between thumb and forefinger, a familiarity that the girl resented. She

struck down their hands. "Do not touch me!" she cried, imperiously, for

was she not a princess of Helium? The expression on those terrible

faces did not change. She could not tell whether they were angry or

amused, whether her action had filled them with respect for her, or

contempt. Only one of them spoke immediately.

"She will have to be fattened more," he said.

The girl's eyes went wide with horror. She turned upon her captor. "Do

these frightful creatures intend to devour me?" she cried.

"That is for Luud to say," he replied, and then he leaned closer so

that his mouth was near her ear. "That noise you made which you called

song pleased me," he whispered, "and I will repay you by warning you

not to antagonize these kaldanes. They are very powerful. Luud listens

to them. Do not call them frightful. They are very handsome. Look at

their wonderful trappings, their gold, their jewels."

"Thank you," she said. "You called them kaldanes--what does that mean?"

"We are all kaldanes," he replied.

"You, too?" and she pointed at him, her slim finger directed toward his

chest.

"No, not this," he explained, touching his body; "this is a rykor; but

this," and he touched his head, "is a kaldane. It is the brain, the

intellect, the power that directs all things. The rykor," he indicated

his body, "is nothing. It is not so much even as the jewels upon our

harness; no, not so much as the harness itself. It carries us about. It

is true that we would find difficulty getting along without it; but it

has less value than harness or jewels because it is less difficult to

reproduce." He turned again to the other kaldanes. "Will you notify

Luud that I am here?" he asked.

"Sept has already gone to Luud. He will tell him," replied one. "Where

did you find this rykor with the strange kaldane that cannot detach

itself?"

The girl's captor narrated once more the story of her capture. He

stated facts just as they had occurred, without embellishment, his

voice as expressionless as his face, and his story was received in the

same manner that it was delivered. The creatures seemed totally lacking

in emotion, or, at least, the capacity to express it. It was impossible

to judge what impression the story made upon them, or even if they

heard it. Their protruding eyes simply stared and occasionally the

muscles of their mouths opened and closed. Familiarity did not lessen

the horror the girl felt for them. The more she saw of them the more

repulsive they seemed. Often her body was shaken by convulsive shudders

as she looked at the kaldanes, but when her eyes wandered to the

beautiful bodies and she could for a moment expunge the heads from her

consciousness the effect was soothing and refreshing, though when the

bodies lay, headless, upon the floor they were quite as shocking as the

heads mounted on bodies. But by far the most grewsome and uncanny sight

of all was that of the heads crawling about upon their spider legs. If

one of these should approach and touch her Tara of Helium was positive

that she should scream, while should one attempt to crawl up her

person--ugh! the very idea induced a feeling of faintness.

Sept returned to the chamber. "Luud will see you and the captive.

Come!" he said, and turned toward a door opposite that through which

Tara of Helium had entered the chamber. "What is your name?" His

question was directed to the girl's captor.

"I am Ghek, third foreman of the fields of Luud," he answered.

"And hers?"

"I do not know."

"It makes no difference. Come!"

The patrician brows of Tara of Helium went high. It made no difference,

indeed! She, a princess of Helium; only daughter of The Warlord of

Barsoom!

"Wait!" she cried. "It makes much difference who I am. If you are

conducting me into the presence of your jed you may announce The

Princess Tara of Helium, daughter of John Carter, The Warlord of

Barsoom."

"Hold your peace!" commanded Sept. "Speak when you are spoken to. Come

with me!"

The anger of Tara of Helium all but choked her. "Come," admonished

Ghek, and took her by the arm, and Tara of Helium came. She was naught

but a prisoner. Her rank and titles meant nothing to these inhuman

monsters. They led her through a short, S-shaped passageway into a

chamber entirely lined with the white, tile-like material with which

the interior of the light wall was faced. Close to the base of the

walls were numerous smaller apertures, circular in shape, but larger

than those of similar aspect that she had noted elsewhere. The majority

of these apertures were sealed. Directly opposite the entrance was one

framed in gold, and above it a peculiar device was inlaid in the same

precious metal.

Sept and Ghek halted just within the room, the girl between them, and

all three stood silently facing the opening in the opposite wall. On

the floor beside the aperture lay a headless male body of almost heroic

proportions, and on either side of this stood a heavily armed warrior,

with drawn sword. For perhaps five minutes the three waited and then

something appeared in the opening. It was a pair of large chelae and

immediately thereafter there crawled forth a hideous kaldane of

enormous proportions. He was half again as large as any that Tara of

Helium had yet seen and his whole aspect infinitely more terrible. The

skin of the others was a bluish gray--this one was of a little bluer

tinge and the eyes were ringed with bands of white and scarlet, as was

its mouth.

From each nostril a band of white and one of scarlet extended outward

horizontally the width of the face.

No one spoke or moved. The creature crawled to the prostrate body and

affixed itself to the neck. Then the two rose as one and approached the

girl. He looked at her and then he spoke to her captor.

"You are the third foreman of the fields of Luud?" he asked.

"Yes, Luud; I am called Ghek."

"Tell me what you know of this," and he nodded toward Tara of Helium.

Ghek did as he was bid and then Luud addressed the girl.

"What were you doing within the borders of Bantoom?" he asked.

"I was blown hither in a great storm that injured my flier and carried

me I knew not where. I came down into the valley at night for food and

drink. The banths came and drove me to the safety of a tree, and then

your people caught me as I was trying to leave the valley. I do not

know why they took me. I was doing no harm. All I ask is that you let

me go my way in peace."

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," replied Luud.

"But my people are not at war with yours. I am a princess of Helium; my

great-grandfather is a jeddak; my grandfather a jed; and my father is

Warlord of all Barsoom. You have no right to keep me and I demand that

you liberate me at once."

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," repeated the creature without

expression. "I know nothing of the lesser creatures of Barsoom, of whom

you speak. There is but one high race--the race of Bantoomians. All

Nature exists to serve them. You shall do your share, but not yet--you

are too skinny. We shall have to put some fat upon it, Sept. I tire of

rykor. Perhaps this will have a different flavor. The banths are too

rank and it is seldom that any other creature enters the valley. And

you, Ghek; you shall be rewarded. I shall promote you from the fields

to the burrows. Hereafter you shall remain underground as every

Bantoomian longs to. No more shall you be forced to endure the hated

sun, or look upon the hideous sky, or the hateful growing things that

defile the surface. For the present you shall look after this thing

that you have brought me, seeing that it sleeps and eats--and does

nothing else. You understand me, Ghek; nothing else!"

"I understand, Luud," replied the other.

"Take it away!" commanded the creature.

Ghek turned and led Tara of Helium from the apartment. The girl was

horrified by contemplation of the fate that awaited her--a fate from

which it seemed, there was no escape. It was only too evident that

these creatures possessed no gentle or chivalric sentiments to which

she could appeal, and that she might escape from the labyrinthine mazes

of their underground burrows appeared impossible.

Outside the audience chamber Sept overtook them and conversed with Ghek

for a brief period, then her keeper led her through a confusing web of

winding tunnels until they came to a small apartment.

"We are to remain here for a while. It may be that Luud will send for

you again. If he does you will probably not be fattened--he will use

you for another purpose." It was fortunate for the girl's peace of mind

that she did not realize what he meant. "Sing for me," said Ghek,

presently.

Tara of Helium did not feel at all like singing, but she sang,

nevertheless, for there was always the hope that she might escape if

given the opportunity and if she could win the friendship of one of the

creatures, her chances would be increased proportionately. All during

the ordeal, for such it was to the overwrought girl, Ghek stood with

his eyes fixed upon her.

"It is wonderful," he said, when she had finished; "but I did not tell

Luud--you noticed that I did not tell Luud about it. Had he known, he

would have had you sing to him and that would have resulted in your

being kept with him that he might hear you sing whenever he wished; but

now I can have you all the time."

"How do you know he would like my singing?" she asked.

"He would have to," replied Ghek. "If I like a thing he has to like it,

for are we not identical--all of us?"

"The people of my race do not all like the same things," said the girl.

"How strange!" commented Ghek. "All kaldanes like the same things and

dislike the same things. If I discover something new and like it I know

that all kaldanes will like it. That is how I know that Luud would like

your singing. You see we are all exactly alike."

"But you do not look like Luud," said the girl.

"Luud is king. He is larger and more gorgeously marked; but otherwise

he and I are identical, and why not? Did not Luud produce the egg from

which I hatched?"

"What?" queried the girl; "I do not understand you."

"Yes," explained Ghek, "all of us are from Luud's eggs, just as all the

swarm of Moak are from Moak's eggs."

"Oh!" exclaimed Tara of Helium understandingly; "you mean that Luud has

many wives and that you are the offspring of one of them."

"No, not that at all," replied Ghek. "Luud has no wife. He lays the

eggs himself. You do not understand."

Tara of Helium admitted that she did not.

"I will try to explain, then," said Ghek, "if you will promise to sing

to me later."

"I promise," she said.

"We are not like the rykors," he began. "They are creatures of a low

order, like yourself and the banths and such things. We have no

sex--not one of us except our king, who is bi-sexual. He produces many

eggs from which we, the workers and the warriors, are hatched; and one

in every thousand eggs is another king egg, from which a king is

hatched. Did you notice the sealed openings in the room where you saw

Luud? Sealed in each of those is another king. If one of them escaped

he would fall upon Luud and try to kill him and if he succeeded we

should have a new king; but there would be no difference. His name

would be Luud and all would go on as before, for are we not all alike?

Luud has lived a long time and has produced many kings, so he lets only

a few live that there may be a successor to him when he dies. The

others he kills."

"Why does he keep more than one?" queried the girl.

"Sometimes accidents occur," replied Ghek, "and all the kings that a

swarm has saved are killed. When this happens the swarm comes and

obtains another king from a neighboring swarm."

"Are all of you the children of Luud?" she asked.

"All but a few, who are from the eggs of the preceding king, as was

Luud; but Luud has lived a long time and not many of the others are

left."

"You live a long time, or short?" Tara asked.

"A very long time."

"And the rykors, too; they live a long time?"

"No; the rykors live for ten years, perhaps," he said, "if they remain

strong and useful. When they can no longer be of service to us, either

through age or sickness, we leave them in the fields and the banths

come at night and get them."

"How horrible!" she exclaimed.

"Horrible?" he repeated. "I see nothing horrible about that. The rykors

are but brainless flesh. They neither see, nor feel, nor hear. They can

scarce move but for us. If we did not bring them food they would starve

to death. They are less deserving of thought than our leather. All that

they can do for themselves is to take food from a trough and put it in

their mouths, but with us--look at them!" and he proudly exhibited the

noble figure that he surmounted, palpitant with life and energy and

feeling.

"How do you do it?" asked Tara of Helium. "I do not understand it at

all."

"I will show you," he said, and lay down upon the floor. Then he

detached himself from the body, which lay as a thing dead. On his

spider legs he walked toward the girl. "Now look," he admonished her.

"Do you see this thing?" and he extended what appeared to be a bundle

of tentacles from the posterior part of his head. "There is an aperture

just back of the rykor's mouth and directly over the upper end of his

spinal column. Into this aperture I insert my tentacles and seize the

spinal cord. Immediately I control every muscle of the rykor's body--it

becomes my own, just as you direct the movement of the muscles of your

body. I feel what the rykor would feel if he had a head and brain. If

he is hurt, I would suffer if I remained connected with him; but the

instant one of them is injured or becomes sick we desert it for

another. As we would suffer the pains of their physical injuries,

similarly do we enjoy the physical pleasures of the rykors. When your

body becomes fatigued you are comparatively useless; it is sick, you

are sick; if it is killed, you die. You are the slave of a mass of

stupid flesh and bone and blood. There is nothing more wonderful about

your carcass than there is about the carcass of a banth. It is only

your brain that makes you superior to the banth, but your brain is

bound by the limitations of your body. Not so, ours. With us brain is

everything. Ninety per centum of our volume is brain. We have only the

simplest of vital organs and they are very small for they do not have

to assist in the support of a complicated system of nerves, muscles,

flesh and bone. We have no lungs, for we do not require air. Far below

the levels to which we can take the rykors is a vast network of burrows

where the real life of the kaldane is lived. There the air-breathing

rykor would perish as you would perish. There we have stored vast

quantities of food in hermetically sealed chambers. It will last

forever. Far beneath the surface is water that will flow for countless

ages after the surface water is exhausted. We are preparing for the

time we know must come--the time when the last vestige of the

Barsoomian atmosphere is spent--when the waters and the food are gone.

For this purpose were we created, that there might not perish from the

planet Nature's divinest creation--the perfect brain."

"But what purpose can you serve when that time comes?" asked the girl.

"You do not understand," he said. "It is too big for you to grasp, but

I will try to explain it. Barsoom, the moons, the sun, the stars, were

created for a single purpose. From the beginning of time Nature has

labored arduously toward the consummation of this purpose. At the very

beginning things existed with life, but with no brain. Gradually

rudimentary nervous systems and minute brains evolved. Evolution

proceeded. The brains became larger and more powerful. In us you see

the highest development; but there are those of us who believe that

there is yet another step--that some time in the far future our race

shall develop into the super-thing--just brain. The incubus of legs and

chelae and vital organs will be removed. The future kaldane will be

nothing but a great brain. Deaf, dumb, and blind it will lie sealed in

its buried vault far beneath the surface of Barsoom--just a great,

wonderful, beautiful brain with nothing to distract it from eternal

thought."

"You mean it will just lie there and think?" cried Tara of Helium.

"Just that!" he exclaimed. "Could aught be more wonderful?"

"Yes," replied the girl, "I can think of a number of things that would

be infinitely more wonderful."

CHAPTER VI

IN THE TOILS OF HORROR

What the creature had told her gave Tara of Helium food for thought.

She had been taught that every created thing fulfilled some useful

purpose, and she tried conscientiously to discover just what was the

rightful place of the kaldane in the universal scheme of things. She

knew that it must have its place but what that place was it was beyond

her to conceive. She had to give it up. They recalled to her mind a

little group of people in Helium who had forsworn the pleasures of life

in the pursuit of knowledge. They were rather patronizing in their

relations with those whom they thought not so intellectual. They

considered themselves quite superior. She smiled at recollection of a

remark her father had once made concerning them, to the effect that if

one of them ever dropped his egotism and broke it it would take a week

to fumigate Helium. Her father liked normal people--people who knew too

little and people who knew too much were equally a bore. Tara of Helium

was like her father in this respect and like him, too, she was both

sane and normal.

Outside of her personal danger there was much in this strange world

that interested her. The rykors aroused her keenest pity, and vast

conjecture. How and from what form had they evolved? She asked Ghek.

"Sing to me again and I will tell you," he said. "If Luud would let me

have you, you should never die. I should keep you always to sing to me."

The girl marvelled at the effect her voice had upon the creature.

Somewhere in that enormous brain there was a chord that was touched by

melody. It was the sole link between herself and the brain when

detached from the rykor. When it dominated the rykor it might have

other human instincts; but these she dreaded even to think of. After

she had sung she waited for Ghek to speak. For a long time he was

silent, just looking at her through those awful eyes.

"I wonder," he said presently, "if it might not be pleasant to be of

your race. Do you all sing?"

"Nearly all, a little," she said; "but we do many other interesting and

enjoyable things. We dance and play and work and love and sometimes we

fight, for we are a race of warriors."

"Love!" said the kaldane. "I think I know what you mean; but we,

fortunately, are above sentiment--when we are detached. But when we

dominate the rykor--ah, that is different, and when I hear you sing and

look at your beautiful body I know what you mean by love. I could love

you."

The girl shrank from him. "You promised to tell me the origin of the

rykor," she reminded him.

"Ages ago," he commenced, "our bodies were larger and our heads

smaller. Our legs were very weak and we could not travel fast or far.

There was a stupid creature that went upon four legs. It lived in a

hole in the ground, to which it brought its food, so we ran our burrows

into this hole and ate the food it brought; but it did not bring enough

for all--for itself and all the kaldanes that lived upon it, so we had

also to go abroad and get food. This was hard work for our weak legs.

Then it was that we commenced to ride upon the backs of these primitive

rykors. It took many ages, undoubtedly, but at last came the time when

the kaldane had found means to guide the rykor, until presently the

latter depended entirely upon the superior brain of his master to guide

him to food. The brain of the rykor grew smaller as time went on. His

ears went and his eyes, for he no longer had use for them--the kaldane

saw and heard for him. By similar steps the rykor came to go upon its

hind feet that the kaldane might be able to see farther. As the brain

shrank, so did the head. The mouth was the only feature of the head

that was used and so the mouth alone remains. Members of the red race

fell into the hands of our ancestors from time to time. They saw the

beauties and the advantages of the form that nature had given the red

race over that which the rykor was developing into. By intelligent

crossing the present rykor was achieved. He is really solely the

product of the super-intelligence of the kaldane--he is our body, to do

with as we see fit, just as you do what you see fit with your body,

only we have the advantage of possessing an unlimited supply of bodies.

Do you not wish that you were a kaldane?"

For how long they kept her in the subterranean chamber Tara of Helium

did not know. It seemed a very long time. She ate and slept and watched

the interminable lines of creatures that passed the entrance to her

prison. There was a laden line passing from above carrying food, food,

food. In the other line they returned empty handed. When she saw them

she knew that it was daylight above. When they did not pass she knew it

was night, and that the banths were about devouring the rykors that had

been abandoned in the fields the previous day. She commenced to grow

pale and thin. She did not like the food they gave her--it was not

suited to her kind--nor would she have eaten overmuch palatable food,

for the fear of becoming fat. The idea of plumpness had a new

significance here--a horrible significance.

Ghek noted that she was growing thin and white. He spoke to her about

it and she told him that she could not thrive thus beneath the

ground--that she must have fresh air and sunshine, or she would wither

and die. Evidently he carried her words to Luud, since it was not long

after that he told her that the king had ordered that she be confined

in the tower and to the tower she was taken. She had hoped against hope

that this very thing might result from her conversation with Ghek. Even

to see the sun again was something, but now there sprang to her breast

a hope that she had not dared to nurse before, while she lay in the

terrible labyrinth from which she knew she could never have found her

way to the outer world; but now there was some slight reason to hope.

At least she could see the hills and if she could see them might there

not come also the opportunity to reach them? If she could have but ten

minutes--just ten little minutes! The flier was still there--she knew

that it must be. Just ten minutes and she would be free--free forever

from this frightful place; but the days wore on and she was never

alone, not even for half of ten minutes. Many times she planned her

escape. Had it not been for the banths it had been easy of

accomplishment by night. Ghek always detached his body then and sank

into what seemed a semi-comatose condition. It could not be said that

he slept, or at least it did not appear like sleep, since his lidless

eyes were unchanged; but he lay quietly in a corner. Tara of Helium

enacted a thousand times in her mind the scene of her escape. She would

rush to the side of the rykor and seize the sword that hung in its

harness. Before Ghek knew what she purposed, she would have this and

then before he could give an alarm she would drive the blade through

his hideous head. It would take but a moment to reach the enclosure.

The rykors could not stop her, for they had no brains to tell them that

she was escaping. She had watched from her window the opening and

closing of the gate that led from the enclosure out into the fields and

she knew how the great latch operated. She would pass through and make

a quick dash for the hill. It was so near that they could not overtake

her. It was so easy! Or it would have been but for the banths! The

banths at night and the workers in the fields by day.

Confined to the tower and without proper exercise or food, the girl

failed to show the improvement that her captors desired. Ghek

questioned her in an effort to learn why it was that she did not grow

round and plump; that she did not even look as well as when they had

captured her. His concern was prompted by repeated inquiries on the

part of Luud and finally resulted in suggesting to Tara of Helium a

plan whereby she might find a new opportunity of escape.

"I am accustomed to walking in the fresh air and the sunlight," she

told Ghek. "I cannot become as I was before if I am to be always shut

away in this one chamber, breathing poor air and getting no proper

exercise. Permit me to go out in the fields every day and walk about

while the sun is shining. Then, I am sure, I shall become nice and fat."

"You would run away," he said.

"But how could I if you were always with me?" she asked. "And even if I

wished to run away where could I go? I do not know even the direction

of Helium. It must be very far. The very first night the banths would

get me, would they not?"

"They would," said Ghek. "I will ask Luud about it."

The following day he told her that Luud had said that she was to be

taken into the fields. He would try that for a time and see if she

improved.

"If you do not grow fatter he will send for you anyway," said Ghek;

"but he will not use you for food."

Tara of Helium shuddered.

That day and for many days thereafter she was taken from the tower,

through the enclosure and out into the fields. Always was she alert for

an opportunity to escape; but Ghek was always close by her side. It was

not so much his presence that deterred her from making the attempt as

the number of workers that were always between her and the hills where

the flier lay. She could easily have eluded Ghek, but there were too

many of the others. And then, one day, Ghek told her as he accompanied

her into the open that this would be the last time.

"Tonight you go to Luud," he said. "I am sorry as I shall not hear you

sing again."

"Tonight!" She scarce breathed the word, yet it was vibrant with horror.

She glanced quickly toward the hills. They were so close! Yet between

were the inevitable workers--perhaps a score of them.

"Let us walk over there?" she said, indicating them. "I should like to

see what they are doing."

"It is too far," said Ghek. "I hate the sun. It is much pleasanter here

where I can stand beneath the shade of this tree."

"All right," she agreed; "then you stay here and I will walk over. It

will take me but a minute."

"No," he answered. "I will go with you. You want to escape; but you are

not going to."

"I cannot escape," she said.

"I know it," agreed Ghek; "but you might try. I do not wish you to try.

Possibly it will be better if we return to the tower at once. It would

go hard with me should you escape."

Tara of Helium saw her last chance fading into oblivion. There would

never be another after today. She cast about for some pretext to lure

him even a little nearer to the hills.

"It is very little that I ask," she said. "Tonight you will want me to

sing to you. It will be the last time, if you do not let me go and see

what those kaldanes are doing I shall never sing to you again."

Ghek hesitated. "I will hold you by the arm all the time, then," he

said.

"Why, of course, if you wish," she assented. "Come!"

The two moved toward the workers and the hills. The little party was

digging tubers from the ground. She had noted this and that nearly

always they were stooped low over their work, the hideous eyes bent

upon the upturned soil. She led Ghek quite close to them, pretending

that she wished to see exactly how they did the work, and all the time

he held her tightly by her left wrist.

"It is very interesting," she said, with a sigh, and then, suddenly;

"Look, Ghek!" and pointed quickly back in the direction of the tower.

The kaldane, still holding her turned half away from her to look in the

direction she had indicated and simultaneously, with the quickness of a

banth, she struck him with her right fist, backed by every ounce of

strength she possessed--struck the back of the pulpy head just above

the collar. The blow was sufficient to accomplish her design,

dislodging the kaldane from its rykor and tumbling it to the ground.

Instantly the grasp upon her wrist relaxed as the body, no longer

controlled by the brain of Ghek, stumbled aimlessly about for an

instant before it sank to its knees and then rolled over on its back;

but Tara of Helium waited not to note the full results of her act. The

instant the fingers loosened upon her wrist she broke away and dashed

toward the hills. Simultaneously a warning whistle broke from Ghek's

lips and in instant response the workers leaped to their feet, one

almost in the girl's path. She dodged the outstretched arms and was

away again toward the hills and freedom, when her foot caught in one of

the hoe-like instruments with which the soil had been upturned and

which had been left, half imbedded in the ground. For an instant she

ran on, stumbling, in a mad effort to regain her equilibrium, but the

upturned furrows caught her feet--again she stumbled and this time went

down, and as she scrambled to rise again a heavy body fell upon her and

seized her arms. A moment later she was surrounded and dragged to her

feet and as she looked around she saw Ghek crawling to his prostrate

rykor. A moment later he advanced to her side.

The hideous face, incapable of registering emotion, gave no clue to

what was passing in the enormous brain. Was he nursing thoughts of

anger, of hate, of revenge? Tara of Helium could not guess, nor did she

care. The worst had happened. She had tried to escape and she had

failed. There would never be another opportunity.

"Come!" said Ghek. "We will return to the tower." The deadly monotone

of his voice was unbroken. It was worse than anger, for it revealed

nothing of his intentions. It but increased her horror of these great

brains that were beyond the possibility of human emotions.

And so she was dragged back to her prison in the tower and Ghek took up

his vigil again, squatting by the doorway, but now he carried a naked

sword in his hand and did not quit his rykor, only to change to another

that he had brought to him when the first gave indications of

weariness. The girl sat looking at him. He had not been unkind to her,

but she felt no sense of gratitude, nor, on the other hand, any sense

of hatred. The brains, incapable themselves of any of the finer

sentiments, awoke none in her. She could not feel gratitude, or

affection, or hatred of them. There was only the same unceasing sense

of horror in their presence. She had heard great scientists discuss the

future of the red race and she recalled that some had maintained that

eventually the brain would entirely dominate the man. There would be no

more instinctive acts or emotions, nothing would be done on impulse;

but on the contrary reason would direct our every act. The propounder

of the theory regretted that he might never enjoy the blessings of such

a state, which, he argued, would result in the ideal life for mankind.

Tara of Helium wished with all her heart that this learned scientist

might be here to experience to the full the practical results of the

fulfillment of his prophecy. Between the purely physical rykor and the

purely mental kaldane there was little choice; but in the happy medium

of normal, and imperfect man, as she knew him, lay the most desirable

state of existence. It would have been a splendid object lesson, she

thought, to all those idealists who seek mass perfection in any phase

of human endeavor, since here they might discover the truth that

absolute perfection is as little to be desired as is its antithesis.

Gloomy were the thoughts that filled the mind of Tara of Helium as she

awaited the summons from Luud--the summons that could mean for her but

one thing; death. She guessed why he had sent for her and she knew that

she must find the means for self-destruction before the night was over;

but still she clung to hope and to life. She would not give up until

there was no other way. She startled Ghek once by exclaiming aloud,

almost fiercely: "I still live!"

"What do you mean?" asked the kaldane.

"I mean just what I say," she replied. "I still live and while I live I

may still find a way. Dead, there is no hope."

"Find a way to what?" he asked.

"To life and liberty and mine own people," she responded.

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," he droned.

She did not reply and after a time he spoke again. "Sing to me," he

said.

It was while she was singing that four warriors came to take her to

Luud. They told Ghek that he was to remain where he was.

"Why?" asked Ghek.

"You have displeased Luud," replied one of the warriors.

"How?" demanded Ghek.

"You have demonstrated a lack of uncontaminated reasoning power. You

have permitted sentiment to influence you, thus demonstrating that you

are a defective. You know the fate of defectives."

"I know the fate of defectives, but I am no defective," insisted Ghek.

"You permitted the strange noises which issue from her throat to please

and soothe you, knowing well that their origin and purpose had nothing

whatever to do with logic or the powers of reason. This in itself

constitutes an unimpeachable indictment of weakness. Then, influenced

doubtless by an illogical feeling of sentiment, you permitted her to

walk abroad in the fields to a place where she was able to make an

almost successful attempt to escape. Your own reasoning power, were it

not defective, would convince you that you are unfit. The natural, and

reasonable, consequence is destruction. Therefore you will be destroyed

in such a way that the example will be beneficial to all other kaldanes

of the swarm of Luud. In the meantime you will remain where you are."

"You are right," said Ghek. "I will remain here until Luud sees fit to

destroy me in the most reasonable manner."

Tara of Helium shot a look of amazement at him as they led her from the

chamber. Over her shoulder she called back to him: "Remember, Ghek, you

still live!" Then they led her along the interminable tunnels to where

Luud awaited her.

When she was conducted into his presence he was squatting in a corner

of the chamber upon his six spidery legs. Near the opposite wall lay

his rykor, its beautiful form trapped in gorgeous harness--a dead thing

without a guiding kaldane. Luud dismissed the warriors who had

accompanied the prisoner. Then he sat with his terrible eyes fixed upon

her and without speaking for some time. Tara of Helium could but wait.

What was to come she could only guess. When it came would be

sufficiently the time to meet it. There was no necessity for

anticipating the end. Presently Luud spoke.

"You think to escape," he said, in the deadly, expressionless monotone

of his kind--the only possible result of orally expressing reason

uninfluenced by sentiment. "You will not escape. You are merely the

embodiment of two imperfect things--an imperfect brain and an imperfect

body. The two cannot exist together in perfection. There you see a

perfect body." He pointed toward the rykor. "It has no brain. Here,"

and he raised one of his chelae to his head, "is the perfect brain. It

needs no body to function perfectly and properly as a brain. You would

pit your feeble intellect against mine! Even now you are planning to

slay me. If you are thwarted in that you expect to slay yourself. You

will learn the power of mind over matter. I am the mind. You are the

matter. What brain you have is too weak and ill-developed to deserve

the name of brain. You have permitted it to be weakened by impulsive

acts dictated by sentiment. It has no value. It has practically no

control over your existence. You will not kill me. You will not kill

yourself. When I am through with you you shall be killed if it seems

the logical thing to do. You have no conception of the possibilities

for power which lie in a perfectly developed brain. Look at that rykor.

He has no brain. He can move but slightly of his own volition. An

inherent mechanical instinct that we have permitted to remain in him

allows him to carry food to his mouth; but he could not find food for

himself. We have to place it within his reach and always in the same

place. Should we put food at his feet and leave him alone he would

starve to death. But now watch what a real brain may accomplish."

He turned his eyes upon the rykor and squatted there glaring at the

insensate thing. Presently, to the girl's horror, the headless body

moved. It rose slowly to its feet and crossed the room to Luud; it

stooped and took the hideous head in its hands; it raised the head and

set it on its shoulders.

"What chance have you against such power?" asked Luud. "As I did with

the rykor so can I do with you."

Tara of Helium made no reply. Evidently no vocal reply was necessary.

"You doubt my ability!" stated Luud, which was precisely the fact,

though the girl had only thought it--she had not said it.

Luud crossed the room and lay down. Then he detached himself from the

body and crawled across the floor until he stood directly in front of

the circular opening through which she had seen him emerge the day that

she had first been brought to his presence. He stopped there and

fastened his terrible eyes upon her. He did not speak, but his eyes

seemed to be boring straight to the center of her brain. She felt an

almost irresistible force urging her toward the kaldane. She fought to

resist it; she tried to turn away her eyes, but she could not. They

were held as in horrid fascination upon the glittering, lidless orbs of

the great brain that faced her. Slowly, every step a painful struggle

of resistance, she moved toward the horrific monster. She tried to cry

aloud in an effort to awaken her numbing faculties, but no sound passed

her lips. If those eyes would but turn away, just for an instant, she

felt that she might regain the power to control her steps; but the eyes

never left hers. They seemed but to burn deeper and deeper, gathering

up every vestige of control of her entire nervous system.

As she approached the thing it backed slowly away upon its spider legs.

She noticed that its chelae waved slowly to and fro before it as it

backed, backed, backed, through the round aperture in the wall. Must

she follow it there, too? What new and nameless horror lay concealed in

that hidden chamber? No! she would not do it. Yet before she reached

the wall she found herself down and crawling upon her hands and knees

straight toward the hole from which the two eyes still clung to hers.

At the very threshold of the opening she made a last, heroic stand,

battling against the force that drew her on; but in the end she

succumbed. With a gasp that ended in a sob Tara of Helium passed

through the aperture into the chamber beyond.

The opening was but barely large enough to admit her. Upon the opposite

side she found herself in a small chamber. Before her squatted Luud.

Against the opposite wall lay a large and beautiful male rykor. He was

without harness or other trappings.

"You see now," said Luud, "the futility of revolt."

The words seemed to release her momentarily from the spell. Quickly she

turned away her eyes.

"Look at me!" commanded Luud.

Tara of Helium kept her eyes averted. She felt a new strength, or at

least a diminution of the creature's power over her. Had she stumbled

upon the secret of its uncanny domination over her will? She dared not

hope. With eyes averted she turned toward the aperture through which

those baleful eyes had drawn her. Again Luud commanded her to stop, but

the voice alone lacked all authority to influence her. It was not like

the eyes. She heard the creature whistle and knew that it was summoning

assistance, but because she did not dare look toward it she did not see

it turn and concentrate its gaze upon the great, headless body lying by

the further wall.

The girl was still slightly under the spell of the creature's

influence--she had not regained full and independent domination of her

powers. She moved as one in the throes of some hideous

nightmare--slowly, painfully, as though each limb was hampered by a

great weight, or as she were dragging her body through a viscous fluid.

The aperture was close, ah, so close, yet, struggle as she would, she

seemed to be making no appreciable progress toward it.

Behind her, urged on by the malevolent power of the great brain, the

headless body crawled upon all-fours toward her. At last she had

reached the aperture. Something seemed to tell her that once beyond it

the domination of the kaldane would be broken. She was almost through

into the adjoining chamber when she felt a heavy hand close upon her

ankle. The rykor had reached forth and seized her, and though she

struggled the thing dragged her back into the room with Luud. It held

her tight and drew her close, and then, to her horror, it commenced to

caress her.

"You see now," she heard Luud's dull voice, "the futility of

revolt--and its punishment."

Tara of Helium fought to defend herself, but pitifully weak were her

muscles against this brainless incarnation of brute power. Yet she

fought, fought on in the face of hopeless odds for the honor of the

proud name she bore--fought alone, she whom the fighting men of a

mighty empire, the flower of Martian chivalry, would gladly have lain

down their lives to save.

CHAPTER VII

A REPELLENT SIGHT

The cruiser Vanator careened through the tempest. That she had not been

dashed to the ground, or twisted by the force of the elements into

tangled wreckage, was due entirely to the caprice of Nature. For all

the duration of the storm she rode, a helpless derelict, upon those

storm-tossed waves of wind. But for all the dangers and vicissitudes

they underwent, she and her crew might have borne charmed lives up to

within an hour of the abating of the hurricane. It was then that the

catastrophe occurred--a catastrophe indeed to the crew of the Vanator

and the kingdom of Gathol.

The men had been without food or drink since leaving Helium, and they

had been hurled about and buffeted in their lashings until all were

worn to exhaustion. There was a brief lull in the storm during which

one of the crew attempted to reach his quarters, after releasing the

lashings which had held him to the precarious safety of the deck. The

act in itself was a direct violation of orders and, in the eyes of the

other members of the crew, the effect, which came with startling

suddenness, took the form of a swift and terrible retribution. Scarce

had the man released the safety snaps ere a swift arm of the

storm-monster encircled the ship, rolling it over and over, with the

result that the foolhardy warrior went overboard at the first turn.

Unloosed from their lashing by the constant turning and twisting of the

ship and the force of the wind, the boarding and landing tackle had

been trailing beneath the keel, a tangled mass of cordage and leather.

Upon the occasions that the Vanator rolled completely over, these

things would be wrapped around her until another revolution in the

opposite direction, or the wind itself, carried them once again clear

of the deck to trail, whipping in the storm, beneath the hurtling ship.

Into this fell the body of the warrior, and as a drowning man clutches

at a straw so the fellow clutched at the tangled cordage that caught

him and arrested his fall. With the strength of desperation he clung to

the cordage, seeking frantically to entangle his legs and body in it.

With each jerk of the ship his hand holds were all but torn loose, and

though he knew that eventually they would be and that he must be dashed

to the ground beneath, yet he fought with the madness that is born of

hopelessness for the pitiful second which but prolonged his agony.

It was upon this sight then that Gahan of Gathol looked, over the edge

of the careening deck of the Vanator, as he sought to learn the fate of

his warrior. Lashed to the gunwale close at hand a single landing

leather that had not fouled the tangled mass beneath whipped free from

the ship's side, the hook snapping at its outer end. The Jed of Gathol

grasped the situation in a single glance. Below him one of his people

looked into the eyes of Death. To the jed's hand lay the means for

succor.

There was no instant's hesitation. Casting off his deck lashings, he

seized the landing leather and slipped over the ship's side. Swinging

like a bob upon a mad pendulum he swung far out and back again, turning

and twisting three thousand feet above the surface of Barsoom, and

then, at last, the thing he had hoped for occurred. He was carried

within reach of the cordage where the warrior still clung, though with

rapidly diminishing strength. Catching one leg on a loop of the tangled

strands Gahan pulled himself close enough to seize another quite near

to the fellow. Clinging precariously to this new hold the jed slowly

drew in the landing leather, down which he had clambered until he could

grasp the hook at its end. This he fastened to a ring in the warrior's

harness, just before the man's weakened fingers slipped from their hold

upon the cordage.

Temporarily, at least, he had saved the life of his subject, and now he

turned his attention toward insuring his own safety. Inextricably

entangled in the mess to which he was clinging were numerous other

landing hooks such as he had attached to the warrior's harness, and

with one of these he sought to secure himself until the storm should

abate sufficiently to permit him to climb to the deck, but even as he

reached for one that swung near him the ship was caught in a renewed

burst of the storm's fury, the thrashing cordage whipped and snapped to

the lunging of the great craft and one of the heavy metal hooks,

lashing through the air, struck the Jed of Gathol fair between the eyes.

Momentarily stunned, Gahan's fingers slipped from their hold upon the

cordage and the man shot downward through the thin air of dying Mars

toward the ground three thousand feet beneath, while upon the deck of

the rolling Vanator his faithful warriors clung to their lashings all

unconscious of the fate of their beloved leader; nor was it until more

than an hour later, after the storm had materially subsided, that they

realized he was lost, or knew the self-sacrificing heroism of the act

that had sealed his doom. The Vanator now rested upon an even keel as

she was carried along by a strong, though steady, wind. The warriors

had cast off their deck lashings and the officers were taking account

of losses and damage when a weak cry was heard from oversides,

attracting their attention to the man hanging in the cordage beneath

the keel. Strong arms hoisted him to the deck and then it was that the

crew of the Vanator learned of the heroism of their jed and his end.

How far they had traveled since his loss they could only vaguely guess,

nor could they return in search of him in the disabled condition of the

ship. It was a saddened company that drifted onward through the air

toward whatever destination Fate was to choose for them.

And Gahan, Jed of Gathol--what of him? Plummet-like he fell for a

thousand feet and then the storm seized him in its giant clutch and

bore him far aloft again. As a bit of paper borne upon a gale he was

tossed about in mid-air, the sport and plaything of the wind. Over and

over it turned him and upward and downward it carried him, but after

each new sally of the element he was brought nearer to the ground. The

freaks of cyclonic storms are the rule of cyclonic storms, since

such storms are in themselves freaks. They uproot and demolish

giant trees, and in the same gust they transport frail infants for

miles and deposit them unharmed in their wake.

And so it was with Gahan of Gathol. Expecting momentarily to be dashed

to destruction he presently found himself deposited gently upon the

soft, ochre moss of a dead sea-bottom, bodily no worse off for his

harrowing adventure than in the possession of a slight swelling upon

his forehead where the metal hook had struck him. Scarcely able to

believe that Fate had dealt thus gently with him, the jed arose slowly,

as though more than half convinced that he should discover crushed and

splintered bones that would not support his weight. But he was intact.

He looked about him in a vain effort at orientation. The air was filled

with flying dust and debris. The Sun was obliterated. His vision was

confined to a radius of a few hundred yards of ochre moss and

dust-filled air. Five hundred yards away in any direction there might

have arisen the walls of a great city and he not known it. It was

useless to move from where he was until the air cleared, since he could

not know in what direction he was moving, and so he stretched himself

upon the moss and waited, pondering the fate of his warriors and his

ship, but giving little thought to his own precarious situation.

Lashed to his harness were his swords, his pistols, and a dagger, and

in his pocket-pouch a small quantity of the concentrated rations that

form a part of the equipment of the fighting men of Barsoom. These

things together with trained muscles, high courage, and an undaunted

spirit sufficed him for whatever misadventures might lie between him

and Gathol, which lay in what direction he knew not, nor at what

distance.

The wind was falling rapidly and with it the dust that obscured the

landscape. That the storm was over he was convinced, but he chafed at

the inactivity the low visibility put upon him, nor did conditions

better materially before night fell, so that he was forced to await the

new day at the very spot at which the tempest had deposited him.

Without his sleeping silks and furs he spent a far from comfortable

night, and it was with feelings of unmixed relief that he saw the

sudden dawn burst upon him. The air was now clear and in the light of

the new day he saw an undulating plain stretching in all directions

about him, while to the northwest there were barely discernible the

outlines of low hills. Toward the southeast of Gathol was such a

country, and as Gahan surmised the direction and the velocity of the

storm to have carried him somewhere in the vicinity of the country he

thought he recognized, he assumed that Gathol lay behind the hills he

now saw, whereas, in reality, it lay far to the northeast.

It was two days before Gahan had crossed the plain and reached the

summit of the hills from which he hoped to see his own country, only to

meet at last with disappointment. Before him stretched another plain,

of even greater proportions than that he had but just crossed, and

beyond this other hills. In one material respect this plain differed

from that behind him in that it was dotted with occasional isolated

hills. Convinced, however, that Gathol lay somewhere in the direction

of his search he descended into the valley and bent his steps toward

the northwest.

For weeks Gahan of Gathol crossed valleys and hills in search of some

familiar landmark that might point his way toward his native land, but

the summit of each succeeding ridge revealed but another unfamiliar

view. He saw few animals and no men, until he finally came to the

belief that he had fallen upon that fabled area of ancient Barsoom

which lay under the curse of her olden gods--the once rich and fertile

country whose people in their pride and arrogance had denied the

deities, and whose punishment had been extermination.

And then, one day, he scaled low hills and looked into an inhabited

valley--a valley of trees and cultivated fields and plots of ground

enclosed by stone walls surrounding strange towers. He saw people

working in the fields, but he did not rush down to greet them. First he

must know more of them and whether they might be assumed to be friends

or enemies. Hidden by concealing shrubbery he crawled to a vantage

point upon a hill that projected further into the valley, and here he

lay upon his belly watching the workers closest to him. They were still

quite a distance from him and he could not be quite sure of them, but

there was something verging upon the unnatural about them. Their heads

seemed out of proportion to their bodies--too large.

For a long time he lay watching them and ever more forcibly it was

borne in upon his consciousness that they were not as he, and that it

would be rash to trust himself among them. Presently he saw a couple

appear from the nearest enclosure and slowly approach those who were

working nearest to the hill where he lay in hiding. Immediately he was

aware that one of these differed from all the others. Even at the

greater distance he noted that the head was smaller and as they

approached, he was confident that the harness of one of them was not as

the harness of its companion or of that of any of those who tilled the

fields.

The two stopped often, apparently in argument, as though one would

proceed in the direction that they were going while the other demurred.

But each time the smaller won reluctant consent from the other, and so

they came closer and closer to the last line of workers toiling between

the enclosure from which they had come and the hill where Gahan of

Gathol lay watching, and then suddenly the smaller figure struck its

companion full in the face. Gahan, horrified, saw the latter's head

topple from its body, saw the body stagger and fall to the ground. The

man half rose from his concealment the better to view the happening in

the valley below. The creature that had felled its companion was

dashing madly in the direction of the hill upon which he was hidden, it

dodged one of the workers that sought to seize it. Gahan hoped that it

would gain its liberty, why he did not know other than at closer range

it had every appearance of being a creature of his own race. Then he

saw it stumble and go down and instantly its pursuers were upon it.

Then it was that Gahan's eyes chanced to return to the figure of the

creature the fugitive had felled.

What horror was this that he was witnessing? Or were his eyes playing

some ghastly joke upon him? No, impossible though it was--it was

true--the head was moving slowly to the fallen body. It placed itself

upon the shoulders, the body rose, and the creature, seemingly as good

as new, ran quickly to where its fellows were dragging the hapless

captive to its feet.

The watcher saw the creature take its prisoner by the arm and lead it

back to the enclosure, and even across the distance that separated them

from him he could note dejection and utter hopelessness in the bearing

of the prisoner, and, too, he was half convinced that it was a woman,

perhaps a red Martian of his own race. Could he be sure that this was

true he must make some effort to rescue her even though the customs of

his strange world required it only in case she was of his own country;

but he was not sure; she might not be a red Martian at all, or, if she

were, it was as possible that she sprang from an enemy people as not.

His first duty was to return to his own people with as little personal

risk as possible, and though the thought of adventure stirred his blood

he put the temptation aside with a sigh and turned away from the

peaceful and beautiful valley that he longed to enter, for it was his

intention to skirt its eastern edge and continue his search for Gathol

beyond.

As Gahan of Gathol turned his steps along the southern slopes of the

hills that bound Bantoom upon the south and east, his attention was

attracted toward a small cluster of trees a short distance to his

right. The low sun was casting long shadows. It would soon be night.

The trees were off the path that he had chosen and he had little mind

to be diverted from his way; but as he looked again he hesitated. There

was something there besides boles of trees, and underbrush. There were

suggestions of familiar lines of the handicraft of man. Gahan stopped

and strained his eyes in the direction of the thing that had arrested

his attention. No, he must be mistaken--the branches of the trees and a

low bush had taken on an unnatural semblance in the horizontal rays of

the setting sun. He turned and continued upon his way; but as he cast

another side glance in the direction of the object of his interest, the

sun's rays were shot back into his eyes from a glistening point of

radiance among the trees.

Gahan shook his head and walked quickly toward the mystery, determined

now to solve it. The shining object still lured him on and when he had

come closer to it his eyes went wide in surprise, for the thing they

saw was naught else than the jewel-encrusted emblem upon the prow of a

small flier. Gahan, his hand upon his short-sword, moved silently

forward, but as he neared the craft he saw that he had naught to fear,

for it was deserted. Then he turned his attention toward the emblem. As

its significance was flashed to his understanding his face paled and

his heart went cold--it was the insignia of the house of The Warlord of

Barsoom. Instantly he saw the dejected figure of the captive being led

back to her prison in the valley just beyond the hills. Tara of Helium!

And he had been so near to deserting her to her fate. The cold sweat

stood in beads upon his brow.

A hasty examination of the deserted craft unfolded to the young jed the

whole tragic story. The same tempest that had proved his undoing had

borne Tara of Helium to this distant country. Here, doubtless, she had

landed in hope of obtaining food and water since, without a propellor,

she could not hope to reach her native city, or any other friendly

port, other than by the merest caprice of Fate. The flier seemed intact

except for the missing propellor and the fact that it had been

carefully moored in the shelter of the clump of trees indicated that

the girl had expected to return to it, while the dust and leaves upon

its deck spoke of the long days, and even weeks, since she had landed.

Mute yet eloquent proofs, these things, that Tara of Helium was a

prisoner, and that she was the very prisoner whose bold dash for

liberty he had so recently witnessed he now had not the slightest doubt.

The question now revolved solely about her rescue. He knew to which

tower she had been taken--that much and no more. Of the number, the

kind, or the disposition of her captors he knew nothing; nor did he

care--for Tara of Helium he would face a hostile world alone. Rapidly

he considered several plans for succoring her; but the one that

appealed most strongly to him was that which offered the greatest

chance of escape for the girl should he be successful in reaching her.

His decision reached he turned his attention quickly toward the flier.

Casting off its lashings he dragged it out from beneath the trees, and,

mounting to the deck tested out the various controls. The motor started

at a touch and purred sweetly, the buoyancy tanks were well stocked,

and the ship answered perfectly to the controls which regulated her

altitude. There was nothing needed but a propellor to make her fit for

the long voyage to Helium. Gahan shrugged impatiently--there must not

be a propellor within a thousand haads. But what mattered it? The craft

even without a propellor would still answer the purpose his plan

required of it--provided the captors of Tara of Helium were a people

without ships, and he had seen nothing to suggest that they had ships.

The architecture of their towers and enclosures assured him that they

had not.

The sudden Barsoomian night had fallen. Cluros rode majestically the

high heavens. The rumbling roar of a banth reverberated among the

hills. Gahan of Gathol let the ship rise a few feet from the ground,

then, seizing a bow rope, he dropped over the side. To tow the little

craft was now a thing of ease, and as Gahan moved rapidly toward the

brow of the hill above Bantoom the flier floated behind him as lightly

as a swan upon a quiet lake. Now down the hill toward the tower dimly

visible in the moonlight the Gatholian turned his steps. Closer behind

him sounded the roar of the hunting banth. He wondered if the beast

sought him or was following some other spoor. He could not be delayed

now by any hungry beast of prey, for what might that very instant be

befalling Tara of Helium he could not guess; and so he hastened his

steps. But closer and closer came the horrid screams of the great

carnivore, and now he heard the swift fall of padded feet upon the

hillside behind him. He glanced back just in time to see the beast

break into a rapid charge. His hand leaped to the hilt of his

long-sword, but he did not draw, for in the same instant he saw the

futility of armed resistance, since behind the first banth came a herd

of at least a dozen others. There was but a single alternative to a

futile stand and that he grasped in the instant that he saw the

overwhelming numbers of his antagonists.

Springing lightly from the ground he swarmed up the rope toward the bow

of the flier. His weight drew the craft slightly lower and at the very

instant that the man drew himself to the deck at the bow of the vessel,

the leading banth sprang for the stern. Gahan leaped to his feet and

rushed toward the great beast in the hope of dislodging it before it

had succeeded in clambering aboard. At the same instant he saw that

others of the banths were racing toward them with the quite evident

intention of following their leader to the ship's deck. Should they

reach it in any numbers he would be lost. There was but a single hope.

Leaping for the altitude control Gahan pulled it wide. Simultaneously

three banths leaped for the deck. The craft rose swiftly. Gahan felt

the impact of a body against the keel, followed by the soft thuds of

the great bodies as they struck the ground beneath. His act had not

been an instant too soon. And now the leader had gained the deck and

stood at the stern with glaring eyes and snarling jaws. Gahan drew his

sword. The beast, possibly disconcerted by the novelty of its position,

did not charge. Instead it crept slowly toward its intended prey. The

craft was rising and Gahan placed a foot upon the control and stopped

the ascent. He did not wish to chance rising to some higher air current

that would bear him away. Already the craft was moving slowly toward

the tower, carried thither by the impetus of the banth's heavy body

leaping upon it from astern.

The man watched the slow approach of the monster, the slavering jowls,

the malignant expression of the devilish face. The creature, finding

the deck stable, appeared to be gaining confidence, and then the man

leaped suddenly to one side of the deck and the tiny flier heeled as

suddenly in response. The banth slipped and clutched frantically at the

deck. Gahan leaped in with his naked sword; the great beast caught

itself and reared upon its hind legs to reach forth and seize this

presumptuous mortal that dared question its right to the flesh it

craved; and then the man sprang to the opposite side of the deck. The

banth toppled sideways at the same instant that it attempted to spring;

a raking talon passed close to Gahan's head at the moment that his

sword lunged through the savage heart, and as the warrior wrenched his

blade from the carcass it slipped silently over the side of the ship.

A glance below showed that the vessel was drifting in the direction of

the tower to which Gahan had seen the prisoner led. In another moment

or two it would be directly over it. The man sprang to the control and

let the craft drop quickly toward the ground where followed the banths,

still hot for their prey. To land outside the enclosure spelled certain

death, while inside he could see many forms huddled upon the ground as

in sleep. The ship floated now but a few feet above the wall of the

enclosure. There was nothing for it but to risk all on a bold bid for

fortune, or drift helplessly past without hope of returning through the

banth-infested valley, from many points of which he could now hear the

roars and growls of these fierce Barsoomian lions.

Slipping over the side Gahan descended by the trailing anchor-rope

until his feet touched the top of the wall, where he had no difficulty

in arresting the slow drifting of the ship. Then he drew up the anchor

and lowered it inside the enclosure. Still there was no movement upon

the part of the sleepers beneath--they lay as dead men. Dull lights

shone from openings in the tower; but there was no sign of guard or

waking inmate. Clinging to the rope Gahan lowered himself within the

enclosure, where he had his first close view of the creatures lying

there in what he had thought sleep. With a half smothered exclamation

of horror the man drew back from the headless bodies of the rykors. At

first he thought them the corpses of decapitated humans like himself,

which was quite bad enough; but when he saw them move and realized that

they were endowed with life, his horror and disgust became even greater.

Here then was the explanation of the thing he had witnessed that

afternoon, when Tara of Helium had struck the head from her captor and

Gahan had seen the head crawl back to its body. And to think that the

pearl of Helium was in the power of such hideous things as these. Again

the man shuddered, but he hastened to make fast the flier, clamber

again to its deck and lower it to the floor of the enclosure. Then

he strode toward a door in the base of the tower, stepping lightly

over the recumbent forms of the unconscious rykors, and crossing

the threshold disappeared within.

CHAPTER VIII

CLOSE WORK

Ghek, in his happier days third foreman of the fields of Luud, sat

nursing his anger and his humiliation. Recently something had awakened

within him the existence of which he had never before even dreamed. Had

the influence of the strange captive woman aught to do with this unrest

and dissatisfaction? He did not know. He missed the soothing influence

of the noise she called singing. Could it be that there were other

things more desirable than cold logic and undefiled brain power? Was

well balanced imperfection more to be sought after then, than the high

development of a single characteristic? He thought of the great,

ultimate brain toward which all kaldanes were striving. It would be

deaf, and dumb, and blind. A thousand beautiful strangers might sing

and dance about it, but it could derive no pleasure from the singing or

the dancing since it would possess no perceptive faculties. Already had

the kaldanes shut themselves off from most of the gratifications of the

senses. Ghek wondered if much was to be gained by denying themselves

still further, and with the thought came a question as to the whole

fabric of their theory. After all perhaps the girl was right; what

purpose could a great brain serve sealed in the bowels of the earth?

And he, Ghek, was to die for this theory. Luud had decreed it. The

injustice of it overwhelmed him with rage. But he was helpless. There

was no escape. Beyond the enclosure the banths awaited him; within, his

own kind, equally as merciless and ferocious. Among them there was no

such thing as love, or loyalty, or friendship--they were just brains.

He might kill Luud; but what would that profit him? Another king would

be loosed from his sealed chamber and Ghek would be killed. He did not

know it but he would not even have the poor satisfaction of satisfied

revenge, since he was not capable of feeling so abstruse a sentiment.

Ghek, mounted upon his rykor, paced the floor of the tower chamber in

which he had been ordered to remain. Ordinarily he would have accepted

the sentence of Luud with perfect equanimity, since it was but the

logical result of reason; but now it seemed different. The stranger

woman had bewitched him. Life appeared a pleasant thing--there were

great possibilities in it. The dream of the ultimate brain had receded

into a tenuous haze far in the background of his thoughts.

At that moment there appeared in the doorway of the chamber a red

warrior with naked sword. He was a male counterpart of the prisoner

whose sweet voice had undermined the cold, calculating reason of the

kaldane.

"Silence!" admonished the newcomer, his straight brows gathered in an

ominous frown and the point of his longsword playing menacingly before

the eyes of the kaldane. "I seek the woman, Tara of Helium. Where is

she? If you value your life speak quickly and speak the truth."

If he valued his life! It was a truth that Ghek had but just learned.

He thought quickly. After all, a great brain is not without its uses.

Perhaps here lay escape from the sentence of Luud.

"You are of her kind?" he asked. "You come to rescue her?"

"Yes."

"Listen, then. I have befriended her, and because of this I am to die.

If I help you to liberate her, will you take me with you?"

Gahan of Gathol eyed the weird creature from crown to foot--the perfect

body, the grotesque head, the expressionless face. Among such as these

had the beautiful daughter of Helium been held captive for days and

weeks.

"If she lives and is unharmed," he said, "I will take you with us."

"When they took her from me she was alive and unharmed," replied Ghek.

"I cannot say what has befallen her since. Luud sent for her."

"Who is Luud? Where is he? Lead me to him." Gahan spoke quickly in

tones vibrant with authority.

"Come, then," said Ghek, leading the way from the apartment and down a

stairway toward the underground burrows of the kaldanes. "Luud is my

king. I will take you to his chambers."

"Hasten!" urged Gahan.

"Sheathe your sword," warned Ghek, "so that should we pass others of my

kind I may say to them that you are a new prisoner with some likelihood

of winning their belief."

Gahan did as he was bid, but warning the kaldane that his hand was ever

ready at his dagger's hilt.

"You need have no fear of treachery," said Ghek. "My only hope of life

lies in you."

"And if you fail me," Gahan admonished him, "I can promise you as sure

a death as even your king might guarantee you."

Ghek made no reply, but moved rapidly through the winding subterranean

corridors until Gahan began to realize how truly was he in the hands of

this strange monster. If the fellow should prove false it would profit

Gahan nothing to slay him, since without his guidance the red man might

never hope to retrace his way to the tower and freedom.

Twice they met and were accosted by other kaldanes; but in both

instances Ghek's simple statement that he was taking a new prisoner to

Luud appeared to allay all suspicion, and then at last they came to the

ante-chamber of the king.

"Here, now, red man, thou must fight, if ever," whispered Ghek. "Enter

there!" and he pointed to a doorway before them.

"And you?" asked Gahan, still fearful of treachery.

"My rykor is powerful," replied the kaldane. "I shall accompany you and

fight at your side. As well die thus as in torture later at the will of

Luud. Come!"

But Gahan had already crossed the room and entered the chamber beyond.

Upon the opposite side of the room was a circular opening guarded by

two warriors. Beyond this opening he could see two figures struggling

upon the floor, and the fleeting glimpse he had of one of the faces

suddenly endowed him with the strength of ten warriors and the ferocity

of a wounded banth. It was Tara of Helium, fighting for her honor or

her life.

The warriors, startled by the unexpected appearance of a red man, stood

for a moment in dumb amazement, and in that moment Gahan of Gathol was

upon them, and one was down, a sword-thrust through its heart.

"Strike at the heads," whispered the voice of Ghek in Gahan's ear. The

latter saw the head of the fallen warrior crawl quickly within the

aperture leading to the chamber where he had seen Tara of Helium in the

clutches of a headless body. Then the sword of Ghek struck the kaldane

of the remaining warrior from its rykor and Gahan ran his sword through

the repulsive head.

Instantly the red warrior leaped for the aperture, while close behind

him came Ghek.

"Look not upon the eyes of Luud," warned the kaldane, "or you are lost."

Within the chamber Gahan saw Tara of Helium in the clutches of a mighty

body, while close to the wall upon the opposite side of the apartment

crouched the hideous, spider-like Luud. Instantly the king realized the

menace to himself and sought to fasten his eyes upon the eyes of Gahan,

and in doing so he was forced to relax his concentration upon the rykor

in whose embraces Tara struggled, so that almost immediately the girl

found herself able to tear away from the awful, headless thing.

As she rose quickly to her feet she saw for the first time the cause of

the interruption of Luud's plans. A red warrior! Her heart leaped in

rejoicing and thanksgiving. What miracle of fate had sent him to her?

She did not recognize him, though, this travel-worn warrior in the

plain harness which showed no single jewel. How could she have guessed

him the same as the scintillant creature of platinum and diamonds that

she had seen for a brief hour under such different circumstances at the

court of her august sire?

Luud saw Ghek following the strange warrior into the chamber. "Strike

him down, Ghek!" commanded the king. "Strike down the stranger and your

life shall be yours."

Gahan glanced at the hideous face of the king.

"Seek not his eyes," screamed Tara in warning; but it was too late.

Already the horrid hypnotic gaze of the king kaldane had seized upon

the eyes of Gahan. The red warrior hesitated in his stride. His sword

point drooped slowly toward the floor. Tara glanced toward Ghek. She

saw the creature glaring with his expressionless eyes upon the broad

back of the stranger. She saw the hand of the creature's rykor creeping

stealthily toward the hilt of its dagger.

And then Tara of Helium raised her eyes aloft and poured forth the

notes of Mars' most beautiful melody, The Song of Love.

Ghek drew his dagger from its sheath. His eyes turned toward the

singing girl. Luud's glance wavered from the eyes of the man to the

face of Tara, and the instant that the latter's song distracted his

attention from his victim, Gahan of Gathol shook himself and as with a

supreme effort of will forced his eyes to the wall above Luud's hideous

head. Ghek raised his dagger above his right shoulder, took a single

quick step forward, and struck. The girl's song ended in a stifled

scream as she leaped forward with the evident intention of frustrating

the kaldane's purpose; but she was too late, and well it was, for an

instant later she realized the purpose of Ghek's act as she saw the

dagger fly from his hand, pass Gahan's shoulder, and sink full to the

guard in the soft face of Luud.

"Come!" cried the assassin, "we have no time to lose," and started for

the aperture through which they had entered the chamber; but in his

stride he paused as his glance was arrested by the form of the mighty

rykor lying prone upon the floor--a king's rykor; the most beautiful,

the most powerful, that the breeders of Bantoom could produce. Ghek

realized that in his escape he could take with him but a single rykor,

and there was none in Bantoom that could give him better service than

this giant lying here. Quickly he transferred himself to the shoulders

of the great, inert hulk. Instantly the latter was transformed to a

sentient creature, filled with pulsing life and alert energy.

"Now," said the kaldane, "we are ready. Let whoso would revert to

nothingness impede me." Even as he spoke he stooped and crawled into

the chamber beyond, while Gahan, taking Tara by the arm, motioned her

to follow. The girl looked him full in the eyes for the first time.

"The Gods of my people have been kind," she said; "you came just in

time. To the thanks of Tara of Helium shall be added those of The

Warlord of Barsoom and his people. Thy reward shall surpass thy

greatest desires."

Gahan of Gathol saw that she did not recognize him, and quickly he

checked the warm greeting that had been upon his lips.

"Be thou Tara of Helium or another," he replied, "is immaterial, to

serve thus a red woman of Barsoom is in itself sufficient reward."

As they spoke the girl was making her way through the aperture after

Ghek, and presently all three had quitted the apartments of Luud and

were moving rapidly along the winding corridors toward the tower. Ghek

repeatedly urged them to greater speed, but the red men of Barsoom were

never keen for retreat, and so the two that followed him moved all too

slowly for the kaldane.

"There are none to impede our progress," urged Gahan, "so why tax the

strength of the Princess by needless haste?"

"I fear not so much opposition ahead, for there are none there who know

the thing that has been done in Luud's chambers this night; but the

kaldane of one of the warriors who stood guard before Luud's apartment

escaped, and you may count it a truth that he lost no time in seeking

aid. That it did not come before we left is due solely to the rapidity

with which events transpired in the king's* room. Long before we reach

the tower they will be upon us from behind, and that they will come in

numbers far superior to ours and with great and powerful rykors I well

know."

* I have used the word king in describing the rulers or chiefs of the

Bantoomian swarms, since the word itself is unpronounceable in English,

nor does jed or jeddak of the red Martian tongue have quite the same

meaning as the Bantoomian word, which has practically the same

significance as the English word queen as applied to the leader of a

swarm of bees.--J. C.

Nor was Ghek's prophecy long in fulfilment. Presently the sounds of

pursuit became audible in the distant clanking of accouterments and the

whistling call to arms of the kaldanes.

"The tower is but a short distance now," cried Ghek. "Make haste while

yet you may, and if we can barricade it until the sun rises we may yet

escape."

"We shall need no barricades for we shall not linger in the tower,"

replied Gahan, moving more rapidly as he realized from the volume of

sound behind them the great number of their pursuers.

"But we may not go further than the tower tonight," insisted Ghek.

"Beyond the tower await the banths and certain death."

Gahan smiled. "Fear not the banths," he assured them. "Can we but reach

the enclosure a little ahead of our pursuers we have naught to fear

from any evil power within this accursed valley."

Ghek made no reply, nor did his expressionless face denote either

belief or skepticism. The girl looked into the face of the man

questioningly. She did not understand.

"Your flier," he said. "It is moored before the tower."

Her face lighted with pleasure and relief. "You found it!" she

exclaimed. "What fortune!"

"It was fortune indeed," he replied. "Since it not only told that you

were a prisoner here; but it saved me from the banths as I was crossing

the valley from the hills to this tower into which I saw them take you

this afternoon after your brave attempt at escape."

"How did you know it was I?" she asked, her puzzled brows scanning his

face as though she sought to recall from past memories some scene in

which he figured.

"Who is there but knows of the loss of the Princess Tara of Helium?" he

replied. "And when I saw the device upon your flier I knew at once,

though I had not known when I saw you among them in the fields a short

time earlier. Too great was the distance for me to make certain whether

the captive was man or woman. Had chance not divulged the hiding place

of your flier I had gone my way, Tara of Helium. I shudder to think how

close was the chance at that. But for the momentary shining of the sun

upon the emblazoned device on the prow of your craft, I had passed on

unknowing."

The girl shuddered. "The Gods sent you," she whispered reverently.

"The Gods sent me, Tara of Helium," he replied.

"But I do not recognize you," she said. "I have tried to recall you,

but I have failed. Your name, what may it be?"

"It is not strange that so great a princess should not recall the face

of every roving panthan of Barsoom," he replied with a smile.

"But your name?" insisted the girl.

"Call me Turan," replied the man, for it had come to him that if Tara

of Helium recognized him as the man whose impetuous avowal of love had

angered her that day in the gardens of The Warlord, her situation might

be rendered infinitely less bearable than were she to believe him a

total stranger. Then, too, as a simple panthan* he might win a greater

degree of her confidence by his loyalty and faithfulness and a place in

her esteem that seemed to have been closed to the resplendent Jed of

Gathol.

* Soldier of Fortune; free-lance warrior.

They had reached the tower now, and as they entered it from the

subterranean corridor a backward glance revealed the van of their

pursuers--hideous kaldanes mounted upon swift and powerful rykors. As

rapidly as might be the three ascended the stairways leading to the

ground level, but after them, even more rapidly, came the minions of

Luud. Ghek led the way, grasping one of Tara's hands the more easily to

guide and assist her, while Gahan of Gathol followed a few paces in

their rear, his bared sword ready for the assault that all realized

must come upon them now before ever they reached the enclosure and the

flier.

"Let Ghek drop behind to your side," said Tara, "and fight with you."

"There is but room for a single blade in these narrow corridors,"

replied the Gatholian. "Hasten on with Ghek and win to the deck of the

flier. Have your hand upon the control, and if I come far enough ahead

of these to reach the dangling cable you can rise at my word and I can

clamber to the deck at my leisure; but if one of them emerges first

into the enclosure you will know that I shall never come, and you will

rise quickly and trust to the Gods of our ancestors to give you a fair

breeze in the direction of a more hospitable people."

Tara of Helium shook her head. "We will not desert you, panthan," she

said.

Gahan, ignoring her reply, spoke above her head to Ghek. "Take her to

the craft moored within the enclosure," he commanded. "It is our only

hope. Alone, I may win to its deck; but have I to wait upon you two at

the last moment the chances are that none of us will escape. Do as I

bid." His tone was haughty and arrogant--the tone of a man who has

commanded other men from birth, and whose will has been law. Tara of

Helium was both angered and vexed. She was not accustomed to being

either commanded or ignored, but with all her royal pride she was no

fool, and she knew the man was right, that he was risking his life to

save hers, so she hastened on with Ghek as she was bid, and after the

first flush of anger she smiled, for the realization came to her that

this fellow was but a rough untutored warrior, skilled not in the finer

usages of cultured courts. His heart was right, though; a brave and

loyal heart, and gladly she forgave him the offense of his tone and

manner. But what a tone! Recollection of it gave her sudden pause.

Panthans were rough and ready men. Often they rose to positions of high

command, so it was not the note of authority in the fellow's voice that

seemed remarkable; but something else--a quality that was indefinable,

yet as distinct as it was familiar. She had heard it before when the

voice of her great-grandsire, Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, had risen

in command; and in the voice of her grandfather, Mors Kajak, the jed;

and in the ringing tones of her illustrious sire, John Carter, Warlord

of Barsoom, when he addressed his warriors.

But now she had no time to speculate upon so trivial a thing, for

behind her came the sudden clash of arms and she knew that Turan, the

panthan, had crossed swords with the first of their pursuers. As she

glanced back he was still visible beyond a turn in the stairway, so

that she could see the quick swordplay that ensued. Daughter of a

world's greatest swordsman, she knew well the finest points of the art.

She saw the clumsy attack of the kaldane and the quick, sure return of

the panthan. As she looked down from above upon his almost naked body,

trapped only in the simplest of unadorned harness, and saw the play of

the lithe muscles beneath the red-bronze skin, and witnessed the quick

and delicate play of his sword point, to her sense of obligation was

added a spontaneous admission of admiration that was but the natural

tribute of a woman to skill and bravery and, perchance, some trifle to

manly symmetry and strength.

Three times the panthan's blade changed its position--once to fend a

savage cut; once to feint; and once to thrust. And as he withdrew it

from the last position the kaldane rolled lifeless from its stumbling

rykor and Turan sprang quickly down the steps to engage the next

behind, and then Ghek had drawn Tara upward and a turn in the stairway

shut the battling panthan from her view; but still she heard the ring

of steel on steel, the clank of accouterments and the shrill whistling

of the kaldanes. Her heart moved her to turn back to the side of her

brave defender; but her judgment told her that she could serve him best

by being ready at the control of the flier at the moment he reached the

enclosure.

CHAPTER IX

ADRIFT OVER STRANGE REGIONS

Presently Ghek pushed aside a door that opened from the stairway, and

before them Tara saw the moonlight flooding the walled court where the

headless rykors lay beside their feeding-troughs. She saw the perfect

bodies, muscled as the best of her father's fighting men, and the

females whose figures would have been the envy of many of Helium's most

beautiful women. Ah, if she could but endow these with the power to

act! Then indeed might the safety of the panthan be assured; but they

were only poor lumps of clay, nor had she the power to quicken them to

life. Ever must they lie thus until dominated by the cold, heartless

brain of the kaldane. The girl sighed in pity even as she shuddered in

disgust as she picked her way over and among the sprawled creatures

toward the flier.

Quickly she and Ghek mounted to the deck after the latter had cast off

the moorings. Tara tested the control, raising and lowering the ship a

few feet within the walled space. It responded perfectly. Then she

lowered it to the ground again and waited. From the open doorway came

the sounds of conflict, now nearing them, now receding. The girl,

having witnessed her champion's skill, had little fear of the outcome.

Only a single antagonist could face him at a time upon the narrow

stairway, he had the advantage of position and of the defensive, and he

was a master of the sword while they were clumsy bunglers by

comparison. Their sole advantage was in their numbers, unless they

might find a way to come upon him from behind.

She paled at the thought. Could she have seen him she might have been

further perturbed, for he took no advantage of many opportunities to

win nearer the enclosure. He fought coolly, but with a savage

persistence that bore little semblance to purely defensive action.

Often he clambered over the body of a fallen foe to leap against the

next behind, and once there lay five dead kaldanes behind him, so far

had he pushed back his antagonists. They did not know it; these

kaldanes that he fought, nor did the girl awaiting him upon the flier,

but Gahan of Gathol was engaged in a more alluring sport than winning

to freedom, for he was avenging the indignities that had been put upon

the woman he loved; but presently he realized that he might be

jeopardizing her safety uselessly, and so he struck down another before

him and turning leaped quickly up the stairway, while the leading

kaldanes slipped upon the brain-covered floor and stumbled in pursuit.

Gahan reached the enclosure twenty paces ahead of them and raced toward

the flier. "Rise!" he shouted to the girl. "I will ascend the cable."

Slowly the small craft rose from the ground as Gahan leaped the inert

bodies of the rykors lying in his path. The first of the pursuers

sprang from the tower just as Gahan seized the trailing rope.

"Faster!" he shouted to the girl above, "or they will drag us down!"

But the ship seemed scarcely to move, though in reality she was rising

as rapidly as might have been expected of a one-man flier carrying a

load of three. Gahan swung free above the top of the wall, but the end

of the rope still dragged the ground as the kaldanes reached it. They

were pouring in a steady stream from the tower into the enclosure. The

leader seized the rope.

"Quick!" he cried. "Lay hold and we will drag them down."

It needed but the weight of a few to accomplish his design. The ship

was stopped in its flight and then, to the horror of the girl, she felt

it being dragged steadily downward. Gahan, too, realized the danger and

the necessity for instant action. Clinging to the rope with his left

hand, he had wound a leg about it, leaving his right hand free for his

long-sword which he had not sheathed. A downward cut clove the soft

head of a kaldane, and another severed the taut rope beneath the

panthan's feet. The girl heard a sudden renewal of the shrill whistling

of her foes, and at the same time she realized that the craft was

rising again. Slowly it drifted upward, out of reach of the enemy, and

a moment later she saw the figure of Turan clamber over the side. For

the first time in many weeks her heart was filled with the joy of

thanksgiving; but her first thought was of another.

"You are not wounded?" she asked.

"No, Tara of Helium," he replied. "They were scarce worth the effort of

my blade, and never were they a menace to me because of their swords."

"They should have slain you easily," said Ghek. "So great and highly

developed is the power of reason among us that they should have known

before you struck just where, logically, you must seek to strike, and

so they should have been able to parry your every thrust and easily

find an opening to your heart."

"But they did not, Ghek," Gahan reminded him. "Their theory of

development is wrong, for it does not tend toward a perfectly balanced

whole. You have developed the brain and neglected the body and you can

never do with the hands of another what you can do with your own hands.

Mine are trained to the sword--every muscle responds instantly and

accurately, and almost mechanically, to the need of the instant. I am

scarcely objectively aware that I think when I fight, so quickly does

my point take advantage of every opening, or spring to my defense if I

am threatened that it is almost as though the cold steel had eyes and

brains. You, with your kaldane brain and your rykor body, never could

hope to achieve in the same degree of perfection those things that I

can achieve. Development of the brain should not be the sum total of

human endeavor. The richest and happiest peoples will be those who

attain closest to well-balanced perfection of both mind and body, and

even these must always be short of perfection. In absolute and general

perfection lies stifling monotony and death. Nature must have

contrasts; she must have shadows as well as highlights; sorrow with

happiness; both wrong and right; and sin as well as virtue."

"Always have I been taught differently," replied Ghek; "but since I

have known this woman and you, of another race, I have come to believe

that there may be other standards fully as high and desirable as those

of the kaldanes. At least I have had a glimpse of the thing you call

happiness and I realize that it may be good even though I have no means

of expressing it. I cannot laugh nor smile, and yet within me is a

sense of contentment when this woman sings--a sense that seems to open

before me wondrous vistas of beauty and unguessed pleasure that far

transcend the cold joys of a perfectly functioning brain. I would that

I had been born of thy race."

Caught by a gentle current of air the flier was drifting slowly toward

the northeast across the valley of Bantoom. Below them lay the

cultivated fields, and one after another they passed over the strange

towers of Moak and Nolach and the other kings of the swarms that

inhabited this weird and terrible land. Within each enclosure

surrounding the towers grovelled the rykors, repellent, headless

things, beautiful yet hideous.

"A lesson, those," remarked Gahan, indicating the rykors in an

enclosure above which they were drifting at the time, "to that

fortunately small minority of our race which worships the flesh and

makes a god of appetite. You know them, Tara of Helium; they can tell

you exactly what they had at the midday meal two weeks ago, and how the

loin of the thoat should be prepared, and what drink should be served

with the rump of the zitidar."

Tara of Helium laughed. "But not one of them could tell you the name of

the man whose painting took the Jeddak's Award in The Temple of Beauty

this year," she said. "Like the rykors, their development has not been

balanced."

"Fortunate indeed are those in which there is combined a little good

and a little bad, a little knowledge of many things outside their own

callings, a capacity for love and a capacity for hate, for such as

these can look with tolerance upon all, unbiased by the egotism of him

whose head is so heavy on one side that all his brains run to that

point."

As Gahan ceased speaking Ghek made a little noise in his throat as one

does who would attract attention. "You speak as one who has thought

much upon many subjects. Is it, then, possible that you of the red race

have pleasure in thought? Do you know aught of the joys of

introspection? Do reason and logic form any part of your lives?"

"Most assuredly," replied Gahan, "but not to the extent of occupying

all our time--at least not objectively. You, Ghek, are an example of

the egotism of which I spoke. Because you and your kind devote your

lives to the worship of mind, you believe that no other created beings

think. And possibly we do not in the sense that you do, who think only

of yourselves and your great brains. We think of many things that

concern the welfare of a world. Had it not been for the red men of

Barsoom even the kaldanes had perished from the planet, for while you

may live without air the things upon which you depend for existence

cannot, and there had been no air in sufficient quantities upon Barsoom

these many ages had not a red man planned and built the great

atmosphere plant which gave new life to a dying world.

"What have all the brains of all the kaldanes that have ever lived done

to compare with that single idea of a single red man?"

Ghek was stumped. Being a kaldane he knew that brains spelled the sum

total of universal achievement, but it had never occurred to him that

they should be put to use in practical and profitable ways. He turned

away and looked down upon the valley of his ancestors across which he

was slowly drifting, into what unknown world? He should be a veritable

god among the underlings, he knew; but somehow a doubt assailed him. It

was evident that these two from that other world were ready to question

his preeminence. Even through his great egotism was filtering a

suspicion that they patronized him; perhaps even pitied him. Then he

began to wonder what was to become of him. No longer would he have many

rykors to do his bidding. Only this single one and when it died there

could not be another. When it tired, Ghek must lie almost helpless

while it rested. He wished that he had never seen this red woman. She

had brought him only discontent and dishonor and now exile. Presently

Tara of Helium commenced to hum a tune and Ghek, the kaldane, was

content.

Gently they drifted beneath the hurtling moons above the mad shadows of

a Martian night. The roaring of the banths came in diminishing volume

to their ears as their craft passed on beyond the boundaries of

Bantoom, leaving behind the terrors of that unhappy land. But to what

were they being borne? The girl looked at the man sitting cross-legged

upon the deck of the tiny flier, gazing off into the night ahead,

apparently absorbed in thought.

"Where are we?" she asked. "Toward what are we drifting?"

Turan shrugged his broad shoulders. "The stars tell me that we are

drifting toward the northeast," he replied, "but where we are, or what

lies in our path I cannot even guess. A week since I could have sworn

that I knew what lay behind each succeeding ridge that I approached;

but now I admit in all humility that I have no conception of what lies

a mile in any direction. Tara of Helium, I am lost, and that is all

that I can tell you."

He was smiling and the girl smiled back at him. There was a slightly

puzzled expression on her face--there was something tantalizingly

familiar about that smile of his. She had met many a panthan--they came

and went, following the fighting of a world--but she could not place

this one.

"From what country are you, Turan?" she asked suddenly.

"Know you not, Tara of Helium," he countered, "that a panthan has no

country? Today he fights beneath the banner of one master, tomorrow

beneath that of another."

"But you must own allegiance to some country when you are not

fighting," she insisted. "What banner, then, owns you now?"

He rose and stood before her, then, bowing low. "And I am acceptable,"

he said, "I serve beneath the banner of the daughter of The Warlord

now--and forever."

She reached forth and touched his arm with a slim brown hand. "Your

services are accepted," she said; "and if ever we reach Helium I

promise that your reward shall be all that your heart could desire."

"I shall serve faithfully, hoping for that reward," he said; but Tara

of Helium did not guess what was in his mind, thinking rather that he

was mercenary. For how could the proud daughter of The Warlord guess

that a simple panthan aspired to her hand and heart?

The dawn found them moving rapidly over an unfamiliar landscape. The

wind had increased during the night and had borne them far from

Bantoom. The country below them was rough and inhospitable. No water

was visible and the surface of the ground was cut by deep gorges, while

nowhere was any but the most meager vegetation discernible. They saw no

life of any nature, nor was there any indication that the country could

support life. For two days they drifted over this horrid wasteland.

They were without food or water and suffered accordingly. Ghek had

temporarily abandoned his rykor after enlisting Turan's assistance in

lashing it safely to the deck. The less he used it the less would its

vitality be spent. Already it was showing the effects of privation.

Ghek crawled about the vessel like a great spider--over the side, down

beneath the keel, and up over the opposite rail. He seemed equally at

home one place as another. For his companions, however, the quarters

were cramped, for the deck of a one-man flier is not intended for three.

Turan sought always ahead for signs of water. Water they must have, or

that water-giving plant which makes life possible upon many of the

seemingly arid areas of Mars; but there was neither the one nor the

other for these two days and now the third night was upon them. The

girl did not complain, but Turan knew that she must be suffering and

his heart was heavy within him. Ghek suffered least of all, and he

explained to them that his kind could exist for long periods without

food or water. Turan almost cursed him as he saw the form of Tara of

Helium slowly wasting away before his eyes, while the hideous kaldane

seemed as full of vitality as ever.

"There are circumstances," remarked Ghek, "under which a gross and

material body is less desirable than a highly developed brain."

Turan looked at him, but said nothing. Tara of Helium smiled faintly.

"One cannot blame him," she said, "were we not a bit boastful in the

pride of our superiority? When our stomachs were filled," she added.

"Perhaps there is something to be said for their system," Turan

admitted. "If we could but lay aside our stomachs when they cried for

food and water I have no doubt but that we should do so."

"I should never miss mine now," assented Tara; "it is mighty poor

company."

A new day had dawned, revealing a less desolate country and renewing

again the hope that had been low within them. Suddenly Turan leaned

forward, pointing ahead.

"Look, Tara of Helium!" he cried. "A city! As I am Ga--as I am Turan

the panthan, a city."

Far in the distance the domes and walls and slender towers of a city

shone in the rising sun. Quickly the man seized the control and the

ship dropped rapidly behind a low range of intervening hills, for well

Turan knew that they must not be seen until they could discover whether

friend or foe inhabited the strange city. Chances were that they were

far from the abode of friends and so must the panthan move with the

utmost caution; but there was a city and where a city was, was water,

even though it were a deserted city, and food if it were inhabited.

To the red man food and water, even in the citadel of an enemy, meant

food and drink for Tara of Helium. He would accept it from friends or

he would take it from enemies. Just so long as it was there he would

have it--and there was shown the egotism of the fighting man, though

Turan did not see it, nor Tara who came from a long line of fighting

men; but Ghek might have smiled had he known how.

Turan permitted the flier to drift closer behind the screening hills,

and then when he could advance no farther without fear of discovery, he

dropped the craft gently to ground in a little ravine, and leaping over

the side made her fast to a stout tree. For several moments they

discussed their plans--whether it would be best to wait where they were

until darkness hid their movements and then approach the city in search

of food and water, or approach it now, taking advantage of what cover

they could, until they could glean something of the nature of its

inhabitants.

It was Turan's plan which finally prevailed. They would approach as

close as safety dictated in the hope of finding water outside the city;

food, too, perhaps. If they did not they could at least reconnoiter the

ground by daylight, and then when night came Turan could quickly come

close to the city and in comparative safety prosecute his search for

food and drink.

Following the ravine upward they finally topped the summit of the

ridge, from which they had an excellent view of that part of the city

which lay nearest them, though themselves hidden by the brush behind

which they crouched. Ghek had resumed his rykor, which had suffered

less than either Tara or Turan through their enforced fast.

The first glance at the city, now much closer than when they had first

discovered it, revealed the fact that it was inhabited. Banners and

pennons broke from many a staff. People were moving about the gate

before them. The high white walls were paced by sentinels at far

intervals. Upon the roofs of higher buildings the women could be seen

airing the sleeping silks and furs. Turan watched it all in silence for

some time.

"I do not know them," he said at last. "I cannot guess what city this

may be. But it is an ancient city. Its people have no fliers and no

firearms. It must be old indeed."

"How do you know they have not these things?" asked the girl.

"There are no landing-stages upon the roofs--not one that can be seen

from here; while were we looking similarly at Helium we would see

hundreds. And they have no firearms because their defenses are all

built to withstand the attack of spear and arrow, with spear and arrow.

They are an ancient people."

"If they are ancient perhaps they are friendly," suggested the girl.

"Did we not learn as children in the history of our planet that it was

once peopled by a friendly, peace-loving race?"

"But I fear they are not as ancient as that," replied Turan, laughing.

"It has been long ages since the men of Barsoom loved peace."

"My father loves peace," returned the girl.

"And yet he is always at war," said the man.

She laughed. "But he says he likes peace."

"We all like peace," he rejoined; "peace with honor; but our neighbors

will not let us have it, and so we must fight."

"And to fight well men must like to fight," she added.

"And to like to fight they must know how to fight," he said, "for no

man likes to do the thing that he does not know how to do well."

"Or that some other man can do better than he."

"And so always there will be wars and men will fight," he concluded,

"for always the men with hot blood in their veins will practice the art

of war."

"We have settled a great question," said the girl, smiling; "but our

stomachs are still empty."

"Your panthan is neglecting his duty," replied Turan; "and how can he

with the great reward always before his eyes!"

She did not guess in what literal a sense he spoke.

"I go forthwith," he continued, "to wrest food and drink from the

ancients."

"No," she cried, laying a hand upon his arm, "not yet. They would slay

you or make you prisoner. You are a brave panthan and a mighty one, but

you cannot overcome a city singlehanded."

She smiled up into his face and her hand still lay upon his arm. He

felt the thrill of hot blood coursing through his veins. He could have

seized her in his arms and crushed her to him. There was only Ghek the

kaldane there, but there was something stronger within him that

restrained his hand. Who may define it--that inherent chivalry that

renders certain men the natural protectors of women?

From their vantage point they saw a body of armed warriors ride forth

from the gate, and winding along a well-beaten road pass from sight

about the foot of the hill from which they watched. The men were red,

like themselves, and they rode the small saddle thoats of the red race.

Their trappings were barbaric and magnificent, and in their head-dress

were many feathers as had been the custom of ancients. They were armed

with swords and long spears and they rode almost naked, their bodies

being painted in ochre and blue and white. There were, perhaps, a score

of them in the party and as they galloped away on their tireless mounts

they presented a picture at once savage and beautiful.

"They have the appearance of splendid warriors," said Turan. "I have a

great mind to walk boldly into their city and seek service."

Tara shook her head. "Wait," she admonished. "What would I do without

you, and if you were captured how could you collect your reward?"

"I should escape," he said. "At any rate I shall try it," and he

started to rise.

"You shall not," said the girl, her tone all authority.

The man looked at her quickly--questioningly.

"You have entered my service," she said, a trifle haughtily.

"You have entered my service for hire and you shall do as I bid you."

Turan sank down beside her again with a half smile upon his lips. "It

is yours to command, Princess," he said.

The day passed. Ghek, tiring of the sunlight, had deserted his rykor

and crawled down a hole he had discovered close by. Tara and Turan

reclined beneath the scant shade of a small tree. They watched the

people coming and going through the gate. The party of horsemen did not

return. A small herd of zitidars was driven into the city during the

day, and once a caravan of broad-wheeled carts drawn by these huge

animals wound out of the distant horizon and came down to the city. It,

too, passed from their sight within the gateway. Then darkness came and

Tara of Helium bid her panthan search for food and drink; but she

cautioned him against attempting to enter the city. Before he left her

he bent and kissed her hand as a warrior may kiss the hand of his queen.

CHAPTER X

ENTRAPPED

Turan the panthan approached the strange city under cover of the

darkness. He entertained little hope of finding either food or water

outside the wall, but he would try and then, if he failed, he would

attempt to make his way into the city, for Tara of Helium must have

sustenance and have it soon. He saw that the walls were poorly

sentineled, but they were sufficiently high to render an attempt to

scale them foredoomed to failure. Taking advantage of underbrush and

trees, Turan managed to reach the base of the wall without detection.

Silently he moved north past the gateway which was closed by a massive

gate which effectively barred even the slightest glimpse within the

city beyond. It was Turan's hope to find upon the north side of the

city away from the hills a level plain where grew the crops of the

inhabitants, and here too water from their irrigating system, but

though he traveled far along that seemingly interminable wall he found

no fields nor any water. He searched also for some means of ingress to

the city, yet here, too, failure was his only reward, and now as he

went keen eyes watched him from above and a silent stalker kept pace

with him for a time upon the summit of the wall; but presently the

shadower descended to the pavement within and hurrying swiftly raced

ahead of the stranger without.

He came presently to a small gate beside which was a low building and

before the doorway of the building a warrior standing guard. He spoke a

few quick words to the warrior and then entered the building only to

return almost immediately to the street, followed by fully forty

warriors. Cautiously opening the gate the fellow peered carefully along

the wall upon the outside in the direction from which he had come.

Evidently satisfied, he issued a few words of instruction to those

behind him, whereupon half the warriors returned to the interior of the

building, while the other half followed the man stealthily through the

gateway where they crouched low among the shrubbery in a half circle

just north of the gateway which they had left open. Here they waited in

utter silence, nor had they long to wait before Turan the panthan came

cautiously along the base of the wall. To the very gate he came and

when he found it and that it was open he paused for a moment,

listening; then he approached and looked within. Assured that there was

none within sight to apprehend him he stepped through the gateway into

the city.

He found himself in a narrow street that paralleled the wall. Upon the

opposite side rose buildings of an architecture unknown to him, yet

strangely beautiful. While the buildings were packed closely together

there seemed to be no two alike and their fronts were of all shapes and

heights and of many hues. The skyline was broken by spire and dome and

minaret and tall, slender towers, while the walls supported many a

balcony and in the soft light of Cluros, the farther moon, now low in

the west, he saw, to his surprise and consternation, the figures of

people upon the balconies. Directly opposite him were two women and a

man. They sat leaning upon the rail of the balcony looking, apparently,

directly at him; but if they saw him they gave no sign.

Turan hesitated a moment in the face of almost certain discovery and

then, assured that they must take him for one of their own people, he

moved boldly into the avenue. Having no idea of the direction in which

he might best hope to find what he sought, and not wishing to arouse

suspicion by further hesitation, he turned to the left and stepped

briskly along the pavement with the intention of placing himself as

quickly as possible beyond the observation of those nocturnal watchers.

He knew that the night must be far spent; and so he could not but

wonder why people should sit upon their balconies when they should have

been asleep among their silks and furs. At first he had thought them

the late guests of some convivial host; but the windows behind them

were shrouded in darkness and utter quiet prevailed, quite upsetting

such a theory. And as he proceeded he passed many another group sitting

silently upon other balconies. They paid no attention to him, seeming

not even to note his passing. Some leaned with a single elbow upon the

rail, their chins resting in their palms; others leaned upon both arms

across the balcony, looking down into the street, while several that he

saw held musical instruments in their hands, but their fingers moved

not upon the strings.

And then Turan came to a point where the avenue turned to the right, to

skirt a building that jutted from the inside of the city wall, and as

he rounded the corner he came full upon two warriors standing upon

either side of the entrance to a building upon his right. It was

impossible for them not to be aware of his presence, yet neither moved,

nor gave other evidence that they had seen him. He stood there waiting,

his hand upon the hilt of his long-sword, but they neither challenged

nor halted him. Could it be that these also thought him one of their

own kind? Indeed upon no other grounds could he explain their inaction.

As Turan had passed through the gateway into the city and taken his

unhindered way along the avenue, twenty warriors had entered the city

and closed the gate behind them, and then one had taken to the wall and

followed along its summit in the rear of Turan, and another had

followed him along the avenue, while a third had crossed the street and

entered one of the buildings upon the opposite side.

The balance of them, with the exception of a single sentinel beside the

gate, had re-entered the building from which they had been summoned.

They were well built, strapping, painted fellows, their naked figures

covered now by gorgeous robes against the chill of night. As they spoke

of the stranger they laughed at the ease with which they had tricked

him, and were still laughing as they threw themselves upon their

sleeping silks and furs to resume their broken slumber. It was evident

that they constituted a guard detailed for the gate beside which they

slept, and it was equally evident that the gates were guarded and the

city watched much more carefully than Turan had believed. Chagrined

indeed had been the Jed of Gathol had he dreamed that he was being so

neatly tricked.

As Turan proceeded along the avenue he passed other sentries beside

other doors but now he gave them small heed, since they neither

challenged nor otherwise outwardly noted his passing; but while at

nearly every turn of the erratic avenue he passed one or more of these

silent sentinels he could not guess that he had passed one of them many

times and that his every move was watched by silent, clever stalkers.

Scarce had he passed a certain one of these rigid guardsmen before the

fellow awoke to sudden life, bounded across the avenue, entered a

narrow opening in the outer wall where he swiftly followed a corridor

built within the wall itself until presently he emerged a little

distance ahead of Turan, where he assumed the stiff and silent attitude

of a soldier upon guard. Nor did Turan know that a second followed in

the shadows of the buildings behind him, nor of the third who hastened

ahead of him upon some urgent mission.

And so the panthan moved through the silent streets of the strange city

in search of food and drink for the woman he loved. Men and women

looked down upon him from shadowy balconies, but spoke not; and

sentinels saw him pass and did not challenge. Presently from along the

avenue before him came the familiar sound of clanking accouterments,

the herald of marching warriors, and almost simultaneously he saw upon

his right an open doorway dimly lighted from within. It was the only

available place where he might seek to hide from the approaching

company, and while he had passed several sentries unquestioned he could

scarce hope to escape scrutiny and questioning from a patrol, as he

naturally assumed this body of men to be.

Inside the doorway he discovered a passage turning abruptly to the

right and almost immediately thereafter to the left. There was none in

sight within and so he stepped cautiously around the second turn the

more effectually to be hidden from the street. Before him stretched a

long corridor, dimly lighted like the entrance. Waiting there he heard

the party approach the building, he heard someone at the entrance to

his hiding place, and then he heard the door past which he had come

slam to. He laid his hand upon his sword, expecting momentarily to hear

footsteps approaching along the corridor; but none came. He approached

the turn and looked around it; the corridor was empty to the closed

door. Whoever had closed it had remained upon the outside.

Turan waited, listening. He heard no sound. Then he advanced to the

door and placed an ear against it. All was silence in the street

beyond. A sudden draft must have closed the door, or perhaps it was the

duty of the patrol to see to such things. It was immaterial. They had

evidently passed on and now he would return to the street and continue

upon his way. Somewhere there would be a public fountain where he could

obtain water, and the chance of food lay in the strings of dried

vegetables and meat which hung before the doorways of nearly every

Barsoomian home of the poorer classes that he had ever seen. It was

this district he was seeking, and it was for this reason his search had

led him away from the main gate of the city which he knew would not be

located in a poor district.

He attempted to open the door only to find that it resisted his every

effort--it was locked upon the outside. Here indeed was a sorry

contretemps. Turan the panthan scratched his head. "Fortune frowns upon

me," he murmured; but beyond the door, Fate, in the form of a painted

warrior, stood smiling. Neatly had he tricked the unwary stranger. The

lighted doorway, the marching patrol--these had been planned and timed

to a nicety by the third warrior who had sped ahead of Turan along

another avenue, and the stranger had done precisely what the fellow had

thought he would do--no wonder, then, that he smiled.

This exit barred to him Turan turned back into the corridor. He

followed it cautiously and silently. Occasionally there was a door on

one side or the other. These he tried only to find each securely

locked. The corridor wound more erratically the farther he advanced. A

locked door barred his way at its end, but a door upon his right opened

and he stepped into a dimly-lighted chamber, about the walls of which

were three other doors, each of which he tried in turn. Two were

locked; the other opened upon a runway leading downward. It was spiral

and he could see no farther than the first turn. A door in the corridor

he had quitted opened after he had passed, and the third warrior

stepped out and followed after him. A faint smile still lingered upon

the fellow's grim lips.

Turan drew his short-sword and cautiously descended. At the bottom was

a short corridor with a closed door at the end. He approached the

single heavy panel and listened. No sound came to him from beyond the

mysterious portal. Gently he tried the door, which swung easily toward

him at his touch. Before him was a low-ceiled chamber with a dirt

floor. Set in its walls were several other doors and all were closed.

As Turan stepped cautiously within, the third warrior descended the

spiral runway behind him. The panthan crossed the room quickly and

tried a door. It was locked. He heard a muffled click behind him and

turned about with ready sword. He was alone; but the door through which

he had entered was closed--it was the click of its lock that he had

heard.

With a bound he crossed the room and attempted to open it; but to no

avail. No longer did he seek silence, for he knew now that the thing

had gone beyond the sphere of chance. He threw his weight against the

wooden panel; but the thick skeel of which it was constructed would

have withstood a battering ram. From beyond came a low laugh.

Rapidly Turan examined each of the other doors. They were all locked. A

glance about the chamber revealed a wooden table and a bench. Set in

the walls were several heavy rings to which rusty chains were

attached--all too significant of the purpose to which the room was

dedicated. In the dirt floor near the wall were two or three holes

resembling the mouths of burrows--doubtless the habitat of the giant

Martian rat. He had observed this much when suddenly the dim light was

extinguished, leaving him in darkness utter and complete. Turan,

groping about, sought the table and the bench. Placing the latter

against the wall he drew the table in front of him and sat down upon

the bench, his long-sword gripped in readiness before him. At least

they should fight before they took him.

For some time he sat there waiting for he knew not what. No sound

penetrated to his subterranean dungeon. He slowly revolved in his mind

the incidents of the evening--the open, unguarded gate; the lighted

doorway--the only one he had seen thus open and lighted along the

avenue he had followed; the advance of the warriors at precisely the

moment that he could find no other avenue of escape or concealment; the

corridors and chambers that led past many locked doors to this

underground prison leaving no other path for him to pursue.

"By my first ancestor!" he swore; "but it was simple and I a simpleton.

They tricked me neatly and have taken me without exposing themselves to

a scratch; but for what purpose?"

He wished that he might answer that question and then his thoughts

turned to the girl waiting there on the hill beyond the city for

him--and he would never come. He knew the ways of the more savage

peoples of Barsoom. No, he would never come, now. He had disobeyed her.

He smiled at the sweet recollection of those words of command that had

fallen from her dear lips. He had disobeyed her and now he had lost the

reward.

But what of her? What now would be her fate--starving before a hostile

city with only an inhuman kaldane for company? Another thought--a

horrid thought--obtruded itself upon him. She had told him of the

hideous sights she had witnessed in the burrows of the kaldanes and he

knew that they ate human flesh. Ghek was starving. Should he eat his

rykor he would be helpless; but--there was sustenance there for them

both, for the rykor and the kaldane. Turan cursed himself for a fool.

Why had he left her? Far better to have remained and died with her,

ready always to protect her, than to have left her at the mercy of the

hideous Bantoomian.

Now Turan detected a heavy odor in the air. It oppressed him with a

feeling of drowsiness. He would have risen to fight off the creeping

lethargy, but his legs seemed weak, so that he sank again to the bench.

Presently his sword slipped from his fingers and he sprawled forward

upon the table his head resting upon his arms.

* * * * *

Tara of Helium, as the night wore on and Turan did not return, became

more and more uneasy, and when dawn broke with no sign of him she

guessed that he had failed. Something more than her own unhappy

predicament brought a feeling of sorrow to her heart--of sorrow and

loneliness. She realized now how she had come to depend upon this

panthan not only for protection but for companionship as well. She

missed him, and in missing him realized suddenly that he had meant more

to her than a mere hired warrior. It was as though a friend had been

taken from her--an old and valued friend. She rose from her place of

concealment that she might have a better view of the city.

U-Dor, dwar of the 8th Utan of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, rode back in

the early dawn toward Manator from a brief excursion to a neighboring

village. As he was rounding the hills south of the city, his keen eyes

were attracted by a slight movement among the shrubbery close to the

summit of the nearest hill. He halted his vicious mount and watched

more closely. He saw a figure rise facing away from him and peer down

toward Manator beyond the hill.

"Come!" he signalled to his followers, and with a word to his thoat

turned the beast at a rapid gallop up the hillside. In his wake swept

his twenty savage warriors, the padded feet of their mounts soundless

upon the soft turf. It was the rattle of sidearms and harness that

brought Tara of Helium suddenly about, facing them. She saw a score of

warriors with couched lances bearing down upon her.

She glanced at Ghek. What would the spiderman do in this emergency? She

saw him crawl to his rykor and attach himself. Then he arose, the

beautiful body once again animated and alert. She thought that the

creature was preparing for flight. Well, it made little difference to

her. Against such as were streaming up the hill toward them a single

mediocre swordsman such as Ghek was worse than no defense at all.

"Hurry, Ghek!" she admonished him. "Back into the hills! You may find

there a hiding-place;" but the creature only stepped between her and

the oncoming riders, drawing his long-sword.

"It is useless, Ghek," she said, when she saw that he intended to

defend her. "What can a single sword accomplish against such odds?"

"I can die but once," replied the kaldane. "You and your panthan saved

me from Luud and I but do what your panthan would do were he here to

protect you."

"It is brave, but it is useless," she replied. "Sheathe your sword.

They may not intend us harm."

Ghek let the point of his weapon drop to the ground, but he did not

sheathe it, and thus the two stood waiting as U-Dor the dwar stopped

his thoat before them while his twenty warriors formed a rough circle

about. For a long minute U-Dor sat his mount in silence, looking

searchingly first at Tara of Helium and then at her hideous companion.

"What manner of creature are you?" he asked presently. "And what do you

before the gates of Manator?"

"We are from far countries," replied the girl, "and we are lost and

starving. We ask only food and rest and the privilege to go our way

seeking our own homes."

U-Dor smiled a grim smile. "Manator and the hills which guard it alone

know the age of Manator," he said; "yet in all the ages that have

rolled by since Manator first was, there be no record in the annals of

Manator of a stranger departing from Manator."

"But I am a princess," cried the girl haughtily, "and my country is not

at war with yours. You must give me and my companions aid and assist us

to return to our own land. It is the law of Barsoom."

"Manator knows only the laws of Manator," replied U-Dor; "but come. You

shall go with us to the city, where you, being beautiful, need have no

fear. I, myself, will protect you if O-Tar so decrees. And as for your

companion--but hold! You said 'companions'--there are others of your

party then?"

"You see what you see," replied Tara haughtily.

"Be that as it may," said U-Dor. "If there be more they shall not

escape Manator; but as I was saying, if your companion fights well he

too may live, for O-Tar is just, and just are the laws of Manator.

Come!"

Ghek demurred.

"It is useless," said the girl, seeing that he would have stood his

ground and fought them. "Let us go with them. Why pit your puny blade

against their mighty ones when there should lie in your great brain the

means to outwit them?" She spoke in a low whisper, rapidly.

"You are right, Tara of Helium," he replied and sheathed his sword.

And so they moved down the hillside toward the gates of Manator--Tara,

Princess of Helium, and Ghek, the kaldane of Bantoom--and surrounding

them rode the savage, painted warriors of U-Dor, dwar of the 8th Utan

of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator.

CHAPTER XI

THE CHOICE OF TARA

The dazzling sunlight of Barsoom clothed Manator in an aureole of

splendor as the girl and her captors rode into the city through The

Gate of Enemies. Here the wall was some fifty feet thick, and the sides

of the passageway within the gate were covered with parallel shelves of

masonry from bottom to top. Within these shelves, or long, horizontal

niches, stood row upon row of small figures, appearing like tiny,

grotesque statuettes of men, their long, black hair falling below their

feet and sometimes trailing to the shelf beneath. The figures were

scarce a foot in height and but for their diminutive proportions might

have been the mummified bodies of once living men. The girl noticed

that as they passed, the warriors saluted the figures with their spears

after the manner of Barsoomian fighting men in extending a military

courtesy, and then they rode on into the avenue beyond, which ran, wide

and stately, through the city toward the east.

On either side were great buildings wondrously wrought. Paintings of

great beauty and antiquity covered many of the walls, their colors

softened and blended by the suns of ages. Upon the pavement the life of

the newly-awakened city was already afoot. Women in brilliant

trappings, befeathered warriors, their bodies daubed with paint;

artisans, armed but less gaily caparisoned, took their various ways

upon the duties of the day. A giant zitidar, magnificent in rich

harness, rumbled its broad-wheeled cart along the stone pavement toward

The Gate of Enemies. Life and color and beauty wrought together a

picture that filled the eyes of Tara of Helium with wonder and with

admiration, for here was a scene out of the dead past of dying Mars.

Such had been the cities of the founders of her race before Throxeus,

mightiest of oceans, had disappeared from the face of a world. And from

balconies on either side men and women looked down in silence upon the

scene below.

The people in the street looked at the two prisoners, especially at the

hideous Ghek, and called out in question or comment to their guard; but

the watchers upon the balconies spoke not, nor did one so much as turn

a head to note their passing. There were many balconies on each

building and not a one that did not hold its silent party of richly

trapped men and women, with here and there a child or two, but even the

children maintained the uniform silence and immobility of their elders.

As they approached the center of the city the girl saw that even the

roofs bore companies of these idle watchers, harnessed and bejeweled as

for some gala-day of laughter and music, but no laughter broke from

those silent lips, nor any music from the strings of the instruments

that many of them held in jeweled fingers.

And now the avenue widened into an immense square, at the far end of

which rose a stately edifice gleaming white in virgin marble among the

gaily painted buildings surrounding it and its scarlet sward and

gaily-flowering, green-foliaged shrubbery. Toward this U-Dor led his

prisoners and their guard to the great arched entrance before which a

line of fifty mounted warriors barred the way. When the commander of

the guard recognized U-Dor the guardsmen fell back to either side

leaving a broad avenue through which the party passed. Directly inside

the entrance were inclined runways leading upward on either side. U-Dor

turned to the left and led them upward to the second floor and down a

long corridor. Here they passed other mounted men and in chambers upon

either side they saw more. Occasionally there was another runway

leading either up or down. A warrior, his steed at full gallop, dashed

into sight from one of these and raced swiftly past them upon some

errand.

Nowhere as yet had Tara of Helium seen a man afoot in this great

building; but when at a turn, U-Dor led them to the third floor she

caught glimpses of chambers in which many riderless thoats were penned

and others adjoining where dismounted warriors lolled at ease or played

games of skill or chance and many there were who played at jetan, and

then the party passed into a long, wide hall of state, as magnificent

an apartment as even a princess of mighty Helium ever had seen. The

length of the room ran an arched ceiling ablaze with countless radium

bulbs. The mighty spans extended from wall to wall leaving the vast

floor unbroken by a single column. The arches were of white marble,

apparently quarried in single, huge blocks from which each arch was cut

complete. Between the arches, the ceiling was set solid about the

radium bulbs with precious stones whose scintillant fire and color and

beauty filled the whole apartment. The stones were carried down the

walls in an irregular fringe for a few feet, where they appeared to

hang like a beautiful and gorgeous drapery against the white marble of

the wall. The marble ended some six or seven feet from the floor, the

walls from that point down being wainscoted in solid gold. The floor

itself was of marble richly inlaid with gold. In that single room was a

vast treasure equal to the wealth of many a large city.

But what riveted the girl's attention even more than the fabulous

treasure of decorations were the files of gorgeously harnessed warriors

who sat their thoats in grim silence and immobility on either side of

the central aisle, rank after rank of them to the farther walls, and as

the party passed between them she could not note so much as the flicker

of an eyelid, or the twitching of a thoat's ear.

"The Hall of Chiefs," whispered one of her guard, evidently noting her

interest. There was a note of pride in the fellow's voice and something

of hushed awe. Then they passed through a great doorway into the

chamber beyond, a large, square room in which a dozen mounted warriors

lolled in their saddles.

As U-Dor and his party entered the room, the warriors came quickly

erect in their saddles and formed a line before another door upon the

opposite side of the wall. The padwar commanding them saluted U-Dor

who, with his party, had halted facing the guard.

"Send one to O-Tar announcing that U-Dor brings two prisoners worthy of

the observation of the great jeddak," said U-Dor; "one because of her

extreme beauty, the other because of his extreme ugliness."

"O-Tar sits in council with the lesser chiefs," replied the lieutenant;

"but the words of U-Dor the dwar shall be carried to him," and he

turned and gave instructions to one who sat his thoat behind him.

"What manner of creature is the male?" he asked of U-Dor. "It cannot be

that both are of one race."

"They were together in the hills south of the city," explained U-Dor,

"and they say that they are lost and starving."

"The woman is beautiful," said the padwar. "She will not long go

begging in the city of Manator," and then they spoke of other

matters--of the doings of the palace, of the expedition of U-Dor, until

the messenger returned to say that O-Tar bade them bring the prisoners

to him.

They passed then through a massive doorway, which, when opened,

revealed the great council chamber of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, beyond.

A central aisle led from the doorway the full length of the great hall,

terminating at the steps of a marble dais upon which a man sat in a

great throne-chair. Upon either side of the aisle were ranged rows of

highly carved desks and chairs of skeel, a hard wood of great beauty.

Only a few of the desks were occupied--those in the front row, just

below the rostrum.

At the entrance U-Dor dismounted with four of his followers who formed

a guard about the two prisoners who were then conducted toward the foot

of the throne, following a few paces behind U-Dor. As they halted at

the foot of the marble steps, the proud gaze of Tara of Helium rested

upon the enthroned figure of the man above her. He sat erect without

stiffness--a commanding presence trapped in the barbaric splendor that

the Barsoomian chieftain loves. He was a large man, the perfection of

whose handsome face was marred only by the hauteur of his cold eyes and

the suggestion of cruelty imparted by too thin lips. It needed no

second glance to assure the least observing that here indeed was a

ruler of men--a fighting jeddak whose people might worship but not

love, and for whose slightest favor warriors would vie with one another

to go forth and die. This was O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, and as Tara of

Helium saw him for the first time she could not but acknowledge a

certain admiration for this savage chieftain who so virilely

personified the ancient virtues of the God of War.

U-Dor and the jeddak interchanged the simple greetings of Barsoom, and

then the former recounted the details of the discovery and capture of

the prisoners. O-Tar scrutinized them both intently during U-Dor's

narration of events, his expression revealing naught of what passed in

the brain behind those inscrutable eyes. When the officer had finished

the jeddak fastened his gaze upon Ghek.

"And you," he asked, "what manner of thing are you? From what country?

Why are you in Manator?"

"I am a kaldane," replied Ghek; "the highest type of created creature

upon the face of Barsoom; I am mind, you are matter. I come from

Bantoom. I am here because we were lost and starving."

"And you!" O-Tar turned suddenly on Tara. "You, too, are a kaldane?"

"I am a princess of Helium," replied the girl. "I was a prisoner in

Bantoom. This kaldane and a warrior of my own race rescued me. The

warrior left us to search for food and water. He has doubtless fallen

into the hands of your people. I ask you to free him and give us food

and drink and let us go upon our way. I am a granddaughter of a jeddak,

the daughter of a jeddak of jeddaks, The Warlord of Barsoom. I ask only

the treatment that my people would accord you or yours."

"Helium," repeated O-Tar. "I know naught of Helium, nor does the Jeddak

of Helium rule Manator. I, O-Tar, am Jeddak of Manator. I alone rule. I

protect my own. You have never seen a woman or a warrior of Manator

captive in Helium! Why should I protect the people of another jeddak?

It is his duty to protect them. If he cannot, he is weak, and his

people must fall into the hands of the strong. I, O-Tar, am strong. I

will keep you. That--" he pointed at Ghek--"can it fight?"

"It is brave," replied Tara of Helium, "but it has not the skill at

arms which my people possess."

"There is none then to fight for you?" asked O-Tar. "We are a just

people," he continued without waiting for a reply, "and had you one to

fight for you he might win to freedom for himself and you as well."

"But U-Dor assured me that no stranger ever had departed from Manator,"

she answered.

O-Tar shrugged. "That does not disprove the justice of the laws of

Manator," replied O-Tar, "but rather that the warriors of Manator are

invincible. Had there come one who could defeat our warriors that one

had won to liberty."

"And you fetch my warrior," cried Tara haughtily, "you shall see such

swordplay as doubtless the crumbling walls of your decaying city never

have witnessed, and if there be no trick in your offer we are already

as good as free."

O-Tar smiled more broadly than before and U-Dor smiled, too, and the

chiefs and warriors who looked on nudged one another and whispered,

laughing. And Tara of Helium knew then that there was trickery in their

justice; but though her situation seemed hopeless she did not cease to

hope, for was she not the daughter of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom,

whose famous challenge to Fate, "I still live!" remained the one

irreducible defense against despair? At thought of her noble sire the

patrician chin of Tara of Helium rose a shade higher. Ah! if he but

knew where she was there were little to fear then. The hosts of Helium

would batter at the gates of Manator, the great green warriors of John

Carter's savage allies would swarm up from the dead sea bottoms lusting

for pillage and for loot, the stately ships of her beloved navy would

soar above the unprotected towers and minarets of the doomed city which

only capitulation and heavy tribute could then save.

But John Carter did not know! There was only one other to whom she

might hope to look--Turan the panthan; but where was he? She had seen

his sword in play and she knew that it had been wielded by a master

hand, and who should know swordplay better than Tara of Helium, who had

learned it well under the constant tutorage of John Carter himself.

Tricks she knew that discounted even far greater physical prowess than

her own, and a method of attack that might have been at once the envy

and despair of the cleverest of warriors. And so it was that her

thoughts turned to Turan the panthan, though not alone because of the

protection he might afford her. She had realized, since he had left her

in search of food, that there had grown between them a certain

comradeship that she now missed. There had been that about him which

seemed to have bridged the gulf between their stations in life. With

him she had failed to consider that he was a panthan or that she was a

princess--they had been comrades. Suddenly she realized that she missed

him for himself more than for his sword. She turned toward O-Tar.

"Where is Turan, my warrior?" she demanded.

"You shall not lack for warriors," replied the jeddak. "One of your

beauty will find plenty ready to fight for her. Possibly it shall not

be necessary to look farther than the jeddak of Manator. You please me,

woman. What say you to such an honor?"

Through narrowed lids the Princess of Helium scrutinized the Jeddak of

Manator, from feathered headdress to sandaled foot and back to

feathered headdress.

"'Honor'!" she mimicked in tones of scorn. "I please thee, do I? Then

know, swine, that thou pleaseth me not--that the daughter of John

Carter is not for such as thou!"

A sudden, tense silence fell upon the assembled chiefs. Slowly the

blood receded from the sinister face of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator,

leaving him a sickly purple in his wrath. His eyes narrowed to two thin

slits, his lips were compressed to a bloodless line of malevolence. For

a long moment there was no sound in the throne room of the palace at

Manator. Then the jeddak turned toward U-Dor.

"Take her away," he said in a level voice that belied his appearance of

rage. "Take her away, and at the next games let the prisoners and the

common warriors play at Jetan for her."

"And this?" asked U-Dor, pointing at Ghek.

"To the pits until the next games," replied O-Tar.

"So this is your vaunted justice!" cried Tara of Helium; "that two

strangers who have not wronged you shall be sentenced without trial?

And one of them is a woman. The swine of Manator are as just as they

are brave."

"Away with her!" shouted O-Tar, and at a sign from U-Dor the guards

formed about the two prisoners and conducted them from the chamber.

Outside the palace, Ghek and Tara of Helium were separated. The girl

was led through long avenues toward the center of the city and finally

into a low building, topped by lofty towers of massive construction.

Here she was turned over to a warrior who wore the insignia of a dwar,

or captain.

"It is O-Tar's wish," explained U-Dor to this one, "that she be kept

until the next games, when the prisoners and the common warriors shall

play for her. Had she not the tongue of a thoat she had been a worthy

stake for our noblest steel," and U-Dor sighed. "Perhaps even yet I may

win a pardon for her. It were too bad to see such beauty fall to the

lot of some common fellow. I would have honored her myself."

"If I am to be imprisoned, imprison me," said the girl. "I do not

recall that I was sentenced to listen to the insults of every low-born

boor who chanced to admire me."

"You see, A-Kor," cried U-Dor, "the tongue that she has. Even so and

worse spoke she to O-Tar the jeddak."

"I see," replied A-Kor, whom Tara saw was with difficulty restraining a

smile. "Come, then, with me, woman," he said, "and we shall find a safe

place within The Towers of Jetan--but stay! what ails thee?"

The girl had staggered and would have fallen had not the man caught her

in his arms. She seemed to gather herself then and bravely sought to

stand erect without support. A-Kor glanced at U-Dor. "Knew you the

woman was ill?" he asked.

"Possibly it is lack of food," replied the other. "She mentioned, I

believe, that she and her companions had not eaten for several days."

"Brave are the warriors of O-Tar," sneered A-Kor; "lavish their

hospitality. U-Dor, whose riches are uncounted, and the brave O-Tar,

whose squealing thoats are stabled within marble halls and fed from

troughs of gold, can spare no crust to feed a starving girl."

The black haired U-Dor scowled. "Thy tongue will yet pierce thy heart,

son of a slave!" he cried. "Once too often mayst thou try the patience

of the just O-Tar. Hereafter guard thy speech as well as thy towers."

"Think not to taunt me with my mother's state," said A-Kor. "'Tis the

blood of the slave woman that fills my veins with pride, and my only

shame is that I am also the son of thy jeddak."

"And O-Tar heard this?" queried U-Dor.

"O-Tar has already heard it from my own lips," replied A-Kor; "this,

and more."

He turned upon his heel, a supporting arm still around the waist of

Tara of Helium and thus he half led, half carried her into The Towers

of Jetan, while U-Dor wheeled his thoat and galloped back in the

direction of the palace.

Within the main entrance to The Tower of Jetan lolled a half-dozen

warriors. To one of these spoke A-Kor, keeper of the towers. "Fetch

Lan-O, the slave girl, and bid her bring food and drink to the upper

level of the Thurian tower," then he lifted the half-fainting girl in

his arms and bore her along the spiral, inclined runway that led upward

within the tower.

Somewhere in the long ascent Tara lost consciousness. When it returned

she found herself in a large, circular chamber, the stone walls of

which were pierced by windows at regular intervals about the entire

circumference of the room. She was lying upon a pile of sleeping silks

and furs while there knelt above her a young woman who was forcing

drops of some cooling beverage between her parched lips. Tara of Helium

half rose upon an elbow and looked about. In the first moments of

returning consciousness there were swept from the screen of

recollection the happenings of many weeks. She thought that she awoke

in the palace of The Warlord at Helium. Her brows knit as she

scrutinized the strange face bending over her.

"Who are you?" she asked, and, "Where is Uthia?"

"I am Lan-O the slave girl," replied the other. "I know none by the

name of Uthia."

Tara of Helium sat erect and looked about her. This rough stone was not

the marble of her father's halls. "Where am I?" she asked.

"In The Thurian Tower," replied the girl, and then seeing that the

other still did not understand she guessed the truth. "You are a

prisoner in The Towers of Jetan in the city of Manator," she explained.

"You were brought to this chamber, weak and fainting, by A-Kor, Dwar of

The Towers of Jetan, who sent me to you with food and drink, for kind

is the heart of A-Kor."

"I remember, now," said Tara, slowly. "I remember; but where is Turan,

my warrior? Did they speak of him?"

"I heard naught of another," replied Lan-O; "you alone were brought to

the towers. In that you are fortunate, for there be no nobler man in

Manator than A-Kor. It is his mother's blood that makes him so. She was

a slave girl from Gathol."

"Gathol!" exclaimed Tara of Helium. "Lies Gathol close by Manator?"

"Not close, yet still the nearest country," replied Lan-O. "About

twenty-two degrees* east, it lies."

* Approximately 814 Earth Miles.

"Gathol!" murmured Tara, "Far Gathol!"

"But you are not from Gathol," said the slave girl; "your harness is

not of Gathol."

"I am from Helium," said Tara.

"It is far from Helium to Gathol," said the slave girl, "but in our

studies we learned much of the greatness of Helium, we of Gathol, so it

seems not so far away."

"You, too, are from Gathol?" asked Tara.

"Many of us are from Gathol who are slaves in Manator," replied the

girl. "It is to Gathol, nearest country, that the Manatorians look for

slaves most often. They go in great numbers at intervals of three or

seven years and haunt the roads that lead to Gathol, and thus they

capture whole caravans leaving none to bear warning to Gathol of their

fate. Nor do any ever escape from Manator to carry word of us back to

Gahan our jed."

Tara of Helium ate slowly and in silence. The girl's words aroused

memories of the last hours she had spent in her father's palace and the

great midday function at which she had met Gahan of Gathol. Even now

she flushed as she recalled his daring words.

Upon her reveries the door opened and a burly warrior appeared in the

opening--a hulking fellow, with thick lips and an evil, leering face.

The slave girl sprang to her feet, facing him.

"What does this mean, E-Med?" she cried, "was it not the will of A-Kor

that this woman be not disturbed?"

"The will of A-Kor, indeed!" and the man sneered. "The will of A-Kor is

without power in The Towers of Jetan, or elsewhere, for A-Kor lies now

in the pits of O-Tar, and E-Med is dwar of the Towers."

Tara of Helium saw the face of the slave girl pale and the terror in

her eyes.

CHAPTER XII

GHEK PLAYS PRANKS

While Tara of Helium was being led to The Towers of Jetan, Ghek was

escorted to the pits beneath the palace where he was imprisoned in a

dimly-lighted chamber. Here he found a bench and a table standing upon

the dirt floor near the wall, and set in the wall several rings from

which depended short lengths of chain. At the base of the walls were

several holes in the dirt floor. These, alone, of the several things he

saw, interested him. Ghek sat down upon the bench and waited in

silence, listening. Presently the lights were extinguished. If Ghek

could have smiled he would have then, for Ghek could see as well in the

dark as in the light--better, perhaps. He watched the dark openings of

the holes in the floor and waited. Presently he detected a change in

the air about him--it grew heavy with a strange odor, and once again

might Ghek have smiled, could he have smiled.

Let them replace all the air in the chamber with their most deadly

fumes; it would be all the same to Ghek, the kaldane, who, having no

lungs, required no air. With the rykor it might be different. Deprived

of air it would die; but if only a sufficient amount of the gas was

introduced to stupefy an ordinary creature it would have no effect upon

the rykor, who had no objective mind to overcome. So long as the excess

of carbon dioxide in the blood was not sufficient to prevent heart

action, the rykor would suffer only a diminution of vitality; but would

still respond to the exciting agency of the kaldane's brain.

Ghek caused the rykor to assume a sitting position with its back

against the wall where it might remain without direction from his

brain. Then he released his contact with its spinal cord; but remained

in position upon its shoulders, waiting and watching, for the kaldane's

curiosity was aroused. He had not long to wait before the lights were

flashed on and one of the locked doors opened to admit a half-dozen

warriors. They approached him rapidly and worked quickly. First they

removed all his weapons and then, snapping a fetter about one of the

rykor's ankles, secured him to the end of one of the chains hanging

from the walls. Next they dragged the long table to a new position and

there bolted it to the floor so that an end, instead of the middle, was

directly before the prisoner. On the table before him they set food and

water and upon the opposite end of the table they laid the key to the

fetter. Then they unlocked and opened all the doors and departed.

* * * * *

When Turan the panthan regained consciousness it was to the realization

of a sharp pain in one of his forearms. The effects of the gas departed

as rapidly as they had overcome him so that as he opened his eyes he

was in full possession of all his faculties. The lights were on again

and in their glow there was revealed to the man the figure of a giant

Martian rat crouching upon the table and gnawing upon his arm.

Snatching his arm away he reached for his short-sword, while the rat,

growling, sought to seize his arm again. It was then that Turan

discovered that his weapons had been removed--short-sword, long-sword,

dagger, and pistol. The rat charged him then and striking the creature

away with his hand the man rose and backed off, searching for something

with which to strike a harder blow. Again the rat charged and as Turan

stepped quickly back to avoid the menacing jaws, something seemed to

jerk suddenly upon his right ankle, and as he drew his left foot back

to regain his equilibrium his heel caught upon a taut chain and he fell

heavily backward to the floor just as the rat leaped upon his breast

and sought his throat.

The Martian rat is a fierce and unlovely thing. It is many-legged and

hairless, its hide resembling that of a newborn mouse in repulsiveness.

In size and weight it is comparable to a large Airedale terrier. Its

eyes are small and close-set, and almost hidden in deep, fleshy

apertures. But its most ferocious and repulsive feature is its jaws,

the entire bony structure of which protrudes several inches beyond the

flesh, revealing five sharp, spadelike teeth in the upper jaw and the

same number of similar teeth in the lower, the whole suggesting the

appearance of a rotting face from which much of the flesh has sloughed

away.

It was such a thing that leaped upon the breast of the panthan to tear

at his jugular. Twice Turan struck it away as he sought to regain his

feet, but both times it returned with increased ferocity to renew the

attack. Its only weapons are its jaws since its broad, splay feet are

armed with blunt talons. With its protruding jaws it excavates its

winding burrows and with its broad feet it pushes the dirt behind it.

To keep the jaws from his flesh then was Turan's only concern and this

he succeeded in doing until chance gave him a hold upon the creature's

throat. After that the end was but a matter of moments. Rising at last

he flung the lifeless thing from him with a shudder of disgust.

Now he turned his attention to a hurried inventory of the new

conditions which surrounded him since the moment of his incarceration.

He realized vaguely what had happened. He had been anaesthetized and

stripped of his weapons, and as he rose to his feet he saw that one

ankle was fettered to a chain in the wall. He looked about the room.

All the doors swung wide open! His captors would render his

imprisonment the more cruel by leaving ever before him tempting

glimpses of open aisles to the freedom he could not attain. Upon the

end of the table and within easy reach was food and drink. This at

least was attainable and at sight of it his starved stomach seemed

almost to cry aloud for sustenance. It was with difficulty that he ate

and drank in moderation.

As he devoured the food his eyes wandered about the confines of his

prison until suddenly they seized upon a thing that lay on the table at

the end farthest from him. It was a key. He raised his fettered ankle

and examined the lock. There could be no doubt of it! The key that lay

there on the table before him was the key to that very lock. A careless

warrior had laid it there and departed, forgetting.

Hope surged high in the breast of Gahan of Gathol, of Turan the

panthan. Furtively his eyes sought the open doorways. There was no one

in sight. Ah, if he could but gain his freedom! He would find some way

from this odious city back to her side and never again would he leave

her until he had won safety for her or death for himself.

He rose and moved cautiously toward the opposite end of the table where

lay the coveted key. The fettered ankle halted his first step, but he

stretched at full length along the table, extending eager fingers

toward the prize. They almost laid hold upon it--a little more and they

would touch it. He strained and stretched, but still the thing lay just

beyond his reach. He hurled himself forward until the iron fetter bit

deep into his flesh, but all futilely. He sat back upon the bench then

and glared at the open doors and the key, realizing now that they were

part of a well-laid scheme of refined torture, none the less

demoralizing because it inflicted no physical suffering.

For just a moment the man gave way to useless regret and foreboding,

then he gathered himself together, his brows cleared, and he returned

to his unfinished meal. At least they should not have the satisfaction

of knowing how sorely they had hit him. As he ate it occurred to him

that by dragging the table along the floor he could bring the key

within his reach, but when he essayed to do so, he found that the table

had been securely bolted to the floor during the period of his

unconsciousness. Again Gahan smiled and shrugged and resumed his eating.

* * * * *

When the warriors had departed from the prison in which Ghek was

confined, the kaldane crawled from the shoulders of the rykor to the

table. Here he drank a little water and then directed the hands of the

rykor to the balance of it and to the food, upon which the brainless

thing fell with avidity. While it was thus engaged Ghek took his

spider-like way along the table to the opposite end where lay the key

to the fetter. Seizing it in a chela he leaped to the floor and

scurried rapidly toward the mouth of one of the burrows against the

wall, into which he disappeared. For long had the brain been

contemplating these burrow entrances. They appealed to his kaldanean

tastes, and further, they pointed a hiding place for the key and a lair

for the only kind of food that the kaldane relished--flesh and blood.

Ghek had never seen an ulsio, since these great Martian rats had long

ago disappeared from Bantoom, their flesh and blood having been greatly

relished by the kaldanes; but Ghek had inherited, almost unimpaired,

every memory of every ancestor, and so he knew that ulsio inhabited

these lairs and that ulsio was good to eat, and he knew what ulsio

looked like and what his habits were, though he had never seen him nor

any picture of him. As we breed animals for the transmission of

physical attributes, so the Kaldanes breed themselves for the

transmission of attributes of the mind, including memory and the power

of recollection, and thus have they raised what we term instinct, above

the level of the threshold of the objective mind where it may be

commanded and utilized by recollection. Doubtless in our own subjective

minds lie many of the impressions and experiences of our forebears.

These may impinge upon our consciousness in dreams only, or in vague,

haunting suggestions that we have before experienced some transient

phase of our present existence. Ah, if we had but the power to recall

them! Before us would unfold the forgotten story of the lost eons that

have preceded us. We might even walk with God in the garden of His

stars while man was still but a budding idea within His mind.

Ghek descended into the burrow at a steep incline for some ten feet,

when he found himself in an elaborate and delightful network of

burrows! The kaldane was elated. This indeed was life! He moved rapidly

and fearlessly and he went as straight to his goal as you could to the

kitchen of your own home. This goal lay at a low level in a spheroidal

cavity about the size of a large barrel. Here, in a nest of torn bits

of silk and fur lay six baby ulsios.

When the mother returned there were but five babies and a great

spider-like creature, which she immediately sprang to attack only to be

met by powerful chelae which seized and held her so that she could not

move. Slowly they dragged her throat toward a hideous mouth and in a

little moment she was dead.

Ghek might have remained in the nest for a long time, since there was

ample food for many days; but he did not do so. Instead he explored the

burrows. He followed them into many subterranean chambers of the city

of Manator, and upward through walls to rooms above the ground. He

found many ingeniously devised traps, and he found poisoned food and

other signs of the constant battle that the inhabitants of Manator

waged against these repulsive creatures that dwelt beneath their homes

and public buildings.

His exploration revealed not only the vast proportions of the network

of runways that apparently traversed every portion of the city, but the

great antiquity of the majority of them. Tons upon tons of dirt must

have been removed, and for a long time he wondered where it had been

deposited, until in following downward a tunnel of great size and

length he sensed before him the thunderous rush of subterranean waters,

and presently came to the bank of a great, underground river, tumbling

onward, no doubt, the length of a world to the buried sea of Omean.

Into this torrential sewer had unthinkable generations of ulsios pushed

their few handsful of dirt in the excavating of their vast labyrinth.

For only a moment did Ghek tarry by the river, for his seemingly

aimless wanderings were in reality prompted by a definite purpose, and

this he pursued with vigor and singleness of design. He followed such

runways as appeared to terminate in the pits or other chambers of the

inhabitants of the city, and these he explored, usually from the safety

of a burrow's mouth, until satisfied that what he sought was not there.

He moved swiftly upon his spider legs and covered remarkable distances

in short periods of time.

His search not being rewarded with immediate success, he decided to

return to the pit where his rykor lay chained and look to its wants. As

he approached the end of the burrow that terminated in the pit he

slackened his pace, stopping just within the entrance of the runway

that he might scan the interior of the chamber before entering it. As

he did so he saw the figure of a warrior appear suddenly in an opposite

doorway. The rykor sprawled upon the table, his hands groping blindly

for more food. Ghek saw the warrior pause and gaze in sudden

astonishment at the rykor; he saw the fellow's eyes go wide and an

ashen hue replace the copper bronze of his cheek. He stepped back as

though someone had struck him in the face. For an instant only he stood

thus as in a paralysis of fear, then he uttered a smothered shriek and

turned and fled. Again was it a catastrophe that Ghek, the kaldane,

could not smile.

Quickly entering the room he crawled to the table top and affixed

himself to the shoulders of his rykor, and there he waited; and who may

say that Ghek, though he could not smile, possessed not a sense of

humor? For a half-hour he sat there, and then there came to him the

sound of men approaching along corridors of stone. He could hear their

arms clank against the rocky walls and he knew that they came at a

rapid pace; but just before they reached the entrance to his prison

they paused and advanced more slowly. In the lead was an officer, and

just behind him, wide-eyed and perhaps still a little ashen, the

warrior who had so recently departed in haste. At the doorway they

halted and the officer turned sternly upon the warrior. With upraised

finger he pointed at Ghek.

"There sits the creature! Didst thou dare lie, then, to thy dwar?"

"I swear," cried the warrior, "that I spoke the truth. But a moment

since the thing groveled, headless, upon this very table! And may my

first ancestor strike me dead upon the spot if I speak other than a

true word!"

The officer looked puzzled. The men of Mars seldom if ever lie. He

scratched his head. Then he addressed Ghek. "How long have you been

here?" he asked.

"Who knows better than those who placed me here and chained me to a

wall?" he returned in reply.

"Saw you this warrior enter here a few minutes since?"

"I saw him," replied Ghek.

"And you sat there where you sit now?" continued the officer.

"Look thou to my chain and tell me then where else might I sit!" cried

Ghek. "Art the people of thy city all fools?"

Three other warriors pressed behind the two in front, craning their

necks to view the prisoner while they grinned at the discomfiture of

their fellow. The officer scowled at Ghek.

"Thy tongue is as venomous as that of the she-banth O-Tar sent to The

Towers of Jetan," he said.

"You speak of the young woman who was captured with me?" asked Ghek,

his expressionless monotone and face revealing naught of the interest

he felt.

"I speak of her," replied the dwar, and then turning to the warrior who

had summoned him: "return to thy quarters and remain there until the

next games. Perhaps by that time thy eyes may have learned not to

deceive thee."

The fellow cast a venomous glance at Ghek and turned away. The officer

shook his head. "I do not understand it," he muttered. "Always has

U-Van been a true and dependable warrior. Could it be--?" he glanced

piercingly at Ghek. "Thou hast a strange head that misfits thy body,

fellow," he cried. "Our legends tell us of those ancient creatures that

placed hallucinations upon the mind of their fellows. If thou be such

then maybe U-Van suffered from thy forbidden powers. If thou be such

O-Tar will know well how to deal with thee." He wheeled about and

motioned his warriors to follow him.

"Wait!" cried Ghek. "Unless I am to be starved, send me food."

"You have had food," replied the warrior.

"Am I to be fed but once a day?" asked Ghek. "I require food oftener

than that. Send me food."

"You shall have food," replied the officer. "None may say that the

prisoners of Manator are ill-fed. Just are the laws of Manator," and he

departed.

No sooner had the sounds of their passing died away in the distance

than Ghek clambered from the shoulders of his rykor, and scurried to

the burrow where he had hidden the key. Fetching it he unlocked the

fetter from about the creature's ankle, locked it empty and carried the

key farther down into the burrow. Then he returned to his place upon

his brainless servitor. After a while he heard footsteps approaching,

whereupon he rose and passed into another corridor from that down which

he knew the warrior was coming. Here he waited out of sight, listening.

He heard the man enter the chamber and halt. He heard a muttered

exclamation, followed by the jangle of metal dishes as a salver was

slammed upon a table; then rapidly retreating footsteps, which quickly

died away in the distance.

Ghek lost no time in returning to the chamber, recovering the key,

relocking the rykor to his chain. Then he replaced the key in the

burrow and squatting on the table beside his headless body, directed

its hands toward the food. While the rykor ate Ghek sat listening for

the scraping sandals and clattering arms that he knew soon would come.

Nor had he long to wait. Ghek scrambled to the shoulders of his rykor

as he heard them coming. Again it was the officer who had been summoned

by U-Van and with him were three warriors. The one directly behind him

was evidently the same who had brought the food, for his eyes went wide

when he saw Ghek sitting at the table and he looked very foolish as the

dwar turned his stern glance upon him.

"It is even as I said," he cried. "He was not here when I brought his

food."

"But he is here now," said the officer grimly, "and his fetter is

locked about his ankle. Look! it has not been opened--but where is the

key? It should be upon the table at the end opposite him. Where is the

key, creature?" he shouted at Ghek.

"How should I, a prisoner, know better than my jailer the whereabouts

of the key to my fetters?" he retorted.

"But it lay here," cried the officer, pointing to the other end of the

table.

"Did you see it?" asked Ghek.

The officer hesitated. "No but it must have been there," he parried.

"Did you see the key lying there?" asked Ghek, pointing to another

warrior.

The fellow shook his head negatively. "And you? and you?" continued the

kaldane addressing the others.

They both admitted that they never had seen the key. "And if it had

been there how could I have reached it?" he continued.

"No, he could not have reached it," admitted the officer; "but there

shall be no more of this! I-Zav, you will remain here on guard with

this prisoner until you are relieved."

I-Zav looked anything but happy as this intelligence was transmitted to

him, and he eyed Ghek suspiciously as the dwar and the other warriors

turned and left him to his unhappy lot.

CHAPTER XIII

A DESPERATE DEED

E-Med crossed the tower chamber toward Tara of Helium and the slave

girl, Lan-O. He seized the former roughly by a shoulder. "Stand!" he

commanded. Tara struck his hand from her and rising, backed away.

"Lay not your hand upon the person of a princess of Helium, beast!" she

warned.

E-Med laughed. "Think you that I play at jetan for you without first

knowing something of the stake for which I play?" he demanded. "Come

here!"

The girl drew herself to her full height, folding her arms across her

breast, nor did E-Med note that the slim fingers of her right hand were

inserted beneath the broad leather strap of her harness where it passed

over her left shoulder.

"And O-Tar learns of this you shall rue it, E-Med," cried the slave

girl; "there be no law in Manator that gives you this girl before you

shall have won her fairly."

"What cares O-Tar for her fate?" replied E-Med. "Have I not heard? Did

she not flout the great jeddak, heaping abuse upon him? By my first

ancestor, I think O-Tar might make a jed of the man who subdued her,"

and again he advanced toward Tara.

"Wait!" said the girl in low, even tone. "Perhaps you know not what you

do. Sacred to the people of Helium are the persons of the women of

Helium. For the honor of the humblest of them would the great jeddak

himself unsheathe his sword. The greatest nations of Barsoom have

trembled to the thunders of war in defense of the person of Dejah

Thoris, my mother. We are but mortal and so may die; but we may not be

defiled. You may play at jetan for a princess of Helium, but though you

may win the match, never may you claim the reward. If thou wouldst

possess a dead body press me too far, but know, man of Manator, that

the blood of The Warlord flows not in the veins of Tara of Helium for

naught. I have spoken."

"I know naught of Helium and O-Tar is our warlord," replied E-Med; "but

I do know that I would examine more closely the prize that I shall play

for and win. I would test the lips of her who is to be my slave after

the next games; nor is it well, woman, to drive me too far to anger."

His eyes narrowed as he spoke, his visage taking on the semblance of

that of a snarling beast. "If you doubt the truth of my words ask

Lan-O, the slave girl."

"He speaks truly, O woman of Helium," interjected Lan-O. "Try not the

temper of E-Med, if you value your life."

But Tara of Helium made no reply. Already had she spoken. She stood in

silence now facing the burly warrior who approached her. He came close

and then quite suddenly he seized her and, bending, tried to draw her

lips to his.

Lan-O saw the woman from Helium half turn, and with a quick movement

jerk her right hand from where it had lain upon her breast. She saw the

hand shoot from beneath the arm of E-Med and rise behind his shoulder

and she saw in the hand a long, slim blade. The lips of the warrior

were drawing closer to those of the woman, but they never touched them,

for suddenly the man straightened, stiffly, a shriek upon his lips, and

then he crumpled like an empty fur and lay, a shrunken heap, upon the

floor. Tara of Helium stooped and wiped her blade upon his harness.

Lan-O, wide-eyed, looked with horror upon the corpse. "For this we

shall both die," she cried.

"And who would live a slave in Manator?" asked Tara of Helium.

"I am not so brave as thou," said the slave girl, "and life is sweet

and there is always hope."

"Life is sweet," agreed Tara of Helium, "but honor is sacred. But do

not fear. When they come I shall tell them the truth--that you had no

hand in this and no opportunity to prevent it."

For a moment the slave girl seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly her

eyes lighted. "There is a way, perhaps," she said, "to turn suspicion

from us. He has the key to this chamber upon him. Let us open the door

and drag him out--maybe we shall find a place to hide him."

"Good!" exclaimed Tara of Helium, and the two immediately set about the

matter Lan-O had suggested. Quickly they found the key and unlatched

the door and then, between them, they half carried, half dragged, the

corpse of E-Med from the room and down the stairway to the next level

where Lan-O said there were vacant chambers. The first door they tried

was unlatched, and through this the two bore their grisly burden into a

small room lighted by a single window. The apartment bore evidence of

having been utilized as a living-room rather than as a cell, being

furnished with a degree of comfort and even luxury. The walls were

paneled to a height of about seven feet from the floor, while the

plaster above and the ceiling were decorated with faded paintings of

another day.

As Tara's eyes ran quickly over the interior her attention was drawn to

a section of paneling that seemed to be separated at one edge from the

piece next adjoining it. Quickly she crossed to it, discovering that

one vertical edge of an entire panel projected a half-inch beyond the

others. There was a possible explanation which piqued her curiosity,

and acting upon its suggestion she seized upon the projecting edge and

pulled outward. Slowly the panel swung toward her, revealing a dark

aperture in the wall behind.

"Look, Lan-O!" she cried. "See what I have found--a hole in which we

may hide the thing upon the floor."

Lan-O joined her and together the two investigated the dark aperture,

finding a small platform from which a narrow runway led downward into

Stygian darkness. Thick dust covered the floor within the doorway,

indicating that a great period of time had elapsed since human foot had

trod it--a secret way, doubtless, unknown to living Manatorians. Here

they dragged the corpse of E-Med, leaving it upon the platform, and as

they left the dark and forbidden closet Lan-O would have slammed to the

panel had not Tara prevented.

"Wait!" she said, and fell to examining the door frame and the stile.

"Hurry!" whispered the slave girl. "If they come we are lost."

"It may serve us well to know how to open this place again," replied

Tara of Helium, and then suddenly she pressed a foot against a section

of the carved base at the right of the open panel. "Ah!" she breathed,

a note of satisfaction in her tone, and closed the panel until it

fitted snugly in its place. "Come!" she said and turned toward the

outer doorway of the chamber.

They reached their own cell without detection, and closing the door

Tara locked it from the inside and placed the key in a secret pocket in

her harness.

"Let them come," she said. "Let them question us! What could two poor

prisoners know of the whereabouts of their noble jailer? I ask you,

Lan-O, what could they?"

"Nothing," admitted Lan-O, smiling with her companion.

"Tell me of these men of Manator," said Tara presently. "Are they all

like E-Med, or are some of them like A-Kor, who seemed a brave and

chivalrous character?"

"They are not unlike the peoples of other countries," replied Lan-O.

"There be among them both good and bad. They are brave warriors and

mighty. Among themselves they are not without chivalry and honor, but

in their dealings with strangers they know but one law--the law of

might. The weak and unfortunate of other lands fill them with contempt

and arouse all that is worst in their natures, which doubtless accounts

for their treatment of us, their slaves."

"But why should they feel contempt for those who have suffered the

misfortune of falling into their hands?" queried Tara.

"I do not know," said Lan-O; "A-Kor says that he believes that it is

because their country has never been invaded by a victorious foe. In

their stealthy raids never have they been defeated, because they have

never waited to face a powerful force; and so they have come to believe

themselves invincible, and the other peoples are held in contempt as

inferior in valor and the practice of arms."

"Yet A-Kor is one of them," said Tara.

"He is a son of O-Tar, the jeddak," replied Lan-O; "but his mother was

a high born Gatholian, captured and made slave by O-Tar, and A-Kor

boasts that in his veins runs only the blood of his mother, and indeed

is he different from the others. His chivalry is of a gentler form,

though not even his worst enemy has dared question his courage, while

his skill with the sword, and the spear, and the thoat is famous

throughout the length and breadth of Manator."

"What think you they will do with him?" asked Tara of Helium.

"Sentence him to the games," replied Lan-O. "If O-Tar be not greatly

angered he may be sentenced to but a single game, in which case he may

come out alive; but if O-Tar wishes really to dispose of him he will be

sentenced to the entire series, and no warrior has ever survived the

full ten, or rather none who was under a sentence from O-Tar."

"What are the games? I do not understand," said Tara "I have heard them

speak of playing at jetan, but surely no one can be killed at jetan. We

play it often at home."

"But not as they play it in the arena at Manator," replied Lan-O. "Come

to the window," and together the two approached an aperture facing

toward the east.

Below her Tara of Helium saw a great field entirely surrounded by the

low building, and the lofty towers of which that in which she was

imprisoned was but a unit. About the arena were tiers of seats; but the

thing that caught her attention was a gigantic jetan board laid out

upon the floor of the arena in great squares of alternate orange and

black.

"Here they play at jetan with living pieces. They play for great stakes

and usually for a woman--some slave of exceptional beauty. O-Tar

himself might have played for you had you not angered him, but now you

will be played for in an open game by slaves and criminals, and you

will belong to the side that wins--not to a single warrior, but to all

who survive the game."

The eyes of Tara of Helium flashed, but she made no comment.

"Those who direct the play do not necessarily take part in it,"

continued the slave girl, "but sit in those two great thrones which you

see at either end of the board and direct their pieces from square to

square."

"But where lies the danger?" asked Tara of Helium. "If a piece be taken

it is merely removed from the board--this is a rule of jetan as old

almost as the civilization of Barsoom."

"But here in Manator, when they play in the great arena with living

men, that rule is altered," explained Lan-O. "When a warrior is moved

to a square occupied by an opposing piece, the two battle to the death

for possession of the square and the one that is successful advantages

by the move. Each is caparisoned to simulate the piece he represents

and in addition he wears that which indicates whether he be slave, a

warrior serving a sentence, or a volunteer. If serving a sentence the

number of games he must play is also indicated, and thus the one

directing the moves knows which pieces to risk and which to conserve,

and further than this, a man's chances are affected by the position

that is assigned him for the game. Those whom they wish to die are

always Panthans in the game, for the Panthan has the least chance of

surviving."

"Do those who direct the play ever actually take part in it?" asked

Tara.

"Oh, yes," said Lan-O. "Often when two warriors, even of the highest

class, hold a grievance against one another O-Tar compels them to

settle it upon the arena. Then it is that they take active part and

with drawn swords direct their own players from the position of Chief.

They pick their own players, usually the best of their own warriors and

slaves, if they be powerful men who possess such, or their friends may

volunteer, or they may obtain prisoners from the pits. These are games

indeed--the very best that are seen. Often the great chiefs themselves

are slain."

"It is within this amphitheater that the justice of Manator is meted,

then?" asked Tara.

"Very largely," replied Lan-O.

"How, then, through such justice, could a prisoner win his liberty?"

continued the girl from Helium.

"If a man, and he survived ten games his liberty would be his," replied

Lan-O.

"But none ever survives?" queried Tara. "And if a woman?"

"No stranger within the gates of Manator ever has survived ten games,"

replied the slave girl. "They are permitted to offer themselves into

perpetual slavery if they prefer that to fighting at jetan. Of course

they may be called upon, as any warrior, to take part in a game, but

their chances then of surviving are increased, since they may never

again have the chance of winning to liberty."

"But a woman," insisted Tara; "how may a woman win her freedom?"

Lan-O laughed. "Very simply," she cried, derisively. "She has but to

find a warrior who will fight through ten consecutive games for her and

survive."

"'Just are the laws of Manator,'" quoted Tara, scornfully.

Then it was that they heard footsteps outside their cell and a moment

later a key turned in the lock and the door opened. A warrior faced

them.

"Hast seen E-Med the dwar?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Tara, "he was here some time ago."

The man glanced quickly about the bare chamber and then searchingly

first at Tara of Helium and then at the slave girl, Lan-O. The puzzled

expression upon his face increased. He scratched his head. "It is

strange," he said. "A score of men saw him ascend into this tower; and

though there is but a single exit, and that well guarded, no man has

seen him pass out."

Tara of Helium hid a yawn with the back of a shapely hand. "The

Princess of Helium is hungry, fellow," she drawled; "tell your master

that she would eat."

It was an hour later that food was brought, an officer and several

warriors accompanying the bearer. The former examined the room

carefully, but there was no sign that aught amiss had occurred there.

The wound that had sent E-Med the dwar to his ancestors had not bled,

fortunately for Tara of Helium.

"Woman," cried the officer, turning upon Tara, "you were the last to

see E-Med the dwar. Answer me now and answer me truthfully. Did you see

him leave this room?"

"I did," answered Tara of Helium.

"Where did he go from here?"

"How should I know? Think you that I can pass through a locked door of

skeel?" the girl's tone was scornful.

"Of that we do not know," said the officer. "Strange things have

happened in the cell of your companion in the pits of Manator. Perhaps

you could pass through a locked door of skeel as easily as he performs

seemingly more impossible feats."

"Whom do you mean," she cried; "Turan the panthan? He lives, then? Tell

me, is he here in Manator unharmed?"

"I speak of that thing which calls itself Ghek the kaldane," replied

the officer.

"But Turan! Tell me, padwar, have you heard aught of him?" Tara's tone

was insistent and she leaned a little forward toward the officer, her

lips slightly parted in expectancy.

Into the eyes of the slave girl, Lan-O, who was watching her, there

crept a soft light of understanding; but the officer ignored Tara's

question--what was the fate of another slave to him? "Men do not

disappear into thin air," he growled, "and if E-Med be not found soon

O-Tar himself may take a hand in this. I warn you, woman, if you be one

of those horrid Corphals that by commanding the spirits of the wicked

dead gains evil mastery over the living, as many now believe the thing

called Ghek to be, that lest you return E-Med, O-Tar will have no mercy

on you."

"What foolishness is this?" cried the girl. "I am a princess of Helium,

as I have told you all a score of times. Even if the fabled Corphals

existed, as none but the most ignorant now believes, the lore of the

ancients tells us that they entered only into the bodies of wicked

criminals of the lowest class. Man of Manator, thou art a fool, and thy

jeddak and all his people," and she turned her royal back upon the

padwar, and gazed through the window across the Field of Jetan and the

roofs of Manator through the low hills and the rolling country and

freedom.

"And you know so much of Corphals, then," he cried, "you know that

while no common man dare harm them they may be slain by the hand of a

jeddak with impunity!"

The girl did not reply, nor would she speak again, for all his threats

and rage, for she knew now that none in all Manator dared harm her save

O-Tar, the jeddak, and after a while the padwar left, taking his men

with him. And after they had gone Tara stood for long looking out upon

the city of Manator, and wondering what more of cruel wrongs Fate held

in store for her. She was standing thus in silent meditation when there

rose to her the strains of martial music from the city below--the deep,

mellow tones of the long war trumpets of mounted troops, the clear,

ringing notes of foot-soldiers' music. The girl raised her head and

looked about, listening, and Lan-O, standing at an opposite window,

looking toward the west, motioned Tara to join her. Now they could see

across roofs and avenues to The Gate of Enemies, through which troops

were marching into the city.

"The Great Jed is coming," said Lan-O, "none other dares enter thus,

with blaring trumpets, the city of Manator. It is U-Thor, Jed of

Manatos, second city of Manator. They call him The Great Jed the length

and breadth of Manator, and because the people love him, O-Tar hates

him. They say, who know, that it would need but slight provocation to

inflame the two to war. How such a war would end no one could guess;

for the people of Manator worship the great O-Tar, though they do not

love him. U-Thor they love, but he is not the jeddak," and Tara

understood, as only a Martian may, how much that simple statement

encompassed.

The loyalty of a Martian to his jeddak is almost an instinct, and

second not even to the instinct of self-preservation at that. Nor is

this strange in a race whose religion includes ancestor worship, and

where families trace their origin back into remote ages and a jeddak

sits upon the same throne that his direct progenitors have occupied

for, perhaps, hundreds of thousands of years, and rules the descendants

of the same people that his forebears ruled. Wicked jeddaks have been

dethroned, but seldom are they replaced by other than members of the

imperial house, even though the law gives to the jeds the right to

select whom they please.

"U-Thor is a just man and good, then?" asked Tara of Helium.

"There be none nobler," replied Lan-O. "In Manatos none but wicked

criminals who deserve death are forced to play at jetan, and even then

the play is fair and they have their chance for freedom. Volunteers may

play, but the moves are not necessarily to the death--a wound, and even

sometimes points in swordplay, deciding the issue. There they look upon

jetan as a martial sport--here it is but butchery. And U-Thor is

opposed to the ancient slave raids and to the policy that keeps Manator

forever isolated from the other nations of Barsoom; but U-Thor is not

jeddak and so there is no change."

The two girls watched the column moving up the broad avenue from The

Gate of Enemies toward the palace of O-Tar. A gorgeous, barbaric

procession of painted warriors in jewel-studded harness and waving

feathers; vicious, squealing thoats caparisoned in rich trappings; far

above their heads the long lances of their riders bore fluttering

pennons; foot-soldiers swinging easily along the stone pavement, their

sandals of zitidar hide giving forth no sound; and at the rear of each

utan a train of painted chariots, drawn by mammoth zitidars, carrying

the equipment of the company to which they were attached. Utan after

utan entered through the great gate, and even when the head of the

column reached the palace of O-Tar they were not all within the city.

"I have been here many years," said the girl, Lan-O; "but never have I

seen even The Great Jed bring so many fighting men into the city of

Manator."

Through half-closed eyes Tara of Helium watched the warriors marching

up the broad avenue, trying to imagine them the fighting men of her

beloved Helium coming to the rescue of their princess. That splendid

figure upon the great thoat might be John Carter, himself, Warlord of

Barsoom, and behind him utan after utan of the veterans of the empire,

and then the girl opened her eyes again and saw the host of painted,

befeathered barbarians, and sighed. But yet she watched, fascinated by

the martial scene, and now she noted again the groups of silent figures

upon the balconies. No waving silks; no cries of welcome; no showers of

flowers and jewels such as would have marked the entry of such a

splendid, friendly pageant into the twin cities of her birth.

"The people do not seem friendly to the warriors of Manatos," she

remarked to Lan-O; "I have not seen a single welcoming sign from the

people on the balconies."

The slave girl looked at her in surprise. "It cannot be that you do not

know!" she exclaimed. "Why, they are--" but she got no further. The

door swung open and an officer stood before them.

"The slave girl, Tara, is summoned to the presence of O-Tar, the

jeddak!" he announced.

CHAPTER XIV

AT GHEK'S COMMAND

Turan the panthan chafed in his chains. Time dragged; silence and

monotony prolonged minutes into hours. Uncertainty of the fate of the

woman he loved turned each hour into an eternity of hell. He listened

impatiently for the sound of approaching footsteps that he might see

and speak to some living creature and learn, perchance, some word of

Tara of Helium. After torturing hours his ears were rewarded by the

rattle of harness and arms. Men were coming! He waited breathlessly.

Perhaps they were his executioners; but he would welcome them

notwithstanding. He would question them. But if they knew naught of

Tara he would not divulge the location of the hiding place in which he

had left her.

Now they came--a half-dozen warriors and an officer, escorting an

unarmed man; a prisoner, doubtless. Of this Turan was not left long in

doubt, since they brought the newcomer and chained him to an adjoining

ring. Immediately the panthan commenced to question the officer in

charge of the guard.

"Tell me," he demanded, "why I have been made prisoner, and if other

strangers were captured since I entered your city."

"What other prisoners?" asked the officer.

"A woman, and a man with a strange head," replied Turan.

"It is possible," said the officer; "but what were their names?"

"The woman was Tara, Princess of Helium, and the man was Ghek, a

kaldane, of Bantoom."

"These were your friends?" asked the officer.

"Yes," replied Turan.

"It is what I would know," said the officer, and with a curt command to

his men to follow him he turned and left the cell.

"Tell me of them!" cried Turan after him. "Tell me of Tara of Helium!

Is she safe?" but the man did not answer and soon the sound of their

departure died in the distance.

"Tara of Helium was safe, but a short time since," said the prisoner

chained at Turan's side.

The panthan turned toward the speaker, seeing a large man, handsome of

face and with a manner both stately and dignified. "You have seen her?"

he asked. "They captured her then? She is in danger?"

"She is being held in The Towers of Jetan as a prize for the next

games," replied the stranger.

"And who are you?" asked Turan. "And why are you here, a prisoner?"

"I am A-Kor the dwar, keeper of The Towers of Jetan," replied the

other. "I am here because I dared speak the truth of O-Tar the jeddak,

to one of his officers."

"And your punishment?" asked Turan.

"I do not know. O-Tar has not yet spoken. Doubtless the games--perhaps

the full ten, for O-Tar does not love A-Kor, his son."

"You are the jeddak's son?" asked Turan.

"I am the son of O-Tar and of a slave, Haja of Gathol, who was a

princess in her own land."

Turan looked searchingly at the speaker. A son of Haja of Gathol! A son

of his mother's sister, this man, then, was his own cousin. Well did

Gahan remember the mysterious disappearance of the Princess Haja and an

entire utan of her personal troops. She had been upon a visit far from

the city of Gathol and returning home had vanished with her whole

escort from the sight of man. So this was the secret of the seeming

mystery? Doubtless it explained many other similar disappearances that

extended nearly as far back as the history of Gathol. Turan scrutinized

his companion, discovering many evidences of resemblance to his

mother's people. A-Kor might have been ten years younger than he, but

such differences in age are scarce accounted among a people who seldom

or never age outwardly after maturity and whose span of life may be a

thousand years.

"And where lies Gathol?" asked Turan.

"Almost due east of Manator," replied A-Kor.

"And how far?"

"Some twenty-one degrees it is from the city of Manator to the city of

Gathol," replied A-Kor; "but little more than ten degrees between the

boundaries of the two countries. Between them, though, there lies a

country of torn rocks and yawning chasms."

Well did Gahan know this country that bordered his upon the west--even

the ships of the air avoided it because of the treacherous currents

that rose from the deep chasms, and the almost total absence of safe

landings. He knew now where Manator lay and for the first time in long

weeks the way to his own Gathol, and here was a man, a fellow prisoner,

in whose veins flowed the blood of his own ancestors--a man who knew

Manator; its people, its customs and the country surrounding it--one

who could aid him, with advice at least, to find a plan for the rescue

of Tara of Helium and for escape. But would A-Kor--could he dare broach

the subject? He could do no less than try.

"And O-Tar you think will sentence you to death?" he asked; "and why?"

"He would like to," replied A-Kor, "for the people chafe beneath his

iron hand and their loyalty is but the loyalty of a people to the long

line of illustrious jeddaks from which he has sprung. He is a jealous

man and has found the means of disposing of most of those whose blood

might entitle them to a claim upon the throne, and whose place in the

affections of the people endowed them with any political significance.

The fact that I was the son of a slave relegated me to a position of

minor importance in the consideration of O-Tar, yet I am still the son

of a jeddak and might sit upon the throne of Manator with as perfect

congruity as O-Tar himself. Combined with this is the fact that of

recent years the people, and especially many of the younger warriors,

have evinced a growing affection for me, which I attribute to certain

virtues of character and training derived from my mother, but which

O-Tar assumes to be the result of an ambition upon my part to occupy

the throne of Manator.

"And now, I am firmly convinced, he has seized upon my criticism of his

treatment of the slave girl Tara as a pretext for ridding himself of

me."

"But if you could escape and reach Gathol," suggested Turan.

"I have thought of that," mused A-Kor; "but how much better off would I

be? In the eyes of the Gatholians I would be, not a Gatholian; but a

stranger and doubtless they would accord me the same treatment that we

of Manator accord strangers."

"Could you convince them that you are the son of the Princess Haja your

welcome would be assured," said Turan; "while on the other hand you

could purchase your freedom and citizenship with a brief period of

labor in the diamond mines."

"How know you all these things?" asked A-Kor. "I thought you were from

Helium."

"I am a panthan," replied Turan, "and I have served many countries,

among them Gathol."

"It is what the slaves from Gathol have told me," said A-Kor,

thoughtfully, "and my mother, before O-Tar sent her to live at Manatos.

I think he must have feared her power and influence among the slaves

from Gathol and their descendants, who number perhaps a million people

throughout the land of Manator."

"Are these slaves organized?" asked Turan.

A-Kor looked straight into the eyes of the panthan for a long moment

before he replied. "You are a man of honor," he said; "I read it in

your face, and I am seldom mistaken in my estimate of a man; but--" and

he leaned closer to the other--"even the walls have ears," he

whispered, and Turan's question was answered.

It was later in the evening that warriors came and unlocked the fetter

from Turan's ankle and led him away to appear before O-Tar, the jeddak.

They conducted him toward the palace along narrow, winding streets and

broad avenues; but always from the balconies there looked down upon

them in endless ranks the silent people of the city. The palace itself

was filled with life and activity. Mounted warriors galloped through

the corridors and up and down the runways connecting adjacent floors.

It seemed that no one walked within the palace other than a few slaves.

Squealing, fighting thoats were stabled in magnificent halls while

their riders, if not upon some duty of the palace, played at jetan with

small figures carved from wood.

Turan noted the magnificence of the interior architecture of the

palace, the lavish expenditure of precious jewels and metals, the

gorgeous mural decorations which depicted almost exclusively martial

scenes, and principally duels which seemed to be fought upon jetan

boards of heroic size. The capitals of many of the columns supporting

the ceilings of the corridors and chambers through which they passed

were wrought into formal likenesses of jetan pieces--everywhere there

seemed a suggestion of the game. Along the same path that Tara of

Helium had been led Turan was conducted toward the throne room of O-Tar

the jeddak, and when he entered the Hall of Chiefs his interest turned

to wonder and admiration as he viewed the ranks of statuesque thoatmen

decked in their gorgeous, martial panoply. Never, he thought, had he

seen upon Barsoom more soldierly figures or thoats so perfectly trained

to perfection of immobility as these. Not a muscle quivered, not a tail

lashed, and the riders were as motionless as their mounts--each warlike

eye straight to the front, the great spears inclined at the same angle.

It was a picture to fill the breast of a fighting man with awe and

reverence. Nor did it fail in its effect upon Turan as they conducted

him the length of the chamber, where he waited before great doors until

he should be summoned into the presence of the ruler of Manator.

* * * * *

When Tara of Helium was ushered into the throne room of O-Tar she found

the great hall filled with the chiefs and officers of O-Tar and U-Thor,

the latter occupying the place of honor at the foot of the throne, as

was his due. The girl was conducted to the foot of the aisle and halted

before the jeddak, who looked down upon her from his high throne with

scowling brows and fierce, cruel eyes.

"The laws of Manator are just," said O-Tar, addressing her; "thus is it

that you have been summoned here again to be judged by the highest

authority of Manator. Word has reached me that you are suspected of

being a Corphal. What word have you to say in refutation of the charge?"

Tara of Helium could scarce restrain a sneer as she answered the

ridiculous accusation of witchcraft. "So ancient is the culture of my

people," she said, "that authentic history reveals no defense for that

which we know existed only in the ignorant and superstitious minds of

the most primitive peoples of the past. To those who are yet so

untutored as to believe in the existence of Corphals, there can be no

argument that will convince them of their error--only long ages of

refinement and culture can accomplish their release from the bondage of

ignorance. I have spoken."

"Yet you do not deny the accusation," said O-Tar.

"It is not worthy the dignity of a denial," she responded haughtily.

"And I were you, woman," said a deep voice at her side, "I should,

nevertheless, deny it."

Tara of Helium turned to see the eyes of U-Thor, the great jed of

Manatos, upon her. Brave eyes they were, but neither cold nor cruel.

O-Tar rapped impatiently upon the arm of his throne. "U-Thor forgets,"

he cried, "that O-Tar is the jeddak."

"U-Thor remembers," replied the jed of Manatos, "that the laws of

Manator permit any who may be accused to have advice and counsel before

their judge."

Tara of Helium saw that for some reason this man would have assisted

her, and so she acted upon his advice.

"I deny the charge," she said, "I am no Corphal."

"Of that we shall learn," snapped O-Tar. "U-Dor, where are those who

have knowledge of the powers of this woman?"

And U-Dor brought several who recounted the little that was known of

the disappearance of E-Med, and others who told of the capture of Ghek

and Tara, suggesting by deduction that having been found together they

had sufficient in common to make it reasonably certain that one was as

bad as the other, and that, therefore, it remained but to convict one

of them of Corphalism to make certain the guilt of both. And then O-Tar

called for Ghek, and immediately the hideous kaldane was dragged before

him by warriors who could not conceal the fear in which they held this

creature.

"And you!" said O-Tar in cold accusing tones. "Already have I been told

enough of you to warrant me in passing through your heart the jeddak's

steel--of how you stole the brains from the warrior U-Van so that he

thought he saw your headless body still endowed with life; of how you

caused another to believe that you had escaped, making him to see

naught but an empty bench and a blank wall where you had been."

"Ah, O-Tar, but that is as nothing!" cried a young padwar who had come

in command of the escort that brought Ghek. "The thing which he did to

I-Zav, here, would prove his guilt alone."

"What did he to the warrior I-Zav?" demanded O-Tar. "Let I-Zav speak!"

The warrior I-Zav, a great fellow of bulging muscles and thick neck,

advanced to the foot of the throne. He was pale and still trembling

visibly as from a nervous shock.

"Let my first ancestor be my witness, O-Tar, that I speak the truth,"

he began. "I was left to guard this creature, who sat upon a bench,

shackled to the wall. I stood by the open doorway at the opposite side

of the chamber. He could not reach me, yet, O-Tar, may Iss engulf me if

he did not drag me to him helpless as an unhatched egg. He dragged me

to him, greatest of jeddaks, with his eyes! With his eyes he seized

upon my eyes and dragged me to him and he made me lay my swords and

dagger upon the table and back off into a corner, and still keeping his

eyes upon my eyes his head quitted his body and crawling upon six short

legs it descended to the floor and backed part way into the hole of an

ulsio, but not so far that the eyes were not still upon me and then it

returned with the key to its fetter and after resuming its place upon

its own shoulders it unlocked the fetter and again dragged me across

the room and made me to sit upon the bench where it had been and there

it fastened the fetter about my ankle, and I could do naught for the

power of its eyes and the fact that it wore my two swords and my

dagger. And then the head disappeared down the hole of the ulsio with

the key, and when it returned, it resumed its body and stood guard over

me at the doorway until the padwar came to fetch it hither."

"It is enough!" said O-Tar, sternly. "Both shall receive the jeddak's

steel," and rising from his throne he drew his long sword and descended

the marble steps toward them, while two brawny warriors seized Tara by

either arm and two seized Ghek, holding them facing the naked blade of

the jeddak.

"Hold, just O-Tar!" cried U-Dor. "There be yet another to be judged.

Let us confront him who calls himself Turan with these his fellows

before they die."

"Good!" exclaimed O-Tar, pausing half way down the steps. "Fetch Turan,

the slave!"

When Turan had been brought into the chamber he was placed a little to

Tara's left and a step nearer the throne. O-Tar eyed him menacingly.

"You are Turan," he asked, "friend and companion of these?"

The panthan was about to reply when Tara of Helium spoke. "I know not

this fellow," she said. "Who dares say that he be a friend and

companion of the Princess Tara of Helium?"

Turan and Ghek looked at her in surprise, but at Turan she did not

look, and to Ghek she passed a quick glance of warning, as to say:

"Hold thy peace."

The panthan tried not to fathom her purpose for the head is useless

when the heart usurps its functions, and Turan knew only that the woman

he loved had denied him, and though he tried not even to think it his

foolish heart urged but a single explanation--that she refused to

recognize him lest she be involved in his difficulties.

O-Tar looked first at one and then at another of them; but none of them

spoke.

"Were they not captured together?" he asked of U-Dor.

"No," replied the dwar. "He who is called Turan was found seeking

entrance to the city and was enticed to the pits. The following morning

I discovered the other two upon the hill beyond The Gate of Enemies."

"But they are friends and companions," said a young padwar, "for this

Turan inquired of me concerning these two, calling them by name and

saying that they were his friends."

"It is enough," stated O-Tar, "all three shall die," and he took

another step downward from the throne.

"For what shall we die?" asked Ghek. "Your people prate of the just

laws of Manator, and yet you would slay three strangers without telling

them of what crime they are accused."

"He is right," said a deep voice. It was the voice of U-Thor, the great

jed of Manatos. O-Tar looked at him and scowled; but there came voices

from other portions of the chamber seconding the demand for justice.

"Then know, though you shall die anyway," cried O-Tar, "that all three

are convicted of Corphalism and that as only a jeddak may slay such as

you in safety you are about to be honored with the steel of O-Tar."

"Fool!" cried Turan. "Know you not that in the veins of this woman

flows the blood of ten thousand jeddaks--that greater than yours is her

power in her own land? She is Tara, Princess of Helium,

great-granddaughter of Tardos Mors, daughter of John Carter, Warlord of

Barsoom. She cannot be a Corphal. Nor is this creature Ghek, nor am I.

And you would know more, I can prove my right to be heard and to be

believed if I may have word with the Princess Haja of Gathol, whose son

is my fellow prisoner in the pits of O-Tar, his father."

At this U-Thor rose to his feet and faced O-Tar. "What means this?" he

asked. "Speaks the man the truth? Is the son of Haja a prisoner in thy

pits, O-Tar?"

"And what is it to the jed of Manatos who be the prisoners in the pits

of his jeddak?" demanded O-Tar, angrily.

"It is this to the jed of Manatos," replied U-Thor in a voice so low as

to be scarce more than a whisper and yet that was heard the whole

length and breadth of the great throne room of O-Tar, Jeddak of

Manator. "You gave me a slave woman, Haja, who had been a princess in

Gathol, because you feared her influence among the slaves from Gathol.

I have made of her a free woman, and I have married her and made her

thus a princess of Manatos. Her son is my son, O-Tar, and though thou

be my jeddak, I say to you that for any harm that befalls A-Kor you

shall answer to U-Thor of Manatos."

O-Tar looked long at U-Thor, but he made no reply. Then he turned again

to Turan. "If one be a Corphal," he said, "then all of you be Corphals,

and we know well from the things that this creature has done," he

pointed at Ghek, "that he is a Corphal, for no mortal has such powers

as he. And as you are all Corphals you must all die." He took another

step downward, when Ghek spoke.

"These two have no such powers as I," he said. "They are but ordinary,

brainless things such as yourself. I have done all the things that your

poor, ignorant warriors have told you; but this only demonstrates that

I am of a higher order than yourselves, as is indeed the fact. I am a

kaldane, not a Corphal. There is nothing supernatural or mysterious

about me, other than that to the ignorant all things which they cannot

understand are mysterious. Easily might I have eluded your warriors and

escaped your pits; but I remained in the hope that I might help these

two foolish creatures who have not the brains to escape without help.

They befriended me and saved my life. I owe them this debt. Do not slay

them--they are harmless. Slay me if you will. I offer my life if it

will appease your ignorant wrath. I cannot return to Bantoom and so I

might as well die, for there is no pleasure in intercourse with the

feeble intellects that cumber the face of the world outside the valley

of Bantoom."

"Hideous egotist," said O-Tar, "prepare to die and assume not to

dictate to O-Tar the jeddak. He has passed sentence and all three of

you shall feel the jeddak's naked steel. I have spoken!"

He took another step downward and then a strange thing happened. He

paused, his eyes fixed upon the eyes of Ghek. His sword slipped from

nerveless fingers, and still he stood there swaying forward and back. A

jed rose to rush to his side; but Ghek stopped him with a word.

"Wait!" he cried. "The life of your jeddak is in my hands. You believe

me a Corphal and so you believe, too, that only the sword of a jeddak

may slay me, therefore your blades are useless against me. Offer harm

to any one of us, or seek to approach your jeddak until I have spoken,

and he shall sink lifeless to the marble. Release the two prisoners and

let them come to my side--I would speak to them, privately. Quick! do

as I say; I would as lief as not slay O-Tar. I but let him live that I

may gain freedom for my friends--obstruct me and he dies."

The guards fell back, releasing Tara and Turan, who came close to

Ghek's side.

"Do as I tell you and do it quickly," whispered the kaldane. "I cannot

hold this fellow long, nor could I kill him thus. There are many minds

working against mine and presently mine will tire and O-Tar will be

himself again. You must make the best of your opportunity while you

may. Behind the arras that you see hanging in the rear of the throne

above you is a secret opening. From it a corridor leads to the pits of

the palace, where there are storerooms containing food and drink. Few

people go there. From these pits lead others to all parts of the city.

Follow one that runs due west and it will bring you to The Gate of

Enemies. The rest will then lie with you. I can do no more; hurry

before my waning powers fail me--I am not as Luud, who was a king. He

could have held this creature forever. Make haste! Go!"

CHAPTER XV

THE OLD MAN OF THE PITS

"I shall not desert you, Ghek," said Tara of Helium, simply.

"Go! Go!" whispered the kaldane. "You can do me no good. Go, or all I

have done is for naught."

Tara shook her head. "I cannot," she said.

"They will slay her," said Ghek to Turan, and the panthan, torn between

loyalty to this strange creature who had offered its life for him, and

love of the woman, hesitated but a moment, then he swept Tara from her

feet and lifting her in his arms leaped up the steps that led to the

throne of Manator. Behind the throne he parted the arras and found the

secret opening. Into this he bore the girl and down a long, narrow

corridor and winding runways that led to lower levels until they came

to the pits of the palace of O-Tar. Here was a labyrinth of passages

and chambers presenting a thousand hiding-places.

As Turan bore Tara up the steps toward the throne a score of warriors

rose as though to rush forward to intercept them. "Stay!" cried Ghek,

"or your jeddak dies," and they halted in their tracks, waiting the

will of this strange, uncanny creature.

Presently Ghek took his eyes from the eyes of O-Tar and the jeddak

shook himself as one who would be rid of a bad dream and straightened

up, half dazed still.

"Look," said Ghek, then, "I have given your jeddak his life, nor have I

harmed one of those whom I might easily have slain when they were in my

power. No harm have I or my friends done in the city of Manator. Why

then should you persecute us? Give us our lives. Give us our liberty."

O-Tar, now in command of his faculties, stooped and regained his sword.

In the room was silence as all waited to hear the jeddak's answer.

"Just are the laws of Manator," he said at last. "Perhaps, after all,

there is truth in the words of the stranger. Return him then to the

pits and pursue the others and capture them. Through the mercy of O-Tar

they shall be permitted to win their freedom upon the Field of Jetan,

in the coming games."

Still ashen was the face of the jeddak as Ghek was led away and his

appearance was that of a man who had been snatched from the brink of

eternity into which he has gazed, not with the composure of great

courage, but with fear. There were those in the throne room who knew

that the execution of the three prisoners had but been delayed and the

responsibility placed upon the shoulders of others, and one of those

who knew was U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos. His curling lip

betokened his scorn of the jeddak who had chosen humiliation rather

than death. He knew that O-Tar had lost more of prestige in those few

moments than he could regain in a lifetime, for the Martians are

jealous of the courage of their chiefs--there can be no evasions of

stern duty, no temporizing with honor. That there were others in the

room who shared U-Thor's belief was evidenced by the silence and the

grim scowls.

O-Tar glanced quickly around. He must have sensed the hostility and

guessed its cause, for he went suddenly angry, and as one who seeks by

the vehemence of his words to establish the courage of his heart he

roared forth what could be considered as naught other than a challenge.

"The will of O-Tar, the jeddak, is the law of Manator," he cried, "and

the laws of Manator are just--they cannot err. U-Dor, dispatch those

who will search the palace, the pits, and the city, and return the

fugitives to their cells.

"And now for you, U-Thor of Manatos! Think you with impunity to

threaten your jeddak--to question his right to punish traitors and

instigators of treason? What am I to think of your own loyalty, who

takes to wife a woman I have banished from my court because of her

intrigues against the authority of her jeddak and her master? But O-Tar

is just. Make your explanations and your peace, then, before it is too

late."

"U-Thor has nothing to explain," replied the jed of Manatos; "nor is he

at war with his jeddak; but he has the right that every jed and every

warrior enjoys, of demanding justice at the hands of the jeddak for

whomsoever he believes to be persecuted. With increasing rigor has the

jeddak of Manator persecuted the slaves from Gathol since he took to

himself the unwilling Princess Haja. If the slaves from Gathol have

harbored thoughts of vengeance and escape 'tis no more than might be

expected from a proud and courageous people. Ever have I counselled

greater fairness in our treatment of our slaves, many of whom, in their

own lands, are people of great distinction and power; but always has

O-Tar, the jeddak, flouted with arrogance my every suggestion. Though

it has been through none of my seeking that the question has arisen now

I am glad that it has, for the time was bound to come when the jeds of

Manator would demand from O-Tar the respect and consideration that is

their due from the man who holds his high office at their pleasure.

Know, then, O-Tar, that you must free A-Kor, the dwar, forthwith or

bring him to fair trial before the assembled jeds of Manator. I have

spoken."

"You have spoken well and to the point, U-Thor," cried O-Tar, "for you

have revealed to your jeddak and your fellow jeds the depth of the

disloyalty that I have long suspected. A-Kor already has been tried and

sentenced by the supreme tribunal of Manator--O-Tar, the jeddak; and

you too shall receive justice from the same unfailing source. In the

meantime you are under arrest. To the pits with him! To the pits with

U-Thor the false jed!" He clapped his hands to summon the surrounding

warriors to do his bidding. A score leaped forward to seize U-Thor.

They were warriors of the palace, mostly; but two score leaped to

defend U-Thor, and with ringing steel they fought at the foot of the

steps to the throne of Manator where stood O-Tar, the jeddak, with

drawn sword ready to take his part in the melee.

At the clash of steel, palace guards rushed to the scene from other

parts of the great building until those who would have defended U-Thor

were outnumbered two to one, and then the jed of Manatos slowly

withdrew with his forces, and fighting his way through the corridors

and chambers of the palace came at last to the avenue. Here he was

reinforced by the little army that had marched with him into Manator.

Slowly they retreated toward The Gate of Enemies between the rows of

silent people looking down upon them from the balconies and there,

within the city walls, they made their stand.

In a dimly-lighted chamber beneath the palace of O-Tar the jeddak,

Turan the panthan lowered Tara of Helium from his arms and faced her.

"I am sorry, Princess," he said, "that I was forced to disobey your

commands, or to abandon Ghek; but there was no other way. Could he have

saved you I would have stayed in his place. Tell me that you forgive

me."

"How could I do less?" she replied graciously. "But it seemed cowardly

to abandon a friend."

"Had we been three fighting men it had been different," he said. "We

could only have remained and died together, fighting; but you know,

Tara of Helium, that we may not jeopardize a woman's safety even though

we risk the loss of honor."

"I know that, Turan," she said; "but no one may say that you have

risked honor, who knows the honor and bravery that are yours."

He heard her with surprise for these were the first words that she had

spoken to him that did not savor of the attitude of a princess to a

panthan--though it was more in her tone than the actual words that he

apprehended the difference. How at variance were they to her recent

repudiation of him! He could not fathom her, and so he blurted out the

question that had been in his mind since she had told O-Tar that she

did not know him.

"Tara of Helium," he said, "your words are balm to the wound you gave

me in the throne room of O-Tar. Tell me, Princess, why you denied me."

She turned her great, deep eyes up to his and in them was a little of

reproach.

"You did not guess," she asked, "that it was my lips alone and not my

heart that denied you? O-Tar had ordered that I die, more because I was

a companion of Ghek than because of any evidence against me, and so I

knew that if I acknowledged you as one of us, you would be slain, too."

"It was to save me, then?" he cried, his face suddenly lighting.

"It was to save my brave panthan," she said in a low voice.

"Tara of Helium," said the warrior, dropping to one knee, "your words

are as food to my hungry heart," and he took her fingers in his and

pressed them to his lips.

Gently she raised him to his feet. "You need not tell me, kneeling,"

she said, softly.

Her hand was still in his as he rose and they were very close, and the

man was still flushed with the contact of her body since he had carried

her from the throne room of O-Tar. He felt his heart pounding in his

breast and the hot blood surging through his veins as he looked at her

beautiful face, with its downcast eyes and the half-parted lips that he

would have given a kingdom to possess, and then he swept her to him and

as he crushed her against his breast his lips smothered hers with

kisses.

But only for an instant. Like a tigress the girl turned upon him,

striking him, and thrusting him away. She stepped back, her head high

and her eyes flashing fire. "You would dare?" she cried. "You would

dare thus defile a princess of Helium?"

His eyes met hers squarely and there was no shame and no remorse in

them.

"Yes, I would dare," he said. "I would dare love Tara of Helium; but I

would not dare defile her or any woman with kisses that were not

prompted by love of her alone." He stepped closer to her and laid his

hands upon her shoulders. "Look into my eyes, daughter of The Warlord,"

he said, "and tell me that you do not wish the love of Turan, the

panthan."

"I do not wish your love," she cried, pulling away. "I hate you!" and

then turning away she bent her head into the hollow of her arm, and

wept.

The man took a step toward her as though to comfort her when he was

arrested by the sound of a crackling laugh behind him. Wheeling about,

he discovered a strange figure of a man standing in a doorway. It was

one of those rarities occasionally to be seen upon Barsoom--an old man

with the signs of age upon him. Bent and wrinkled, he had more the

appearance of a mummy than a man.

"Love in the pits of O-Tar!" he cried, and again his thin laughter

jarred upon the silence of the subterranean vaults. "A strange place to

woo! A strange place to woo, indeed! When I was a young man we roamed

in the gardens beneath giant pimalias and stole our kisses in the brief

shadows of hurtling Thuria. We came not to the gloomy pits to speak of

love; but times have changed and ways have changed, though I had never

thought to live to see the time when the way of a man with a maid, or a

maid with a man would change. Ah, but we kissed them then! And what if

they objected, eh? What if they objected? Why, we kissed them more. Ey,

ey, those were the days!" and he cackled again. "Ey, well do I recall

the first of them I ever kissed, and I've kissed an army of them since;

she was a fine girl, but she tried to slip a dagger into me while I was

kissing her. Ey, ey, those were the days! But I kissed her. She's been

dead over a thousand years now, but she was never kissed again like

that while she lived, I'll swear, not since she's been dead, either.

And then there was that other--" but Turan, seeing a thousand or more

years of osculatory memoirs portending, interrupted.

"Tell me, ancient one," he said, "not of thy loves but of thyself. Who

are you? What do you here in the pits of O-Tar?"

"I might ask you the same, young man," replied the other. "Few there

are who visit the pits other than the dead, except my pupils--ey! That

is it--you are new pupils! Good! But never before have they sent a

woman to learn the great art from the greatest artist. But times have

changed. Now, in my day the women did no work--they were just for

kissing and loving. Ey, those were the women. I mind the one we

captured in the south--ey! she was a devil, but how she could love. She

had breasts of marble and a heart of fire. Why, she--"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Turan; "we are pupils, and we are anxious to

get to work. Lead on and we will follow."

"Ey, yes! Ey, yes! Come! All is rush and hurry as though there were not

another countless myriad of ages ahead. Ey, yes! as many as lie behind.

Two thousand years have passed since I broke my shell and always rush,

rush, rush, yet I cannot see that aught has been accomplished. Manator

is the same today as it was then--except the girls. We had the girls

then. There was one that I gained upon The Fields of Jetan. Ey, but you

should have seen--"

"Lead on!" cried Turan. "After we are at work you shall tell us of her."

"Ey, yes," said the old fellow and shuffled off down a dimly lighted

passage. "Follow me!"

"You are going with him?" asked Tara.

"Why not?" replied Turan. "We know not where we are, or the way from

these pits; for I know not east from west; but he doubtless knows and

if we are shrewd we may learn from him that which we would know. At

least we cannot afford to arouse his suspicions"; and so they followed

him--followed along winding corridors and through many chambers, until

they came at last to a room in which there were several marble slabs

raised upon pedestals some three feet above the floor and upon each

slab lay a human corpse.

"Here we are," exclaimed the old man. "These are fresh and we shall

have to get to work upon them soon. I am working now on one for The

Gate of Enemies. He slew many of our warriors. Truly is he entitled to

a place in The Gate. Come, you shall see him."

He led them to an adjoining apartment. Upon the floor were many fresh,

human bones and upon a marble slab a mass of shapeless flesh.

"You will learn this later," announced the old man; "but it will not

harm you to watch me now, for there are not many thus prepared, and it

may be long before you will have the opportunity to see another

prepared for The Gate of Enemies. First, you see, I remove all the

bones, carefully that the skin may be damaged as little as possible.

The skull is the most difficult, but it can be removed by a skilful

artist. You see, I have made but a single opening. This I now sew up,

and that done, the body is hung so," and he fastened a piece of rope to

the hair of the corpse and swung the horrid thing to a ring in the

ceiling. Directly below it was a circular manhole in the floor from

which he removed the cover revealing a well partially filled with a

reddish liquid. "Now we lower it into this, the formula for which you

shall learn in due time. We fasten it thus to the bottom of the cover,

which we now replace. In a year it will be ready; but it must be

examined often in the meantime and the liquid kept above the level of

its crown. It will be a very beautiful piece, this one, when it is

ready.

"And you are fortunate again, for there is one to come out today." He

crossed to the opposite side of the room and raised another cover,

reached in and dragged a grotesque looking figure from the hole. It was

a human body, shrunk by the action of the chemical in which it had been

immersed, to a little figure scarce a foot high.

"Ey! is it not fine?" cried the little old man. "Tomorrow it will take

its place in The Gate of Enemies." He dried it off with cloths and

packed it away carefully in a basket. "Perhaps you would like to see

some of my life work," he suggested, and without waiting for their

assent led them to another apartment, a large chamber in which were

forty or fifty people. All were sitting or standing quietly about the

walls, with the exception of one huge warrior who bestrode a great

thoat in the very center of the room, and all were motionless.

Instantly there sprang to the minds of Tara and Turan the rows of

silent people upon the balconies that lined the avenues of the city,

and the noble array of mounted warriors in The Hall of Chiefs, and the

same explanation came to both but neither dared voice the question that

was in his mind, for fear of revealing by his ignorance the fact that

they were strangers in Manator and therefore impostors in the guise of

pupils.

"It is very wonderful," said Turan. "It must require great skill and

patience and time."

"That it does," replied the old man, "though having done it so long I

am quicker than most; but mine are the most natural. Why, I would defy

the wife of that warrior to say that insofar as appearances are

concerned he does not live," and he pointed at the man upon the thoat.

"Many of them, of course, are brought here wasted or badly wounded and

these I have to repair. That is where great skill is required, for

everyone wants his dead to look as they did at their best in life; but

you shall learn--to mount them and paint them and repair them and

sometimes to make an ugly one look beautiful. And it will be a great

comfort to be able to mount your own. Why, for fifteen hundred years no

one has mounted my own dead but myself.

"I have many, my balconies are crowded with them; but I keep a great

room for my wives. I have them all, as far back as the first one, and

many is the evening I spend with them--quiet evenings and very

pleasant. And then the pleasure of preparing them and making them even

more beautiful than in life partially recompenses one for their loss. I

take my time with them, looking for a new one while I am working on the

old. When I am not sure about a new one I bring her to the chamber

where my wives are, and compare her charms with theirs, and there is

always a great satisfaction at such times in knowing that they will not

object. I love harmony."

"Did you prepare all the warriors in The Hall of Chiefs?" asked Turan.

"Yes, I prepare them and repair them," replied the old man. "O-Tar will

trust no other. Even now I have two in another room who were damaged in

some way and brought down to me. O-Tar does not like to have them gone

long, since it leaves two riderless thoats in the Hall; but I shall

have them ready presently. He wants them all there in the event any

momentous question arises upon which the living jeds cannot agree, or

do not agree with O-Tar. Such questions he carries to the jeds in The

Hall of Chiefs. There he shuts himself up alone with the great chiefs

who have attained wisdom through death. It is an excellent plan and

there is never any friction or misunderstandings. O-Tar has said that

it is the finest deliberative body upon Barsoom--much more intelligent

than that composed of the living jeds. But come, we must get to work;

come into the next chamber and I will begin your instruction."

He led the way into the chamber in which lay the several corpses upon

their marble slabs, and going to a cabinet he donned a pair of huge

spectacles and commenced to select various tools from little

compartments. This done he turned again toward his two pupils.

"Now let me have a look at you," he said. "My eyes are not what they

once were, and I need these powerful lenses for my work, or to see

distinctly the features of those around me."

He turned his eyes upon the two before him. Turan held his breath for

he knew that now the man must discover that they wore not the harness

or insignia of Manator. He had wondered before why the old fellow had

not noticed it, for he had not known that he was half blind. The other

examined their faces, his eyes lingering long upon the beauty of Tara

of Helium, and then they drifted to the harness of the two. Turan

thought that he noted an appreciable start of surprise on the part of

the taxidermist, but if the old man noticed anything his next words did

not reveal it.

"Come with I-Gos," he said to Turan. "I have materials in the next room

that I would have you fetch hither. Remain here, woman, we shall be

gone but a moment."

He led the way to one of the numerous doors opening into the chamber

and entered ahead of Turan. Just inside the door he stopped, and

pointing to a bundle of silks and furs upon the opposite side of the

room directed Turan to fetch them. The latter had crossed the room and

was stooping to raise the bundle when he heard the click of a lock

behind him. Wheeling instantly he saw that he was alone in the room and

that the single door was closed. Running rapidly to it he strove to

open it, only to find that he was a prisoner.

I-Gos, stepping out and locking the door behind him, turned toward Tara.

"Your leather betrayed you," he said, laughing his cackling laugh. "You

sought to deceive old I-Gos, but you found that though his eyes are

weak his brain is not. But it shall not go ill with you. You are

beautiful and I-Gos loves beautiful women. I might not have you

elsewhere in Manator, but here there is none to deny old I-Gos. Few

come to the pits of the dead--only those who bring the dead and they

hasten away as fast as they can. No one will know that I-Gos has a

beautiful woman locked with his dead. I shall ask you no questions and

then I will not have to give you up, for I will not know to whom you

belong, eh? And when you die I shall mount you beautifully and place

you in the chamber with my other women. Will not that be fine, eh?" He

had approached until he stood close beside the horrified girl. "Come!"

he cried, seizing her by the wrist. "Come to I-Gos!"

CHAPTER XVI

ANOTHER CHANGE OF NAME

Turan dashed himself against the door of his prison in a vain effort to

break through the solid skeel to the side of Tara whom he knew to be in

grave danger, but the heavy panels held and he succeeded only in

bruising his shoulders and his arms. At last he desisted and set about

searching his prison for some other means of escape. He found no other

opening in the stone walls, but his search revealed a heterogeneous

collection of odds and ends of arms and apparel, of harness and

ornaments and insignia, and sleeping silks and furs in great

quantities. There were swords and spears and several large, two-bladed

battle-axes, the heads of which bore a striking resemblance to the

propellor of a small flier. Seizing one of these he attacked the door

once more with great fury. He expected to hear something from I-Gos at

this ruthless destruction, but no sound came to him from beyond the

door, which was, he thought, too thick for the human voice to

penetrate; but he would have wagered much that I-Gos heard him. Bits of

the hard wood splintered at each impact of the heavy axe, but it was

slow work and heavy. Presently he was compelled to rest, and so it went

for what seemed hours--working almost to the verge of exhaustion and

then resting for a few minutes; but ever the hole grew larger though he

could see nothing of the interior of the room beyond because of the

hanging that I-Gos had drawn across it after he had locked Turan within.

At last, however, the panthan had hewn an opening through which his

body could pass, and seizing a long-sword that he had brought close to

the door for the purpose he crawled through into the next room.

Flinging aside the arras he stood ready, sword in hand, to fight his

way to the side of Tara of Helium--but she was not there. In the center

of the room lay I-Gos, dead upon the floor; but Tara of Helium was

nowhere to be seen.

Turan was nonplussed. It must have been her hand that had struck down

the old man, yet she had made no effort to release Turan from his

prison. And then he thought of those last words of hers: "I do not want

your love! I hate you," and the truth dawned upon him--she had seized

upon this first opportunity to escape him. With downcast heart Turan

turned away. What should he do? There could be but one answer. While he

lived and she lived he must still leave no stone unturned to effect her

escape and safe return to the land of her people. But how? How was he

even to find his way from this labyrinth? How was he to find her again?

He walked to the nearest doorway. It chanced to be that which led into

the room containing the mounted dead, awaiting transportation to

balcony or grim room or whatever place was to receive them. His eyes

travelled to the great, painted warrior on the thoat and as they ran

over the splendid trappings and the serviceable arms a new light came

into the pain-dulled eyes of the panthan. With a quick step he crossed

to the side of the dead warrior and dragged him from his mount. With

equal celerity he stripped him of his harness and his arms, and tearing

off his own, donned the regalia of the dead man. Then he hastened back

to the room in which he had been trapped, for there he had seen that

which he needed to make his disguise complete. In a cabinet he found

them--pots of paint that the old taxidermist had used to place the

war-paint in its wide bands across the cold faces of dead warriors.

A few moments later Gahan of Gathol emerged from the room a warrior of

Manator in every detail of harness, equipment, and ornamentation. He

had removed from the leather of the dead man the insignia of his house

and rank so that he might pass, with the least danger of arousing

suspicion, as a common warrior.

To search for Tara of Helium in the vast, dim labyrinth of the pits of

O-Tar seemed to the Gatholian a hopeless quest, foredoomed to failure.

It would be wiser to seek the streets of Manator where he might hope to

learn first if she had been recaptured and, if not, then he could

return to the pits and pursue the hunt for her. To find egress from the

maze he must perforce travel a considerable distance through the

winding corridors and chambers, since he had no idea as to the location

or direction of any exit. In fact, he could not have retraced his steps

a hundred yards toward the point at which he and Tara had entered the

gloomy caverns, and so he set out in the hope that he might find by

accident either Tara of Helium or a way to the street level above.

For a time he passed room after room filled with the cunningly

preserved dead of Manator, many of which were piled in tiers after the

manner that firewood is corded, and as he moved through corridor and

chamber he noticed hieroglyphics painted upon the walls above every

opening and at each fork or crossing of corridors, until by observation

he reached the conclusion that these indicated the designations of

passageways, so that one who understood them might travel quickly and

surely through the pits; but Turan did not understand them. Even could

he have read the language of Manator they might not materially have

aided one unfamiliar with the city; but he could not read them at all

since, though there is but one spoken language upon Barsoom, there are

as many different written languages as there are nations. One thing,

however, soon became apparent to him--the hieroglyphic of a corridor

remained the same until the corridor ended.

It was not long before Turan realized from the distance that he had

traveled that the pits were part of a vast system undermining,

possibly, the entire city. At least he was convinced that he had passed

beyond the precincts of the palace. The corridors and chambers varied

in appearance and architecture from time to time. All were lighted,

though usually quite dimly, with radium bulbs. For a long time he saw

no signs of life other than an occasional ulsio, then quite suddenly he

came face to face with a warrior at one of the numerous crossings. The

fellow looked at him, nodded, and passed on. Turan breathed a sigh of

relief as he realized that his disguise was effective, but he was

caught in the middle of it by a hail from the warrior who had stopped

and turned toward him. The panthan was glad that a sword hung at his

side, and glad too that they were buried in the dim recesses of the

pits and that there would be but a single antagonist, for time was

precious.

"Heard you any word of the other?" called the warrior to him.

"No," replied Turan, who had not the faintest idea to whom or what the

fellow referred.

"He cannot escape," continued the warrior. "The woman ran directly into

our arms, but she swore that she knew not where her companion might be

found."

"They took her back to O-Tar?" asked Turan, for now he knew whom the

other meant, and he would know more.

"They took her back to The Towers of Jetan," replied the warrior.

"Tomorrow the games commence and doubtless she will be played for,

though I doubt if any wants her, beautiful as she is. She fears not

even O-Tar. By Cluros! but she would make a hard slave to subdue--a

regular she-banth she is. Not for me," and he continued on his way

shaking his head.

Turan hurried on searching for an avenue that led to the level of the

streets above when suddenly he came to the open doorway of a small

chamber in which sat a man who was chained to the wall. Turan voiced a

low exclamation of surprise and pleasure as he recognized that the man

was A-Kor, and that he had stumbled by accident upon the very cell in

which he had been imprisoned. A-Kor looked at him questioningly. It was

evident that he did not recognize his fellow prisoner. Turan crossed to

the table and leaning close to the other whispered to him.

"I am Turan the panthan," he said, "who was chained beside you."

A-Kor looked at him closely. "Your own mother would never know you!" he

said; "but tell me, what has transpired since they took you away?"

Turan recounted his experiences in the throne room of O-Tar and in the

pits beneath, "and now," he continued, "I must find these Towers of

Jetan and see what may be done toward liberating the Princess of

Helium."

A-Kor shook his head. "Long was I dwar of the Towers," he said, "and I

can say to you, stranger, that you might as well attempt to reduce

Manator, single handed, as to rescue a prisoner from The Towers of

Jetan."

"But I must," replied Turan.

"Are you better than a good swordsman?" asked A-Kor presently.

"I am accounted so," replied Turan.

"Then there is a way--sst!" he was suddenly silent and pointing toward

the base of the wall at the end of the room.

Turan looked in the direction the other's forefinger indicated, to see

projecting from the mouth of an ulsio's burrow two large chelae and a

pair of protruding eyes.

"Ghek!" he cried and immediately the hideous kaldane crawled out upon

the floor and approached the table. A-Kor drew back with a half-stifled

ejaculation of repulsion. "Do not fear," Turan reassured him. "It is my

friend--he whom I told you held O-Tar while Tara and I escaped."

Ghek climbed to the table top and squatted between the two warriors.

"You are safe in assuming," he said addressing A-Kor, "that Turan the

panthan has no master in all Manator where the art of sword-play is

concerned. I overheard your conversation--go on."

"You are his friend," continued A-Kor, "and so I may explain safely in

your presence the only plan I know whereby he may hope to rescue the

Princess of Helium. She is to be the stake of one of the games and it

is O-Tar's desire that she be won by slaves and common warriors, since

she repulsed him. Thus would he punish her. Not a single man, but all

who survive upon the winning side are to possess her. With money,

however, one may buy off the others before the game. That you could do,

and if your side won and you survived she would become your slave."

"But how may a stranger and a hunted fugitive accomplish this?" asked

Turan.

"No one will recognize you. You will go tomorrow to the keeper of the

Towers and enlist in that game for which the girl is to be the stake,

telling the keeper that you are from Manataj, the farthest city of

Manator. If he questions you, you may say that you saw her when she was

brought into the city after her capture. If you win her, you will find

thoats stabled at my palace and you will carry from me a token that

will place all that is mine at your disposal."

"But how can I buy off the others in the game without money?" asked

Turan. "I have none--not even of my own country."

A-Kor opened his pocket-pouch and drew forth a packet of Manatorian

money.

"Here is sufficient to buy them off twice over," he said, handing a

portion of it to Turan.

"But why do you do this for a stranger?" asked the panthan.

"My mother was a captive princess here," replied A-Kor. "I but do for

the Princess of Helium what my mother would have me do."

"Under the circumstances, then, Manatorian," replied Turan, "I cannot

but accept your generosity on behalf of Tara of Helium and live in hope

that some day I may do for you something in return."

"Now you must be gone," advised A-Kor. "At any minute a guard may come

and discover you here. Go directly to the Avenue of Gates, which

circles the city just within the outer wall. There you will find many

places devoted to the lodging of strangers. You will know them by the

thoat's head carved above the doors. Say that you are here from Manataj

to witness the games. Take the name of U-Kal--it will arouse no

suspicion, nor will you if you can avoid conversation. Early in the

morning seek the keeper of The Towers of Jetan. May the strength and

fortune of all your ancestors be with you!"

Bidding good-bye to Ghek and A-Kor, the panthan, following directions

given him by A-Kor, set out to find his way to the Avenue of Gates, nor

had he any great difficulty. On the way he met several warriors, but

beyond a nod they gave him no heed. With ease he found a lodging place

where there were many strangers from other cities of Manator. As he had

had no sleep since the previous night he threw himself among the silks

and furs of his couch to gain the rest which he must have, was he to

give the best possible account of himself in the service of Tara of

Helium the following day.

It was already morning when he awoke, and rising he paid for his

lodgings, sought a place to eat, and a short time later was on his way

toward The Towers of Jetan, which he had no difficulty in finding owing

to the great crowds that were winding along the avenues toward the

games. The new keeper of The Towers who had succeeded E-Med was too

busy to scrutinize entries closely, for in addition to the many

volunteer players there were scores of slaves and prisoners being

forced into the games by their owners or the government. The name of

each must be recorded as well as the position he was to play and the

game or games in which he was to be entered, and then there were the

substitutes for each that was entered in more than a single game--one

for each additional game that an individual was entered for, that no

succeeding game might be delayed by the death or disablement of a

player.

"Your name?" asked a clerk as Turan presented himself.

"U-Kal," replied the panthan.

"Your city?"

"Manataj."

The keeper, who was standing beside the clerk, looked at Turan. "You

have come a great way to play at jetan," he said. "It is seldom that

the men of Manataj attend other than the decennial games. Tell me of

O-Zar! Will he attend next year? Ah, but he was a noble fighter. If you

be half the swordsman, U-Kal, the fame of Manataj will increase this

day. But tell me, what of O-Zar?"

"He is well," replied Turan, glibly, "and he sent greetings to his

friends in Manator."

"Good!" exclaimed the keeper, "and now in what game would you enter?"

"I would play for the Heliumetic princess, Tara," replied Turan.

"But man, she is to be the stake of a game for slaves and criminals,"

cried the keeper. "You would not volunteer for such a game!"

"But I would," replied Turan. "I saw her when she was brought into the

city and even then I vowed to possess her."

"But you will have to share her with the survivors even if your color

wins," objected the other.

"They may be brought to reason," insisted Turan.

"And you will chance incurring the wrath of O-Tar, who has no love for

this savage barbarian," explained the keeper.

"And I win her O-Tar will be rid of her," said Turan.

The keeper of The Towers of Jetan shook his head. "You are rash," he

said. "I would that I might dissuade the friend of my friend O-Zar from

such madness."

"Would you favor the friend of O-Zar?" asked Turan.

"Gladly!" exclaimed the other. "What may I do for him?"

"Make me chief of the Black and give me for my pieces all slaves from

Gathol, for I understand that those be excellent warriors," replied the

panthan.

"It is a strange request," said the keeper, "but for my friend O-Zar I

would do even more, though of course--" he hesitated--"it is customary

for one who would be chief to make some slight payment."

"Certainly," Turan hastened to assure him; "I had not forgotten that. I

was about to ask you what the customary amount is."

"For the friend of my friend it shall be nominal," replied the keeper,

naming a figure that Gahan, accustomed to the high price of wealthy

Gathol, thought ridiculously low.

"Tell me," he said, handing the money to the keeper, "when the game for

the Heliumite is to be played."

"It is the second in order of the day's games; and now if you will come

with me you may select your pieces."

Turan followed the keeper to a large court which lay between the towers

and the jetan field, where hundreds of warriors were assembled. Already

chiefs for the games of the day were selecting their pieces and

assigning them to positions, though for the principal games these

matters had been arranged for weeks before. The keeper led Turan to a

part of the courtyard where the majority of the slaves were assembled.

"Take your choice of those not assigned," said the keeper, "and when

you have your quota conduct them to the field. Your place will be

assigned you by an officer there, and there you will remain with your

pieces until the second game is called. I wish you luck, U-Kal, though

from what I have heard you will be more lucky to lose than to win the

slave from Helium."

After the fellow had departed Turan approached the slaves. "I seek the

best swordsmen for the second game," he announced. "Men from Gathol I

wish, for I have heard that these be noble fighters."

A slave rose and approached him. "It is all the same in which game we

die," he said. "I would fight for you as a panthan in the second game."

Another came. "I am not from Gathol," he said. "I am from Helium, and I

would fight for the honor of a princess of Helium."

"Good!" exclaimed Turan. "Art a swordsman of repute in Helium?"

"I was a dwar under the great Warlord, and I have fought at his side in

a score of battles from The Golden Cliffs to The Carrion Caves. My name

is Val Dor. Who knows Helium, knows my prowess."

The name was well known to Gahan, who had heard the man spoken of on

his last visit to Helium, and his mysterious disappearance discussed as

well as his renown as a fighter.

"How could I know aught of Helium?" asked Turan; "but if you be such a

fighter as you say no position could suit you better than that of

Flier. What say you?"

The man's eyes denoted sudden surprise. He looked keenly at Turan, his

eyes running quickly over the other's harness. Then he stepped quite

close so that his words might not be overheard.

"Methinks you may know more of Helium than of Manator," he whispered.

"What mean you, fellow?" demanded Turan, seeking to cudgel his brains

for the source of this man's knowledge, guess, or inspiration.

"I mean," replied Val Dor, "that you are not of Manator and that if you

wish to hide the fact it is well that you speak not to a Manatorian as

you did just speak to me of--Fliers! There be no Fliers in Manator and

no piece in their game of Jetan bearing that name. Instead they call

him who stands next to the Chief or Princess, Odwar. The piece has the

same moves and power that the Flier has in the game as played outside

Manator. Remember this then and remember, too, that if you have a

secret it be safe in the keeping of Val Dor of Helium."

Turan made no reply but turned to the task of selecting the remainder

of his pieces. Val Dor, the Heliumite, and Floran, the volunteer from

Gathol, were of great assistance to him, since one or the other of them

knew most of the slaves from whom his selection was to be made. The

pieces all chosen, Turan led them to the place beside the playing field

where they were to wait their turn, and here he passed the word around

that they were to fight for more than the stake he offered for the

princess should they win. This stake they accepted, so that Turan was

sure of possessing Tara if his side was victorious, but he knew that

these men would fight even more valorously for chivalry than for money,

nor was it difficult to enlist the interest even of the Gatholians in

the service of the princess. And now he held out the possibility of a

still further reward.

"I cannot promise you," he explained, "but I may say I have heard that

this day which makes it possible that should we win this game we may

even win your freedom!"

They leaped to their feet and crowded around him with many questions.

"It may not be spoken of aloud," he said; "but Floran and Val Dor know

and they assure me that you may all be trusted. Listen! What I would

tell you places my life in your hands, but you must know that every man

will realize that he is fighting today the greatest battle of his

life--for the honor and the freedom of Barsoom's most wondrous princess

and for his own freedom as well--for the chance to return each to his

own country and to the woman who awaits him there.

"First, then, is my secret. I am not of Manator. Like yourselves I am a

slave, though for the moment disguised as a Manatorian from Manataj. My

country and my identity must remain undisclosed for reasons that have

no bearing upon our game today. I, then, am one of you. I fight for the

same things that you will fight for.

"And now for that which I have but just learned. U-Thor, the great jed

of Manatos, quarreled with O-Tar in the palace the day before yesterday

and their warriors set upon one another. U-Thor was driven as far as

The Gate of Enemies, where he now lies encamped. At any moment the

fight may be renewed; but it is thought that U-Thor has sent to Manatos

for reinforcements. Now, men of Gathol, here is the thing that

interests you. U-Thor has recently taken to wife the Princess Haja of

Gathol, who was slave to O-Tar and whose son, A-Kor, was dwar of The

Towers of Jetan. Haja's heart is filled with loyalty for Gathol and

compassion for her sons who are here enslaved, and this latter

sentiment she has to some extent transmitted to U-Thor. Aid me,

therefore, in freeing the Princess Tara of Helium and I believe that I

can aid you and her and myself to escape the city. Bend close your

ears, slaves of O-Tar, that no cruel enemy may hear my words," and

Gahan of Gathol whispered in low tones the daring plan he had

conceived. "And now," he demanded, when he had finished, "let him who

does not dare speak now." None replied. "Is there none?"

"And it would not betray you should I cast my sword at thy feet, it had

been done ere this," said one in low tones pregnant with suppressed

feeling.

"And I!" "And I!" "And I!" chorused the others in vibrant whispers.

CHAPTER XVII

A PLAY TO THE DEATH

Clear and sweet a trumpet spoke across The Fields of Jetan. From The

High Tower its cool voice floated across the city of Manator and above

the babel of human discords rising from the crowded mass that filled

the seats of the stadium below. It called the players for the first

game, and simultaneously there fluttered to the peaks of a thousand

staffs on tower and battlement and the great wall of the stadium the

rich, gay pennons of the fighting chiefs of Manator. Thus was marked

the opening of The Jeddak's Games, the most important of the year and

second only to the Grand Decennial Games.

Gahan of Gathol watched every play with eagle eye. The match was an

unimportant one, being but to settle some petty dispute between two

chiefs, and was played with professional jetan players for points only.

No one was killed and there was but little blood spilled. It lasted

about an hour and was terminated by the chief of the losing side

deliberately permitting himself to be out-pointed, that the game might

be called a draw.

Again the trumpet sounded, this time announcing the second and last

game of the afternoon. While this was not considered an important

match, those being reserved for the fourth and fifth days of the games,

it promised to afford sufficient excitement since it was a game to the

death. The vital difference between the game played with living men and

that in which inanimate pieces are used, lies in the fact that while in

the latter the mere placing of a piece upon a square occupied by an

opponent piece terminates the move, in the former the two pieces thus

brought together engage in a duel for possession of the square.

Therefore there enters into the former game not only the strategy of

jetan but the personal prowess and bravery of each individual piece, so

that a knowledge not only of one's own men but of each player upon the

opposing side is of vast value to a chief.

In this respect was Gahan handicapped, though the loyalty of his

players did much to offset his ignorance of them, since they aided him

in arranging the board to the best advantage and told him honestly the

faults and virtues of each. One fought best in a losing game; another

was too slow; another too impetuous; this one had fire and a heart of

steel, but lacked endurance. Of the opponents, though, they knew little

or nothing, and now as the two sides took their places upon the black

and orange squares of the great jetan board Gahan obtained, for the

first time, a close view of those who opposed him. The Orange Chief had

not yet entered the field, but his men were all in place. Val Dor

turned to Gahan. "They are all criminals from the pits of Manator," he

said. "There is no slave among them. We shall not have to fight against

a single fellow-countryman and every life we take will be the life of

an enemy."

"It is well," replied Gahan; "but where is their Chief, and where the

two Princesses?"

"They are coming now, see?" and he pointed across the field to where

two women could be seen approaching under guard.

As they came nearer Gahan saw that one was indeed Tara of Helium, but

the other he did not recognize, and then they were brought to the

center of the field midway between the two sides and there waited until

the Orange Chief arrived.

Floran voiced an exclamation of surprise when he recognized him. "By my

first ancestor if it is not one of their great chiefs," he said, "and

we were told that slaves and criminals were to play for the stake of

this game."

His words were interrupted by the keeper of The Towers whose duty it

was not only to announce the games and the stakes, but to act as

referee as well.

"Of this, the second game of the first day of the Jeddak's Games in the

four hundred and thirty-third year of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, the

Princesses of each side shall be the sole stakes and to the survivors

of the winning side shall belong both the Princesses, to do with as

they shall see fit. The Orange Princess is the slave woman Lan-O of

Gathol; the Black Princess is the slave woman Tara, a princess of

Helium. The Black Chief is U-Kal of Manataj, a volunteer player; the

Orange Chief is the dwar U-Dor of the 8th Utan of the jeddak of

Manator, also a volunteer player. The squares shall be contested to the

death. Just are the laws of Manator! I have spoken."

The initial move was won by U-Dor, following which the two Chiefs

escorted their respective Princesses to the square each was to occupy.

It was the first time Gahan had been alone with Tara since she had been

brought upon the field. He saw her scrutinizing him closely as he

approached to lead her to her place and wondered if she recognized him:

but if she did she gave no sign of it. He could not but remember her

last words--"I hate you!" and her desertion of him when he had been

locked in the room beneath the palace by I-Gos, the taxidermist, and so

he did not seek to enlighten her as to his identity. He meant to fight

for her--to die for her, if necessary--and if he did not die to go on

fighting to the end for her love. Gahan of Gathol was not easily to be

discouraged, but he was compelled to admit that his chances of winning

the love of Tara of Helium were remote. Already had she repulsed him

twice. Once as jed of Gathol and again as Turan the panthan. Before his

love, however, came her safety and the former must be relegated to the

background until the latter had been achieved.

Passing among the players already at their stations the two took their

places upon their respective squares. At Tara's left was the Black

Chief, Gahan of Gathol; directly in front of her the Princess' Panthan,

Floran of Gathol; and at her right the Princess' Odwar, Val Dor of

Helium. And each of these knew the part that he was to play, win or

lose, as did each of the other Black players. As Tara took her place

Val Dor bowed low. "My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," he said.

She turned and looked at him, an expression of surprise and incredulity

upon her face. "Val Dor, the dwar!" she exclaimed. "Val Dor of

Helium--one of my father's trusted captains! Can it be possible that my

eyes speak the truth?"

"It is Val Dor, Princess," the warrior replied, "and here to die for

you if need be, as is every wearer of the Black upon this field of

jetan today. Know Princess," he whispered, "that upon this side is no

man of Manator, but each and every is an enemy of Manator."

She cast a quick, meaning glance toward Gahan. "But what of him?" she

whispered, and then she caught her breath quickly in surprise. "Shade

of the first jeddak!" she exclaimed. "I did but just recognize him

through his disguise."

"And you trust him?" asked Val Dor. "I know him not; but he spoke

fairly, as an honorable warrior, and we have taken him at his word."

"You have made no mistake," replied Tara of Helium. "I would trust him

with my life--with my soul; and you, too, may trust him."

Happy indeed would have been Gahan of Gathol could he have heard those

words; but Fate, who is usually unkind to the lover in such matters,

ordained it otherwise, and then the game was on.

U-Dor moved his Princess' Odwar three squares diagonally to the right,

which placed the piece upon the Black Chief's Odwar's seventh. The move

was indicative of the game that U-Dor intended playing--a game of

blood, rather than of science--and evidenced his contempt for his

opponents.

Gahan followed with his Odwar's Panthan one square straight forward, a

more scientific move, which opened up an avenue for himself through his

line of Panthans, as well as announcing to the players and spectators

that he intended having a hand in the fighting himself even before the

exigencies of the game forced it upon him. The move elicited a ripple

of applause from those sections of seats reserved for the common

warriors and their women, showing perhaps that U-Dor was none too

popular with these, and, too, it had its effect upon the morale of

Gahan's pieces. A Chief may, and often does, play almost an entire game

without leaving his own square, where, mounted upon a thoat, he may

overlook the entire field and direct each move, nor may he be

reproached for lack of courage should he elect thus to play the game

since, by the rules, were he to be slain or so badly wounded as to be

compelled to withdraw, a game that might otherwise have been won by the

science of his play and the prowess of his men would be drawn. To

invite personal combat, therefore, denotes confidence in his own

swordsmanship, and great courage, two attributes that were calculated

to fill the Black players with hope and valor when evinced by their

Chief thus early in the game.

U-Dor's next move placed Lan-O's Odwar upon Tara's Odwar's

fourth--within striking distance of the Black Princess.

Another move and the game would be lost to Gahan unless the Orange

Odwar was overthrown, or Tara moved to a position of safety; but to

move his Princess now would be to admit his belief in the superiority

of the Orange. In the three squares allowed him he could not place

himself squarely upon the square occupied by the Odwar of U-Dor's

Princess. There was only one player upon the Black side that might

dispute the square with the enemy and that was the Chief's Odwar, who

stood upon Gahan's left. Gahan turned upon his thoat and looked at the

man. He was a splendid looking fellow, resplendent in the gorgeous

trappings of an Odwar, the five brilliant feathers which denoted his

position rising defiantly erect from his thick, black hair. In common

with every player upon the field and every spectator in the crowded

stands he knew what was passing in his Chief's mind. He dared not

speak, the ethics of the game forbade it, but what his lips might not

voice his eyes expressed in martial fire, and eloquently: "The honor of

the Black and the safety of our Princess are secure with me!"

Gahan hesitated no longer. "Chief's Odwar to Princess' Odwar's fourth!"

he commanded. It was the courageous move of a leader who had taken up

the gauntlet thrown down by his opponent.

The warrior sprang forward and leaped into the square occupied by

U-Dor's piece. It was the first disputed square of the game. The eyes

of the players were fastened upon the contestants, the spectators

leaned forward in their seats after the first applause that had greeted

the move, and silence fell upon the vast assemblage. If the Black went

down to defeat, U-Dor could move his victorious piece on to the square

occupied by Tara of Helium and the game would be over--over in four

moves and lost to Gahan of Gathol. If the Orange lost U-Dor would have

sacrificed one of his most important pieces and more than lost what

advantage the first move might have given him.

Physically the two men appeared perfectly matched and each was fighting

for his life, but from the first it was apparent that the Black Odwar

was the better swordsman, and Gahan knew that he had another and

perhaps a greater advantage over his antagonist. The latter was

fighting for his life only, without the spur of chivalry or loyalty.

The Black Odwar had these to strengthen his arm, and besides these the

knowledge of the thing that Gahan had whispered into the ears of his

players before the game, and so he fought for what is more than life to

the man of honor.

It was a duel that held those who witnessed it in spellbound silence.

The weaving blades gleamed in the brilliant sunlight, ringing to the

parries of cut and thrust. The barbaric harness of the duelists lent

splendid color to the savage, martial scene. The Orange Odwar, forced

upon the defensive, was fighting madly for his life. The Black, with

cool and terrible efficiency, was forcing him steadily, step by step,

into a corner of the square--a position from which there could be no

escape. To abandon the square was to lose it to his opponent and win

for himself ignoble and immediate death before the jeering populace.

Spurred on by the seeming hopelessness of his plight, the Orange Odwar

burst into a sudden fury of offense that forced the Black back a half

dozen steps, and then the sword of U-Dor's piece leaped in and drew

first blood, from the shoulder of his merciless opponent. An

ill-smothered cry of encouragement went up from U-Dor's men; the Orange

Odwar, encouraged by his single success, sought to bear down the Black

by the rapidity of his attack. There was a moment in which the swords

moved with a rapidity that no man's eye might follow, and then the

Black Odwar made a lightning parry of a vicious thrust, leaned quickly

forward into the opening he had effected, and drove his sword through

the heart of the Orange Odwar--to the hilt he drove it through the body

of the Orange Odwar.

A shout arose from the stands, for wherever may have been the favor of

the spectators, none there was who could say that it had not been a

pretty fight, or that the better man had not won. And from the Black

players came a sigh of relief as they relaxed from the tension of the

past moments.

I shall not weary you with the details of the game--only the high

features of it are necessary to your understanding of the outcome. The

fourth move after the victory of the Black Odwar found Gahan upon

U-Dor's fourth; an Orange Panthan was on the adjoining square

diagonally to his right and the only opposing piece that could engage

him other than U-Dor himself.

It had been apparent to both players and spectators for the past two

moves, that Gahan was moving straight across the field into the enemy's

country to seek personal combat with the Orange Chief--that he was

staking all upon his belief in the superiority of his own

swordsmanship, since if the two Chiefs engage, the outcome decides the

game. U-Dor could move out and engage Gahan, or he could move his

Princess' Panthan upon the square occupied by Gahan in the hope that the

former would defeat the Black Chief and thus draw the game, which is

the outcome if any other than a Chief slays the opposing Chief, or he

could move away and escape, temporarily, the necessity for personal

combat, or at least that is evidently what he had in mind as was

obvious to all who saw him scanning the board about him; and his

disappointment was apparent when he finally discovered that Gahan had

so placed himself that there was no square to which U-Dor could move

that it was not within Gahan's power to reach at his own next move.

U-Dor had placed his own Princess four squares east of Gahan when her

position had been threatened, and he had hoped to lure the Black Chief

after her and away from U-Dor; but in that he had failed. He now

discovered that he might play his own Odwar into personal combat with

Gahan; but he had already lost one Odwar and could ill spare the other.

His position was a delicate one, since he did not wish to engage Gahan

personally, while it appeared that there was little likelihood of his

being able to escape. There was just one hope and that lay in his

Princess' Panthan, so, without more deliberation he ordered the piece

onto the square occupied by the Black Chief.

The sympathies of the spectators were all with Gahan now. If he lost,

the game would be declared a draw, nor do they think better of drawn

games upon Barsoom than do Earth men. If he won, it would doubtless

mean a duel between the two Chiefs, a development for which they all

were hoping. The game already bade fair to be a short one and it would

be an angry crowd should it be decided a draw with only two men slain.

There were great, historic games on record where of the forty pieces on

the field when the game opened only three survived--the two Princesses

and the victorious Chief.

They blamed U-Dor, though in fact he was well within his rights in

directing his play as he saw fit, nor was a refusal on his part to

engage the Black Chief necessarily an imputation of cowardice. He was a

great chief who had conceived a notion to possess the slave Tara. There

was no honor that could accrue to him from engaging in combat with

slaves and criminals, or an unknown warrior from Manataj, nor was the

stake of sufficient import to warrant the risk.

But now the duel between Gahan and the Orange Panthan was on and the

decision of the next move was no longer in other hands than theirs. It

was the first time that these Manatorians had seen Gahan of Gathol

fight, but Tara of Helium knew that he was master of his sword. Could

he have seen the proud light in her eyes as he crossed blades with the

wearer of the Orange, he might easily have wondered if they were the

same eyes that had flashed fire and hatred at him that time he had

covered her lips with mad kisses, in the pits of the palace of O-Tar.

As she watched him she could not but compare his swordplay with that of

the greatest swordsman of two worlds--her father, John Carter, of

Virginia, a Prince of Helium, Warlord of Barsoom--and she knew that the

skill of the Black Chief suffered little by the comparison.

Short and to the point was the duel that decided possession of the

Orange Chief's fourth. The spectators had settled themselves for an

interesting engagement of at least average duration when they were

brought almost standing by a brilliant flash of rapid swordplay that

was over ere one could catch his breath. They saw the Black Chief step

quickly back, his point upon the ground, while his opponent, his sword

slipping from his fingers, clutched his breast, sank to his knees and

then lunged forward upon his face.

And then Gahan of Gathol turned his eyes directly upon U-Dor of

Manator, three squares away. Three squares is a Chief's move--three

squares in any direction or combination of directions, only provided

that he does not cross the same square twice in a given move. The

people saw and guessed Gahan's intention. They rose and roared forth

their approval as he moved deliberately across the intervening squares

toward the Orange Chief.

O-Tar, in the royal enclosure, sat frowning upon the scene. O-Tar was

angry. He was angry with U-Dor for having entered this game for

possession of a slave, for whom it had been his wish only slaves and

criminals should strive. He was angry with the warrior from Manataj for

having so far out-generaled and out-fought the men from Manator. He was

angry with the populace because of their open hostility toward one who

had basked in the sunshine of his favor for long years. O-Tar the

jeddak had not enjoyed the afternoon. Those who surrounded him were

equally glum--they, too, scowled upon the field, the players, and the

people. Among them was a bent and wrinkled old man who gazed through

weak and watery eyes upon the field and the players.

As Gahan entered his square, U-Dor leaped toward him with drawn sword

with such fury as might have overborne a less skilled and powerful

swordsman. For a minute the fighting was fast and furious and by

comparison reducing to insignificance all that had gone before. Here

indeed were two magnificent swordsmen, and here was to be a battle that

bade fair to make up for whatever the people felt they had been

defrauded of by the shortness of the game. Nor had it continued long

before many there were who would have prophesied that they were

witnessing a duel that was to become historic in the annals of jetan at

Manator. Every trick, every subterfuge, known to the art of fence these

men employed. Time and again each scored a point and brought blood to

his opponent's copper hide until both were red with gore; but neither

seemed able to administer the coup de grace.

From her position upon the opposite side of the field Tara of Helium

watched the long-drawn battle. Always it seemed to her that the Black

Chief fought upon the defensive, or when he assumed to push his

opponent, he neglected a thousand openings that her practiced eye

beheld. Never did he seem in real danger, nor never did he appear to

exert himself to quite the pitch needful for victory. The duel already

had been long contested and the day was drawing to a close. Presently

the sudden transition from daylight to darkness which, owing to the

tenuity of the air upon Barsoom, occurs almost without the warning

twilight of Earth, would occur. Would the fight never end? Would the

game be called a draw after all? What ailed the Black Chief?

Tara wished that she might answer at least the last of these questions

for she was sure that Turan the panthan, as she knew him, while

fighting brilliantly, was not giving of himself all that he might. She

could not believe that fear was restraining his hand, but that there

was something beside inability to push U-Dor more fiercely she was

confident. What it was, however, she could not guess.

Once she saw Gahan glance quickly up toward the sinking sun. In thirty

minutes it would be dark. And then she saw and all those others saw a

strange transition steal over the swordplay of the Black Chief. It was

as though he had been playing with the great dwar, U-Dor, all these

hours, and now he still played with him but there was a difference. He

played with him terribly as a carnivore plays with its victim in the

instant before the kill. The Orange Chief was helpless now in the hands

of a swordsman so superior that there could be no comparison, and the

people sat in open-mouthed wonder and awe as Gahan of Gathol cut his

foe to ribbons and then struck him down with a blow that cleft him to

the chin.

In twenty minutes the sun would set. But what of that?

CHAPTER XVIII

A TASK FOR LOYALTY

Long and loud was the applause that rose above the Field of Jetan at

Manator, as The Keeper of the Towers summoned the two Princesses and

the victorious Chief to the center of the field and presented to the

latter the fruits of his prowess, and then, as custom demanded, the

victorious players, headed by Gahan and the two Princesses, formed in

procession behind The Keeper of the Towers and were conducted to the

place of victory before the royal enclosure that they might receive the

commendation of the jeddak. Those who were mounted gave up their thoats

to slaves as all must be on foot for this ceremony. Directly beneath

the royal enclosure are the gates to one of the tunnels that, passing

beneath the seats, give ingress or egress to or from the Field. Before

this gate the party halted while O-Tar looked down upon them from

above. Val Dor and Floran, passing quietly ahead of the others, went

directly to the gates, where they were hidden from those who occupied

the enclosure with O-Tar. The Keeper of the Towers may have noticed

them, but so occupied was he with the formality of presenting the

victorious Chief to the jeddak that he paid no attention to them.

"I bring you, O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, U-Kal of Manataj," he cried in

a loud voice that might be heard by as many as possible, "victor over

the Orange in the second of the Jeddak's Games of the four hundred and

thirty-third year of O-Tar, and the slave woman Tara and the slave

woman Lan-O that you may bestow these, the stakes, upon U-Kal."

As he spoke, a little, wrinkled, old man peered over the rail of the

enclosure down upon the three who stood directly behind The Keeper, and

strained his weak and watery eyes in an effort to satisfy the curiosity

of old age in a matter of no particular import, for what were two

slaves and a common warrior from Manataj to any who sat with O-Tar the

jeddak?

"U-Kal of Manataj," said O-Tar, "you have deserved the stakes. Seldom

have we looked upon more noble swordplay. And you tire of Manataj there

be always here in the city of Manator a place for you in The Jeddak's

Guard."

While the jeddak was speaking the little, old man, failing clearly to

discern the features of the Black Chief, reached into his pocket-pouch

and drew forth a pair of thick-lensed spectacles, which he placed upon

his nose. For a moment he scrutinized Gahan closely, then he leaped to

his feet and addressing O-Tar pointed a shaking finger at Gahan. As he

rose Tara of Helium clutched the Black Chief's arm.

"Turan!" she whispered. "It is I-Gos, whom I thought to have slain in

the pits of O-Tar. It is I-Gos and he recognizes you and will--"

But what I-Gos would do was already transpiring. In his falsetto voice

he fairly screamed: "It is the slave Turan who stole the woman Tara

from your throne room, O-Tar. He desecrated the dead chief I-Mal and

wears his harness now!"

Instantly all was pandemonium. Warriors drew their swords and leaped to

their feet. Gahan's victorious players rushed forward in a body,

sweeping The Keeper of the Towers from his feet. Val Dor and Floran

threw open the gates beneath the royal enclosure, opening the tunnel

that led to the avenue in the city beyond the Towers. Gahan, surrounded

by his men, drew Tara and Lan-O into the passageway, and at a rapid

pace the party sought to reach the opposite end of the tunnel before

their escape could be cut off. They were successful and when they

emerged into the city the sun had set and darkness had come, relieved

only by an antiquated and ineffective lighting system, which cast but a

pale glow over the shadowy streets.

Now it was that Tara of Helium guessed why the Black Chief had drawn

out his duel with U-Dor and realized that he might have slain his man

at almost any moment he had elected. The whole plan that Gahan had

whispered to his players before the game was thoroughly understood.

They were to make their way to The Gate of Enemies and there offer

their services to U-Thor, the great Jed of Manatos. The fact that most

of them were Gatholians and that Gahan could lead rescuers to the pit

where A-Kor, the son of U-Thor's wife, was confined, convinced the Jed

of Gathol that they would meet with no rebuff at the hands of U-Thor.

But even should he refuse them, still were they bound together to go on

toward freedom, if necessary cutting their way through the forces of

U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies--twenty men against a small army; but of

such stuff are the warriors of Barsoom.

They had covered a considerable distance along the almost deserted

avenue before signs of pursuit developed and then there came upon them

suddenly from behind a dozen warriors mounted on thoats--a detachment,

evidently, from The Jeddak's Guard. Instantly the avenue was a

pandemonium of clashing blades, cursing warriors, and squealing thoats.

In the first onslaught life blood was spilled upon both sides. Two of

Gahan's men went down, and upon the enemies' side three riderless

thoats attested at least a portion of their casualties.

Gahan was engaged with a fellow who appeared to have been selected to

account for him only, since he rode straight for him and sought to cut

him down without giving the slightest heed to several who slashed at

him as he passed them. The Gatholian, practiced in the art of combating

a mounted warrior from the ground, sought to reach the left side of the

fellow's thoat a little to the rider's rear, the only position in which

he would have any advantage over his antagonist, or rather the position

that would most greatly reduce the advantage of the mounted man, and,

similarly, the Manatorian strove to thwart his design. And so the

guardsman wheeled and turned his vicious, angry mount while Gahan

leaped in and out in an effort to reach the coveted vantage point, but

always seeking some other opening in his foe's defense.

And while they jockeyed for position a rider swept swiftly past them.

As he passed behind Gahan the latter heard a cry of alarm.

"Turan, they have me!" came to his ears in the voice of Tara of Helium.

A quick glance across his shoulder showed him the galloping thoatman in

the act of dragging Tara to the withers of the beast, and then, with

the fury of a demon, Gahan of Gathol leaped for his own man, dragged

him from his mount and as he fell smote his head from his shoulders

with a single cut of his keen sword. Scarce had the body touched the

pavement when the Gatholian was upon the back of the dead warrior's

mount, and galloping swiftly down the avenue after the diminishing

figures of Tara and her abductor, the sounds of the fight waning in the

distance as he pursued his quarry along the avenue that passes the

palace of O-Tar and leads to The Gate of Enemies.

Gahan's mount, carrying but a single rider, gained upon that of the

Manatorian, so that as they neared the palace Gahan was scarce a

hundred yards behind, and now, to his consternation, he saw the fellow

turn into the great entrance-way. For a moment only was he halted by

the guards and then he disappeared within. Gahan was almost upon him

then, but evidently he had warned the guards, for they leaped out to

intercept the Gatholian. But no! the fellow could not have known that

he was pursued, since he had not seen Gahan seize a mount, nor would he

have thought that pursuit would come so soon. If he had passed then, so

could Gahan pass, for did he not wear the trappings of a Manatorian?

The Gatholian thought quickly, and stopping his thoat called to the

guardsmen to let him pass, "In the name of O-Tar!" They hesitated a

moment.

"Aside!" cried Gahan. "Must the jeddak's messenger parley for the right

to deliver his message?"

"To whom would you deliver it?" asked the padwar of the guard.

"Saw you not him who just entered?" cried Gahan, and without waiting

for a reply urged his thoat straight past them into the palace, and

while they were deliberating what was best to be done, it was too late

to do anything--which is not unusual.

Along the marble corridors Gahan guided his thoat, and because he had

gone that way before, rather than because he knew which way Tara had

been taken, he followed the runways and passed through the chambers

that led to the throne room of O-Tar. On the second level he met a

slave.

"Which way went he who carried the woman before him?" he asked.

The slave pointed toward a nearby runway that led to the third level

and Gahan dashed rapidly on in pursuit. At the same moment a thoatman,

riding at a furious pace, approached the palace and halted his mount at

the gate.

"Saw you aught of a warrior pursuing one who carried a woman before him

on his thoat?" he shouted to the guard.

"He but just passed in," replied the padwar, "saying that he was

O-Tar's messenger."

"He lied," cried the newcomer. "He was Turan, the slave, who stole the

woman from the throne room two days since. Arouse the palace! He must

be seized, and alive if possible. It is O-Tar's command."

Instantly warriors were dispatched to search for the Gatholian and warn

the inmates of the palace to do likewise. Owing to the games there were

comparatively few retainers in the great building, but those whom they

found were immediately enlisted in the search, so that presently at

least fifty warriors were seeking through the countless chambers and

corridors of the palace of O-Tar.

As Gahan's thoat bore him to the third Level the man glimpsed the hind

quarters of another thoat disappearing at the turn of a corridor far

ahead. Urging his own animal forward he raced swiftly in pursuit and

making the turn discovered only an empty corridor ahead. Along this he

hurried to discover near its farther end a runway to the fourth level,

which he followed upward. Here he saw that he had gained upon his

quarry who was just turning through a doorway fifty yards ahead. As

Gahan reached the opening he saw that the warrior had dismounted and

was dragging Tara toward a small door on the opposite side of the

chamber. At the same instant the clank of harness to his rear caused

him to cast a glance behind where, along the corridor he had just

traversed, he saw three warriors approaching on foot at a run. Leaping

from his thoat Gahan sprang into the chamber where Tara was struggling

to free herself from the grasp of her captor, slammed the door behind

him, shot the great bolt into its seat, and drawing his sword crossed

the room at a run to engage the Manatorian. The fellow, thus menaced,

called aloud to Gahan to halt, at the same time thrusting Tara at arm's

length and threatening her heart with the point of his short-sword.

"Stay!" he cried, "or the woman dies, for such is the command of O-Tar,

rather than that she again fall into your hands."

Gahan stopped. But a few feet separated him from Tara and her captor,

yet he was helpless to aid her. Slowly the warrior backed toward the

open doorway behind him, dragging Tara with him. The girl struggled and

fought, but the warrior was a powerful man and having seized her by the

harness from behind was able to hold her in a position of helplessness.

"Save me, Turan!" she cried. "Let them not drag me to a fate worse than

death. Better that I die now while my eyes behold a brave friend than

later, fighting alone among enemies in defense of my honor."

He took a step nearer. The warrior made a threatening gesture with his

sword close to the soft, smooth skin of the princess, and Gahan halted.

"I cannot, Tara of Helium," he cried. "Think not ill of me that I am

weak--that I cannot see you die. Too great is my love for you, daughter

of Helium."

The Manatorian warrior, a derisive grin upon his lips, backed steadily

away. He had almost reached the doorway when Gahan saw another warrior

in the chamber toward which Tara was being borne--a fellow who moved

silently, almost stealthily, across the marble floor as he approached

Tara's captor from behind. In his right hand he grasped a long-sword.

"Two to one," thought Gahan, and a grim smile touched his lips, for he

had no doubt that once they had Tara safely in the adjoining chamber

the two would set upon him. If he could not save her, he could at least

die for her.

And then, suddenly, Gahan's eyes fastened with amazement upon the

figure of the warrior behind the grinning fellow who held Tara and was

forcing her to the doorway. He saw the newcomer step almost within

arm's reach of the other. He saw him stop, an expression of malevolent

hatred upon his features. He saw the great sword swing through the arc

of a great circle, gathering swift and terrific momentum from its own

weight backed by the brawn of the steel thews that guided it; he saw it

pass through the feathered skull of the Manatorian, splitting his

sardonic grin in twain, and open him to the middle of his breast bone.

As the dead hand relaxed its grasp upon Tara's wrist the girl leaped

forward, without a backward glance, to Gahan's side. His left arm

encircled her, nor did she draw away, as with ready sword the Gatholian

awaited Fate's next decree. Before them Tara's deliverer was wiping the

blood from his sword upon the hair of his victim. He was evidently a

Manatorian, his trappings those of the Jeddak's Guard, and so his act

was inexplicable to Gahan and to Tara. Presently he sheathed his sword

and approached them.

"When a man chooses to hide his identity behind an assumed name," he

said, looking straight into Gahan's eyes, "whatever friend pierces the

deception were no friend if he divulged the other's secret."

He paused as though awaiting a reply.

"Your integrity has perceived and your lips voiced an unalterable

truth," replied Gahan, whose mind was filled with wonder if the

implication could by any possibility be true--that this Manatorian had

guessed his identity.

"We are thus agreed," continued the other, "and I may tell you that

though I am here known as A-Sor, my real name is Tasor." He paused and

watched Gahan's face intently for any sign of the effect of this

knowledge and was rewarded with a quick, though guarded expression of

recognition.

Tasor! Friend of his youth. The son of that great Gatholian noble who

had given his life so gloriously, however futilely, in an attempt to

defend Gahan's sire from the daggers of the assassins. Tasor an

under-padwar in the guard of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator! It was

inconceivable--and yet it was he; there could be no doubt of it.

"Tasor," Gahan repeated aloud. "But it is no Manatorian name." The

statement was half interrogatory, for Gahan's curiosity was aroused. He

would know how his friend and loyal subject had become a Manatorian.

Long years had passed since Tasor had disappeared as mysteriously as

the Princess Haja and many other of Gahan's subjects. The Jed of Gathol

had long supposed him dead.

"No," replied Tasor, "nor is it a Manatorian name. Come, while I search

for a hiding place for you in some forgotten chamber in one of the

untenanted portions of the palace, and as we go I will tell you briefly

how Tasor the Gatholian became A-Sor the Manatorian.

"It befell that as I rode with a dozen of my warriors along the western

border of Gathol searching for zitidars that had strayed from my herds,

we were set upon and surrounded by a great company of Manatorians. They

overpowered us, though not before half our number was slain and the

balance helpless from wounds. And so I was brought a prisoner to

Manataj, a distant city of Manator, and there sold into slavery. A

woman bought me--a princess of Manataj whose wealth and position were

unequaled in the city of her birth. She loved me and when her husband

discovered her infatuation she beseeched me to slay him, and when I

refused she hired another to do it. Then she married me; but none would

have aught to do with her in Manataj, for they suspected her guilty

knowledge of her husband's murder. And so we set out from Manataj for

Manatos accompanied by a great caravan bearing all her worldly goods

and jewels and precious metals, and on the way she caused the rumor to

be spread that she and I had died. Then we came to Manator instead, she

taking a new name and I the name A-Sor, that we might not be traced

through our names. With her great wealth she bought me a post in The

Jeddak's Guard and none knows that I am not a Manatorian, for she is

dead. She was beautiful, but she was a devil."

"And you never sought to return to your native city?" asked Gahan.

"Never has the hope been absent from my heart, or my mind empty of a

plan," replied Tasor. "I dream of it by day and by night, but always

must I return to the same conclusion--that there can be but a single

means for escape. I must wait until Fortune favors me with a place in a

raiding party to Gathol. Then, once within the boundaries of my own

country, they shall see me no more."

"Perhaps your opportunity lies already within your grasp," said Gahan,

"has not your fealty to your own Jed been undermined by years of

association with the men of Manator." The statement was half challenge.

"And my Jed stood before me now," cried Tasor, "and my avowal could be

made without violating his confidence, I should cast my sword at his

feet and beg the high privilege of dying for him as my sire died for

his sire."

There could be no doubt of his sincerity nor any that he was cognizant

of Gahan's identity. The Jed of Gathol smiled. "And if your Jed were

here there is little doubt but that he would command you to devote your

talents and your prowess to the rescue of the Princess Tara of Helium,"

he said, meaningly. "And he possessed the knowledge I have gained

during my captivity he would say to you, 'Go, Tasor, to the pit where

A-kor, son of Haja of Gathol, is confined and set him free and with him

arouse the slaves from Gathol and march to The Gate of Enemies and

offer your services to U-Thor of Manataj, who is wed to Haja of Gathol,

and ask of him in return that he attack the palace of O-Tar and rescue

Tara of Helium and when that thing is accomplished that he free the

slaves of Gathol and furnish them with the arms and the means to return

to their own country.' That, Tasor of Gathol, is what Gahan your Jed

would demand of you."

"And that, Turan the slave, is what I shall bend my every effort to

accomplish after I have found a safe refuge for Tara of Helium and her

panthan," replied Tasor.

Gahan's glance carried to Tasor an intimation of his Jed's

gratification and filled him with a chivalrous determination to do the

thing required of him, or die, for he considered that he had received

from the lips of his beloved ruler a commission that placed upon his

shoulders a responsibility that encompassed not alone the life of Gahan

and Tara but the welfare, perhaps the whole future, of Gathol. And so

he hastened them onward through the musty corridors of the old palace

where the dust of ages lay undisturbed upon the marble tiles. Now and

again he tried a door until he found one that was unlocked. Opening it

he ushered them into a chamber, heavy with dust. Crumbling silks and

furs adorned the walls, with ancient weapons, and great paintings whose

colors were toned by age to wondrous softness.

"This be as good as any place," he said. "No one comes here. Never have

I been here before, so I know no more of the other chambers than you;

but this one, at least, I can find again when I bring you food and

drink. O-Mai the Cruel occupied this portion of the palace during his

reign, five thousand years before O-Tar. In one of these apartments he

was found dead, his face contorted in an expression of fear so horrible

that it drove to madness those who looked upon it; yet there was no

mark of violence upon him. Since then the quarters of O-Mai have been

shunned for the legends have it that the ghosts of Corphals pursue the

spirit of the wicked Jeddak nightly through these chambers, shrieking

and moaning as they go. But," he added, as though to reassure himself

as well as his companions, "such things may not be countenanced by the

culture of Gathol or Helium."

Gahan laughed. "And if all who looked upon him were driven mad, who

then was there to perform the last rites or prepare the body of the

Jeddak for them?"

"There was none," replied Tasor. "Where they found him they left him

and there to this very day his mouldering bones lie hid in some

forgotten chamber of this forbidden suite."

Tasor left them then assuring them that he would seek the first

opportunity to speak with A-Kor, and upon the following day he would

bring them food and drink.*

* Those who have read John Carter's description of the Green Martians

in A Princess of Mars will recall that these strange people could exist

for considerable periods of time without food or water, and to a lesser

degree is the same true of all Martians.

After Tasor had gone Tara turned to Gahan and approaching laid a hand

upon his arm. "So swiftly have events transpired since I recognized you

beneath your disguise," she said, "that I have had no opportunity to

assure you of my gratitude and the high esteem that your valor has won

for you in my consideration. Let me now acknowledge my indebtedness;

and if promises be not vain from one whose life and liberty are in

grave jeopardy, accept my assurance of the great reward that awaits you

at the hand of my father in Helium."

"I desire no reward," he replied, "other than the happiness of knowing

that the woman I love is happy."

For an instant the eyes of Tara of Helium blazed as she drew herself

haughtily to her full height, and then they softened and her attitude

relaxed as she shook her head sadly.

"I have it not in my heart to reprimand you, Turan," she said, "however

great your fault, for you have been an honorable and a loyal friend to

Tara of Helium; but you must not say what my ears must not hear."

"You mean," he asked, "that the ears of a Princess must not listen to

words of love from a panthan?"

"It is not that, Turan," she replied; "but rather that I may not in

honor listen to words of love from another than him to whom I am

betrothed--a fellow countryman, Djor Kantos."

"You mean, Tara of Helium," he cried, "that were it not for that you

would--"

"Stop!" she commanded. "You have no right to assume aught else than my

lips testify."

"The eyes are ofttimes more eloquent than the lips, Tara," he replied;

"and in yours I have read that which is neither hatred nor contempt for

Turan the panthan, and my heart tells me that your lips bore false

witness when they cried in anger: 'I hate you!'"

"I do not hate you, Turan, nor yet may I love you," said the girl,

simply.

"When I broke my way out from the chamber of I-Gos I was indeed upon

the verge of believing that you did hate me," he said, "for only

hatred, it seemed to me, could account for the fact that you had gone

without making an effort to liberate me; but presently both my heart

and my judgment told me that Tara of Helium could not have deserted a

companion in distress, and though I still am in ignorance of the facts

I know that it was beyond your power to aid me."

"It was indeed," said the girl. "Scarce had I-Gos fallen at the bite of

my dagger than I heard the approach of warriors. I ran then to hide

until they had passed, thinking to return and liberate you; but in

seeking to elude the party I had heard I ran full into the arms of

another. They questioned me as to your whereabouts, and I told them

that you had gone ahead and that I was following you and thus I led

them from you."

"I knew," was Gahan's only comment, but his heart was glad with

elation, as a lover's must be who has heard from the lips of his

divinity an avowal of interest and loyalty, however little tinged by a

suggestion of warmer regard it may be. To be abused, even, by the

mistress of one's heart is better than to be ignored.

As the two conversed in the ill-lit chamber, the dim bulbs of which

were encrusted with the accumulated dust of centuries, a bent and

withered figure traversed slowly the gloomy corridors without, his weak

and watery eyes peering through thick lenses at the signs of passage

written upon the dusty floor.

CHAPTER XIX

THE MENACE OF THE DEAD

The night was still young when there came one to the entrance of the

banquet hall where O-Tar of Manator dined with his chiefs, and brushing

past the guards entered the great room with the insolence of a

privileged character, as in truth he was. As he approached the head of

the long board O-Tar took notice of him.

"Well, hoary one!" he cried. "What brings you out of your beloved and

stinking burrow again this day. We thought that the sight of the

multitude of living men at the games would drive you back to your

corpses as quickly as you could go."

The cackling laugh of I-Gos acknowledged the royal sally. "Ey, ey,

O-Tar," squeaked the ancient one, "I-Gos goes out not upon pleasure

bound; but when one does ruthlessly desecrate the dead of I-Gos,

vengeance must be had!"

"You refer to the act of the slave Turan?" demanded O-Tar.

"Turan, yes, and the slave Tara, who slipped beneath my hide a

murderous blade. Another fraction of an inch, O-Tar, and I-Gos' ancient

and wrinkled covering were even now in some apprentice tanner's hands,

ey, ey!"

"But they have again eluded us," cried O-Tar. "Even in the palace of

the great jeddak twice have they escaped the stupid knaves I call The

Jeddak's Guard." O-Tar had risen and was angrily emphasizing his words

with heavy blows upon the table, dealt with a golden goblet.

"Ey, O-Tar, they elude thy guard but not the wise old calot, I-Gos."

"What mean you? Speak!" commanded O-Tar.

"I know where they are hid," said the ancient taxidermist. "In the dust

of unused corridors their feet have betrayed them."

"You followed them? You have seen them?" demanded the jeddak.

"I followed them and I heard them speaking beyond a closed door,"

replied I-Gos; "but I did not see them."

"Where is that door?" cried O-Tar. "We will send at once and fetch

them," he looked about the table as though to decide to whom he would

entrust this duty. A dozen warrior chiefs arose and laid their hands

upon their swords.

"To the chambers of O-Mai the Cruel I traced them," squeaked I-Gos.

"There you will find them where the moaning Corphals pursue the

shrieking ghost of O-Mai; ey!" and he turned his eyes from O-Tar toward

the warriors who had arisen, only to discover that, to a man, they were

hurriedly resuming their seats.

The cackling laughter of I-Gos broke derisively the hush that had

fallen on the room. The warriors looked sheepishly at the food upon

their plates of gold. O-Tar snapped his fingers impatiently.

"Be there only cravens among the chiefs of Manator?" he cried.

"Repeatedly have these presumptuous slaves flouted the majesty of your

jeddak. Must I command one to go and fetch them?"

Slowly a chief arose and two others followed his example, though with

ill-concealed reluctance. "All, then, are not cowards," commented

O-Tar. "The duty is distasteful. Therefore all three of you shall go,

taking as many warriors as you wish."

"But do not ask for volunteers," interrupted I-Gos, "or you will go

alone."

The three chiefs turned and left the banquet hall, walking slowly like

doomed men to their fate.

Gahan and Tara remained in the chamber to which Tasor had led them, the

man brushing away the dust from a deep and comfortable bench where they

might rest in comparative comfort. He had found the ancient sleeping

silks and furs too far gone to be of any service, crumbling to powder

at a touch, thus removing any chance of making a comfortable bed for

the girl, and so the two sat together, talking in low tones, of the

adventures through which they already had passed and speculating upon

the future; planning means of escape and hoping Tasor would not be long

gone. They spoke of many things--of Hastor, and Helium, and Ptarth, and

finally the conversation reminded Tara of Gathol.

"You have served there?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Turan.

"I met Gahan the Jed of Gathol at my father's palace," she said, "the

very day before the storm snatched me from Helium--he was a

presumptuous fellow, magnificently trapped in platinum and diamonds.

Never in my life saw I so gorgeous a harness as his, and you must well

know, Turan, that the splendor of all Barsoom passes through the court

at Helium; but in my mind I could not see so resplendent a creature

drawing that jeweled sword in mortal combat. I fear me that the Jed of

Gathol, though a pretty picture of a man, is little else."

In the dim light Tara did not perceive the wry expression upon the

half-averted face of her companion.

"You thought little then of the Jed of Gathol?" he asked.

"Then or now," she replied, and with a little laugh; "how it would

pique his vanity to know, if he might, that a poor panthan had won a

higher place in the regard of Tara of Helium," and she laid her fingers

gently upon his knee.

He seized the fingers in his and carried them to his lips. "O, Tara of

Helium," he cried. "Think you that I am a man of stone?" One arm

slipped about her shoulders and drew the yielding body toward him.

"May my first ancestor forgive me my weakness," she cried, as her arms

stole about his neck and she raised her panting lips to his. For long

they clung there in love's first kiss and then she pushed him away,

gently. "I love you, Turan," she half sobbed; "I love you so! It is my

only poor excuse for having done this wrong to Djor Kantos, whom now I

know I never loved, who knew not the meaning of love. And if you love

me as you say, Turan, your love must protect me from greater dishonor,

for I am but as clay in your hands."

Again he crushed her to him and then as suddenly released her, and

rising, strode rapidly to and fro across the chamber as though he

endeavored by violent exercise to master and subdue some evil spirit

that had laid hold upon him. Ringing through his brain and heart and

soul like some joyous paean were those words that had so altered the

world for Gahan of Gathol: "I love you, Turan; I love you so!" And it

had come so suddenly. He had thought that she felt for him only

gratitude for his loyalty and then, in an instant, her barriers were

all down, she was no longer a princess; but instead a--his reflections

were interrupted by a sound from beyond the closed door. His sandals of

zitidar hide had given forth no sound upon the marble floor he strode,

and as his rapid pacing carried him past the entrance to the chamber

there came faintly from the distance of the long corridor the sound of

metal on metal--the unmistakable herald of the approach of armed men.

For a moment Gahan listened intently, close to the door, until there

could be no doubt but that a party of warriors was approaching. From

what Tasor had told him he guessed correctly that they would be coming

to this portion of the palace but for a single purpose--to search for

Tara and himself--and it behooved him therefore to seek immediate means

for eluding them. The chamber in which they were had other doorways

beside that at which they had entered, and to one of these he must look

for some safer hiding place. Crossing to Tara he acquainted her with

his suspicion, leading her to one of the doors which they found

unsecured. Beyond it lay a dimly-lighted chamber at the threshold of

which they halted in consternation, drawing back quickly into the

chamber they had just quitted, for their first glance revealed four

warriors seated around a jetan board.

That their entrance had not been noted was attributed by Gahan to the

absorption of the two players and their friends in the game. Quietly

closing the door the fugitives moved silently to the next, which they

found locked. There was now but another door which they had not tried,

and this they approached quickly as they knew that the searching party

must be close to the chamber. To their chagrin they found this avenue

of escape barred.

Now indeed were they in a sorry plight, for should the searchers have

information leading them to this room they were lost. Again leading

Tara to the door behind which were the jetan players Gahan drew his

sword and waited, listening. The sound of the party in the corridor

came distinctly to their ears--they must be quite close, and doubtless

they were coming in force. Beyond the door were but four warriors who

might be readily surprised. There could, then, be but one choice and

acting upon it Gahan quietly opened the door again, stepped through

into the adjoining chamber, Tara's hand in his, and closed the door

behind them. The four at the jetan board evidently failed to hear them.

One player had either just made or was contemplating a move, for his

fingers grasped a piece that still rested upon the board. The other

three were watching his move. For an instant Gahan looked at them,

playing jetan there in the dim light of this forgotten and forbidden

chamber, and then a slow smile of understanding lighted his face.

"Come!" he said to Tara. "We have nothing to fear from these. For more

than five thousand years they have sat thus, a monument to the

handiwork of some ancient taxidermist."

As they approached more closely they saw that the lifelike figures were

coated with dust, but that otherwise the skin was in as fine a state of

preservation as the most recent of I-Gos' groups, and then they heard

the door of the chamber they had quitted open and knew that the

searchers were close upon them. Across the room they saw the opening of

what appeared to be a corridor and which investigation proved to be a

short passageway, terminating in a chamber in the center of which was

an ornate sleeping dais. This room, like the others, was but poorly

lighted, time having dimmed the radiance of its bulbs and coated them

with dust. A glance showed that it was hung with heavy goods and

contained considerable massive furniture in addition to the sleeping

platform, a second glance at which revealed what appeared to be the

form of a man lying partially on the floor and partially on the dais.

No doorways were visible other than that at which they had entered,

though both knew that others might be concealed by the hangings.

Gahan, his curiosity aroused by the legends surrounding this portion of

the palace, crossed to the dais to examine the figure that apparently

had fallen from it, to find the dried and shrivelled corpse of a man

lying upon his back on the floor with arms outstretched and fingers

stiffly outspread. One of his feet was doubled partially beneath him,

while the other was still entangled in the sleeping silks and furs upon

the dais. After five thousand years the expression of the withered face

and the eyeless sockets retained the aspect of horrid fear to such an

extent, that Gahan knew that he was looking upon the body of O-Mai the

Cruel.

Suddenly Tara, who stood close beside him, clutched his arm and pointed

toward a far corner of the room. Gahan looked and looking felt the

hairs upon his neck rising. He threw his left arm about the girl and

with bared sword stood between her and the hangings that they watched,

and then slowly Gahan of Gathol backed away, for in this grim and

somber chamber, which no human foot had trod for five thousand years

and to which no breath of wind might enter, the heavy hangings in the

far corner had moved. Not gently had they moved as a draught might have

moved them had there been a draught, but suddenly they had bulged out

as though pushed against from behind. To the opposite corner backed

Gahan until they stood with their backs against the hangings there, and

then hearing the approach of their pursuers across the chamber beyond

Gahan pushed Tara through the hangings and, following her, kept open

with his left hand, which he had disengaged from the girl's grasp, a

tiny opening through which he could view the apartment and the doorway

upon the opposite side through which the pursuers would enter, if they

came this far.

Behind the hangings there was a space of about three feet in width

between them and the wall, making a passageway entirely around the

room, broken only by the single entrance opposite them; this being a

common arrangement especially in the sleeping apartments of the rich

and powerful upon Barsoom. The purposes of this arrangement were

several. The passageway afforded a station for guards in the same room

with their master without intruding entirely upon his privacy; it

concealed secret exits from the chamber; it permitted the occupant of

the room to hide eavesdroppers and assassins for use against enemies

that he might lure to his chamber.

The three chiefs with a dozen warriors had had no difficulty in

following the tracks of the fugitives through the dust of the corridors

and chambers they had traversed. To enter this portion of the palace at

all had required all the courage they possessed, and now that they were

within the very chambers of O-Mai their nerves were pitched to the

highest key--another turn and they would snap; for the people of

Manator are filled with weird superstitions. As they entered the outer

chamber they moved slowly, with drawn swords, no one seeming anxious to

take the lead, and the twelve warriors hanging back in unconcealed and

shameless terror, while the three chiefs, spurred on by fear of O-Tar

and by pride, pressed together for mutual encouragement as they slowly

crossed the dimly-lighted room.

Following the tracks of Gahan and Tara they found that though each

doorway had been approached only one threshold had been crossed and

this door they gingerly opened, revealing to their astonished gaze the

four warriors at the jetan table. For a moment they were on the verge

of flight, for though they knew what they were, coming as they did upon

them in this mysterious and haunted suite, they were as startled as

though they had beheld the very ghosts of the departed. But they

presently regained their courage sufficiently to cross this chamber too

and enter the short passageway that led to the ancient sleeping

apartment of O-Mai the Cruel. They did not know that this awful chamber

lay just before them, or it were doubtful that they would have

proceeded farther; but they saw that those they sought had come this

way and so they followed, but within the gloomy interior of the chamber

they halted, the three chiefs urging their followers, in low whispers,

to close in behind them, and there just within the entrance they stood

until, their eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, one of them

pointed suddenly to the thing lying upon the floor with one foot

tangled in the coverings of the dais.

"Look!" he gasped. "It is the corpse of O-Mai! Ancestor of ancestors!

we are in the forbidden chamber." Simultaneously there came from behind

the hangings beyond the grewsome dead a hollow moan followed by a

piercing scream, and the hangings shook and bellied before their eyes.

With one accord, chieftains and warriors, they turned and bolted for

the doorway; a narrow doorway, where they jammed, fighting and

screaming in an effort to escape. They threw away their swords and

clawed at one another to make a passage for escape; those behind

climbed upon the shoulders of those in front; and some fell and were

trampled upon; but at last they all got through, and, the swiftest

first, they bolted across the two intervening chambers to the outer

corridor beyond, nor did they halt their mad retreat before they

stumbled, weak and trembling, into the banquet hall of O-Tar. At sight

of them the warriors who had remained with the jeddak leaped to their

feet with drawn swords, thinking that their fellows were pursued by

many enemies; but no one followed them into the room, and the three

chieftains came and stood before O-Tar with bowed heads and trembling

knees.

"Well?" demanded the jeddak. "What ails you? Speak!"

"O-Tar," cried one of them when at last he could master his voice.

"When have we three failed you in battle or combat? Have our swords

been not always among the foremost in defense of your safety and your

honor?"

"Have I denied this?" demanded O-Tar.

"Listen, then, O Jeddak, and judge us with leniency. We followed the

two slaves to the apartments of O-Mai the Cruel. We entered the

accursed chambers and still we did not falter. We came at last to that

horrid chamber no human eye had scanned before in fifty centuries and

we looked upon the dead face of O-Mai lying as he has lain for all this

time. To the very death chamber of O-Mai the Cruel we came and yet we

were ready to go farther; when suddenly there broke upon our horrified

ears the moans and the shrieking that mark these haunted chambers and

the hangings moved and rustled in the dead air. O-Tar, it was more than

human nerves could endure. We turned and fled. We threw away our swords

and fought with one another to escape. With sorrow, but without shame,

I tell it, for there be no man in all Manator that would not have done

the same. If these slaves be Corphals they are safe among their fellow

ghosts. If they be not Corphals, then already are they dead in the

chambers of O-Mai, and there may they rot for all of me, for I would

not return to that accursed spot for the harness of a jeddak and the

half of Barsoom for an empire. I have spoken."

O-Tar knitted his scowling brows. "Are all my chieftains cowards and

cravens?" he demanded presently in sneering tones.

From among those who had not been of the searching party a chieftain

arose and turned a scowling face upon O-Tar.

"The jeddak knows," he said, "that in the annals of Manator her jeddaks

have ever been accounted the bravest of her warriors. Where my jeddak

leads I will follow, nor may any jeddak call me a coward or a craven

unless I refuse to go where he dares to go. I have spoken."

After he had resumed his seat there was a painful silence, for all knew

that the speaker had challenged the courage of O-Tar the Jeddak of

Manator and all awaited the reply of their ruler. In every mind was the

same thought--O-Tar must lead them at once to the chamber of O-Mai the

Cruel, or accept forever the stigma of cowardice, and there could be no

coward upon the throne of Manator. That they all knew and that O-Tar

knew, as well.

But O-Tar hesitated. He looked about upon the faces of those around him

at the banquet board; but he saw only the grim visages of relentless

warriors. There was no trace of leniency in the face of any. And then

his eyes wandered to a small entrance at one side of the great chamber.

An expression of relief expunged the scowl of anxiety from his features.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "See who has come!"

CHAPTER XX

THE CHARGE OF COWARDICE

Gahan, watching through the aperture between the hangings, saw the

frantic flight of their pursuers. A grim smile rested upon his lips as

he viewed the mad scramble for safety and saw them throw away their

swords and fight with one another to be first from the chamber of fear,

and when they were all gone he turned back toward Tara, the smile still

upon his lips; but the smile died the instant that he turned, for he

saw that Tara had disappeared.

"Tara!" he called in a loud voice, for he knew that there was no danger

that their pursuers would return; but there was no response, unless it

was a faint sound as of cackling laughter from afar. Hurriedly he

searched the passageway behind the hangings finding several doors, one

of which was ajar. Through this he entered the adjoining chamber which

was lighted more brilliantly for the moment by the soft rays of

hurtling Thuria taking her mad way through the heavens. Here he found

the dust upon the floor disturbed, and the imprint of sandals. They had

come this way--Tara and whatever the creature was that had stolen her.

But what could it have been? Gahan, a man of culture and high

intelligence, held few if any superstitions. In common with nearly all

races of Barsoom he clung, more or less inherently, to a certain

exalted form of ancestor worship, though it was rather the memory or

legends of the virtues and heroic deeds of his forebears that he

deified rather than themselves. He never expected any tangible evidence

of their existence after death; he did not believe that they had the

power either for good or for evil other than the effect that their

example while living might have had upon following generations; he did

not believe therefore in the materialization of dead spirits. If there

was a life hereafter he knew nothing of it, for he knew that science

had demonstrated the existence of some material cause for every

seemingly supernatural phenomenon of ancient religions and

superstitions. Yet he was at a loss to know what power might have

removed Tara so suddenly and mysteriously from his side in a chamber

that had not known the presence of man for five thousand years.

In the darkness he could not see whether there were the imprints of

other sandals than Tara's--only that the dust was disturbed--and when

it led him into gloomy corridors he lost the trail altogether. A

perfect labyrinth of passages and apartments were now revealed to him

as he hurried on through the deserted quarters of O-Mai. Here was an

ancient bath--doubtless that of the jeddak himself, and again he passed

through a room in which a meal had been laid upon a table five thousand

years before--the untasted breakfast of O-Mai, perhaps. There passed

before his eyes in the brief moments that he traversed the chambers, a

wealth of ornaments and jewels and precious metals that surprised even

the Jed of Gathol whose harness was of diamonds and platinum and whose

riches were the envy of a world. But at last his search of O-Mai's

chambers ended in a small closet in the floor of which was the opening

to a spiral runway leading straight down into Stygian darkness. The

dust at the entrance of the closet had been freshly disturbed, and as

this was the only possible indication that Gahan had of the direction

taken by the abductor of Tara it seemed as well to follow on as to

search elsewhere. So, without hesitation, he descended into the utter

darkness below. Feeling with a foot before taking a forward step his

descent was necessarily slow, but Gahan was a Barsoomian and so knew

the pitfalls that might await the unwary in such dark, forbidden

portions of a jeddak's palace.

He had descended for what he judged might be three full levels and was

pausing, as he occasionally did, to listen, when he distinctly heard a

peculiar shuffling, scraping sound approaching him from below. Whatever

the thing was it was ascending the runway at a steady pace and would

soon be near him. Gahan laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword and

drew it slowly from its scabbard that he might make no noise that would

apprise the creature of his presence. He wished that there might be

even the slightest lessening of the darkness. If he could see but the

outline of the thing that approached him he would feel that he had a

fairer chance in the meeting; but he could see nothing, and then

because he could see nothing the end of his scabbard struck the stone

side of the runway, giving off a sound that the stillness and the

narrow confines of the passage and the darkness seemed to magnify to a

terrific clatter.

Instantly the shuffling sound of approach ceased. For a moment Gahan

stood in silent waiting, then casting aside discretion he moved on

again down the spiral. The thing, whatever it might be, gave forth no

sound now by which Gahan might locate it. At any moment it might be

upon him and so he kept his sword in readiness. Down, ever downward the

steep spiral led. The darkness and the silence of the tomb surrounded

him, yet somewhere ahead was something. He was not alone in that horrid

place--another presence that he could not hear or see hovered before

him--of that he was positive. Perhaps it was the thing that had stolen

Tara. Perhaps Tara herself, still in the clutches of some nameless

horror, was just ahead of him. He quickened his pace--it became almost

a run at the thought of the danger that threatened the woman he loved,

and then he collided with a wooden door that swung open to the impact.

Before him was a lighted corridor. On either side were chambers. He had

advanced but a short distance from the bottom of the spiral when he

recognized that he was in the pits below the palace. A moment later he

heard behind him the shuffling sound that had attracted his attention

in the spiral runway. Wheeling about he saw the author of the sound

emerging from a doorway he had just passed. It was Ghek the kaldane.

"Ghek!" exclaimed Gahan. "It was you in the runway? Have you seen Tara

of Helium?"

"It was I in the spiral," replied the kaldane; "but I have not seen

Tara of Helium. I have been searching for her. Where is she?"

"I do not know," replied the Gatholian; "but we must find her and take

her from this place."

"We may find her," said Ghek; "but I doubt our ability to take her

away. It is not so easy to leave Manator as it is to enter it. I may

come and go at will, through the ancient burrows of the ulsios; but you

are too large for that and your lungs need more air than may be found

in some of the deeper runways."

"But U-Thor!" exclaimed Gahan. "Have you heard aught of him or his

intentions?"

"I have heard much," replied Ghek. "He camps at The Gate of Enemies.

That spot he holds and his warriors lie just beyond The Gate; but he

has not sufficient force to enter the city and take the palace. An hour

since and you might have made your way to him; but now every avenue is

strongly guarded since O-Tar learned that A-Kor had escaped to U-Thor."

"A-Kor has escaped and joined U-Thor!" exclaimed Gahan.

"But little more than an hour since. I was with him when a warrior

came--a man whose name is Tasor--who brought a message from you. It was

decided that Tasor should accompany A-Kor in an attempt to reach the

camp of U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos, and exact from him the

assurances you required. Then U-Thor was to return and take food to you

and the Princess of Helium. I accompanied them. We won through easily

and found U-Thor more than willing to respect your every wish, but when

Tasor would have returned to you the way was blocked by the warriors of

O-Tar. Then it was that I volunteered to come to you and report and

find food and drink and then go forth among the Gatholian slaves of

Manator and prepare them for their part in the plan that U-Thor and

Tasor conceived."

"And what was this plan?"

"U-Thor has sent for reinforcements. To Manatos he has sent and to all

the outlying districts that are his. It will take a month to collect

and bring them hither and in the meantime the slaves within the city

are to organize secretly, stealing and hiding arms against the day that

the reinforcements arrive. When that day comes the forces of U-Thor

will enter the Gate of Enemies and as the warriors of O-Tar rush to

repulse them the slaves from Gathol will fall upon them from the rear

with the majority of their numbers, while the balance will assault the

palace. They hope thus to divert so many from The Gate that U-Thor will

have little difficulty in forcing an entrance to the city."

"Perhaps they will succeed," commented Gahan; "but the warriors of

O-Tar are many, and those who fight in defense of their homes and their

jeddak have always an advantage. Ah, Ghek, would that we had the great

warships of Gathol or of Helium to pour their merciless fire into the

streets of Manator while U-Thor marched to the palace over the corpses

of the slain." He paused, deep in thought, and then turned his gaze

again upon the kaldane. "Heard you aught of the party that escaped with

me from The Field of Jetan--of Floran, Val Dor, and the others? What of

them?"

"Ten of these won through to U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies and were

well received by him. Eight fell in the fighting upon the way. Val Dor

and Floran live, I believe, for I am sure that I heard U-Thor address

two warriors by these names."

"Good!" exclaimed Gahan. "Go then, through the burrows of the ulsios,