The gods of Mars
of death out of my mind, and fell upon my antagonists with fury that
those who escaped will remember to their dying day.
That others would press to the support of those who faced me I knew, so
even as I fought I kept my wits at work, searching for an avenue of
escape.
It came from an unexpected quarter out of the black night behind me. I
had just disarmed a huge fellow who had given me a desperate struggle,
and for a moment the blacks stood back for a breathing spell.
They eyed me with malignant fury, yet withal there was a touch of
respect in their demeanour.
“Thern,” said one, “you fight like a Dator. But for your detestable
yellow hair and your white skin you would be an honour to the First
Born of Barsoom.”
“I am no thern,” I said, and was about to explain that I was from
another world, thinking that by patching a truce with these fellows and
fighting with them against the therns I might enlist their aid in
regaining my liberty. But just at that moment a heavy object smote me a
resounding whack between my shoulders that nearly felled me to the
ground.
As I turned to meet this new enemy an object passed over my shoulder,
striking one of my assailants squarely in the face and knocking him
senseless to the sward. At the same instant I saw that the thing that
had struck us was the trailing anchor of a rather fair-sized air
vessel; possibly a ten man cruiser.
The ship was floating slowly above us, not more than fifty feet over
our heads. Instantly the one chance for escape that it offered
presented itself to me. The vessel was slowly rising and now the anchor
was beyond the blacks who faced me and several feet above their heads.
With a bound that left them gaping in wide-eyed astonishment I sprang
completely over them. A second leap carried me just high enough to
grasp the now rapidly receding anchor.
But I was successful, and there I hung by one hand, dragging through
the branches of the higher vegetation of the gardens, while my late
foemen shrieked and howled beneath me.
Presently the vessel veered toward the west and then swung gracefully
to the south. In another instant I was carried beyond the crest of the
Golden Cliffs, out over the Valley Dor, where, six thousand feet below
me, the Lost Sea of Korus lay shimmering in the moonlight.
Carefully I climbed to a sitting posture across the anchor’s arms. I
wondered if by chance the vessel might be deserted. I hoped so. Or
possibly it might belong to a friendly people, and have wandered by
accident almost within the clutches of the pirates and the therns. The
fact that it was retreating from the scene of battle lent colour to
this hypothesis.
But I decided to know positively, and at once, so, with the greatest
caution, I commenced to climb slowly up the anchor chain toward the
deck above me.
One hand had just reached for the vessel’s rail and found it when a
fierce black face was thrust over the side and eyes filled with
triumphant hate looked into mine.
CHAPTER VII
A FAIR GODDESS
For an instant the black pirate and I remained motionless, glaring into
each other’s eyes. Then a grim smile curled the handsome lips above me,
as an ebony hand came slowly in sight from above the edge of the deck
and the cold, hollow eye of a revolver sought the centre of my
forehead.
[Illustration] The cold, hollow eye of a revolver sought the centre of
my forehead.
Simultaneously my free hand shot out for the black throat, just within
reach, and the ebony finger tightened on the trigger. The pirate’s
hissing, “Die, cursed thern,” was half choked in his windpipe by my
clutching fingers. The hammer fell with a futile click upon an empty
chamber.
Before he could fire again I had pulled him so far over the edge of the
deck that he was forced to drop his firearm and clutch the rail with
both hands.
My grasp upon his throat effectually prevented any outcry, and so we
struggled in grim silence; he to tear away from my hold, I to drag him
over to his death.
His face was taking on a livid hue, his eyes were bulging from their
sockets. It was evident to him that he soon must die unless he tore
loose from the steel fingers that were choking the life from him. With
a final effort he threw himself further back upon the deck, at the same
instant releasing his hold upon the rail to tear frantically with both
hands at my fingers in an effort to drag them from his throat.
That little second was all that I awaited. With one mighty downward
surge I swept him clear of the deck. His falling body came near to
tearing me from the frail hold that my single free hand had upon the
anchor chain and plunging me with him to the waters of the sea below.
I did not relinquish my grasp upon him, however, for I knew that a
single shriek from those lips as he hurtled to his death in the silent
waters of the sea would bring his comrades from above to avenge him.
Instead I held grimly to him, choking, ever choking, while his frantic
struggles dragged me lower and lower toward the end of the chain.
Gradually his contortions became spasmodic, lessening by degrees until
they ceased entirely. Then I released my hold upon him and in an
instant he was swallowed by the black shadows far below.
Again I climbed to the ship’s rail. This time I succeeded in raising my
eyes to the level of the deck, where I could take a careful survey of
the conditions immediately confronting me.
The nearer moon had passed below the horizon, but the clear effulgence
of the further satellite bathed the deck of the cruiser, bringing into
sharp relief the bodies of six or eight black men sprawled about in
sleep.
Huddled close to the base of a rapid fire gun was a young white girl,
securely bound. Her eyes were widespread in an expression of horrified
anticipation and fixed directly upon me as I came in sight above the
edge of the deck.
Unutterable relief instantly filled them as if they fell upon the
mystic jewel which sparkled in the centre of my stolen headpiece. She
did not speak. Instead her eyes warned me to beware the sleeping
figures that surrounded her.
Noiselessly I gained the deck. The girl nodded to me to approach her.
As I bent low she whispered to me to release her.
“I can aid you,” she said, “and you will need all the aid available
when they awaken.”
“Some of them will awake in Korus,” I replied smiling.
She caught the meaning of my words, and the cruelty of her answering
smile horrified me. One is not astonished by cruelty in a hideous face,
but when it touches the features of a goddess whose fine-chiselled
lineaments might more fittingly portray love and beauty, the contrast
is appalling.
Quickly I released her.
“Give me a revolver,” she whispered. “I can use that upon those your
sword does not silence in time.”
I did as she bid. Then I turned toward the distasteful work that lay
before me. This was no time for fine compunctions, nor for a chivalry
that these cruel demons would neither appreciate nor reciprocate.
Stealthily I approached the nearest sleeper. When he awoke he was well
on his journey to the bosom of Korus. His piercing shriek as
consciousness returned to him came faintly up to us from the black
depths beneath.
The second awoke as I touched him, and, though I succeeded in hurling
him from the cruiser’s deck, his wild cry of alarm brought the
remaining pirates to their feet. There were five of them.
As they arose the girl’s revolver spoke in sharp staccato and one sank
back to the deck again to rise no more.
The others rushed madly upon me with drawn swords. The girl evidently
dared not fire for fear of wounding me, but I saw her sneak stealthily
and cat-like toward the flank of the attackers. Then they were on me.
For a few minutes I experienced some of the hottest fighting I had ever
passed through. The quarters were too small for foot work. It was stand
your ground and give and take. At first I took considerably more than I
gave, but presently I got beneath one fellow’s guard and had the
satisfaction of seeing him collapse upon the deck.
The others redoubled their efforts. The crashing of their blades upon
mine raised a terrific din that might have been heard for miles through
the silent night. Sparks flew as steel smote steel, and then there was
the dull and sickening sound of a shoulder bone parting beneath the
keen edge of my Martian sword.
Three now faced me, but the girl was working her way to a point that
would soon permit her to reduce the number by one at least. Then things
happened with such amazing rapidity that I can scarce comprehend even
now all that took place in that brief instant.
The three rushed me with the evident purpose of forcing me back the few
steps that would carry my body over the rail into the void below. At
the same instant the girl fired and my sword arm made two moves. One
man dropped with a bullet in his brain; a sword flew clattering across
the deck and dropped over the edge beyond as I disarmed one of my
opponents and the third went down with my blade buried to the hilt in
his breast and three feet of it protruding from his back, and falling
wrenched the sword from my grasp.
Disarmed myself, I now faced my remaining foeman, whose own sword lay
somewhere thousands of feet below us, lost in the Lost Sea.
The new conditions seemed to please my adversary, for a smile of
satisfaction bared his gleaming teeth as he rushed at me bare-handed.
The great muscles which rolled beneath his glossy black hide evidently
assured him that here was easy prey, not worth the trouble of drawing
the dagger from his harness.
I let him come almost upon me. Then I ducked beneath his outstretched
arms, at the same time sidestepping to the right. Pivoting on my left
toe, I swung a terrific right to his jaw, and, like a felled ox, he
dropped in his tracks.
A low, silvery laugh rang out behind me.
“You are no thern,” said the sweet voice of my companion, “for all your
golden locks or the harness of Sator Throg. Never lived there upon all
Barsoom before one who could fight as you have fought this night. Who
are you?”
“I am John Carter, Prince of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of
Helium,” I replied. “And whom,” I added, “has the honour of serving
been accorded me?”
She hesitated a moment before speaking. Then she asked:
“You are no thern. Are you an enemy of the therns?”
“I have been in the territory of the therns for a day and a half.
During that entire time my life has been in constant danger. I have
been harassed and persecuted. Armed men and fierce beasts have been set
upon me. I had no quarrel with the therns before, but can you wonder
that I feel no great love for them now? I have spoken.”
She looked at me intently for several minutes before she replied. It
was as though she were attempting to read my inmost soul, to judge my
character and my standards of chivalry in that long-drawn, searching
gaze.
Apparently the inventory satisfied her.
“I am Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang, Holy Hekkador of the Holy
Therns, Father of Therns, Master of Life and Death upon Barsoom,
Brother of Issus, Prince of Life Eternal.”
At that moment I noticed that the black I had dropped with my fist was
commencing to show signs of returning consciousness. I sprang to his
side. Stripping his harness from him I securely bound his hands behind
his back, and after similarly fastening his feet tied him to a heavy
gun carriage.
“Why not the simpler way?” asked Phaidor.
“I do not understand. What ‘simpler way’?” I replied.
With a slight shrug of her lovely shoulders she made a gesture with her
hands personating the casting of something over the craft’s side.
“I am no murderer,” I said. “I kill in self-defence only.”