The gods of Mars
forest. Why then should they not eat of the flesh of the lower orders
whose lives and characters they no more understood than do we the
inmost thoughts and sensibilities of the cattle we slaughter for our
earthly tables.
“She eats only the flesh of the best bred of the Holy Therns and the
red Barsoomians. The flesh of the others goes to our boards. The
animals are eaten by the slaves. She also eats other dainties.”
I did not understand then that there lay any special significance in
his reference to other dainties. I thought the limit of ghoulishness
already had been reached in the recitation of Issus’ menu. I still had
much to learn as to the depths of cruelty and bestiality to which
omnipotence may drag its possessor.
We had about reached the last of the many chambers and corridors which
led to the gardens when an officer overtook us.
“Issus would look again upon this man,” he said. “The girl has told her
that he is of wondrous beauty and of such prowess that alone he slew
seven of the First Born, and with his bare hands took Xodar captive,
binding him with his own harness.”
Xodar looked uncomfortable. Evidently he did not relish the thought
that Issus had learned of his inglorious defeat.
Without a word he turned and we followed the officer once again to the
closed doors before the audience chamber of Issus, Goddess of Life
Eternal.
Here the ceremony of entrance was repeated. Again Issus bid me rise.
For several minutes all was silent as the tomb. The eyes of deity were
appraising me.
Presently the thin wavering voice broke the stillness, repeating in a
singsong drone the words which for countless ages had sealed the doom
of numberless victims.
“Let the man turn and look upon Issus, knowing that those of the lower
orders who gaze upon the holy vision of her radiant face survive the
blinding glory but a single year.”
I turned as I had been bid, expecting such a treat as only the
revealment of divine glory to mortal eyes might produce. What I saw was
a solid phalanx of armed men between myself and a dais supporting a
great bench of carved sorapus wood. On this bench, or throne, squatted
a female black. She was evidently very old. Not a hair remained upon
her wrinkled skull. With the exception of two yellow fangs she was
entirely toothless. On either side of her thin, hawk-like nose her eyes
burned from the depths of horribly sunken sockets. The skin of her face
was seamed and creased with a million deepcut furrows. Her body was as
wrinkled as her face, and as repulsive.
Emaciated arms and legs attached to a torso which seemed to be mostly
distorted abdomen completed the “holy vision of her radiant beauty.”
Surrounding her were a number of female slaves, among them Phaidor,
white and trembling.
“This is the man who slew seven of the First Born and, bare-handed,
bound Dator Xodar with his own harness?” asked Issus.
“Most glorious vision of divine loveliness, it is,” replied the officer
who stood at my side.
“Produce Dator Xodar,” she commanded.
Xodar was brought from the adjoining room.
Issus glared at him, a baleful light in her hideous eyes.
“And such as you are a Dator of the First Born?” she squealed. “For the
disgrace you have brought upon the Immortal Race you shall be degraded
to a rank below the lowest. No longer be you a Dator, but for evermore
a slave of slaves, to fetch and carry for the lower orders that serve
in the gardens of Issus. Remove his harness. Cowards and slaves wear no
trappings.”
Xodar stood stiffly erect. Not a muscle twitched, nor a tremor shook
his giant frame as a soldier of the guard roughly stripped his gorgeous
trappings from him.
“Begone,” screamed the infuriated little old woman. “Begone, but
instead of the light of the gardens of Issus let you serve as a slave
of this slave who conquered you in the prison on the Isle of Shador in
the Sea of Omean. Take him away out of the sight of my divine eyes.”
Slowly and with high held head the proud Xodar turned and stalked from
the chamber. Issus rose and turned to leave the room by another exit.
Turning to me, she said: “You shall be returned to Shador for the
present. Later Issus will see the manner of your fighting. Go.” Then
she disappeared, followed by her retinue. Only Phaidor lagged behind,
and as I started to follow my guard toward the gardens, the girl came
running after me.
“Oh, do not leave me in this terrible place,” she begged. “Forgive the
things I said to you, my Prince. I did not mean them. Only take me away
with you. Let me share your imprisonment on Shador.” Her words were an
almost incoherent volley of thoughts, so rapidly she spoke. “You did
not understand the honour that I did you. Among the therns there is no
marriage or giving in marriage, as among the lower orders of the outer
world. We might have lived together for ever in love and happiness. We
have both looked upon Issus and in a year we die. Let us live that year
at least together in what measure of joy remains for the doomed.”
“If it was difficult for me to understand you, Phaidor,” I replied,
“can you not understand that possibly it is equally difficult for you
to understand the motives, the customs and the social laws that guide
me? I do not wish to hurt you, nor to seem to undervalue the honour
which you have done me, but the thing you desire may not be. Regardless
of the foolish belief of the peoples of the outer world, or of Holy
Thern, or ebon First Born, I am not dead. While I live my heart beats
for but one woman—the incomparable Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium.
When death overtakes me my heart shall have ceased to beat; but what
comes after that I know not. And in that I am as wise as Matai Shang,
Master of Life and Death upon Barsoom; or Issus, Goddess of Life
Eternal.”
Phaidor stood looking at me intently for a moment. No anger showed in
her eyes this time, only a pathetic expression of hopeless sorrow.
“I do not understand,” she said, and turning walked slowly in the
direction of the door through which Issus and her retinue had passed. A
moment later she had passed from my sight.
CHAPTER X
THE PRISON ISLE OF SHADOR
In the outer gardens to which the guard now escorted me, I found Xodar
surrounded by a crowd of noble blacks. They were reviling and cursing
him. The men slapped his face. The women spat upon him.
When I appeared they turned their attentions toward me.
“Ah,” cried one, “so this is the creature who overcame the great Xodar
bare-handed. Let us see how it was done.”
“Let him bind Thurid,” suggested a beautiful woman, laughing. “Thurid
is a noble Dator. Let Thurid show the dog what it means to face a real
man.”
“Yes, Thurid! Thurid!” cried a dozen voices.
“Here he is now,” exclaimed another, and turning in the direction
indicated I saw a huge black weighed down with resplendent ornaments
and arms advancing with noble and gallant bearing toward us.
“What now?” he cried. “What would you of Thurid?”
Quickly a dozen voices explained.
Thurid turned toward Xodar, his eyes narrowing to two nasty slits.
“Calot!” he hissed. “Ever did I think you carried the heart of a sorak
in your putrid breast. Often have you bested me in the secret councils
of Issus, but now in the field of war where men are truly gauged your
scabby heart hath revealed its sores to all the world. Calot, I spurn
you with my foot,” and with the words he turned to kick Xodar.
My blood was up. For minutes it had been boiling at the cowardly
treatment they had been according this once powerful comrade because he
had fallen from the favour of Issus. I had no love for Xodar, but I
cannot stand the sight of cowardly injustice and persecution without
seeing red as through a haze of bloody mist, and doing things on the
impulse of the moment that I presume I never should do after mature
deliberation.
I was standing close beside Xodar as Thurid swung his foot for the
cowardly kick. The degraded Dator stood erect and motionless as a
carven image. He was prepared to take whatever his former comrades had
to offer in the way of insults and reproaches, and take them in manly
silence and stoicism.
But as Thurid’s foot swung so did mine, and I caught him a painful blow
upon the shin bone that saved Xodar from this added ignominy.
For a moment there was tense silence, then Thurid, with a roar of rage
sprang for my throat; just as Xodar had upon the deck of the cruiser.
The results were identical. I ducked beneath his outstretched arms, and
as he lunged past me planted a terrific right on the side of his jaw.
The big fellow spun around like a top, his knees gave beneath him and
he crumpled to the ground at my feet.
The blacks gazed in astonishment, first at the still form of the proud
Dator lying there in the ruby dust of the pathway, then at me as though
they could not believe that such a thing could be.
“You asked me to bind Thurid,” I cried; “behold!” And then I stooped
beside the prostrate form, tore the harness from it, and bound the
fellow’s arms and legs securely.
“As you have done to Xodar, now do you likewise to Thurid. Take him
before Issus, bound in his own harness, that she may see with her own
eyes that there be one among you now who is greater than the First
Born.”
“Who are you?” whispered the woman who had first suggested that I
attempt to bind Thurid.
“I am a citizen of two worlds; Captain John Carter of Virginia, Prince
of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. Take this man to your
goddess, as I have said, and tell her, too, that as I have done to
Xodar and Thurid, so also can I do to the mightiest of her Dators. With
naked hands, with long-sword or with short-sword, I challenge the
flower of her fighting-men to combat.”
“Come,” said the officer who was guarding me back to Shador; “my orders
are imperative; there is to be no delay. Xodar, come you also.”
There was little of disrespect in the tone that the man used in
addressing either Xodar or myself. It was evident that he felt less
contempt for the former Dator since he had witnessed the ease with
which I disposed of the powerful Thurid.
That his respect for me was greater than it should have been for a
slave was quite apparent from the fact that during the balance of the
return journey he walked or stood always behind me, a drawn short-sword
in his hand.
The return to the Sea of Omean was uneventful. We dropped down the
awful shaft in the same car that had brought us to the surface. There
we entered the submarine, taking the long dive to the tunnel far
beneath the upper world. Then through the tunnel and up again to the
pool from which we had had our first introduction to the wonderful
passageway from Omean to the Temple of Issus.
From the island of the submarine we were transported on a small cruiser
to the distant Isle of Shador. Here we found a small stone prison and a
guard of half a dozen blacks. There was no ceremony wasted in
completing our incarceration. One of the blacks opened the door of the
prison with a huge key, we walked in, the door closed behind us, the
lock grated, and with the sound there swept over me again that terrible
feeling of hopelessness that I had felt in the Chamber of Mystery in
the Golden Cliffs beneath the gardens of the Holy Therns.
Then Tars Tarkas had been with me, but now I was utterly alone in so
far as friendly companionship was concerned. I fell to wondering about
the fate of the great Thark, and of his beautiful companion, the girl,
Thuvia. Even should they by some miracle have escaped and been received
and spared by a friendly nation, what hope had I of the succour which I
knew they would gladly extend if it lay in their power.
They could not guess my whereabouts or my fate, for none on all Barsoom