The gods of Mars
the best of them. Forget your foolish gratitude-begotten infatuation,
which your innocence has mistaken for love. I like your friendship
better, Thuvia.”
“You are my master; it shall be as you say,” she replied simply, but
there was a note of sadness in her voice.
“How came you here, Thuvia?” I asked. “And where is Tars Tarkas?”
“The great Thark, I fear, is dead,” she replied sadly. “He was a mighty
fighter, but a multitude of green warriors of another horde than his
overwhelmed him. The last that I saw of him they were bearing him,
wounded and bleeding, to the deserted city from which they had sallied
to attack us.”
“You are not sure that he is dead, then?” I asked. “And where is this
city of which you speak?”
“It is just beyond this range of hills. The vessel in which you so
nobly resigned a place that we might find escape defied our small skill
in navigation, with the result that we drifted aimlessly about for two
days. Then we decided to abandon the craft and attempt to make our way
on foot to the nearest waterway. Yesterday we crossed these hills and
came upon the dead city beyond. We had passed within its streets and
were walking toward the central portion, when at an intersecting avenue
we saw a body of green warriors approaching.
“Tars Tarkas was in advance, and they saw him, but me they did not see.
The Thark sprang back to my side and forced me into an adjacent
doorway, where he told me to remain in hiding until I could escape,
making my way to Helium if possible.
“‘There will be no escape for me now,’ he said, ‘for these be the
Warhoon of the South. When they have seen my metal it will be to the
death.’
“Then he stepped out to meet them. Ah, my Prince, such fighting! For an
hour they swarmed about him, until the Warhoon dead formed a hill where
he had stood; but at last they overwhelmed him, those behind pushing
the foremost upon him until there remained no space to swing his great
sword. Then he stumbled and went down and they rolled over him like a
huge wave. When they carried him away toward the heart of the city, he
was dead, I think, for I did not see him move.”
“Before we go farther we must be sure,” I said. “I cannot leave Tars
Tarkas alive among the Warhoons. To-night I shall enter the city and
make sure.”
“And I shall go with you,” spoke Carthoris.
“And I,” said Xodar.
“Neither one of you shall go,” I replied. “It is work that requires
stealth and strategy, not force. One man alone may succeed where more
would invite disaster. I shall go alone. If I need your help, I will
return for you.”
They did not like it, but both were good soldiers, and it had been
agreed that I should command. The sun already was low, so that I did
not have long to wait before the sudden darkness of Barsoom engulfed
us.
With a parting word of instructions to Carthoris and Xodar, in case I
should not return, I bade them all farewell and set forth at a rapid
dogtrot toward the city.
As I emerged from the hills the nearer moon was winging its wild flight
through the heavens, its bright beams turning to burnished silver the
barbaric splendour of the ancient metropolis. The city had been built
upon the gently rolling foothills that in the dim and distant past had
sloped down to meet the sea. It was due to this fact that I had no
difficulty in entering the streets unobserved.
The green hordes that use these deserted cities seldom occupy more than
a few squares about the central plaza, and as they come and go always
across the dead sea bottoms that the cities face, it is usually a
matter of comparative ease to enter from the hillside.
Once within the streets, I kept close in the dense shadows of the
walls. At intersections I halted a moment to make sure that none was in
sight before I sprang quickly to the shadows of the opposite side. Thus
I made the journey to the vicinity of the plaza without detection. As I
approached the purlieus of the inhabited portion of the city I was made
aware of the proximity of the warriors’ quarters by the squealing and
grunting of the thoats and zitidars corralled within the hollow
courtyards formed by the buildings surrounding each square.
These old familiar sounds that are so distinctive of green Martian life
sent a thrill of pleasure surging through me. It was as one might feel
on coming home after a long absence. It was amid such sounds that I had
first courted the incomparable Dejah Thoris in the age-old marble halls
of the dead city of Korad.
As I stood in the shadows at the far corner of the first square which
housed members of the horde, I saw warriors emerging from several of
the buildings. They all went in the same direction, toward a great
building which stood in the centre of the plaza. My knowledge of green
Martian customs convinced me that this was either the quarters of the
principal chieftain or contained the audience chamber wherein the
Jeddak met his jeds and lesser chieftains. In either event, it was
evident that something was afoot which might have a bearing on the
recent capture of Tars Tarkas.
To reach this building, which I now felt it imperative that I do, I
must needs traverse the entire length of one square and cross a broad
avenue and a portion of the plaza. From the noises of the animals which
came from every courtyard about me, I knew that there were many people
in the surrounding buildings—probably several communities of the great
horde of the Warhoons of the South.
To pass undetected among all these people was in itself a difficult
task, but if I was to find and rescue the great Thark I must expect
even more formidable obstacles before success could be mine. I had
entered the city from the south and now stood on the corner of the
avenue through which I had passed and the first intersecting avenue
south of the plaza. The buildings upon the south side of this square
did not appear to be inhabited, as I could see no lights, and so I
decided to gain the inner courtyard through one of them.
Nothing occurred to interrupt my progress through the deserted pile I
chose, and I came into the inner court close to the rear walls of the
east buildings without detection. Within the court a great herd of
thoats and zitidars moved restlessly about, cropping the moss-like
ochre vegetation which overgrows practically the entire uncultivated
area of Mars. What breeze there was came from the north-west, so there
was little danger that the beasts would scent me. Had they, their
squealing and grunting would have grown to such a volume as to attract
the attention of the warriors within the buildings.
Close to the east wall, beneath the overhanging balconies of the second
floors, I crept in dense shadows the full length of the courtyard,
until I came to the buildings at the north end. These were lighted for
about three floors up, but above the third floor all was dark.
To pass through the lighted rooms was, of course, out of the question,
since they swarmed with green Martian men and women. My only path lay
through the upper floors, and to gain these it was necessary to scale
the face of the wall. The reaching of the balcony of the second floor
was a matter of easy accomplishment—an agile leap gave my hands a grasp
upon the stone hand-rail above. In another instant I had drawn myself
up on the balcony.
Here through the open windows I saw the green folk squatting upon their
sleeping silks and furs, grunting an occasional monosyllable, which, in
connection with their wondrous telepathic powers, is ample for their
conversational requirements. As I drew closer to listen to their words
a warrior entered the room from the hall beyond.
“Come, Tan Gama,” he cried, “we are to take the Thark before Kab Kadja.
Bring another with you.”
The warrior addressed arose and, beckoning to a fellow squatting near,
the three turned and left the apartment.
If I could but follow them the chance might come to free Tars Tarkas at
once. At least I would learn the location of his prison.
At my right was a door leading from the balcony into the building. It
was at the end of an unlighted hall, and on the impulse of the moment I
stepped within. The hall was broad and led straight through to the
front of the building. On either side were the doorways of the various
apartments which lined it.
I had no more than entered the corridor than I saw the three warriors
at the other end—those whom I had just seen leaving the apartment. Then
a turn to the right took them from my sight again. Quickly I hastened
along the hallway in pursuit. My gait was reckless, but I felt that
Fate had been kind indeed to throw such an opportunity within my grasp,
and I could not afford to allow it to elude me now.
At the far end of the corridor I found a spiral stairway leading to the
floors above and below. The three had evidently left the floor by this
avenue. That they had gone down and not up I was sure from my knowledge
of these ancient buildings and the methods of the Warhoons.
I myself had once been a prisoner of the cruel hordes of northern
Warhoon, and the memory of the underground dungeon in which I lay still
is vivid in my memory. And so I felt certain that Tars Tarkas lay in
the dark pits beneath some nearby building, and that in that direction
I should find the trail of the three warriors leading to his cell.
Nor was I wrong. At the bottom of the runway, or rather at the landing
on the floor below, I saw that the shaft descended into the pits
beneath, and as I glanced down the flickering light of a torch revealed
the presence of the three I was trailing.
Down they went toward the pits beneath the structure, and at a safe
distance behind I followed the flicker of their torch. The way led
through a maze of tortuous corridors, unlighted save for the wavering
light they carried. We had gone perhaps a hundred yards when the party
turned abruptly through a doorway at their right. I hastened on as
rapidly as I dared through the darkness until I reached the point at
which they had left the corridor. There, through an open door, I saw
them removing the chains that secured the great Thark, Tars Tarkas, to
the wall.
Hustling him roughly between them, they came immediately from the
chamber, so quickly in fact that I was near to being apprehended. But I
managed to run along the corridor in the direction I had been going in
my pursuit of them far enough to be without the radius of their meagre
light as they emerged from the cell.
I had naturally assumed that they would return with Tars Tarkas the
same way that they had come, which would have carried them away from
me; but, to my chagrin, they wheeled directly in my direction as they
left the room. There was nothing for me but to hasten on in advance and
keep out of the light of their torch. I dared not attempt to halt in
the darkness of any of the many intersecting corridors, for I knew
nothing of the direction they might take. Chance was as likely as not
to carry me into the very corridor they might choose to enter.
The sensation of moving rapidly through these dark passages was far
from reassuring. I knew not at what moment I might plunge headlong into
some terrible pit or meet with some of the ghoulish creatures that
inhabit these lower worlds beneath the dead cities of dying Mars. There
filtered to me a faint radiance from the torch of the men behind—just
enough to permit me to trace the direction of the winding passageways
directly before me, and so keep me from dashing myself against the
walls at the turns.
Presently I came to a place where five corridors diverged from a common
point. I had hastened along one of them for some little distance when
suddenly the faint light of the torch disappeared from behind me. I
paused to listen for sounds of the party behind me, but the silence was