The gods of Mars
Thuvia and Phaidor came close also, but when Thuvia saw that we would
be alone she withdrew to the further side of the chamber. Not so the
daughter of Matai Shang.
“John Carter,” she said, “this be the last time that you shall see any
of us. Tell me that you love me, that I may die happy.”
“I love only the Princess of Helium,” I replied quietly. “I am sorry,
Phaidor, but it is as I have told you from the beginning.”
She bit her lip and turned away, but not before I saw the black and
ugly scowl she turned upon Dejah Thoris. Thereafter she stood a little
way apart, but not so far as I should have desired, for I had many
little confidences to impart to my long-lost love.
For a few minutes we stood thus talking in low tones. Ever smaller and
smaller grew the opening. In a short time now it would be too small
even to permit the slender form of my Princess to pass. Oh, why did not
Xodar haste. Above we could hear the faint echoes of a great tumult. It
was the multitude of black and red and green men fighting their way
through the fire from the burning Temple of Issus.
A draught from above brought the fumes of smoke to our nostrils. As we
stood waiting for Xodar the smoke became thicker and thicker. Presently
we heard shouting at the far end of the corridor, and hurrying feet.
“Come back, John Carter, come back!” cried a voice, “even the pits are
burning.”
In a moment a dozen men broke through the now blinding smoke to my
side. There was Carthoris, and Kantos Kan, and Hor Vastus, and Xodar,
with a few more who had followed me to the temple court.
“There is no hope, John Carter,” cried Xodar. “The keeper of the keys
is dead and his keys are not upon his carcass. Our only hope is to
quench this conflagration and trust to fate that a year will find your
Princess alive and well. I have brought sufficient food to last them.
When this crack closes no smoke can reach them, and if we hasten to
extinguish the flames I believe they will be safe.”
“Go, then, yourself and take these others with you,” I replied. “I
shall remain here beside my Princess until a merciful death releases me
from my anguish. I care not to live.”
As I spoke Xodar had been tossing a great number of tiny cans within
the prison cell. The remaining crack was not over an inch in width a
moment later. Dejah Thoris stood as close to it as she could,
whispering words of hope and courage to me, and urging me to save
myself.
Suddenly beyond her I saw the beautiful face of Phaidor contorted into
an expression of malign hatred. As my eyes met hers she spoke.
“Think not, John Carter, that you may so lightly cast aside the love of
Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang. Nor ever hope to hold thy Dejah
Thoris in thy arms again. Wait you the long, long year; but know that
when the waiting is over it shall be Phaidor’s arms which shall welcome
you—not those of the Princess of Helium. Behold, she dies!”
And as she finished speaking I saw her raise a dagger on high, and then
I saw another figure. It was Thuvia’s. As the dagger fell toward the
unprotected breast of my love, Thuvia was almost between them. A
blinding gust of smoke blotted out the tragedy within that fearsome
cell—a shriek rang out, a single shriek, as the dagger fell.
The smoke cleared away, but we stood gazing upon a blank wall. The last
crevice had closed, and for a long year that hideous chamber would
retain its secret from the eyes of men.
They urged me to leave.
“In a moment it will be too late,” cried Xodar. “There is, in fact, but
a bare chance that we can come through to the outer garden alive even
now. I have ordered the pumps started, and in five minutes the pits
will be flooded. If we would not drown like rats in a trap we must
hasten above and make a dash for safety through the burning temple.”
“Go,” I urged them. “Let me die here beside my Princess—there is no
hope or happiness elsewhere for me. When they carry her dear body from
that terrible place a year hence let them find the body of her lord
awaiting her.”
Of what happened after that I have only a confused recollection. It
seems as though I struggled with many men, and then that I was picked
bodily from the ground and borne away. I do not know. I have never
asked, nor has any other who was there that day intruded on my sorrow
or recalled to my mind the occurrences which they know could but at
best reopen the terrible wound within my heart.
Ah! If I could but know one thing, what a burden of suspense would be
lifted from my shoulders! But whether the assassin’s dagger reached one
fair bosom or another, only time will divulge.
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