The gods of Mars
The prisoners behind him were red Martians. Chained with them were a
number of fierce beasts, such as had been turned upon us, and others
equally as ferocious.
As I turned to meet my new foe it was with a heart considerably
lightened.
“Watch the wall at your end of the chamber, Tars Tarkas,” I cautioned,
“it is through secret doorways in the wall that the brutes are loosed
upon us.” I was very close to him and spoke in a low whisper that my
knowledge of their secret might not be disclosed to our tormentors.
As long as we remained each facing an opposite end of the apartment no
further attacks were made upon us, so it was quite clear to me that the
partitions were in some way pierced that our actions might be observed
from without.
At length a plan of action occurred to me, and backing quite close to
Tars Tarkas I unfolded my scheme in a low whisper, keeping my eyes
still glued upon my end of the room.
The great Thark grunted his assent to my proposition when I had done,
and in accordance with my plan commenced backing toward the wall which
I faced while I advanced slowly ahead of him.
When we had reached a point some ten feet from the secret doorway I
halted my companion, and cautioning him to remain absolutely motionless
until I gave the prearranged signal I quickly turned my back to the
door through which I could almost feel the burning and baleful eyes of
our would be executioner.
Instantly my own eyes sought the mirror upon Tars Tarkas’ back and in
another second I was closely watching the section of the wall which had
been disgorging its savage terrors upon us.
I had not long to wait, for presently the golden surface commenced to
move rapidly. Scarcely had it started than I gave the signal to Tars
Tarkas, simultaneously springing for the receding half of the pivoting
door. In like manner the Thark wheeled and leaped for the opening being
made by the inswinging section.
A single bound carried me completely through into the adjoining room
and brought me face to face with the fellow whose cruel face I had seen
before. He was about my own height and well muscled and in every
outward detail moulded precisely as are Earth men.
At his side hung a long-sword, a short-sword, a dagger, and one of the
destructive radium revolvers that are common upon Mars.
The fact that I was armed only with a long-sword, and so according to
the laws and ethics of battle everywhere upon Barsoom should only have
been met with a similar or lesser weapon, seemed to have no effect upon
the moral sense of my enemy, for he whipped out his revolver ere I
scarce had touched the floor by his side, but an uppercut from my
long-sword sent it flying from his grasp before he could discharge it.
Instantly he drew his long-sword, and thus evenly armed we set to in
earnest for one of the closest battles I ever have fought.
The fellow was a marvellous swordsman and evidently in practice, while
I had not gripped the hilt of a sword for ten long years before that
morning.
But it did not take me long to fall easily into my fighting stride, so
that in a few minutes the man began to realize that he had at last met
his match.
His face became livid with rage as he found my guard impregnable, while
blood flowed from a dozen minor wounds upon his face and body.
“Who are you, white man?” he hissed. “That you are no Barsoomian from
the outer world is evident from your colour. And you are not of us.”
His last statement was almost a question.
“What if I were from the Temple of Issus?” I hazarded on a wild guess.
“Fate forfend!” he exclaimed, his face going white under the blood that
now nearly covered it.
I did not know how to follow up my lead, but I carefully laid the idea
away for future use should circumstances require it. His answer
indicated that for all he KNEW I might be from the Temple of Issus and
in it were men like unto myself, and either this man feared the inmates
of the temple or else he held their persons or their power in such
reverence that he trembled to think of the harm and indignities he had
heaped upon one of them.
But my present business with him was of a different nature than that
which requires any considerable abstract reasoning; it was to get my
sword between his ribs, and this I succeeded in doing within the next
few seconds, nor was I an instant too soon.
The chained prisoners had been watching the combat in tense silence;
not a sound had fallen in the room other than the clashing of our
contending blades, the soft shuffling of our naked feet and the few
whispered words we had hissed at each other through clenched teeth the
while we continued our mortal duel.
But as the body of my antagonist sank an inert mass to the floor a cry
of warning broke from one of the female prisoners.
“Turn! Turn! Behind you!” she shrieked, and as I wheeled at the first
note of her shrill cry I found myself facing a second man of the same
race as he who lay at my feet.
The fellow had crept stealthily from a dark corridor and was almost
upon me with raised sword ere I saw him. Tars Tarkas was nowhere in
sight and the secret panel in the wall, through which I had come, was
closed.
How I wished that he were by my side now! I had fought almost
continuously for many hours; I had passed through such experiences and
adventures as must sap the vitality of man, and with all this I had not
eaten for nearly twenty-four hours, nor slept.
I was fagged out, and for the first time in years felt a question as to
my ability to cope with an antagonist; but there was naught else for it
than to engage my man, and that as quickly and ferociously as lay in
me, for my only salvation was to rush him off his feet by the
impetuosity of my attack—I could not hope to win a long-drawn-out
battle.
But the fellow was evidently of another mind, for he backed and parried
and parried and sidestepped until I was almost completely fagged from
the exertion of attempting to finish him.
He was a more adroit swordsman, if possible, than my previous foe, and
I must admit that he led me a pretty chase and in the end came near to
making a sorry fool of me—and a dead one into the bargain.
I could feel myself growing weaker and weaker, until at length objects
commenced to blur before my eyes and I staggered and blundered about
more asleep than awake, and then it was that he worked his pretty
little coup that came near to losing me my life.
He had backed me around so that I stood in front of the corpse of his
fellow, and then he rushed me suddenly so that I was forced back upon
it, and as my heel struck it the impetus of my body flung me backward
across the dead man.
My head struck the hard pavement with a resounding whack, and to that
alone I owe my life, for it cleared my brain and the pain roused my
temper, so that I was equal for the moment to tearing my enemy to
pieces with my bare hands, and I verily believe that I should have
attempted it had not my right hand, in the act of raising my body from
the ground, come in contact with a bit of cold metal.
As the eyes of the layman so is the hand of the fighting man when it
comes in contact with an implement of his vocation, and thus I did not
need to look or reason to know that the dead man’s revolver, lying
where it had fallen when I struck it from his grasp, was at my
disposal.
The fellow whose ruse had put me down was springing toward me, the
point of his gleaming blade directed straight at my heart, and as he
came there rang from his lips the cruel and mocking peal of laughter
that I had heard within the Chamber of Mystery.
And so he died, his thin lips curled in the snarl of his hateful laugh,
and a bullet from the revolver of his dead companion bursting in his
heart.
His body, borne by the impetus of his headlong rush, plunged upon me.
The hilt of his sword must have struck my head, for with the impact of
the corpse I lost consciousness.
CHAPTER IV
THUVIA
It was the sound of conflict that aroused me once more to the realities
of life. For a moment I could neither place my surroundings nor locate
the sounds which had aroused me. And then from beyond the blank wall
beside which I lay I heard the shuffling of feet, the snarling of grim
beasts, the clank of metal accoutrements, and the heavy breathing of a
man.
As I rose to my feet I glanced hurriedly about the chamber in which I
had just encountered such a warm reception. The prisoners and the
savage brutes rested in their chains by the opposite wall eyeing me
with varying expressions of curiosity, sullen rage, surprise, and hope.
The latter emotion seemed plainly evident upon the handsome and
intelligent face of the young red Martian woman whose cry of warning
had been instrumental in saving my life.
She was the perfect type of that remarkably beautiful race whose
outward appearance is identical with the more god-like races of Earth
men, except that this higher race of Martians is of a light reddish
copper colour. As she was entirely unadorned I could not even guess her
station in life, though it was evident that she was either a prisoner
or slave in her present environment.
It was several seconds before the sounds upon the opposite side of the
partition jolted my slowly returning faculties into a realization of
their probable import, and then of a sudden I grasped the fact that
they were caused by Tars Tarkas in what was evidently a desperate
struggle with wild beasts or savage men.
With a cry of encouragement I threw my weight against the secret door,
but as well have assayed the down-hurling of the cliffs themselves.
Then I sought feverishly for the secret of the revolving panel, but my
search was fruitless, and I was about to raise my longsword against the
sullen gold when the young woman prisoner called out to me.
“Save thy sword, O Mighty Warrior, for thou shalt need it more where it
will avail to some purpose—shatter it not against senseless metal which
yields better to the lightest finger touch of one who knows its
secret.”
“Know you the secret of it then?” I asked.
“Yes; release me and I will give you entrance to the other horror
chamber, if you wish. The keys to my fetters are upon the first dead of
thy foemen. But why would you return to face again the fierce banth, or
whatever other form of destruction they have loosed within that awful
trap?”
“Because my friend fights there alone,” I answered, as I hastily sought
and found the keys upon the carcass of the dead custodian of this grim
chamber of horrors.
There were many keys upon the oval ring, but the fair Martian maid
quickly selected that which sprung the great lock at her waist, and
freed she hurried toward the secret panel.
Again she sought out a key upon the ring. This time a slender,
needle-like affair which she inserted in an almost invisible hole in
the wall. Instantly the door swung upon its pivot, and the contiguous
section of the floor upon which I was standing carried me with it into
the chamber where Tars Tarkas fought.
The great Thark stood with his back against an angle of the walls,
while facing him in a semi-circle a half-dozen huge monsters crouched
waiting for an opening. Their blood-streaked heads and shoulders
testified to the cause of their wariness as well as to the
swordsmanship of the green warrior whose glossy hide bore the same mute
but eloquent witness to the ferocity of the attacks that he had so far
withstood.
Sharp talons and cruel fangs had torn leg, arm, and breast literally to
ribbons. So weak was he from continued exertion and loss of blood that
but for the supporting wall I doubt that he even could have stood
erect. But with the tenacity and indomitable courage of his kind he
still faced his cruel and relentless foes—the personification of that