The Warlord of Mars
by Edgar Rice Burroughs
Contents
On the River Iss
Under the Mountains
The Temple of the Sun
The Secret Tower
On the Kaolian Road
A Hero in Kaol
New Allies
Through the Carrion Caves
With the Yellow Men
In Durance
The Pit of Plenty
“Follow the Rope!”
The Magnet Switch
The Tide of Battle
Rewards
The New Ruler
ON THE RIVER ISS
In the shadows of the forest that flanks the crimson plain by the side
of the Lost Sea of Korus in the Valley Dor, beneath the hurtling moons
of Mars, speeding their meteoric way close above the bosom of the dying
planet, I crept stealthily along the trail of a shadowy form that
hugged the darker places with a persistency that proclaimed the
sinister nature of its errand.
For six long Martian months I had haunted the vicinity of the hateful
Temple of the Sun, within whose slow-revolving shaft, far beneath the
surface of Mars, my princess lay entombed—but whether alive or dead I
knew not. Had Phaidor’s slim blade found that beloved heart? Time only
would reveal the truth.
Six hundred and eighty-seven Martian days must come and go before the
cell’s door would again come opposite the tunnel’s end where last I had
seen my ever-beautiful Dejah Thoris.
Half of them had passed, or would on the morrow, yet vivid in my
memory, obliterating every event that had come before or after, there
remained the last scene before the gust of smoke blinded my eyes and
the narrow slit that had given me sight of the interior of her cell
closed between me and the Princess of Helium for a long Martian year.
As if it were yesterday, I still saw the beautiful face of Phaidor,
daughter of Matai Shang, distorted with jealous rage and hatred as she
sprang forward with raised dagger upon the woman I loved.
I saw the red girl, Thuvia of Ptarth, leap forward to prevent the
hideous deed.
The smoke from the burning temple had come then to blot out the
tragedy, but in my ears rang the single shriek as the knife fell. Then
silence, and when the smoke had cleared, the revolving temple had shut
off all sight or sound from the chamber in which the three beautiful
women were imprisoned.
Much there had been to occupy my attention since that terrible moment;
but never for an instant had the memory of the thing faded, and all the
time that I could spare from the numerous duties that had devolved upon
me in the reconstruction of the government of the First Born since our
victorious fleet and land forces had overwhelmed them, had been spent
close to the grim shaft that held the mother of my boy, Carthoris of
Helium.
The race of blacks that for ages had worshiped Issus, the false deity
of Mars, had been left in a state of chaos by my revealment of her as
naught more than a wicked old woman. In their rage they had torn her to
pieces.
From the high pinnacle of their egotism the First Born had been plunged
to the depths of humiliation. Their deity was gone, and with her the
whole false fabric of their religion. Their vaunted navy had fallen in
defeat before the superior ships and fighting men of the red men of
Helium.
Fierce green warriors from the ocher sea bottoms of outer Mars had
ridden their wild thoats across the sacred gardens of the Temple of
Issus, and Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark, fiercest of them all, had sat
upon the throne of Issus and ruled the First Born while the allies were
deciding the conquered nation’s fate.
Almost unanimous was the request that I ascend the ancient throne of
the black men, even the First Born themselves concurring in it; but I
would have none of it. My heart could never be with the race that had
heaped indignities upon my princess and my son.
At my suggestion Xodar became Jeddak of the First Born. He had been a
dator, or prince, until Issus had degraded him, so that his fitness for
the high office bestowed was unquestioned.
The peace of the Valley Dor thus assured, the green warriors dispersed
to their desolate sea bottoms, while we of Helium returned to our own
country. Here again was a throne offered me, since no word had been
received from the missing Jeddak of Helium, Tardos Mors, grandfather of
Dejah Thoris, or his son, Mors Kajak, Jed of Helium, her father.
Over a year had elapsed since they had set out to explore the northern
hemisphere in search of Carthoris, and at last their disheartened
people had accepted as truth the vague rumors of their death that had
filtered in from the frozen region of the pole.
Once again I refused a throne, for I would not believe that the mighty
Tardos Mors, or his no less redoubtable son, was dead.
“Let one of their own blood rule you until they return,” I said to the
assembled nobles of Helium, as I addressed them from the Pedestal of
Truth beside the Throne of Righteousness in the Temple of Reward, from
the very spot where I had stood a year before when Zat Arras pronounced
the sentence of death upon me.
As I spoke I stepped forward and laid my hand upon the shoulder of
Carthoris where he stood in the front rank of the circle of nobles
about me.
As one, the nobles and the people lifted their voices in a long cheer
of approbation. Ten thousand swords sprang on high from as many
scabbards, and the glorious fighting men of ancient Helium hailed
Carthoris Jeddak of Helium.
His tenure of office was to be for life or until his great-grandfather,
or grandfather, should return. Having thus satisfactorily arranged this
important duty for Helium, I started the following day for the Valley
Dor that I might remain close to the Temple of the Sun until the
fateful day that should see the opening of the prison cell where my
lost love lay buried.
Hor Vastus and Kantos Kan, with my other noble lieutenants, I left with
Carthoris at Helium, that he might have the benefit of their wisdom,
bravery, and loyalty in the performance of the arduous duties which had
devolved upon him. Only Woola, my Martian hound, accompanied me.
At my heels tonight the faithful beast moved softly in my tracks. As
large as a Shetland pony, with hideous head and frightful fangs, he was
indeed an awesome spectacle, as he crept after me on his ten short,
muscular legs; but to me he was the embodiment of love and loyalty.
The figure ahead was that of the black dator of the First Born, Thurid,
whose undying enmity I had earned that time I laid him low with my bare
hands in the courtyard of the Temple of Issus, and bound him with his
own harness before the noble men and women who had but a moment before
been extolling his prowess.
Like many of his fellows, he had apparently accepted the new order of
things with good grace, and had sworn fealty to Xodar, his new ruler;
but I knew that he hated me, and I was sure that in his heart he envied
and hated Xodar, so I had kept a watch upon his comings and goings, to
the end that of late I had become convinced that he was occupied with
some manner of intrigue.
Several times I had observed him leaving the walled city of the First
Born after dark, taking his way out into the cruel and horrible Valley
Dor, where no honest business could lead any man.
Tonight he moved quickly along the edge of the forest until well beyond
sight or sound of the city, then he turned across the crimson sward
toward the shore of the Lost Sea of Korus.
The rays of the nearer moon, swinging low across the valley, touched
his jewel-incrusted harness with a thousand changing lights and glanced
from the glossy ebony of his smooth hide. Twice he turned his head back
toward the forest, after the manner of one who is upon an evil errand,
though he must have felt quite safe from pursuit.
I did not dare follow him there beneath the moonlight, since it best
suited my plans not to interrupt his—I wished him to reach his
destination unsuspecting, that I might learn just where that
destination lay and the business that awaited the night prowler there.
So it was that I remained hidden until after Thurid had disappeared
over the edge of the steep bank beside the sea a quarter of a mile
away. Then, with Woola following, I hastened across the open after the
black dator.
The quiet of the tomb lay upon the mysterious valley of death,
crouching deep in its warm nest within the sunken area at the south
pole of the dying planet. In the far distance the Golden Cliffs raised
their mighty barrier faces far into the starlit heavens, the precious
metals and scintillating jewels that composed them sparkling in the
brilliant light of Mars’s two gorgeous moons.
At my back was the forest, pruned and trimmed like the sward to
parklike symmetry by the browsing of the ghoulish plant men.
Before me lay the Lost Sea of Korus, while farther on I caught the
shimmering ribbon of Iss, the River of Mystery, where it wound out from
beneath the Golden Cliffs to empty into Korus, to which for countless
ages had been borne the deluded and unhappy Martians of the outer world
upon the voluntary pilgrimage to this false heaven.
The plant men, with their blood-sucking hands, and the monstrous white
apes that make Dor hideous by day, were hidden in their lairs for the
night.
There was no longer a Holy Thern upon the balcony in the Golden Cliffs
above the Iss to summon them with weird cry to the victims floating
down to their maws upon the cold, broad bosom of ancient Iss.
The navies of Helium and the First Born had cleared the fortresses and
the temples of the therns when they had refused to surrender and accept
the new order of things that had swept their false religion from
long-suffering Mars.
In a few isolated countries they still retained their age-old power;
but Matai Shang, their hekkador, Father of Therns, had been driven from
his temple. Strenuous had been our endeavors to capture him; but with a
few of the faithful he had escaped, and was in hiding—where we knew
not.
As I came cautiously to the edge of the low cliff overlooking the Lost
Sea of Korus I saw Thurid pushing out upon the bosom of the shimmering
water in a small skiff—one of those strangely wrought craft of
unthinkable age which the Holy Therns, with their organization of
priests and lesser therns, were wont to distribute along the banks of
the Iss, that the long journey of their victims might be facilitated.
Drawn up on the beach below me were a score of similar boats, each with
its long pole, at one end of which was a pike, at the other a paddle.
Thurid was hugging the shore, and as he passed out of sight round a
near-by promontory I shoved one of the boats into the water and,
calling Woola into it, pushed out from shore.
The pursuit of Thurid carried me along the edge of the sea toward the
mouth of the Iss. The farther moon lay close to the horizon, casting a
dense shadow beneath the cliffs that fringed the water. Thuria, the
nearer moon, had set, nor would it rise again for near four hours, so
that I was ensured concealing darkness for that length of time at
least.
On and on went the black warrior. Now he was opposite the mouth of the
Iss. Without an instant’s hesitation he turned up the grim river,
paddling hard against the strong current.
After him came Woola and I, closer now, for the man was too intent upon
forcing his craft up the river to have any eyes for what might be
transpiring behind him. He hugged the shore where the current was less
strong.
Presently he came to the dark cavernous portal in the face of the
Golden Cliffs, through which the river poured. On into the Stygian
darkness beyond he urged his craft.
It seemed hopeless to attempt to follow him here where I could not see
my hand before my face, and I was almost on the point of giving up the
pursuit and drifting back to the mouth of the river, there to await his