The warlord of Mars
Scarcely thirty steps, all told, must I take, and yet it seemed to my
overwrought imagination that that farther wall was miles away; but at
last I reached it, nor once had I taken my eyes from the back of the
old miser’s head.
He did not turn until my hand was upon the button that controlled the
door through which my way led, and then he turned away from me as I
passed through and gently closed the door.
For an instant I paused, my ear close to the panel, to learn if he had
suspected aught, but as no sound of pursuit came from within I wheeled
and made my way along the new corridor, following the rope, which I
coiled and brought with me as I advanced.
But a short distance farther on I came to the rope’s end at a point
where five corridors met. What was I to do? Which way should I turn? I
was nonplused.
A careful examination of the end of the rope revealed the fact that it
had been cleanly cut with some sharp instrument. This fact and the
words that had cautioned me that danger lay beyond the KNOTS convinced
me that the rope had been severed since my friend had placed it as my
guide, for I had but passed a single knot, whereas there had evidently
been two or more in the entire length of the cord.
Now, indeed, was I in a pretty fix, for neither did I know which avenue
to follow nor when danger lay directly in my path; but there was
nothing else to be done than follow one of the corridors, for I could
gain nothing by remaining where I was.
So I chose the central opening, and passed on into its gloomy depths
with a prayer upon my lips.
The floor of the tunnel rose rapidly as I advanced, and a moment later
the way came to an abrupt end before a heavy door.
I could hear nothing beyond, and, with my accustomed rashness, pushed
the portal wide to step into a room filled with yellow warriors.
The first to see me opened his eyes wide in astonishment, and at the
same instant I felt the tingling sensation in my finger that denoted
the presence of a friend of the ring.
Then others saw me, and there was a concerted rush to lay hands upon
me, for these were all members of the palace guard—men familiar with my
face.
The first to reach me was the wearer of the mate to my strange ring,
and as he came close he whispered: “Surrender to me!” then in a loud
voice shouted: “You are my prisoner, white man,” and menaced me with
his two weapons.
And so John Carter, Prince of Helium, meekly surrendered to a single
antagonist. The others now swarmed about us, asking many questions, but
I would not talk to them, and finally my captor announced that he would
lead me back to my cell.
An officer ordered several other warriors to accompany him, and a
moment later we were retracing the way I had just come. My friend
walked close beside me, asking many silly questions about the country
from which I had come, until finally his fellows paid no further
attention to him or his gabbling.
Gradually, as he spoke, he lowered his voice, so that presently he was
able to converse with me in a low tone without attracting attention.
His ruse was a clever one, and showed that Talu had not misjudged the
man’s fitness for the dangerous duty upon which he was detailed.
When he had fully assured himself that the other guardsmen were not
listening, he asked me why I had not followed the rope, and when I told
him that it had ended at the five corridors he said that it must have
been cut by someone in need of a piece of rope, for he was sure that
“the stupid Kadabrans would never have guessed its purpose.”
Before we had reached the spot from which the five corridors diverge my
Marentinian friend had managed to drop to the rear of the little column
with me, and when we came in sight of the branching ways he whispered:
“Run up the first upon the right. It leads to the watchtower upon the
south wall. I will direct the pursuit up the next corridor,” and with
that he gave me a great shove into the dark mouth of the tunnel, at the
same time crying out in simulated pain and alarm as he threw himself
upon the floor as though I had felled him with a blow.
From behind the voices of the excited guardsmen came reverberating
along the corridor, suddenly growing fainter as Talu’s spy led them up
the wrong passageway in fancied pursuit.
As I ran for my life through the dark galleries beneath the palace of
Salensus Oll I must indeed have presented a remarkable appearance had
there been any to note it, for though death loomed large about me, my
face was split by a broad grin as I thought of the resourcefulness of
the nameless hero of Marentina to whom I owed my life.
Of such stuff are the men of my beloved Helium, and when I meet another
of their kind, of whatever race or color, my heart goes out to him as
it did now to my new friend who had risked his life for me simply
because I wore the mate to the ring his ruler had put upon his finger.
The corridor along which I ran led almost straight for a considerable
distance, terminating at the foot of a spiral runway, up which I
proceeded to emerge presently into a circular chamber upon the first
floor of a tower.
In this apartment a dozen red slaves were employed polishing or
repairing the weapons of the yellow men. The walls of the room were
lined with racks in which were hundreds of straight and hooked swords,
javelins, and daggers. It was evidently an armory. There were but three
warriors guarding the workers.
My eyes took in the entire scene at a glance. Here were weapons in
plenty! Here were sinewy red warriors to wield them!
And here now was John Carter, Prince of Helium, in need both of weapons
and warriors!
As I stepped into the apartment, guards and prisoners saw me
simultaneously.
Close to the entrance where I stood was a rack of straight swords, and
as my hand closed upon the hilt of one of them my eyes fell upon the
faces of two of the prisoners who worked side by side.
One of the guards started toward me. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What
do you here?”
“I come for Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, and his son, Mors Kajak,” I
cried, pointing to the two red prisoners, who had now sprung to their
feet, wide-eyed in astonished recognition.
“Rise, red men! Before we die let us leave a memorial in the palace of
Okar’s tyrant that will stand forever in the annals of Kadabra to the
honor and glory of Helium,” for I had seen that all the prisoners there
were men of Tardos Mors’s navy.
Then the first guardsman was upon me and the fight was on, but scarce
did we engage ere, to my horror, I saw that the red slaves were
shackled to the floor.
THE MAGNET SWITCH
The guardsmen paid not the slightest attention to their wards, for the
red men could not move over two feet from the great rings to which they
were padlocked, though each had seized a weapon upon which he had been
engaged when I entered the room, and stood ready to join me could they
have but done so.
The yellow men devoted all their attention to me, nor were they long in
discovering that the three of them were none too many to defend the
armory against John Carter. Would that I had had my own good long-sword
in my hand that day; but, as it was, I rendered a satisfactory account
of myself with the unfamiliar weapon of the yellow man.
At first I had a time of it dodging their villainous hook-swords, but
after a minute or two I had succeeded in wresting a second straight
sword from one of the racks along the wall, and thereafter, using it to
parry the hooks of my antagonists, I felt more evenly equipped.
The three of them were on me at once, and but for a lucky circumstance
my end might have come quickly. The foremost guardsman made a vicious
lunge for my side with his hook after the three of them had backed me
against the wall, but as I sidestepped and raised my arm his weapon but
grazed my side, passing into a rack of javelins, where it became
entangled.
Before he could release it I had run him through, and then, falling
back upon the tactics that have saved me a hundred times in tight
pinches, I rushed the two remaining warriors, forcing them back with a
perfect torrent of cuts and thrusts, weaving my sword in and out about
their guards until I had the fear of death upon them.
Then one of them commenced calling for help, but it was too late to
save them.
They were as putty in my hands now, and I backed them about the armory
as I would until I had them where I wanted them—within reach of the
swords of the shackled slaves. In an instant both lay dead upon the
floor. But their cries had not been entirely fruitless, for now I heard
answering shouts and the footfalls of many men running and the clank of
accouterments and the commands of officers.
“The door! Quick, John Carter, bar the door!” cried Tardos Mors.
Already the guard was in sight, charging across the open court that was
visible through the doorway.
A dozen seconds would bring them into the tower. A single leap carried
me to the heavy portal. With a resounding bang I slammed it shut.
“The bar!” shouted Tardos Mors.
I tried to slip the huge fastening into place, but it defied my every
attempt.
“Raise it a little to release the catch,” cried one of the red men.
I could hear the yellow warriors leaping along the flagging just beyond
the door. I raised the bar and shot it to the right just as the
foremost of the guardsmen threw himself against the opposite side of
the massive panels.
The barrier held—I had been in time, but by the fraction of a second
only.
Now I turned my attention to the prisoners. To Tardos Mors I went
first, asking where the keys might be which would unfasten their
fetters.
“The officer of the guard has them,” replied the Jeddak of Helium, “and
he is among those without who seek entrance. You will have to force
them.”
Most of the prisoners were already hacking at their bonds with the
swords in their hands. The yellow men were battering at the door with
javelins and axes.
I turned my attention to the chains that held Tardos Mors. Again and
again I cut deep into the metal with my sharp blade, but ever faster
and faster fell the torrent of blows upon the portal.
At last a link parted beneath my efforts, and a moment later Tardos
Mors was free, though a few inches of trailing chain still dangled from
his ankle.
A splinter of wood falling inward from the door announced the headway
that our enemies were making toward us.
The mighty panels trembled and bent beneath the furious onslaught of
the enraged yellow men.
What with the battering upon the door and the hacking of the red men at
their chains the din within the armory was appalling. No sooner was
Tardos Mors free than he turned his attention to another of the
prisoners, while I set to work to liberate Mors Kajak.
We must work fast if we would have all those fetters cut before the
door gave way. Now a panel crashed inward upon the floor, and Mors
Kajak sprang to the opening to defend the way until we should have time
to release the others.
With javelins snatched from the wall he wrought havoc among the
foremost of the Okarians while we battled with the insensate metal that
stood between our fellows and freedom.
At length all but one of the prisoners were freed, and then the door
fell with a mighty crash before a hastily improvised battering-ram, and
the yellow horde was upon us.
“To the upper chambers!” shouted the red man who was still fettered to
the floor. “To the upper chambers! There you may defend the tower
against all Kadabra. Do not delay because of me, who could pray for no
better death than in the service of Tardos Mors and the Prince of
Helium.”
But I would have sacrificed the life of every man of us rather than
desert a single red man, much less the lion-hearted hero who begged us
to leave him.