The warlord of Mars
Directly before me the river ran into this smaller chamber through
three separate arched openings.
Thurid and the therns were nowhere to be seen—into which of the dark
holes had they disappeared? There was no means by which I might know,
and so I chose the center opening as being as likely to lead me in the
right direction as another.
Here the way was through utter darkness. The stream was narrow—so
narrow that in the blackness I was constantly bumping first one rock
wall and then another as the river wound hither and thither along its
flinty bed.
Far ahead I presently heard a deep and sullen roar which increased in
volume as I advanced, and then broke upon my ears with all the
intensity of its mad fury as I swung round a sharp curve into a dimly
lighted stretch of water.
Directly before me the river thundered down from above in a mighty
waterfall that filled the narrow gorge from side to side, rising far
above me several hundred feet—as magnificent a spectacle as I ever had
seen.
But the roar—the awful, deafening roar of those tumbling waters penned
in the rocky, subterranean vault! Had the fall not entirely blocked my
further passage and shown me that I had followed the wrong course I
believe that I should have fled anyway before the maddening tumult.
Thurid and the therns could not have come this way. By stumbling upon
the wrong course I had lost the trail, and they had gained so much
ahead of me that now I might not be able to find them before it was too
late, if, in fact, I could find them at all.
It had taken several hours to force my way up to the falls against the
strong current, and other hours would be required for the descent,
although the pace would be much swifter.
With a sigh I turned the prow of my craft down stream, and with mighty
strokes hastened with reckless speed through the dark and tortuous
channel until once again I came to the chamber into which flowed the
three branches of the river.
Two unexplored channels still remained from which to choose; nor was
there any means by which I could judge which was the more likely to
lead me to the plotters.
Never in my life, that I can recall, have I suffered such an agony of
indecision. So much depended upon a correct choice; so much depended
upon haste.
The hours that I had already lost might seal the fate of the
incomparable Dejah Thoris were she not already dead—to sacrifice other
hours, and maybe days in a fruitless exploration of another blind lead
would unquestionably prove fatal.
Several times I essayed the right-hand entrance only to turn back as
though warned by some strange intuitive sense that this was not the
way. At last, convinced by the oft-recurring phenomenon, I cast my all
upon the left-hand archway; yet it was with a lingering doubt that I
turned a parting look at the sullen waters which rolled, dark and
forbidding, from beneath the grim, low archway on the right.
And as I looked there came bobbing out upon the current from the
Stygian darkness of the interior the shell of one of the great,
succulent fruits of the sorapus tree.
I could scarce restrain a shout of elation as this silent, insensate
messenger floated past me, on toward the Iss and Korus, for it told me
that journeying Martians were above me on that very stream.
They had eaten of this marvelous fruit which nature concentrates within
the hard shell of the sorapus nut, and having eaten had cast the husk
overboard. It could have come from no others than the party I sought.
Quickly I abandoned all thought of the left-hand passage, and a moment
later had turned into the right. The stream soon widened, and recurring
areas of phosphorescent rock lighted my way.
I made good time, but was convinced that I was nearly a day behind
those I was tracking. Neither Woola nor I had eaten since the previous
day, but in so far as he was concerned it mattered but little, since
practically all the animals of the dead sea bottoms of Mars are able to
go for incredible periods without nourishment.
Nor did I suffer. The water of the river was sweet and cold, for it was
unpolluted by decaying bodies—like the Iss—and as for food, why the
mere thought that I was nearing my beloved princess raised me above
every material want.
As I proceeded, the river became narrower and the current swift and
turbulent—so swift in fact that it was with difficulty that I forced my
craft upward at all. I could not have been making to exceed a hundred
yards an hour when, at a bend, I was confronted by a series of rapids
through which the river foamed and boiled at a terrific rate.
My heart sank within me. The sorapus nutshell had proved a false
prophet, and, after all, my intuition had been correct—it was the
left-hand channel that I should have followed.
Had I been a woman I should have wept. At my right was a great,
slow-moving eddy that circled far beneath the cliff’s overhanging side,
and to rest my tired muscles before turning back I let my boat drift
into its embrace.
I was almost prostrated by disappointment. It would mean another
half-day’s loss of time to retrace my way and take the only passage
that yet remained unexplored. What hellish fate had led me to select
from three possible avenues the two that were wrong?
As the lazy current of the eddy carried me slowly about the periphery
of the watery circle my boat twice touched the rocky side of the river
in the dark recess beneath the cliff. A third time it struck, gently as
it had before, but the contact resulted in a different sound—the sound
of wood scraping upon wood.
In an instant I was on the alert, for there could be no wood within
that buried river that had not been man brought. Almost coincidentally
with my first apprehension of the noise, my hand shot out across the
boat’s side, and a second later I felt my fingers gripping the gunwale
of another craft.
As though turned to stone I sat in tense and rigid silence, straining
my eyes into the utter darkness before me in an effort to discover if
the boat were occupied.
It was entirely possible that there might be men on board it who were
still ignorant of my presence, for the boat was scraping gently against
the rocks upon one side, so that the gentle touch of my boat upon the
other easily could have gone unnoticed.
Peer as I would I could not penetrate the darkness, and then I listened
intently for the sound of breathing near me; but except for the noise
of the rapids, the soft scraping of the boats, and the lapping of the
water at their sides I could distinguish no sound. As usual, I thought
rapidly.
A rope lay coiled in the bottom of my own craft. Very softly I gathered
it up, and making one end fast to the bronze ring in the prow I stepped
gingerly into the boat beside me. In one hand I grasped the rope, in
the other my keen long-sword.
For a full minute, perhaps, I stood motionless after entering the
strange craft. It had rocked a trifle beneath my weight, but it had
been the scraping of its side against the side of my own boat that had
seemed most likely to alarm its occupants, if there were any.
But there was no answering sound, and a moment later I had felt from
stem to stern and found the boat deserted.
Groping with my hands along the face of the rocks to which the craft
was moored, I discovered a narrow ledge which I knew must be the avenue
taken by those who had come before me. That they could be none other
than Thurid and his party I was convinced by the size and build of the
boat I had found.
Calling to Woola to follow me I stepped out upon the ledge. The great,
savage brute, agile as a cat, crept after me.
As he passed through the boat that had been occupied by Thurid and the
therns he emitted a single low growl, and when he came beside me upon
the ledge and my hand rested upon his neck I felt his short mane
bristling with anger. I think he sensed telepathically the recent
presence of an enemy, for I had made no effort to impart to him the
nature of our quest or the status of those we tracked.
This omission I now made haste to correct, and, after the manner of
green Martians with their beasts, I let him know partially by the weird
and uncanny telepathy of Barsoom and partly by word of mouth that we
were upon the trail of those who had recently occupied the boat through
which we had just passed.
A soft purr, like that of a great cat, indicated that Woola understood,
and then, with a word to him to follow, I turned to the right along the
ledge, but scarcely had I done so than I felt his mighty fangs tugging
at my leathern harness.
As I turned to discover the cause of his act he continued to pull me
steadily in the opposite direction, nor would he desist until I had
turned about and indicated that I would follow him voluntarily.
Never had I known him to be in error in a matter of tracking, so it was
with a feeling of entire security that I moved cautiously in the huge
beast’s wake. Through Cimmerian darkness he moved along the narrow
ledge beside the boiling rapids.
As we advanced, the way led from beneath the overhanging cliffs out
into a dim light, and then it was that I saw that the trail had been
cut from the living rock, and that it ran up along the river’s side
beyond the rapids.
For hours we followed the dark and gloomy river farther and farther
into the bowels of Mars. From the direction and distance I knew that we
must be well beneath the Valley Dor, and possibly beneath the Sea of
Omean as well—it could not be much farther now to the Temple of the
Sun.
Even as my mind framed the thought, Woola halted suddenly before a
narrow, arched doorway in the cliff by the trail’s side. Quickly he
crouched back away from the entrance, at the same time turning his eyes
toward me.
Words could not have more plainly told me that danger of some sort lay
near by, and so I pressed quietly forward to his side, and passing him
looked into the aperture at our right.
Before me was a fair-sized chamber that, from its appointments, I knew
must have at one time been a guardroom. There were racks for weapons,
and slightly raised platforms for the sleeping silks and furs of the
warriors, but now its only occupants were two of the therns who had
been of the party with Thurid and Matai Shang.
The men were in earnest conversation, and from their tones it was
apparent that they were entirely unaware that they had listeners.
“I tell you,” one of them was saying, “I do not trust the black one.
There was no necessity for leaving us here to guard the way. Against
what, pray, should we guard this long-forgotten, abysmal path? It was
but a ruse to divide our numbers.
“He will have Matai Shang leave others elsewhere on some pretext or
other, and then at last he will fall upon us with his confederates and
slay us all.”
“I believe you, Lakor,” replied the other, “there can never be aught
else than deadly hatred between thern and First Born. And what think
you of the ridiculous matter of the light? ‘Let the light shine with
the intensity of three radium units for fifty tals, and for one xat let
it shine with the intensity of one radium unit, and then for
twenty-five tals with nine units.’ Those were his very words, and to
think that wise old Matai Shang should listen to such foolishness.”
“Indeed, it is silly,” replied Lakor. “It will open nothing other than
the way to a quick death for us all. He had to make some answer when
Matai Shang asked him flatly what he should do when he came to the
Temple of the Sun, and so he made his answer quickly from his
imagination—I would wager a hekkador’s diadem that he could not now
repeat it himself.”
“Let us not remain here longer, Lakor,” spoke the other thern.
“Perchance if we hasten after them we may come in time to rescue Matai