The warlord of Mars
paralleled the outer wall. Scarcely was the entrance uncovered than
Woola and I had leaped through—then the door slipped quietly back into
place.
Down the corridor at some distance I saw the faint reflection of a
light, and toward this we made our way. At the point where the light
shone was a sharp turn, and a little distance beyond this a brilliantly
lighted chamber.
Here we discovered a spiral stairway leading up from the center of the
circular room.
Immediately I knew that we had reached the center of the base of the
Temple of the Sun—the spiral runway led upward past the inner walls of
the prison cells. Somewhere above me was Dejah Thoris, unless Thurid
and Matai Shang had already succeeded in stealing her.
We had scarcely started up the runway when Woola suddenly displayed the
wildest excitement. He leaped back and forth, snapping at my legs and
harness, until I thought that he was mad, and finally when I pushed him
from me and started once more to ascend he grasped my sword arm between
his jaws and dragged me back.
No amount of scolding or cuffing would suffice to make him release me,
and I was entirely at the mercy of his brute strength unless I cared to
use my dagger upon him with my left hand; but, mad or no, I had not the
heart to run the sharp blade into that faithful body.
Down into the chamber he dragged me, and across it to the side opposite
that at which we had entered. Here was another doorway leading into a
corridor which ran directly down a steep incline. Without a moment’s
hesitation Woola jerked me along this rocky passage.
Presently he stopped and released me, standing between me and the way
we had come, looking up into my face as though to ask if I would now
follow him voluntarily or if he must still resort to force.
Looking ruefully at the marks of his great teeth upon my bare arm I
decided to do as he seemed to wish me to do. After all, his strange
instinct might be more dependable than my faulty human judgment.
And well it was that I had been forced to follow him. But a short
distance from the circular chamber we came suddenly into a brilliantly
lighted labyrinth of crystal glass partitioned passages.
At first I thought it was one vast, unbroken chamber, so clear and
transparent were the walls of the winding corridors, but after I had
nearly brained myself a couple of times by attempting to pass through
solid vitreous walls I went more carefully.
We had proceeded but a few yards along the corridor that had given us
entrance to this strange maze when Woola gave mouth to a most frightful
roar, at the same time dashing against the clear partition at our left.
The resounding echoes of that fearsome cry were still reverberating
through the subterranean chambers when I saw the thing that had
startled it from the faithful beast.
Far in the distance, dimly through the many thicknesses of intervening
crystal, as in a haze that made them seem unreal and ghostly, I
discerned the figures of eight people—three females and five men.
At the same instant, evidently startled by Woola’s fierce cry, they
halted and looked about. Then, of a sudden, one of them, a woman, held
her arms out toward me, and even at that great distance I could see
that her lips moved—it was Dejah Thoris, my ever beautiful and ever
youthful Princess of Helium.
With her were Thuvia of Ptarth, Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang, and
Thurid, and the Father of Therns, and the three lesser therns that had
accompanied them.
Thurid shook his fist at me, and then two of the therns grasped Dejah
Thoris and Thuvia roughly by their arms and hurried them on. A moment
later they had disappeared into a stone corridor beyond the labyrinth
of glass.
They say that love is blind; but so great a love as that of Dejah
Thoris that knew me even beneath the thern disguise I wore and across
the misty vista of that crystal maze must indeed be far from blind.
THE SECRET TOWER
I have no stomach to narrate the monotonous events of the tedious days
that Woola and I spent ferreting our way across the labyrinth of glass,
through the dark and devious ways beyond that led beneath the Valley
Dor and Golden Cliffs to emerge at last upon the flank of the Otz
Mountains just above the Valley of Lost Souls—that pitiful purgatory
peopled by the poor unfortunates who dare not continue their abandoned
pilgrimage to Dor, or return to the various lands of the outer world
from whence they came.
Here the trail of Dejah Thoris’ abductors led along the mountains’
base, across steep and rugged ravines, by the side of appalling
precipices, and sometimes out into the valley, where we found fighting
aplenty with the members of the various tribes that make up the
population of this vale of hopelessness.
But through it all we came at last to where the way led up a narrow
gorge that grew steeper and more impracticable at every step until
before us loomed a mighty fortress buried beneath the side of an
overhanging cliff.
Here was the secret hiding place of Matai Shang, Father of Therns.
Here, surrounded by a handful of the faithful, the hekkador of the
ancient faith, who had once been served by millions of vassals and
dependents, dispensed the spiritual words among the half dozen nations
of Barsoom that still clung tenaciously to their false and discredited
religion.
Darkness was just falling as we came in sight of the seemingly
impregnable walls of this mountain stronghold, and lest we be seen I
drew back with Woola behind a jutting granite promontory, into a clump
of the hardy, purple scrub that thrives upon the barren sides of Otz.
Here we lay until the quick transition from daylight to darkness had
passed. Then I crept out to approach the fortress walls in search of a
way within.
Either through carelessness or over-confidence in the supposed
inaccessibility of their hiding place, the triple-barred gate stood
ajar. Beyond were a handful of guards, laughing and talking over one of
their incomprehensible Barsoomian games.
I saw that none of the guardsmen had been of the party that accompanied
Thurid and Matai Shang; and so, relying entirely upon my disguise, I
walked boldly through the gateway and up to the thern guard.
The men stopped their game and looked up at me, but there was no sign
of suspicion. Similarly they looked at Woola, growling at my heel.
“Kaor!” I said in true Martian greeting, and the warriors arose and
saluted me. “I have but just found my way hither from the Golden
Cliffs,” I continued, “and seek audience with the hekkador, Matai
Shang, Father of Therns. Where may he be found?”
“Follow me,” said one of the guard, and, turning, led me across the
outer courtyard toward a second buttressed wall.
Why the apparent ease with which I seemingly deceived them did not
rouse my suspicions I know not, unless it was that my mind was still so
full of that fleeting glimpse of my beloved princess that there was
room in it for naught else. Be that as it may, the fact is that I
marched buoyantly behind my guide straight into the jaws of death.
Afterward I learned that thern spies had been aware of my coming for
hours before I reached the hidden fortress.
The gate had been purposely left ajar to tempt me on. The guards had
been schooled well in their part of the conspiracy; and I, more like a
schoolboy than a seasoned warrior, ran headlong into the trap.
At the far side of the outer court a narrow door let into the angle
made by one of the buttresses with the wall. Here my guide produced a
key and opened the way within; then, stepping back, he motioned me to
enter.
“Matai Shang is in the temple court beyond,” he said; and as Woola and
I passed through, the fellow closed the door quickly upon us.
The nasty laugh that came to my ears through the heavy planking of the
door after the lock clicked was my first intimation that all was not as
it should be.
I found myself in a small, circular chamber within the buttress. Before
me a door opened, presumably, upon the inner court beyond. For a moment
I hesitated, all my suspicions now suddenly, though tardily, aroused;
then, with a shrug of my shoulders, I opened the door and stepped out
into the glare of torches that lighted the inner court.
Directly opposite me a massive tower rose to a height of three hundred
feet. It was of the strangely beautiful modern Barsoomian style of
architecture, its entire surface hand carved in bold relief with
intricate and fanciful designs. Thirty feet above the courtyard and
overlooking it was a broad balcony, and there, indeed, was Matai Shang,
and with him were Thurid and Phaidor, Thuvia, and Dejah Thoris—the last
two heavily ironed. A handful of thern warriors stood just behind the
little party.
As I entered the enclosure the eyes of those in the balcony were full
upon me.
An ugly smile distorted the cruel lips of Matai Shang. Thurid hurled a
taunt at me and placed a familiar hand upon the shoulder of my
princess. Like a tigress she turned upon him, striking the beast a
heavy blow with the manacles upon her wrist.
He would have struck back had not Matai Shang interfered, and then I
saw that the two men were not over-friendly; for the manner of the
thern was arrogant and domineering as he made it plain to the First
Born that the Princess of Helium was the personal property of the
Father of Therns. And Thurid’s bearing toward the ancient hekkador
savored not at all of liking or respect.
When the altercation in the balcony had subsided Matai Shang turned
again to me.
“Earth man,” he cried, “you have earned a more ignoble death than now
lies within our weakened power to inflict upon you; but that the death
you die tonight may be doubly bitter, know you that when you have
passed, your widow becomes the wife of Matai Shang, Hekkador of the
Holy Therns, for a Martian year.
“At the end of that time, as you know, she shall be discarded, as is
the law among us, but not, as is usual, to lead a quiet and honored
life as high priestess of some hallowed shrine. Instead, Dejah Thoris,
Princess of Helium, shall become the plaything of my
lieutenants—perhaps of thy most hated enemy, Thurid, the black dator.”
As he ceased speaking he awaited in silence evidently for some outbreak
of rage upon my part—something that would have added to the spice of
his revenge. But I did not give him the satisfaction that he craved.
Instead, I did the one thing of all others that might rouse his anger
and increase his hatred of me; for I knew that if I died Dejah Thoris,
too, would find a way to die before they could heap further tortures or
indignities upon her.
Of all the holy of holies which the thern venerates and worships none
is more revered than the yellow wig which covers his bald pate, and
next thereto comes the circlet of gold and the great diadem, whose
scintillant rays mark the attainment of the Tenth Cycle.
And, knowing this, I removed the wig and circlet from my head, tossing
them carelessly upon the flagging of the court. Then I wiped my feet
upon the yellow tresses; and as a groan of rage arose from the balcony
I spat full upon the holy diadem.
Matai Shang went livid with anger, but upon the lips of Thurid I could
see a grim smile of amusement, for to him these things were not holy;
so, lest he should derive too much amusement from my act, I cried: “And
thus did I with the holies of Issus, Goddess of Life Eternal, ere I
threw Issus herself to the mob that once had worshiped her, to be torn
to pieces in her own temple.”
That put an end to Thurid’s grinning, for he had been high in the favor
of Issus.
“Let us have an end to this blaspheming!” he cried, turning to the
Father of Therns.
Matai Shang rose and, leaning over the edge of the balcony, gave voice