Thuvia, maid of Mars
“This we accomplish by materializing food-thoughts, and by partaking of
the food thus created. We chew, we swallow, we digest. All our organs
function precisely as if we had partaken of material food. And what is
the result? What must be the result? The chemical changes take place
through both direct and indirect suggestion, and we live and thrive.”
Carthoris eyed the food before him. It seemed real enough. He lifted a
morsel to his lips. There was substance indeed. And flavour as well.
Yes, even his palate was deceived.
Jav watched him, smiling, as he ate.
“Is it not entirely satisfying?” he asked.
“I must admit that it is,” replied Carthoris. “But tell me, how does
Tario live, and the other etherealists who maintain that food is
unnecessary?”
Jav scratched his head.
“That is a question we often discuss,” he replied. “It is the strongest
evidence we have of the non-existence of the etherealists; but who may
know other than Komal?”
“Who is Komal?” asked Carthoris. “I heard your jeddak speak of him.”
Jav bent low toward the ear of the Heliumite, looking fearfully about
before he spoke.
“Komal is the essence,” he whispered. “Even the etherealists admit that
mind itself must have substance in order to transmit to imaginings the
appearance of substance. For if there really was no such thing as
substance it could not be suggested—what never has been cannot be
imagined. Do you follow me?”
“I am groping,” replied Carthoris dryly.
“So the essence must be substance,” continued Jav. “Komal is the
essence of the All, as it were. He is maintained by substance. He eats.
He eats the real. To be explicit, he eats the realists. That is Tario’s
work.
“He says that inasmuch as we maintain that we alone are real we should,
to be consistent, admit that we alone are proper food for Komal.
Sometimes, as to-day, we find other food for him. He is very fond of
Torquasians.”
“And Komal is a man?” asked Carthoris.
“He is All, I told you,” replied Jav. “I know not how to explain him in
words that you will understand. He is the beginning and the end. All
life emanates from Komal, since the substance which feeds the brain
with imaginings radiates from the body of Komal.
“Should Komal cease to eat, all life upon Barsoom would cease to be. He
cannot die, but he might cease to eat, and, thus, to radiate.”
“And he feeds upon the men and women of your belief?” cried Carthoris.
“Women!” exclaimed Jav. “There are no women in Lothar. The last of the
Lotharian females perished ages since, upon that cruel and terrible
journey across the muddy plains that fringed the half-dried seas, when
the green hordes scourged us across the world to this our last
hiding-place—our impregnable fortress of Lothar.
“Scarce twenty thousand men of all the countless millions of our race
lived to reach Lothar. Among us were no women and no children. All
these had perished by the way.
“As time went on, we, too, were dying and the race fast approaching
extinction, when the Great Truth was revealed to us, that mind is all.
Many more died before we perfected our powers, but at last we were able
to defy death when we fully understood that death was merely a state of
mind.
“Then came the creation of mind-people, or rather the materialization
of imaginings. We first put these to practical use when the Torquasians
discovered our retreat, and fortunate for us it was that it required
ages of search upon their part before they found the single tiny
entrance to the valley of Lothar.
“That day we threw our first bowmen against them. The intention was
purely to frighten them away by the vast numbers of bowmen which we
could muster upon our walls. All Lothar bristled with the bows and
arrows of our ethereal host.
“But the Torquasians did not frighten. They are lower than the
beasts—they know no fear. They rushed upon our walls, and standing upon
the shoulders of others they built human approaches to the wall tops,
and were on the very point of surging in upon us and overwhelming us.
“Not an arrow had been discharged by our bowmen—we did but cause them
to run to and fro along the wall top, screaming taunts and threats at
the enemy.
“Presently I thought to attempt the thing—_the great thing_. I centred
all my mighty intellect upon the bowmen of my own creation—each of us
produces and directs as many bowmen as his mentality and imagination is
capable of.
“I caused them to fit arrows to their bows for the first time. I made
them take aim at the hearts of the green men. I made the green men see
all this, and then I made them see the arrows fly, and I made them
think that the points pierced their hearts.
“It was all that was necessary. By hundreds they toppled from our
walls, and when my fellows saw what I had done they were quick to
follow my example, so that presently the hordes of Torquas had
retreated beyond the range of our arrows.
“We might have killed them at any distance, but one rule of war we have
maintained from the first—the rule of realism. We do nothing, or rather
we cause our bowmen to do nothing within sight of the enemy that is
beyond the understanding of the foe. Otherwise they might guess the
truth, and that would be the end of us.
“But after the Torquasians had retreated beyond bowshot, they turned
upon us with their terrible rifles, and by constant popping at us made
life miserable within our walls.
“So then I bethought the scheme to hurl our bowmen through the gates
upon them. You have seen this day how well it works. For ages they have
come down upon us at intervals, but always with the same results.”
“And all this is due to your intellect, Jav?” asked Carthoris. “I
should think that you would be high in the councils of your people.”
“I am,” replied Jav, proudly. “I am next to Tario.”
“But why, then, your cringing manner of approaching the throne?”
“Tario demands it. He is jealous of me. He only awaits the slightest
excuse to feed me to Komal. He fears that I may some day usurp his
power.”
Carthoris suddenly sprang from the table.
“Jav!” he exclaimed. “I am a beast! Here I have been eating my fill,
while the Princess of Ptarth may perchance be still without food. Let
us return and find some means of furnishing her with nourishment.”
The Lotharian shook his head.
“Tario would not permit it,” he said. “He will, doubtless, make an
etherealist of her.”
“But I must go to her,” insisted Carthoris. “You say that there are no
women in Lothar. Then she must be among men, and if this be so I intend
to be near where I may defend her if the need arises.”
“Tario will have his way,” insisted Jav. “He sent you away and you may
not return until he sends for you.”
“Then I shall go without waiting to be sent for.”
“Do not forget the bowmen,” cautioned Jav.
“I do not forget them,” replied Carthoris, but he did not tell Jav that
he remembered something else that the Lotharian had let drop—something
that was but a conjecture, possibly, and yet one well worth pinning a
forlorn hope to, should necessity arise.
Carthoris started to leave the room. Jav stepped before him, barring
his way.
“I have learned to like you, red man,” he said; “but do not forget that
Tario is still my jeddak, and that Tario has commanded that you remain
here.”
Carthoris was about to reply, when there came faintly to the ears of
both a woman’s cry for help.
With a sweep of his arm the Prince of Helium brushed the Lotharian
aside, and with drawn sword sprang into the corridor without.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HALL OF DOOM
As Thuvia of Ptarth saw Carthoris depart from the presence of Tario,
leaving her alone with the man, a sudden qualm of terror seized her.
There was an air of mystery pervading the stately chamber. Its
furnishings and appointments bespoke wealth and culture, and carried
the suggestion that the room was often the scene of royal functions
which filled it to its capacity.
And yet nowhere about her, in antechamber or corridor, was there sign
of any other being than herself and the recumbent figure of Tario, the
jeddak, who watched her through half-closed eyes from the gorgeous
trappings of his regal couch.
For a time after the departure of Jav and Carthoris the man eyed her
intently. Then he spoke.
“Come nearer,” he said, and, as she approached: “Whose creature are
you? Who has dared materialize his imaginings of woman? It is contrary
to the customs and the royal edicts of Lothar. Tell me, woman, from
whose brain have you sprung? Jav’s? No, do not deny it. I know that it
could be no other than that envious realist. He seeks to tempt me. He
would see me fall beneath the spell of your charms, and then he, your
master, would direct my destiny and—my end. I see it all! I see it
all!”
The blood of indignation and anger had been rising to Thuvia’s face.
Her chin was up, a haughty curve upon her perfect lips.
“I know naught,” she cried, “of what you are prating! I am Thuvia,
Princess of Ptarth. I am no man’s ‘creature.’ Never before to-day did I
lay eyes upon him you call Jav, nor upon your ridiculous city, of which
even the greatest nations of Barsoom have never dreamed.
“My charms are not for you, nor such as you. They are not for sale or
barter, even though the price were a real throne. And as for using them
to win your worse than futile power—” She ended her sentence with a
shrug of her shapely shoulders, and a little scornful laugh.
When she had finished Tario was sitting upon the edge of his couch, his
feet upon the floor. He was leaning forward with eyes no longer half
closed, but wide with a startled expression in them.
He did not seem to note the _lèse majesté_ of her words and manner.
There was evidently something more startling and compelling about her
speech than that.
Slowly he came to his feet.
“By the fangs of Komal!” he muttered. “But you are _real!_ A _real_
woman! No dream! No vain and foolish figment of the mind!”
He took a step toward her, with hands outstretched.
“Come!” he whispered. “Come, woman! For countless ages have I dreamed
that some day you would come. And now that you are here I can scarce
believe the testimony of my eyes. Even now, knowing that you are real,
I still half dread that you may be a lie.”
Thuvia shrank back. She thought the man mad. Her hand stole to the
jewelled hilt of her dagger. The man saw the move, and stopped. A
cunning expression entered his eyes. Then they became at once dreamy
and penetrating as they fairly bored into the girl’s brain.
Thuvia suddenly felt a change coming over her. What the cause of it she
did not guess; but somehow the man before her began to assume a new
relationship within her heart.
No longer was he a strange and mysterious enemy, but an old and trusted
friend. Her hand slipped from the dagger’s hilt. Tario came closer. He
spoke gentle, friendly words, and she answered him in a voice that
seemed hers and yet another’s.
He was beside her now. His hand was upon her shoulder. His eyes were
down-bent toward hers. She looked up into his face. His gaze seemed to
bore straight through her to some hidden spring of sentiment within
her.
Her lips parted in sudden awe and wonder at the strange revealment of
her inner self that was being laid bare before her consciousness. She
had known Tario for ever. He was more than friend to her. She moved a
little closer to him. In one swift flood of light she knew the truth.
She loved Tario, Jeddak of Lothar! She had always loved him.
The man, seeing the success of his strategy, could not restrain a faint
smile of satisfaction. Whether there was something in the expression of
his face, or whether from Carthoris of Helium in a far chamber of the
palace came a more powerful suggestion, who may say? But something