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Title: The Chessmen of Mars

Author: Edgar Rice Burroughs

Release date: January 1, 1998 [eBook #1153]
Most recently updated: December 6, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1153

Credits: Produced by Judy Boss

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
CHESSMEN OF MARS ***

THE CHESSMEN OF MARS

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

CONTENTS
PRELUDE John Carter Comes to Earth
I Tara in a Tantrum
II At the Gale's Mercy
III The Headless Humans
IV Captured
V The Perfect Brain
VI In the Toils of Horror
VII A Repellent Sight
VIII Close Work
IX Adrift Over Strange Regions
X Entrapped
XI The Choice of Tara
XII Ghek Plays Pranks
XIII A Desperate Deed
XIV At Ghek's Command
XV The Old Man of the Pits
XVI Another Change of Name
XVII A Play to the Death
XVIII A Task for Loyalty
XIX The Menace of the Dead
XX The Charge of Cowardice
XXI A Risk for Love
XXII At the Moment of Marriage

THE CHESSMEN OF MARS

PRELUDE

JOHN CARTER COMES TO EARTH

Shea had just beaten me at chess, as usual, and, also as usual, I had
gleaned what questionable satisfaction I might by twitting him with this
indication of failing mentality by calling his attention for the nth time to
that theory, propounded by certain scientists, which is based upon the
assertion that phenomenal chess players are always found to be from the
ranks of children under twelve, adults over seventy-two or the mentally
defective—a theory that is lightly ignored upon those rare occasions that I
win. Shea had gone to bed and I should have followed suit, for we are
always in the saddle here before sunrise; but instead I sat there before the
chess table in the library, idly blowing smoke at the dishonored head of my
defeated king.

While thus profitably employed I heard the east door of the living-room
open and someone enter. I thought it was Shea returning to speak with me
on some matter of tomorrow's work; but when I raised my eyes to the
doorway that connects the two rooms I saw framed there the figure of a
bronzed giant, his otherwise naked body trapped with a jewel-encrusted
harness from which there hung at one side an ornate short-sword and at the
other a pistol of strange pattern. The black hair, the steel-gray eyes, brave
and smiling, the noble features—I recognized them at once, and leaping to
my feet I advanced with outstretched hand.

"John Carter!" I cried. "You?"

"None other, my son," he replied, taking my hand in one of his and
placing the other upon my shoulder.

"And what are you doing here?" I asked. "It has been long years since
you revisited Earth, and never before in the trappings of Mars. Lord! but it
is good to see you—and not a day older in appearance than when you
trotted me on your knee in my babyhood. How do you explain it, John
Carter, Warlord of Mars, or do you try to explain it?"

"Why attempt to explain the inexplicable?" he replied. "As I have told
you before, I am a very old man. I do not know how old I am. I recall no
childhood; but recollect only having been always as you see me now and as
you saw me first when you were five years old. You, yourself, have aged,
though not as much as most men in a corresponding number of years, which
may be accounted for by the fact that the same blood runs in our veins; but I
have not aged at all. I have discussed the question with a noted Martian
scientist, a friend of mine; but his theories are still only theories. However, I
am content with the fact—I never age, and I love life and the vigor of
youth.

"And now as to your natural question as to what brings me to Earth
again and in this, to earthly eyes, strange habiliment. We may thank Kar
Komak, the bowman of Lothar. It was he who gave me the idea upon which
I have been experimenting until at last I have achieved success. As you
know I have long possessed the power to cross the void in spirit, but never
before have I been able to impart to inanimate things a similar power. Now,
however, you see me for the first time precisely as my Martian fellows see
me—you see the very short-sword that has tasted the blood of many a
savage foeman; the harness with the devices of Helium and the insignia of
my rank; the pistol that was presented to me by Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of
Thark.

"Aside from seeing you, which is my principal reason for being here,
and satisfying myself that I can transport inanimate things from Mars to
Earth, and therefore animate things if I so desire, I have no purpose. Earth is
not for me. My every interest is upon Barsoom—my wife, my children, my
work; all are there. I will spend a quiet evening with you and then back to
the world I love even better than I love life."

As he spoke he dropped into the chair upon the opposite side of the
chess table.

"You spoke of children," I said. "Have you more than Carthoris?"

"A daughter," he replied, "only a little younger than Carthoris, and,
barring one, the fairest thing that ever breathed the thin air of dying Mars.
Only Dejah Thoris, her mother, could be more beautiful than Tara of
Helium."

For a moment he fingered the chessmen idly. "We have a game on Mars
similar to chess," he said, "very similar. And there is a race there that plays
it grimly with men and naked swords. We call the game jetan. It is played
on a board like yours, except that there are a hundred squares and we use
twenty pieces on each side. I never see it played without thinking of Tara of
Helium and what befell her among the chessmen of Barsoom. Would you
like to hear her story?"

I said that I would and so he told it to me, and now I shall try to re-tell it
for you as nearly in the words of The Warlord of Mars as I can recall them,
but in the third person. If there be inconsistencies and errors, let the blame
fall not upon John Carter, but rather upon my faulty memory, where it
belongs. It is a strange tale and utterly Barsoomian.

CHAPTER I

TARA IN A TANTRUM

Tara of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which she
had been reclining, stretched her lithe body languidly, and crossed toward
the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronze disc depended
from the low ceiling. Her carriage was that of health and physical perfection
—the effortless harmony of faultless coordination. A scarf of silken
gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about her body; her
black hair was piled high upon her head. With a wooden stick she tapped

upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the summons was answered by
a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to be greeted similarly by her mistress.

"Are my father's guests arriving?" asked the princess.

"Yes, Tara of Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seen Kantos
Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and Djor Kantos,
son of Kantos Kan," she shot a roguish glance at her mistress as she
mentioned Djor Kantos' name, "and—oh, there were others, many have
come."

"The bath, then, Uthia," said her mistress. "And why, Uthia," she added,
"do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djor Kantos?"

The slave girl laughed gaily. "It is so plain to all that he worships you,"
she replied.

"It is not plain to me," said Tara of Helium. "He is the friend of my
brother, Carthoris, and so he is here much; but not to see me. It is his
friendship for Carthoris that brings him thus often to the palace of my
father."

"But Carthoris is hunting in the north with Talu, Jeddak of Okar," Uthia
reminded her.

"My bath, Uthia!" cried Tara of Helium. "That tongue of yours will bring
you to some misadventure yet."

"The bath is ready, Tara of Helium," the girl responded, her eyes still
twinkling with merriment, for she well knew that in the heart of her
mistress was no anger that could displace the love of the princess for her
slave. Preceding the daughter of The Warlord she opened the door of an
adjoining room where lay the bath—a gleaming pool of scented water in a
marble basin. Golden stanchions supported a chain of gold encircling it and
leading down into the water on either side of marble steps. A glass dome let
in the sun-light, which flooded the interior, glancing from the polished
white of the marble walls and the procession of bathers and fishes, which,

in conventional design, were inlaid with gold in a broad band that circled
the room.

Tara of Helium removed the scarf from about her and handed it to the
slave. Slowly she descended the steps to the water, the temperature of
which she tested with a symmetrical foot, undeformed by tight shoes and
high heels—a lovely foot, as God intended that feet should be and seldom
are. Finding the water to her liking, the girl swam leisurely to and fro about
the pool. With the silken ease of the seal she swam, now at the surface, now
below, her smooth muscles rolling softly beneath her clear skin—a wordless
song of health and happiness and grace. Presently she emerged and gave
herself into the hands of the slave girl, who rubbed the body of her mistress
with a sweet smelling semi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until
the glowing skin was covered with a foamy lather, then a quick plunge into
the pool, a drying with soft towels, and the bath was over. Typical of the life
of the princess was the simple elegance of her bath—no retinue of useless
slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another half hour
her hair was dried and built into the strange, but becoming, coiffure of her
station; her leathern trappings, encrusted with gold and jewels, had been
adjusted to her figure and she was ready to mingle with the guests that had
been bidden to the midday function at the palace of The Warlord.

As she left her apartments to make her way to the gardens where the
guests were congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the House of the
Prince of Helium upon their harness, followed a few paces behind her, grim
reminders that the assassin's blade may never be ignored upon Barsoom,
where, in a measure, it counterbalances the great natural span of human life,
which is estimated at not less than a thousand years.

As they neared the entrance to the garden another woman, similarly
guarded, approached them from another quarter of the great palace. As she
neared them Tara of Helium turned toward her with a smile and a happy
greeting, while her guards knelt with bowed heads in willing and voluntary
adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always, solely at the command of
their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet Dejah Thoris, whose
deathless beauty had more than once brought them to bloody warfare with
other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love of the people of Helium for

the mate of John Carter it amounted practically to worship, as though she
were indeed the goddess that she looked.

The mother and daughter exchanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" of
greeting and kissed. Then together they entered the gardens where the
guests were. A huge warrior drew his short-sword and struck his metal
shield with the flat of it, the brazen sound ringing out above the laughter
and the speech.

"The Princess comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess comes!
Tara of Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the
two women inclined their heads; the guards fell back upon either side of the
entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to pay their respects; the
laughing and the talking were resumed and Dejah Thoris and her daughter
moved simply and naturally among their guests, no suggestion of differing
rank apparent in the bearing of any who were there, though there was more
than a single Jeddak and many common warriors whose only title lay in
brave deeds, or noble patriotism. Thus it is upon Mars where men are
judged upon their own merits rather than upon those of their grandsires,
even though pride of lineage be great.

Tara of Helium let her slow gaze wander among the throng of guests
until presently it halted upon one she sought. Was the faint shadow of a
frown that crossed her brow an indication of displeasure at the sight that
met her eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the noonday sun distress her? Who
may say! She had been reared to believe that one day she should wed Djor
Kantos, son of her father's best friend. It had been the dearest wish of
Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this should be, and Tara of Helium had
accepted it as a matter of all but accomplished fact. Djor Kantos had
seemed to accept the matter in the same way. They had spoken of it casually
as something that would, as a matter of course, take place in the indefinite
future, as, for instance, his promotion in the navy, in which he was now a
padwar; or the set functions of the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors,
Jeddak of Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had
puzzled Tara of Helium upon the rare occasions she gave it thought, for she
knew that people who were to wed were usually much occupied with the
matter of love and she had all of a woman's curiosity—she wondered what

love was like. She was very fond of Djor Kantos and she knew that he was
very fond of her. They liked to be together, for they liked the same things
and the same people and the same books and their dancing was a joy, not
only to themselves but to those who watched them. She could not imagine
wanting to marry anyone other than Djor Kantos.

So perhaps it was only the sun that made her brows contract just the
tiniest bit at the same instant that she discovered Djor Kantos sitting in
earnest conversation with Olvia Marthis, daughter of the Jed of Hastor. It
was Djor Kantos' duty immediately to pay his respects to Dejah Thoris and
Tara of Helium; but he did not do so and presently the daughter of The
Warlord frowned indeed. She looked long at Olvia Marthis, and though she
had seen her many times before and knew her well, she looked at her today
through new eyes that saw, apparently for the first time, that the girl from
Hastor was noticeably beautiful even among those other beautiful women
of Helium. Tara of Helium was disturbed. She attempted to analyze her
emotions; but found it difficult. Olvia Marthis was her friend—she was very
fond of her and she felt no anger toward her. Was she angry with Djor
Kantos? No, she finally decided that she was not. It was merely surprise,
then, that she felt—surprise that Djor Kantos could be more interested in
another than in herself. She was about to cross the garden and join them
when she heard her father's voice directly behind her.

"Tara of Helium!" he called, and she turned to see him approaching with
a strange warrior whose harness and metal bore devices with which she was
unfamiliar. Even among the gorgeous trappings of the men of Helium and
the visitors from distant empires those of the stranger were remarkable for
their barbaric splendor. The leather of his harness was completely hidden
beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set with brilliant diamonds, as were
the scabbards of his swords and the ornate holster that held his long,
Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlit garden at the side of the great
Warlord, the scintillant rays of his countless gems enveloping him as in an
aureole of light imparted to his noble figure a suggestion of godliness.

"Tara of Helium, I bring you Gahan, Jed of Gathol," said John Carter,
after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.

"Kaor! Gahan, Jed of Gathol," returned Tara of Helium.

"My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," said the young chieftain.

The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersite
bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.

"Far Gathol," mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been connected
with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I
cannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have never
before seen a Gatholian."

"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Helium
and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little free city,
which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium," added Gahan.
"But what we lack in power we make up in pride," he continued, laughing.
"We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It is one of the
few that has retained its freedom, and this despite the fact that its ancient
diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike practically all the other
fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible as ever."

"Tell me of Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me with
interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed detracted
anything from the glamour of far Gathol.

Nor did Gahan seem displeased with the excuse for further
monopolizing the society of his fair companion. His eyes seemed chained to
her exquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a rounded
breast, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or the
symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaric
magnificence.

"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built upon
an island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. As the
ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, the summit of
which was the island upon which she had been built, until today she covers
the slopes from summit to base, while the bowels of the great hill are
honeycombed with the galleries of her mines. Entirely surrounding us is a
great salt marsh, which protects us from invasion by land, while the rugged

and ofttimes vertical topography of our mountain renders the landing of
hostile airships a precarious undertaking."

"That, and your brave warriors?" suggested the girl.

Gahan smiled. "We do not speak of that except to enemies," he said,
"and then with tongues of steel rather than of flesh."

"But what practice in the art of war has a people which nature has thus
protected from attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had liked the young
jed's answer to her previous question, but yet in whose mind persisted a
vague conviction of the possible effeminacy of her companion, induced,
doubtless, by the magnificence of his trappings and weapons which carried
a suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.

"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeat on
countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune from
attack," he explained, "for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamond
treasury that there yet may be found those who will risk almost certain
defeat in an effort to loot our unconquered city; so thus we find occasional
practice in the exercise of arms; but there is more to Gathol than the
mountain city. My country extends from Polodona (Equator) north ten
karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to the twentieth west,
including thus a million square haads, the greater proportion of which is
fine grazing land where run our great herds of thoats and zitidars.

"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herdsmen must indeed
be warriors or we should have no herds, and you may be assured they get
plenty of fighting. Then there is our constant need of workers in the mines.
The Gatholians consider themselves a race of warriors and as such prefer
not to labor in the mines. The law is, however, that each male Gatholian
shall give an hour a day in labor to the government. That is practically the
only tax that is levied upon them. They prefer however, to furnish a
substitute to perform this labor, and as our own people will not hire out for
labor in the mines it has been necessary to obtain slaves, and I do not need
to tell you that slaves are not won without fighting. We sell these slaves in
the public market, the proceeds going, half and half, to the government and
the warriors who bring them in. The purchasers are credited with the

amount of labor performed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year a
good slave will have performed the labor tax of his master for six years, and
if slaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted to return to his own people."

"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating his
gorgeous trappings with a quizzical smile.

Gahan laughed. "We are a vain people," he admitted, good-naturedly,
"and it is possible that we place too much value on personal appearances.
We vie with one another in the splendor of our accoutrements when trapped
for the observance of the lighter duties of life, though when we take the
field our leather is the plainest I ever have seen worn by fighting men of
Barsoom. We pride ourselves, too, upon our physical beauty, and especially
upon the beauty of our women. May I dare to say, Tara of Helium, that I am
hoping for the day when you will visit Gathol that my people may see one
who is really beautiful?"

"The women of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon the
tongue of the flatterer," rejoined the girl, but Gahan, Jed of Gathol,
observed that she smiled as she said it.

A bugle sounded, clear and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "The
Dance of Barsoom!" exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it, Tara
of Helium."

The girl glanced in the direction of the bench where she had last seen
Djor Kantos. He was not in sight. She inclined her head in assent to the
claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among the guests, distributing
small musical instruments of a single string. Upon each instrument were
characters which indicated the pitch and length of its tone. The instruments
were of skeel, the string of gut, and were shaped to fit the left forearm of
the dancer, to which it was strapped. There was also a ring wound with gut
which was worn between the first and second joints of the index finger of
the right hand and which, when passed over the string of the instrument,
elicited the single note required of the dancer.

The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward the
expanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where the dance

was to be held, when Djor Kantos came hurriedly toward Tara of Helium. "I
claim—" he exclaimed as he neared her; but she interrupted him with a
gesture.

"You are too late, Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No laggard
may claim Tara of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also Olvia Marthis,
whom I have never seen wait long to be claimed for this or any other
dance."

"I have already lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.

"And you mean to say that you came for Tara of Helium only after
having lost Olvia Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating displeasure.

"Oh, Tara of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the young
man. "Was it not natural that I should assume that you would expect me,
who alone has claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelve
times past?"

"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" she
questioned. "Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for no laggard," and
she threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward the assembling dancers
with Gahan, Jed of far Gathol.

The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formal
dancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours, though it is
infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before a Martian youth of
either sex may attend an important social function where there is dancing,
he must have become proficient in at least three dances—The Dance of
Barsoom, his national dance, and the dance of his city. In these three dances
the dancers furnish their own music, which never varies; nor do the steps or
figures vary, having been handed down from time immemorial. All
Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but The Dance of Barsoom is
a wondrous epic of motion and harmony—there is no grotesque posturing,
no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has been described as the
interpretation of the highest ideals of a world that aspired to grace and
beauty and chastity in woman, and strength and dignity and loyalty in man.

Today, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate, led in
the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them in
possession of the silent admiration of the guests it was the resplendent Jed
of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In the ever-changing figures of the
dance the man found himself now with the girl's hand in his and again with
an arm about the lithe body that the jeweled harness but inadequately
covered, and the girl, though she had danced a thousand dances in the past,
realized for the first time the personal contact of a man's arm against her
naked flesh. It troubled her that she should notice it, and she looked up
questioningly and almost with displeasure at the man as though it was his
fault. Their eyes met and she saw in his that which she had never seen in the
eyes of Djor Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and they both
stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into each
other's eyes. It was Gahan of Gathol who spoke first.

"Tara of Helium, I love you!" he said.

The girl drew herself to her full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgets
himself," she exclaimed haughtily.

"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Tara of Helium," he
replied. Fiercely he pressed the soft hand that he still retained from the last
position of the dance. "I love you, Tara of Helium," he repeated. "Why
should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just now did not refuse
to see—and answer?"

"What meanest thou?" she cried. "Are the men of Gathol such boors,
then?"

"They are neither boors nor fools," he replied, quietly. "They know when
they love a woman—and when she loves them."

Tara of Helium stamped her little foot in anger. "Go!" she said, "before it
is necessary to acquaint my father with the dishonor of his guest."

She turned and walked away. "Wait!" cried the man. "Just another word."

"Of apology?" she asked.

"Of prophecy," he said.

"I do not care to hear it," replied Tara of Helium, and left him standing
there. She was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafter returned to her own
quarter of the palace, where she stood for a long time by a window looking
out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Helium toward the northwest.

Presently she turned angrily away. "I hate him!" she exclaimed aloud.

"Whom?" inquired the privileged Uthia.

Tara of Helium stamped her foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed of
Gathol," she replied.

Uthia raised her slim brows.

At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the corner of
the room and crossed to Tara of Helium where it stood looking up into her
face. She placed her hand upon the ugly head. "Dear old Woola," she said;
"no love could be deeper than yours, yet it never offends. Would that men
might pattern themselves after you!"

CHAPTER II

AT THE GALE'S MERCY

Tara of Helium did not return to her father's guests, but awaited in her
own apartments the word from Djor Kantos which she knew must come,
begging her to return to the gardens. She would then refuse, haughtily. But
no appeal came from Djor Kantos. At first Tara of Helium was angry, then
she was hurt, and always she was puzzled. She could not understand.
Occasionally she thought of the Jed of Gathol and then she would stamp her
foot, for she was very angry indeed with Gahan. The presumption of the
man! He had insinuated that he read love for him in her eyes. Never had she

been so insulted and humiliated. Never had she so thoroughly hated a man.
Suddenly she turned toward Uthia.

"My flying leather!" she commanded.

"But the guests!" exclaimed the slave girl. "Your father, The Warlord,
will expect you to return."

"He will be disappointed," snapped Tara of Helium.

The slave hesitated. "He does not approve of your flying alone," she
reminded her mistress.

The young princess sprang to her feet and seized the unhappy slave by
the shoulders, shaking her. "You are becoming unbearable, Uthia," she
cried. "Soon there will be no alternative than to send you to the public
slave-market. Then possibly you will find a master to your liking."

Tears came to the soft eyes of the slave girl. "It is because I love you, my
princess," she said softly. Tara of Helium melted. She took the slave in her
arms and kissed her.

"I have the disposition of a thoat, Uthia," she said. "Forgive me! I love
you and there is nothing that I would not do for you and nothing would I do
to harm you. Again, as I have so often in the past, I offer you your
freedom."

"I do not wish my freedom if it will separate me from you, Tara of
Helium," replied Uthia. "I am happy here with you—I think that I should
die without you."

Again the girls kissed. "And you will not fly alone, then?" questioned the
slave.

Tara of Helium laughed and pinched her companion. "You persistent
little pest," she cried. "Of course I shall fly—does not Tara of Helium
always do that which pleases her?"

Uthia shook her head sorrowfully. "Alas! she does," she admitted. "Iron
is the Warlord of Barsoom to the influences of all but two. In the hands of
Dejah Thoris and Tara of Helium he is as potters' clay."

"Then run and fetch my flying leather like the sweet slave you are,"
directed the mistress.

Far out across the ochre sea-bottoms beyond the twin cities of Helium
raced the swift flier of Tara of Helium. Thrilling to the speed and the
buoyancy and the obedience of the little craft the girl drove toward the
northwest. Why she should choose that direction she did not pause to
consider. Perhaps because in that direction lay the least known areas of
Barsoom, and, ergo, Romance, Mystery, and Adventure. In that direction
also lay far Gathol; but to that fact she gave no conscious thought.

She did, however, think occasionally of the jed of that distant kingdom,
but the reaction to these thoughts was scarcely pleasurable. They still
brought a flush of shame to her cheeks and a surge of angry blood to her
heart. She was very angry with the Jed of Gathol, and though she should
never see him again she was quite sure that hate of him would remain fresh
in her memory forever. Mostly her thoughts revolved about another—Djor
Kantos. And when she thought of him she thought also of Olvia Marthis of
Hastor. Tara of Helium thought that she was jealous of the fair Olvia and it
made her very angry to think that. She was angry with Djor Kantos and
herself, but she was not angry at all with Olvia Marthis, whom she loved,
and so of course she was not jealous really. The trouble was, that Tara of
Helium had failed for once to have her own way. Djor Kantos had not come
running like a willing slave when she had expected him, and, ah, here was
the nub of the whole thing! Gahan, Jed of Gathol, a stranger, had been a
witness to her humiliation. He had seen her unclaimed at the beginning of a
great function and he had had to come to her rescue to save her, as he
doubtless thought, from the inglorious fate of a wall-flower. At the recurring
thought, Tara of Helium could feel her whole body burning with scarlet
shame and then she went suddenly white and cold with rage; whereupon
she turned her flier about so abruptly that she was all but torn from her
lashings upon the flat, narrow deck. She reached home just before dark. The

guests had departed. Quiet had descended upon the palace. An hour later
she joined her father and mother at the evening meal.

"You deserted us, Tara of Helium," said John Carter. "It is not what the
guests of John Carter should expect."

"They did not come to see me," replied Tara of Helium. "I did not ask
them."

"They were no less your guests," replied her father.

The girl rose, and came and stood beside him and put her arms about his
neck.

"My proper old Virginian," she cried, rumpling his shock of black hair.

"In Virginia you would be turned over your father's knee and spanked,"
said the man, smiling.

She crept into his lap and kissed him. "You do not love me any more,"
she announced. "No one loves me," but she could not compose her features
into a pout because bubbling laughter insisted upon breaking through.

"The trouble is there are too many who love you," he said. "And now
there is another."

"Indeed!" she cried. "What do you mean?"

"Gahan of Gathol has asked permission to woo you."

The girl sat up very straight and tilted her chin in the air. "I would not
wed with a walking diamond-mine," she said. "I will not have him."

"I told him as much," replied her father, "and that you were as good as
betrothed to another. He was very courteous about it; but at the same time
he gave me to understand that he was accustomed to getting what he wanted
and that he wanted you very much. I suppose it will mean another war. Your
mother's beauty kept Helium at war for many years, and—well, Tara of
Helium, if I were a young man I should doubtless be willing to set all

Barsoom afire to win you, as I still would to keep your divine mother," and
he smiled across the sorapus table and its golden service at the undimmed
beauty of Mars' most beautiful woman.

"Our little girl should not yet be troubled with such matters," said Dejah
Thoris. "Remember, John Carter, that you are not dealing with an Earth
child, whose span of life would be more than half completed before a
daughter of Barsoom reached actual maturity."

"But do not the daughters of Barsoom sometimes marry as early as
twenty?" he insisted.

"Yes, but they will still be desirable in the eyes of men after forty
generations of Earth folk have returned to dust—there is no hurry, at least,
upon Barsoom. We do not fade and decay here as you tell me those of your
planet do, though you, yourself, belie your own words. When the time
seems proper Tara of Helium shall wed with Djor Kantos, and until then let
us give the matter no further thought."

"No," said the girl, "the subject irks me, and I shall not marry Djor
Kantos, or another—I do not intend to wed."

Her father and mother looked at her and smiled. "When Gahan of Gathol
returns he may carry you off," said the former.

"He has gone?" asked the girl.

"His flier departs for Gathol in the morning," John Carter replied.

"I have seen the last of him then," remarked Tara of Helium with a sigh
of relief.

"He says not," returned John Carter.

The girl dismissed the subject with a shrug and the conversation passed
to other topics. A letter had arrived from Thuvia of Ptarth, who was visiting
at her father's court while Carthoris, her mate, hunted in Okar. Word had
been received that the Tharks and Warhoons were again at war, or rather

that there had been an engagement, for war was their habitual state. In the
memory of man there had been no peace between these two savage green
hordes—only a single temporary truce. Two new battleships had been
launched at Hastor. A little band of holy therns was attempting to revive the
ancient and discredited religion of Issus, who they claimed still lived in
spirit and had communicated with them. There were rumors of war from
Dusar. A scientist claimed to have discovered human life on the further
moon. A madman had attempted to destroy the atmosphere plant. Seven
people had been assassinated in Greater Helium during the last ten zodes,
(the equivalent of an Earth day).

Following the meal Dejah Thoris and The Warlord played at jetan, the
Barsoomian game of chess, which is played upon a board of a hundred
alternate black and orange squares. One player has twenty black pieces, the
other, twenty orange pieces. A brief description of the game may interest
those Earth readers who care for chess, and will not be lost upon those who
pursue this narrative to its conclusion, since before they are done they will
find that a knowledge of jetan will add to the interest and the thrills that are
in store for them.

The men are placed upon the board as in chess upon the first two rows
next the players. In order from left to right on the line of squares nearest the
players, the jetan pieces are Warrior, Padwar, Dwar, Flier, Chief, Princess,
Flier, Dwar, Padwar, Warrior. In the next line all are Panthans except the
end pieces, which are called Thoats, and represent mounted warriors.

The Panthans, which are represented as warriors with one feather, may
move one space in any direction except backward; the Thoats, mounted
warriors with three feathers, may move one straight and one diagonal, and
may jump intervening pieces; Warriors, foot soldiers with two feathers,
straight in any direction, or diagonally, two spaces; Padwars, lieutenants
wearing two feathers, two diagonal in any direction, or combination;
Dwars, captains wearing three feathers, three spaces straight in any
direction, or combination; Fliers, represented by a propellor with three
blades, three spaces in any direction, or combination, diagonally, and may
jump intervening pieces; the Chief, indicated by a diadem with ten jewels,

three spaces in any direction, straight, or diagonal; Princess, diadem with a
single jewel, same as Chief, and can jump intervening pieces.

The game is won when a player places any of his pieces on the same
square with his opponent's Princess, or when a Chief takes a Chief. It is
drawn when a Chief is taken by any opposing piece other than the opposing
Chief; or when both sides have been reduced to three pieces, or less, of
equal value, and the game is not terminated in the following ten moves, five
apiece. This is but a general outline of the game, briefly stated.

It was this game that Dejah Thoris and John Carter were playing when
Tara of Helium bid them good night, retiring to her own quarters and her
sleeping silks and furs. "Until morning, my beloved," she called back to
them as she passed from the apartment, nor little did she guess, nor her
parents, that this might indeed be the last time that they would ever set eyes
upon her.

The morning broke dull and gray. Ominous clouds billowed restlessly
and low. Beneath them torn fragments scudded toward the northwest. From
her window Tara of Helium looked out upon this unusual scene. Dense
clouds seldom overcast the Barsoomian sky. At this hour of the day it was
her custom to ride one of those small thoats that are the saddle animals of
the red Martians, but the sight of the billowing clouds lured her to a new
adventure. Uthia still slept and the girl did not disturb her. Instead, she
dressed quietly and went to the hangar upon the roof of the palace directly
above her quarters where her own swift flier was housed. She had never
driven through the clouds. It was an adventure that always she had longed
to experience. The wind was strong and it was with difficulty that she
maneuvered the craft from the hangar without accident, but once away it
raced swiftly out above the twin cities. The buffeting winds caught and
tossed it, and the girl laughed aloud in sheer joy of the resultant thrills. She
handled the little ship like a veteran, though few veterans would have faced
the menace of such a storm in so light a craft. Swiftly she rose toward the
clouds, racing with the scudding streamers of the storm-swept fragments,
and a moment later she was swallowed by the dense masses billowing
above. Here was a new world, a world of chaos unpeopled except for
herself; but it was a cold, damp, lonely world and she found it depressing

after the novelty of it had been dissipated, by an overpowering sense of the
magnitude of the forces surging about her. Suddenly she felt very lonely
and very cold and very little. Hurriedly, therefore, she rose until presently
her craft broke through into the glorious sunlight that transformed the upper
surface of the somber element into rolling masses of burnished silver. Here
it was still cold, but without the dampness of the clouds, and in the eye of
the brilliant sun her spirits rose with the mounting needle of her altimeter.
Gazing at the clouds, now far beneath, the girl experienced the sensation of
hanging stationary in mid-heaven; but the whirring of her propellor, the
wind beating upon her, the high figures that rose and fell beneath the glass
of her speedometer, these told her that her speed was terrific. It was then
that she determined to turn back.

The first attempt she made above the clouds, but it was unsuccessful. To
her surprise she discovered that she could not even turn against the high
wind, which rocked and buffeted the frail craft. Then she dropped swiftly to
the dark and wind-swept zone between the hurtling clouds and the gloomy
surface of the shadowed ground. Here she tried again to force the nose of
the flier back toward Helium, but the tempest seized the frail thing and
hurled it remorselessly about, rolling it over and over and tossing it as it
were a cork in a cataract. At last the girl succeeded in righting the flier,
perilously close to the ground. Never before had she been so close to death,
yet she was not terrified. Her coolness had saved her, that and the strength
of the deck lashings that held her. Traveling with the storm she was safe,
but where was it bearing her? She pictured the apprehension of her father
and mother when she failed to appear at the morning meal. They would find
her flier missing and they would guess that somewhere in the path of the
storm it lay a wrecked and tangled mass upon her dead body, and then brave
men would go out in search of her, risking their lives; and that lives would
be lost in the search, she knew, for she realized now that never in her life-
time had such a tempest raged upon Barsoom.

She must turn back! She must reach Helium before her mad lust for
thrills had cost the sacrifice of a single courageous life! She determined that
greater safety and likelihood of success lay above the clouds, and once
again she rose through the chilling, wind-tossed vapor. Her speed again was
terrific, for the wind seemed to have increased rather than to have lessened.

She sought gradually to check the swift flight of her craft, but though she
finally succeeded in reversing her motor the wind but carried her on as it
would. Then it was that Tara of Helium lost her temper. Had her world not
always bowed in acquiescence to her every wish? What were these
elements that they dared to thwart her? She would demonstrate to them that
the daughter of The Warlord was not to be denied! They would learn that
Tara of Helium might not be ruled even by the forces of nature!

And so she drove her motor forward again and then with her firm, white
teeth set in grim determination she drove the steering lever far down to port
with the intention of forcing the nose of her craft straight into the teeth of
the wind, and the wind seized the frail thing and toppled it over upon its
back, and twisted and turned it and hurled it over and over; the propellor
raced for an instant in an air pocket and then the tempest seized it again and
twisted it from its shaft, leaving the girl helpless upon an unmanageable
atom that rose and fell, and rolled and tumbled—the sport of the elements
she had defied. Tara of Helium's first sensation was one of surprise—that
she had failed to have her own way. Then she commenced to feel concern—
not for her own safety but for the anxiety of her parents and the dangers that
the inevitable searchers must face. She reproached herself for the
thoughtless selfishness that had jeopardized the peace and safety of others.
She realized her own grave danger, too; but she was still unterrified, as
befitted the daughter of Dejah Thoris and John Carter. She knew that her
buoyancy tanks might keep her afloat indefinitely, but she had neither food
nor water, and she was being borne toward the least-known area of
Barsoom. Perhaps it would be better to land immediately and await the
coming of the searchers, rather than to allow herself to be carried still
further from Helium, thus greatly reducing the chances of early discovery;
but when she dropped toward the ground she discovered that the violence of
the wind rendered an attempt to land tantamount to destruction and she rose
again, rapidly.

Carried along a few hundred feet above the ground she was better able to
appreciate the Titanic proportions of the storm than when she had flown in
the comparative serenity of the zone above the clouds, for now she could
distinctly see the effect of the wind upon the surface of Barsoom. The air
was filled with dust and flying bits of vegetation and when the storm carried

her across an irrigated area of farm land she saw great trees and stone walls
and buildings lifted high in air and scattered broadcast over the devastated
country; and then she was carried swiftly on to other sights that forced in
upon her consciousness a rapidly growing conviction that after all Tara of
Helium was a very small and insignificant and helpless person. It was quite
a shock to her self-pride while it lasted, and toward evening she was ready
to believe that it was going to last forever. There had been no abatement in
the ferocity of the tempest, nor was there indication of any. She could only
guess at the distance she had been carried for she could not believe in the
correctness of the high figures that had been piled upon the record of her
odometer. They seemed unbelievable and yet, had she known it, they were
quite true—in twelve hours she had flown and been carried by the storm
full seven thousand haads. Just before dark she was carried over one of the
deserted cities of ancient Mars. It was Torquas, but she did not know it. Had
she, she might readily have been forgiven for abandoning the last vestige of
hope, for to the people of Helium Torquas seems as remote as do the South
Sea Islands to us. And still the tempest, its fury unabated, bore her on.

All that night she hurtled through the dark beneath the clouds, or rose to
race through the moonlit void beneath the glory of Barsoom's two satellites.
She was cold and hungry and altogether miserable, but her brave little spirit
refused to admit that her plight was hopeless even though reason
proclaimed the truth. Her reply to reason, sometime spoken aloud in sudden
defiance, recalled the Spartan stubbornness of her sire in the face of certain
annihilation: "I still live!"

That morning there had been an early visitor at the palace of The
Warlord. It was Gahan, Jed of Gathol. He had arrived shortly after the
absence of Tara of Helium had been noted, and in the excitement he had
remained unannounced until John Carter had happened upon him in the
great reception corridor of the palace as The Warlord was hurrying out to
arrange for the dispatch of ships in search of his daughter.

Gahan read the concern upon the face of The Warlord. "Forgive me if I
intrude, John Carter," he said. "I but came to ask the indulgence of another
day since it would be fool-hardy to attempt to navigate a ship in such a
storm."

"Remain, Gahan, a welcome guest until you choose to leave us," replied
The Warlord; "but you must forgive any seeming inattention upon the part
of Helium until my daughter is restored to us."

"You daughter! Restored! What do you mean?" exclaimed the Gatholian.
"I do not understand."

"She is gone, together with her light flier. That is all we know. We can
only assume that she decided to fly before the morning meal and was
caught in the clutches of the tempest. You will pardon me, Gahan, if I leave
you abruptly—I am arranging to send ships in search of her;" but Gahan,
Jed of Gathol, was already speeding in the direction of the palace gate.
There he leaped upon a waiting thoat and followed by two warriors in the
metal of Gathol, he dashed through the avenues of Helium toward the
palace that had been set aside for his entertainment.

CHAPTER III

THE HEADLESS HUMANS

Above the roof of the palace that housed the Jed of Gathol and his
entourage, the cruiser Vanator tore at her stout moorings. The groaning
tackle bespoke the mad fury of the gale, while the worried faces of those
members of the crew whose duties demanded their presence on the straining
craft gave corroborative evidence of the gravity of the situation. Only stout
lashings prevented these men from being swept from the deck, while those
upon the roof below were constantly compelled to cling to rails and
stanchions to save themselves from being carried away by each new burst
of meteoric fury. Upon the prow of the Vanator was painted the device of
Gathol, but no pennants were displayed in the upper works since the storm
had carried away several in rapid succession, just as it seemed to the
watching men that it must carry away the ship itself. They could not believe
that any tackle could withstand for long this Titanic force. To each of the

twelve lashings clung a brawny warrior with drawn short-sword. Had but a
single mooring given to the power of the tempest eleven short-swords
would have cut the others; since, partially moored, the ship was doomed,
while free in the tempest it stood at least some slight chance for life.

"By the blood of Issus, I believe they will hold!" screamed one warrior
to another.

"And if they do not hold may the spirits of our ancestors reward the
brave warriors upon the Vanator," replied another of those upon the roof of
the palace, "for it will not be long from the moment her cables part before
her crew dons the leather of the dead; but yet, Tanus, I believe they will
hold. Give thanks at least that we did not sail before the tempest fell, since
now each of us has a chance to live."

"Yes," replied Tanus, "I should hate to be abroad today upon the stoutest
ship that sails the Barsoomian sky."

It was then that Gahan the Jed appeared upon the roof. With him were
the balance of his own party and a dozen warriors of Helium. The young
chief turned to his followers.

"I sail at once upon the Vanator," he said, "in search of Tara of Helium
who is thought to have been carried away upon a one-man flier by the
storm. I do not need to explain to you the slender chances the Vanator has to
withstand the fury of the tempest, nor will I order you to your deaths. Let
those who wish remain behind without dishonor. The others will follow
me," and he leaped for the rope ladder that lashed wildly in the gale.

The first man to follow him was Tanus and when the last reached the
deck of the cruiser there remained upon the palace roof only the twelve
warriors of Helium, who, with naked swords, had taken the posts of the
Gatholians at the moorings.

Not a single warrior who had remained aboard the Vanator would leave
her now.

"I expected no less," said Gahan, as with the help of those already on the
deck he and the others found secure lashings. The commander of the
Vanator shook his head. He loved his trim craft, the pride of her class in the
little navy of Gathol. It was of her he thought—not of himself. He saw her
lying torn and twisted upon the ochre vegetation of some distant sea-
bottom, to be presently overrun and looted by some savage, green horde. He
looked at Gahan.

"Are you ready, San Tothis?" asked the jed.

"All is ready."

"Then cut away!"

Word was passed across the deck and over the side to the Heliumetic
warriors below that at the third gun they were to cut away. Twelve keen
swords must strike simultaneously and with equal power, and each must
sever completely and instantly three strands of heavy cable that no loose
end fouling a block bring immediate disaster upon the Vanator.

Boom! The voice of the signal gun rolled down through the screaming
wind to the twelve warriors upon the roof. Boom! Twelve swords were
raised above twelve brawny shoulders. Boom! Twelve keen edges severed
twelve complaining moorings, clean and as one.

The Vanator, her propellors whirling, shot forward with the storm. The
tempest struck her in the stern as with a mailed fist and stood the great ship
upon her nose, and then it caught her and spun her as a child's top spins; and
upon the palace roof the twelve men looked on in silent helplessness and
prayed for the souls of the brave warriors who were going to their death.
And others saw, from Helium's lofty landing stages and from a thousand
hangars upon a thousand roofs; but only for an instant did the preparations
stop that would send other brave men into the frightful maelstrom of that
apparently hopeless search, for such is the courage of the warriors of
Barsoom.

But the Vanator did not fall to the ground, within sight of the city at
least, though as long as the watchers could see her never for an instant did

she rest upon an even keel. Sometimes she lay upon one side or the other, or
again she hurtled along keel up, or rolled over and over, or stood upon her
nose or her tail at the caprice of the great force that carried her along. And
the watchers saw that this great ship was merely being blown away with the
other bits of debris great and small that filled the sky. Never in the memory
of man or the annals of recorded history had such a storm raged across the
face of Barsoom.

And in another instant was the Vanator forgotten as the lofty, scarlet
tower that had marked Lesser Helium for ages crashed to ground, carrying
death and demolition upon the city beneath. Panic reigned. A fire broke out
in the ruins. The city's every force seemed crippled, and it was then that The
Warlord ordered the men that were about to set forth in search of Tara of
Helium to devote their energies to the salvation of the city, for he too had
witnessed the start of the Vanator and realized the futility of wasting men
who were needed sorely if Lesser Helium was to be saved from utter
destruction.

Shortly after noon of the second day the storm commenced to abate, and
before the sun went down, the little craft upon which Tara of Helium had
hovered between life and death these many hours drifted slowly before a
gentle breeze above a landscape of rolling hills that once had been lofty
mountains upon a Martian continent. The girl was exhausted from loss of
sleep, from lack of food and drink, and from the nervous reaction
consequent to the terrifying experiences through which she had passed. In
the near distance, just topping an intervening hill, she caught a momentary
glimpse of what appeared to be a dome-capped tower. Quickly she dropped
the flier until the hill shut it off from the view of the possible occupants of
the structure she had seen. The tower meant to her the habitation of man,
suggesting the presence of water and, perhaps, of food. If the tower was the
deserted relic of a bygone age she would scarcely find food there, but there
was still a chance that there might be water. If it was inhabited, then must
her approach be cautious, for only enemies might be expected to abide in so
far distant a land. Tara of Helium knew that she must be far from the twin
cities of her grandfather's empire, but had she guessed within even a
thousand haads of the reality, she had been stunned by realization of the
utter hopelessness of her state.

Keeping the craft low, for the buoyancy tanks were still intact, the girl
skimmed the ground until the gently-moving wind had carried her to the
side of the last hill that intervened between her and the structure she had
thought a man-built tower. Here she brought the flier to the ground among
some stunted trees, and dragging it beneath one where it might be
somewhat hidden from craft passing above, she made it fast and set forth to
reconnoiter. Like most women of her class she was armed only with a
single slender blade, so that in such an emergency as now confronted her
she must depend almost solely upon her cleverness in remaining
undiscovered by enemies. With utmost caution she crept warily toward the
crest of the hill, taking advantage of every natural screen that the landscape
afforded to conceal her approach from possible observers ahead, while
momentarily she cast quick glances rearward lest she be taken by surprise
from that quarter.

She came at last to the summit, where, from the concealment of a low
bush, she could see what lay beyond. Beneath her spread a beautiful valley
surrounded by low hills. Dotting it were numerous circular towers, dome-
capped, and surrounding each tower was a stone wall enclosing several
acres of ground. The valley appeared to be in a high state of cultivation.
Upon the opposite side of the hill and just beneath her was a tower and
enclosure. It was the roof of the former that had first attracted her attention.
In all respects it seemed identical in construction with those further out in
the valley—a high, plastered wall of massive construction surrounding a
similarly constructed tower, upon whose gray surface was painted in vivid
colors a strange device. The towers were about forty sofads in diameter,
approximately forty earth-feet, and sixty in height to the base of the dome.
To an Earth man they would have immediately suggested the silos in which
dairy farmers store ensilage for their herds; but closer scrutiny, revealing an
occasional embrasured opening together with the strange construction of the
domes, would have altered such a conclusion. Tara of Helium saw that the
domes seemed to be faced with innumerable prisms of glass, those that
were exposed to the declining sun scintillating so gorgeously as to remind
her suddenly of the magnificent trappings of Gahan of Gathol. As she
thought of the man she shook her head angrily, and moved cautiously
forward a foot or two that she might get a less obstructed view of the nearer
tower and its enclosure.

As Tara of Helium looked down into the enclosure surrounding the
nearest tower, her brows contracted momentarily in frowning surprise, and
then her eyes went wide in an expression of incredulity tinged with horror,
for what she saw was a score or two of human bodies—naked and headless.
For a long moment she watched, breathless; unable to believe the evidence
of her own eyes—that these grewsome things moved and had life! She saw
them crawling about on hands and knees over and across one another,
searching about with their fingers. And she saw some of them at troughs,
for which the others seemed to be searching, and those at the troughs were
taking something from these receptacles and apparently putting it in a hole
where their necks should have been. They were not far beneath her—she
could see them distinctly and she saw that there were the bodies of both
men and women, and that they were beautifully proportioned, and that their
skin was similar to hers, but of a slightly lighter red. At first she had thought
that she was looking upon a shambles and that the bodies, but recently
decapitated, were moving under the impulse of muscular reaction; but
presently she realized that this was their normal condition. The horror of
them fascinated her, so that she could scarce take her eyes from them. It
was evident from their groping hands that they were eyeless, and their
sluggish movements suggested a rudimentary nervous system and a
correspondingly minute brain. The girl wondered how they subsisted for
she could not, even by the wildest stretch of imagination, picture these
imperfect creatures as intelligent tillers of the soil. Yet that the soil of the
valley was tilled was evident and that these things had food was equally so.
But who tilled the soil? Who kept and fed these unhappy things, and for
what purpose? It was an enigma beyond her powers of deduction.

The sight of food aroused again a consciousness of her own gnawing
hunger and the thirst that parched her throat. She could see both food and
water within the enclosure; but would she dare enter even should she find
means of ingress? She doubted it, since the very thought of possible contact
with these grewsome creatures sent a shudder through her frame.

Then her eyes wandered again out across the valley until presently they
picked out what appeared to be a tiny stream winding its way through the
center of the farm lands—a strange sight upon Barsoom. Ah, if it were but
water! Then might she hope with a real hope, for the fields would give her

sustenance which she could gain by night, while by day she hid among the
surrounding hills, and sometime, yes, sometime she knew, the searchers
would come, for John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, would never cease to
search for his daughter until every square haad of the planet had been
combed again and again. She knew him and she knew the warriors of
Helium and so she knew that could she but manage to escape harm until
they came, they would indeed come at last.

She would have to wait until dark before she dare venture into the valley,
and in the meantime she thought it well to search out a place of safety
nearby where she might be reasonably safe from savage beasts. It was
possible that the district was free from carnivora, but one might never be
sure in a strange land. As she was about to withdraw behind the brow of the
hill her attention was again attracted to the enclosure below. Two figures
had emerged from the tower. Their beautiful bodies seemed identical with
those of the headless creatures among which they moved, but the
newcomers were not headless. Upon their shoulders were heads that seemed
human, yet which the girl intuitively sensed were not human. They were
just a trifle too far away for her to see them distinctly in the waning light of
the dying day, but she knew that they were too large, they were out of
proportion to the perfectly proportioned bodies, and they were oblate in
form. She could see that the men wore some manner of harness to which
were slung the customary long-sword and short-sword of the Barsoomian
warrior, and that about their short necks were massive leather collars cut to
fit closely over the shoulders and snugly to the lower part of the head. Their
features were scarce discernible, but there was a suggestion of
grotesqueness about them that carried to her a feeling of revulsion.

The two carried a long rope to which were fastened, at intervals of about
two sofads, what she later guessed were light manacles, for she saw the
warriors passing among the poor creatures in the enclosure and about the
right wrist of each they fastened one of the manacles. When all had been
thus fastened to the rope one of the warriors commenced to pull and tug at
the loose end as though attempting to drag the headless company toward the
tower, while the other went among them with a long, light whip with which
he flicked them upon the naked skin. Slowly, dully, the creatures rose to
their feet and between the tugging of the warrior in front and the lashing of

him behind the hopeless band was finally herded within the tower. Tara of
Helium shuddered as she turned away. What manner of creatures were
these?

Suddenly it was night. The Barsoomian day had ended, and then the
brief period of twilight that renders the transition from daylight to darkness
almost as abrupt as the switching off of an electric light, and Tara of Helium
had found no sanctuary. But perhaps there were no beasts to fear, or rather
to avoid—Tara of Helium liked not the word fear. She would have been
glad, however, had there been a cabin, even a very tiny cabin, upon her
small flier; but there was no cabin. The interior of the hull was completely
taken up by the buoyancy tanks. Ah, she had it! How stupid of her not to
have thought of it before! She could moor the craft to the tree beneath
which it rested and let it rise the length of the rope. Lashed to the deck rings
she would then be safe from any roaming beast of prey that chanced along.
In the morning she could drop to the ground again before the craft was
discovered.

As Tara of Helium crept over the brow of the hill down toward the
valley, her presence was hidden by the darkness of the night from the sight
of any chance observer who might be loitering by a window in the nearby
tower. Cluros, the farther moon, was just rising above the horizon to
commence his leisurely journey through the heavens. Eight zodes later he
would set—a trifle over nineteen and a half Earth hours—and during that
time Thuria, his vivacious mate, would have circled the planet twice and be
more than half way around on her third trip. She had but just set. It would
be more than three and a half hours before she shot above the opposite
horizon to hurtle, swift and low, across the face of the dying planet. During
this temporary absence of the mad moon Tara of Helium hoped to find both
food and water, and gain again the safety of her flier's deck.

She groped her way through the darkness, giving the tower and its
enclosure as wide a berth as possible. Sometimes she stumbled, for in the
long shadows cast by the rising Cluros objects were grotesquely distorted
though the light from the moon was still not sufficient to be of much
assistance to her. Nor, as a matter of fact, did she want light. She could find
the stream in the dark, by the simple expedient of going down hill until she

walked into it and she had seen that bearing trees and many crops grew
throughout the valley, so that she would pass food in plenty ere she reached
the stream. If the moon showed her the way more clearly and thus saved her
from an occasional fall, he would, too, show her more clearly to the strange
denizens of the towers, and that, of course, must not be. Could she have
waited until the following night conditions would have been better, since
Cluros would not appear in the heavens at all and so, during Thuria's
absence, utter darkness would reign; but the pangs of thirst and the gnawing
of hunger could be endured no longer with food and drink both in sight, and
so she had decided to risk discovery rather than suffer longer.

Safely past the nearest tower, she moved as rapidly as she felt consistent
with safety, choosing her way wherever possible so that she might take
advantage of the shadows of the trees that grew at intervals and at the same
time discover those which bore fruit. In this latter she met with almost
immediate success, for the very third tree beneath which she halted was
heavy with ripe fruit. Never, thought Tara of Helium, had aught so delicious
impinged upon her palate, and yet it was naught else than the almost
tasteless usa, which is considered to be palatable only after having been
cooked and highly spiced. It grows easily with little irrigation and the trees
bear abundantly. The fruit, which ranks high in food value, is one of the
staple foods of the less well-to-do, and because of its cheapness and
nutritive value forms one of the principal rations of both armies and navies
upon Barsoom, a use which has won for it a Martian sobriquet which, freely
translated into English, would be, The Fighting Potato. The girl was wise
enough to eat but sparingly, but she filled her pocket-pouch with the fruit
before she continued upon her way.

Two towers she passed before she came at last to the stream, and here
again was she temperate, drinking but little and that very slowly, contenting
herself with rinsing her mouth frequently and bathing her face, her hands,
and her feet; and even though the night was cold, as Martian nights are, the
sensation of refreshment more than compensated for the physical
discomfort of the low temperature. Replacing her sandals she sought among
the growing track near the stream for whatever edible berries or tubers
might be planted there, and found a couple of varieties that could be eaten
raw. With these she replaced some of the usa in her pocket-pouch, not only

to insure a variety but because she found them more palatable. Occasionally
she returned to the stream to drink, but each time moderately. Always were
her eyes and ears alert for the first signs of danger, but she had neither seen
nor heard aught to disturb her. And presently the time approached when she
felt she must return to her flier lest she be caught in the revealing light of
low swinging Thuria. She dreaded leaving the water for she knew that she
must become very thirsty before she could hope to come again to the
stream. If she only had some little receptacle in which to carry water, even a
small amount would tide her over until the following night; but she had
nothing and so she must content herself as best she could with the juices of
the fruit and tubers she had gathered.

After a last drink at the stream, the longest and deepest she had allowed
herself, she rose to retrace her steps toward the hills; but even as she did so
she became suddenly tense with apprehension. What was that? She could
have sworn that she saw something move in the shadows beneath a tree not
far away. For a long minute the girl did not move—she scarce breathed. Her
eyes remained fixed upon the dense shadows below the tree, her ears
strained through the silence of the night. A low moaning came down from
the hills where her flier was hidden. She knew it well—the weird note of
the hunting banth. And the great carnivore lay directly in her path. But he
was not so close as this other thing, hiding there in the shadows just a little
way off. What was it? It was the strain of uncertainty that weighed heaviest
upon her. Had she known the nature of the creature lurking there half its
menace would have vanished. She cast quickly about her in search of some
haven of refuge should the thing prove dangerous.

Again arose the moaning from the hills, but this time closer. Almost
immediately it was answered from the opposite side of the valley, behind
her, and then from the distance to the right of her, and twice upon her left.
Her eyes had found a tree, quite near. Slowly, and without taking her eyes
from the shadows of that other tree, she moved toward the overhanging
branches that might afford her sanctuary in the event of need, and at her
first move a low growl rose from the spot she had been watching and she
heard the sudden moving of a big body. Simultaneously the creature shot
into the moonlight in full charge upon her, its tail erect, its tiny ears laid
flat, its great mouth with its multiple rows of sharp and powerful fangs

already yawning for its prey, its ten legs carrying it forward in great leaps,
and now from the beast's throat issued the frightful roar with which it seeks
to paralyze its prey. It was a banth—the great, maned lion of Barsoom. Tara
of Helium saw it coming and leaped for the tree toward which she had been
moving, and the banth realized her intention and redoubled his speed. As
his hideous roar awakened the echoes in the hills, so too it awakened echoes
in the valley; but these echoes came from the living throats of others of his
kind, until it seemed to the girl that Fate had thrown her into the midst of a
countless multitude of these savage beasts.

Almost incredibly swift is the speed of a charging banth, and fortunate it
was that the girl had not been caught farther in the open. As it was, her
margin of safety was next to negligible, for as she swung nimbly to the
lower branches the creature in pursuit of her crashed among the foliage
almost upon her as it sprang upward to seize her. It was only a combination
of good fortune and agility that saved her. A stout branch deflected the
raking talons of the carnivore, but so close was the call that a giant forearm
brushed her flesh in the instant before she scrambled to the higher branches.

Baffled, the banth gave vent to his rage and disappointment in a series of
frightful roars that caused the very ground to tremble, and to these were
added the roarings and the growlings and the moanings of his fellows as
they approached from every direction, in the hope of wresting from him
whatever of his kill they could take by craft or prowess. And now he turned
snarling upon them as they circled the tree, while the girl, huddled in a
crotch above them, looked down upon the gaunt, yellow monsters padding
on noiseless feet in a restless circle about her. She wondered now at the
strange freak of fate that had permitted her to come down this far into the
valley by night unharmed, but even more she wondered how she was to
return to the hills. She knew that she would not dare venture it by night and
she guessed, too, that by day she might be confronted by even graver perils.
To depend upon this valley for sustenance she now saw to be beyond the
pale of possibility because of the banths that would keep her from food and
water by night, while the dwellers in the towers would doubtless make it
equally impossible for her to forage by day. There was but one solution of
her difficulty and that was to return to her flier and pray that the wind
would waft her to some less terrorful land; but when might she return to the

flier? The banths gave little evidence of relinquishing hope of her, and even
if they wandered out of sight would she dare risk the attempt? She doubted
it.

Hopeless indeed seemed her situation—hopeless it was.

CHAPTER IV

CAPTURED

As Thuria, swift racer of the night, shot again into the sky the scene
changed. As by magic a new aspect fell athwart the face of Nature. It was as
though in the instant one had been transported from one planet to another. It
was the age-old miracle of the Martian nights that is always new, even to
Martians—two moons resplendent in the heavens, where one had been but
now; conflicting, fast-changing shadows that altered the very hills
themselves; far Cluros, stately, majestic, almost stationary, shedding his
steady light upon the world below; Thuria, a great and glorious orb,
swinging swift across the vaulted dome of the blue-black night, so low that
she seemed to graze the hills, a gorgeous spectacle that held the girl now
beneath the spell of its enchantment as it always had and always would.

"Ah, Thuria, mad queen of heaven!" murmured Tara of Helium. "The
hills pass in stately procession, their bosoms rising and falling; the trees
move in restless circles; the little grasses describe their little arcs; and all is
movement, restless, mysterious movement without sound, while Thuria
passes." The girl sighed and let her gaze fall again to the stern realities
beneath. There was no mystery in the huge banths. He who had discovered
her squatted there looking hungrily up at her. Most of the others had
wandered away in search of other prey, but a few remained hoping yet to
bury their fangs in that soft body.

The night wore on. Again Thuria left the heavens to her lord and master,
hurrying on to keep her tryst with the Sun in other skies. But a single banth
waited impatiently beneath the tree which harbored Tara of Helium. The
others had left, but their roars, and growls, and moans thundered or
rumbled, or floated back to her from near and far. What prey found they in
this little valley? There must be something that they were accustomed to
find here that they should be drawn in so great numbers. The girl wondered
what it could be.

How long the night! Numb, cold, and exhausted, Tara of Helium clung
to the tree in growing desperation, for once she had dozed and almost
fallen. Hope was low in her brave little heart. How much more could she
endure? She asked herself the question and then, with a brave shake of her
head, she squared her shoulders. "I still live!" she said aloud.

The banth looked up and growled.

Came Thuria again and after awhile the great Sun—a flaming lover,
pursuing his heart's desire. And Cluros, the cold husband, continued his
serene way, as placid as before his house had been violated by this hot
Lothario. And now the Sun and both Moons rode together in the sky,
lending their far mysteries to make weird the Martian dawn. Tara of Helium
looked out across the fair valley that spread upon all sides of her. It was rich
and beautiful, but even as she looked upon it she shuddered, for to her mind
came a picture of the headless things that the towers and the walls hid.
Those by day and the banths by night! Ah, was it any wonder that she
shuddered?

With the coming of the Sun the great Barsoomian lion rose to his feet.
He turned angry eyes upon the girl above him, voiced a single ominous
growl, and slunk away toward the hills. The girl watched him, and she saw
that he gave the towers as wide a berth as possible and that he never took
his eyes from one of them while he was passing it. Evidently the inmates
had taught these savage creatures to respect them. Presently he passed from
sight in a narrow defile, nor in any direction that she could see was there
another. Momentarily at least the landscape was deserted. The girl
wondered if she dared to attempt to regain the hills and her flier. She
dreaded the coming of the workmen to the fields as she was sure they

would come. She shrank from again seeing the headless bodies, and found
herself wondering if these things would come out into the fields and work.
She looked toward the nearest tower. There was no sign of life there. The
valley lay quiet now and deserted. She lowered herself stiffly to the ground.
Her muscles were cramped and every move brought a twinge of pain.
Pausing a moment to drink again at the stream she felt refreshed and then
turned without more delay toward the hills. To cover the distance as quickly
as possible seemed the only plan to pursue. The trees no longer offered
concealment and so she did not go out of her way to be near them. The hills
seemed very far away. She had not thought, the night before, that she had
traveled so far. Really it had not been far, but now, with the three towers to
pass in broad daylight, the distance seemed great indeed.

The second tower lay almost directly in her path. To make a detour
would not lessen the chance of detection, it would only lengthen the period
of her danger, and so she laid her course straight for the hill where her flier
was, regardless of the tower. As she passed the first enclosure she thought
that she heard the sound of movement within, but the gate did not open and
she breathed more easily when it lay behind her. She came then to the
second enclosure, the outer wall of which she must circle, as it lay across
her route. As she passed close along it she distinctly heard not only
movement within, but voices. In the world-language of Barsoom she heard
a man issuing instructions—so many were to pick usa, so many were to
irrigate this field, so many to cultivate that, and so on, as a foreman lays out
the day's work for his crew.

Tara of Helium had just reached the gate in the outer wall. Without
warning it swung open toward her. She saw that for a moment it would hide
her from those within and in that moment she turned and ran, keeping close
to the wall, until, passing out of sight beyond the curve of the structure, she
came to the opposite side of the enclosure. Here, panting from her exertion
and from the excitement of her narrow escape, she threw herself among
some tall weeds that grew close to the foot of the wall. There she lay
trembling for some time, not even daring to raise her head and look about.
Never before had Tara of Helium felt the paralyzing effects of terror. She
was shocked and angry at herself, that she, daughter of John Carter, Warlord
of Barsoom, should exhibit fear. Not even the fact that there had been none

there to witness it lessened her shame and anger, and the worst of it was she
knew that under similar circumstances she would again be equally as
craven. It was not the fear of death—she knew that. No, it was the thought
of those headless bodies and that she might see them and that they might
even touch her—lay hands upon her—seize her. She shuddered and
trembled at the thought.

After a while she gained sufficient command of herself to raise her head
and look about. To her horror she discovered that everywhere she looked
she saw people working in the fields or preparing to do so. Workmen were
coming from other towers. Little bands were passing to this field and that.
There were even some already at work within thirty ads of her—about a
hundred yards. There were ten, perhaps, in the party nearest her, both men
and women, and all were beautiful of form and grotesque of face. So
meager were their trappings that they were practically naked; a fact that was
in no way remarkable among the tillers of the fields of Mars. Each wore the
peculiar, high leather collar that completely hid the neck, and each wore
sufficient other leather to support a single sword and a pocket-pouch. The
leather was very old and worn, showing long, hard service, and was
absolutely plain with the exception of a single device upon the left shoulder.
The heads, however, were covered with ornaments of precious metals and
jewels, so that little more than eyes, nose, and mouth were discernible.
These were hideously inhuman and yet grotesquely human at the same
time. The eyes were far apart and protruding, the nose scarce more than two
small, parallel slits set vertically above a round hole that was the mouth.
The heads were peculiarly repulsive—so much so that it seemed
unbelievable to the girl that they formed an integral part of the beautiful
bodies below them.

So fascinated was Tara of Helium that she could scarce take her eyes
from the strange creatures—a fact that was to prove her undoing, for in
order that she might see them she was forced to expose a part of her own
head and presently, to her consternation, she saw that one of the creatures
had stopped his work and was staring directly at her. She did not dare move,
for it was still possible that the thing had not seen her, or at least was only
suspicious that some creature lay hid among the weeds. If she could allay
this suspicion by remaining motionless the creature might believe that he

had been mistaken and return to his work; but, alas, such was not to be the
case. She saw the thing call the attention of others to her and almost
immediately four or five of them started to move in her direction.

It was impossible now to escape discovery. Her only hope lay in flight. If
she could elude them and reach the hills and the flier ahead of them she
might escape, and that could be accomplished in but one way—flight,
immediate and swift. Leaping to her feet she darted along the base of the
wall which she must skirt to the opposite side, beyond which lay the hill
that was her goal. Her act was greeted by strange whistling sounds from the
things behind her, and casting a glance over her shoulder she saw them all
in rapid pursuit.

There were also shrill commands that she halt, but to these she paid no
attention. Before she had half circled the enclosure she discovered that her
chances for successful escape were great, since it was evident to her that her
pursuers were not so fleet as she. High indeed then were her hopes as she
came in sight of the hill, but they were soon dashed by what lay before her,
for there, in the fields that lay between, were fully a hundred creatures
similar to those behind her and all were on the alert, evidently warned by
the whistling of their fellows. Instructions and commands were shouted to
and fro, with the result that those before her spread roughly into a great half
circle to intercept her, and when she turned to the right, hoping to elude the
net, she saw others coming from fields beyond, and to the left the same was
true. But Tara of Helium would not admit defeat. Without once pausing she
turned directly toward the center of the advancing semi-circle, beyond
which lay her single chance of escape, and as she ran she drew her long,
slim dagger. Like her valiant sire, if die she must, she would die fighting.
There were gaps in the thin line confronting her and toward the widest of
one of these she directed her course. The things on either side of the
opening guessed her intent for they closed in to place themselves in her
path. This widened the openings on either side of them and as the girl
appeared almost to rush into their arms she turned suddenly at right angles,
ran swiftly in the new direction for a few yards, and then dashed quickly
toward the hill again. Now only a single warrior, with a wide gap on either
side of him, barred her clear way to freedom, though all the others were
speeding as rapidly as they could to intercept her. If she could pass this one

without too much delay she could escape, of that she was certain. Her every
hope hinged on this. The creature before her realized it, too, for he moved
cautiously, though swiftly, to intercept her, as a Rugby fullback might
maneuver in the realization that he alone stood between the opposing team
and a touchdown.

At first Tara of Helium had hoped that she might dodge him, for she
could not but guess that she was not only more fleet but infinitely more
agile than these strange creatures; but soon there came to her the realization
that in the time consumed in an attempt to elude his grasp his nearer fellows
would be upon her and escape then impossible, so she chose instead to
charge straight for him, and when he guessed her decision he stood, half
crouching and with outstretched arms, awaiting her. In one hand was his
sword, but a voice arose, crying in tones of authority. "Take her alive! Do
not harm her!" Instantly the fellow returned his sword to its scabbard and
then Tara of Helium was upon him. Straight for that beautiful body she
sprang and in the instant that the arms closed to seize her her sharp blade
drove deep into the naked chest. The impact hurled them both to the ground
and as Tara of Helium sprang to her feet again she saw, to her horror, that
the loathsome head had rolled from the body and was now crawling away
from her on six short, spider-like legs. The body struggled spasmodically
and lay still. As brief as had been the delay caused by the encounter, it still
had been of sufficient duration to undo her, for even as she rose two more
of the things fell upon her and instantly thereafter she was surrounded. Her
blade sank once more into naked flesh and once more a head rolled free and
crawled away. Then they overpowered her and in another moment she was
surrounded by fully a hundred of the creatures, all seeking to lay hands
upon her. At first she thought that they wished to tear her to pieces in
revenge for her having slain two of their fellows, but presently she realized
that they were prompted more by curiosity than by any sinister motive.

"Come!" said one of her captors, both of whom had retained a hold upon
her. As he spoke he tried to lead her away with him toward the nearest
tower.

"She belongs to me," cried the other. "Did not I capture her? She will
come with me to the tower of Moak."

"Never!" insisted the first. "She is Luud's. To Luud I will take her, and
whosoever interferes may feel the keenness of my sword—in the head!" He
almost shouted the last three words.

"Come! Enough of this," cried one who spoke with some show of
authority. "She was captured in Luud's fields—she will go to Luud."

"She was discovered in Moak's fields, at the very foot of the tower of
Moak," insisted he who had claimed her for Moak.

"You have heard the Nolach speak," cried the Luud. "It shall be as he
says."

"Not while this Moak holds a sword," replied the other. "Rather will I cut
her in twain and take my half to Moak than to relinquish her all to Luud,"
and he drew his sword, or rather he laid his hand upon its hilt in a
threatening gesture; but before ever he could draw it the Luud had whipped
his out and with a fearful blow cut deep into the head of his adversary.
Instantly the big, round head collapsed, almost as a punctured balloon
collapses, as a grayish, semi-fluid matter spurted from it. The protruding
eyes, apparently lidless, merely stared, the sphincter-like muscle of the
mouth opened and closed, and then the head toppled from the body to the
ground. The body stood dully for a moment and then slowly started to
wander aimlessly about until one of the others seized it by the arm.

One of the two heads crawling about on the ground now approached.
"This rykor belongs to Moak," it said. "I am a Moak. I will take it," and
without further discussion it commenced to crawl up the front of the
headless body, using its six short, spiderlike legs and two stout chelae
which grew just in front of its legs and strongly resembled those of an
Earthly lobster, except that they were both of the same size. The body in the
meantime stood in passive indifference, its arms hanging idly at its sides.
The head climbed to the shoulders and settled itself inside the leather collar
that now hid its chelae and legs. Almost immediately the body gave
evidence of intelligent animation. It raised its hands and adjusted the collar
more comfortably, it took the head between its palms and settled it in place
and when it moved around it did not wander aimlessly, but instead its steps
were firm and to some purpose.

The girl watched all these things in growing wonder, and presently, no
other of the Moaks seeming inclined to dispute the right of the Luud to her,
she was led off by her captor toward the nearest tower. Several
accompanied them, including one who carried the loose head under his arm.
The head that was being carried conversed with the head upon the shoulders
of the thing that carried it. Tara of Helium shivered. It was horrible! All that
she had seen of these frightful creatures was horrible. And to be a prisoner,
wholly in their power. Shadow of her first ancestor! What had she done to
deserve so cruel a fate?

At the wall enclosing the tower they paused while one opened the gate
and then they passed within the enclosure, which, to the girl's horror, she
found filled with headless bodies. The creature who carried the bodiless
head now set its burden upon the ground and the latter immediately crawled
toward one of the bodies that was lying near by. Some wandered stupidly to
and fro, but this one lay still. It was a female. The head crawled to it and
made its way to the shoulders where it settled itself. At once the body
sprang lightly erect. Another of those who had accompanied them from the
fields approached with the harness and collar that had been taken from the
dead body that the head had formerly topped. The new body now
appropriated these and the hands deftly adjusted them. The creature was
now as good as before Tara of Helium had struck down its former body
with her slim blade. But there was a difference. Before it had been male—
now it was female. That, however, seemed to make no difference to the
head. In fact, Tara of Helium had noticed during the scramble and the fight
about her that sex differences seemed of little moment to her captors. Males
and females had taken equal part in her pursuit, both were identically
harnessed and both carried swords, and she had seen as many females as
males draw their weapons at the moment that a quarrel between the two
factions seemed imminent.

The girl was given but brief opportunity for further observation of the
pitiful creatures in the enclosure as her captor, after having directed the
others to return to the fields, led her toward the tower, which they entered,
passing into an apartment about ten feet wide and twenty long, in one end
of which was a stairway leading to an upper level and in the other an
opening to a similar stairway leading downward. The chamber, though on a

level with the ground, was brilliantly lighted by windows in its inner wall,
the light coming from a circular court in the center of the tower. The walls
of this court appeared to be faced with what resembled glazed, white tile
and the whole interior of it was flooded with dazzling light, a fact which
immediately explained to the girl the purpose of the glass prisms of which
the domes were constructed. The stairways themselves were sufficient to
cause remark, since in nearly all Barsoomian architecture inclined runways
are utilized for purposes of communication between different levels, and
especially is this true of the more ancient forms and of those of remote
districts where fewer changes have come to alter the customs of antiquity.

Down the stairway her captor led Tara of Helium. Down and down
through chambers still lighted from the brilliant well. Occasionally they
passed others going in the opposite direction and these always stopped to
examine the girl and ask questions of her captor.

"I know nothing but that she was found in the fields and that I caught her
after a fight in which she slew two rykors and in which I slew a Moak, and
that I take her to Luud, to whom, of course, she belongs. If Luud wishes to
question her that is for Luud to do—not for me." Thus always he answered
the curious.

Presently they reached a room from which a circular tunnel led away
from the tower, and into this the creature conducted her. The tunnel was
some seven feet in diameter and flattened on the bottom to form a walk. For
a hundred feet from the tower it was lined with the same tile-like material
of the light well and amply illuminated by reflected light from that source.
Beyond it was faced with stone of various shapes and sizes, neatly cut and
fitted together—a very fine mosaic without a pattern. There were branches,
too, and other tunnels which crossed this, and occasionally openings not
more than a foot in diameter; these latter being usually close to the floor.
Above each of these smaller openings was painted a different device, while
upon the walls of the larger tunnels at all intersections and points of
convergence hieroglyphics appeared. These the girl could not read though
she guessed that they were the names of the tunnels, or notices indicating
the points to which they led. She tried to study some of them out, but there
was not a character that was familiar to her, which seemed strange, since,

while the written languages of the various nations of Barsoom differ, it still
is true that they have many characters and words in common.

She had tried to converse with her guard but he had not seemed inclined
to talk with her and she had finally desisted. She could not but note that he
had offered her no indignities, nor had he been either unnecessarily rough
or in any way cruel. The fact that she had slain two of the bodies with her
dagger had apparently aroused no animosity or desire for revenge in the
minds of the strange heads that surmounted the bodies—even those whose
bodies had been killed. She did not try to understand it, since she could not
approach the peculiar relationship between the heads and the bodies of
these creatures from the basis of any past knowledge or experience of her
own. So far their treatment of her seemed to augur naught that might arouse
her fears. Perhaps, after all, she had been fortunate to fall into the hands of
these strange people, who might not only protect her from harm, but even
aid her in returning to Helium. That they were repulsive and uncanny she
could not forget, but if they meant her no harm she could, at least, overlook
their repulsiveness. Renewed hope aroused within her a spirit of greater
cheerfulness, and it was almost blithely now that she moved at the side of
her weird companion. She even caught herself humming a gay little tune
that was then popular in Helium. The creature at her side turned its
expressionless eyes upon her.

"What is that noise that you are making?" it asked.

"I was but humming an air," she replied.

"'Humming an air,'" he repeated. "I do not know what you mean; but do
it again, I like it."

This time she sang the words, while her companion listened intently. His
face gave no indication of what was passing in that strange head. It was as
devoid of expression as that of a spider. It reminded her of a spider. When
she had finished he turned toward her again.

"That was different," he said. "I liked that better, even, than the other.
How do you do it?"

"Why," she said, "it is singing. Do you not know what song is?"

"No," he replied. "Tell me how you do it."

"It is difficult to explain," she told him, "since any explanation of it
presupposes some knowledge of melody and of music, while your very
question indicates that you have no knowledge of either."

"No," he said, "I do not know what you are talking about; but tell me
how you do it."

"It is merely the melodious modulations of my voice," she explained.
"Listen!" and again she sang.

"I do not understand," he insisted; "but I like it. Could you teach me to
do it?"

"I do not know, but I shall be glad to try."

"We will see what Luud does with you," he said. "If he does not want
you I will keep you and you shall teach me to make sounds like that."

At his request she sang again as they continued their way along the
winding tunnel, which was now lighted by occasional bulbs which appeared
to be similar to the radium bulbs with which she was familiar and which
were common to all the nations of Barsoom, insofar as she knew, having
been perfected at so remote a period that their very origin was lost in
antiquity. They consist, usually, of a hemispherical bowl of heavy glass in
which is packed a compound containing what, according to John Carter,
must be radium. The bowl is then cemented into a metal plate with a
heavily insulated back and the whole affair set in the masonry of wall or
ceiling as desired, where it gives off light of greater or less intensity,
according to the composition of the filling material, for an almost
incalculable period of time.

As they proceeded they met a greater number of the inhabitants of this
underground world, and the girl noted that among many of these the metal
and harness were more ornate than had been those of the workers in the

fields above. The heads and bodies, however, were similar, even identical,
she thought. No one offered her harm and she was now experiencing a
feeling of relief almost akin to happiness, when her guide turned suddenly
into an opening on the right side of the tunnel and she found herself in a
large, well lighted chamber.

CHAPTER V

THE PERFECT BRAIN

The song that had been upon her lips as she entered died there—frozen
by the sight of horror that met her eyes. In the center of the chamber a
headless body lay upon the floor—a body that had been partially devoured
—while over and upon it crawled a half a dozen heads upon their short,
spider legs, and they tore at the flesh of the woman with their chelae and
carried the bits to their awful mouths. They were eating human flesh—
eating it raw!

Tara of Helium gasped in horror and turning away covered her eyes with
her palms.

"Come!" said her captor. "What is the matter?"

"They are eating the flesh of the woman," she whispered in tones of
horror.

"Why not?" he inquired. "Did you suppose that we kept the rykor for
labor alone? Ah, no. They are delicious when kept and fattened. Fortunate,
too, are those that are bred for food, since they are never called upon to do
aught but eat."

"It is hideous!" she cried.

He looked at her steadily for a moment, but whether in surprise, in anger,
or in pity his expressionless face did not reveal. Then he led her on across
the room past the frightful thing, from which she turned away her eyes.
Lying about the floor near the walls were half a dozen headless bodies in
harness. These she guessed had been abandoned temporarily by the feasting
heads until they again required their services. In the walls of this room there
were many of the small, round openings she had noticed in various parts of
the tunnels, the purpose of which she could not guess.

They passed through another corridor and then into a second chamber,
larger than the first and more brilliantly illuminated. Within were several of
the creatures with heads and bodies assembled, while many headless bodies
lay about near the walls. Here her captor halted and spoke to one of the
occupants of the chamber.

"I seek Luud," he said. "I bring to Luud a creature that I captured in the
fields above."

The others crowded about to examine Tara of Helium. One of them
whistled, whereupon the girl learned something of the smaller openings in
the walls, for almost immediately there crawled from them, like giant
spiders, a score or more of the hideous heads. Each sought one of the
recumbent bodies and fastened itself in place. Immediately the bodies
reacted to the intelligent direction of the heads. They arose, the hands
adjusted the leather collars and put the balance of the harness in order, then
the creatures crossed the room to where Tara of Helium stood. She noted
that their leather was more highly ornamented than that worn by any of the
others she had previously seen, and so she guessed that these must be
higher in authority than the others. Nor was she mistaken. The demeanor of
her captor indicated it. He addressed them as one who holds intercourse
with superiors.

Several of those who examined her felt her flesh, pinching it gently
between thumb and forefinger, a familiarity that the girl resented. She
struck down their hands. "Do not touch me!" she cried, imperiously, for was
she not a princess of Helium? The expression on those terrible faces did not
change. She could not tell whether they were angry or amused, whether her

action had filled them with respect for her, or contempt. Only one of them
spoke immediately.

"She will have to be fattened more," he said.

The girl's eyes went wide with horror. She turned upon her captor. "Do
these frightful creatures intend to devour me?" she cried.

"That is for Luud to say," he replied, and then he leaned closer so that his
mouth was near her ear. "That noise you made which you called song
pleased me," he whispered, "and I will repay you by warning you not to
antagonize these kaldanes. They are very powerful. Luud listens to them.
Do not call them frightful. They are very handsome. Look at their
wonderful trappings, their gold, their jewels."

"Thank you," she said. "You called them kaldanes—what does that
mean?"

"We are all kaldanes," he replied.

"You, too?" and she pointed at him, her slim finger directed toward his
chest.

"No, not this," he explained, touching his body; "this is a rykor; but
this," and he touched his head, "is a kaldane. It is the brain, the intellect, the
power that directs all things. The rykor," he indicated his body, "is nothing.
It is not so much even as the jewels upon our harness; no, not so much as
the harness itself. It carries us about. It is true that we would find difficulty
getting along without it; but it has less value than harness or jewels because
it is less difficult to reproduce." He turned again to the other kaldanes. "Will
you notify Luud that I am here?" he asked.

"Sept has already gone to Luud. He will tell him," replied one. "Where
did you find this rykor with the strange kaldane that cannot detach itself?"

The girl's captor narrated once more the story of her capture. He stated
facts just as they had occurred, without embellishment, his voice as
expressionless as his face, and his story was received in the same manner

that it was delivered. The creatures seemed totally lacking in emotion, or, at
least, the capacity to express it. It was impossible to judge what impression
the story made upon them, or even if they heard it. Their protruding eyes
simply stared and occasionally the muscles of their mouths opened and
closed. Familiarity did not lessen the horror the girl felt for them. The more
she saw of them the more repulsive they seemed. Often her body was
shaken by convulsive shudders as she looked at the kaldanes, but when her
eyes wandered to the beautiful bodies and she could for a moment expunge
the heads from her consciousness the effect was soothing and refreshing,
though when the bodies lay, headless, upon the floor they were quite as
shocking as the heads mounted on bodies. But by far the most grewsome
and uncanny sight of all was that of the heads crawling about upon their
spider legs. If one of these should approach and touch her Tara of Helium
was positive that she should scream, while should one attempt to crawl up
her person—ugh! the very idea induced a feeling of faintness.

Sept returned to the chamber. "Luud will see you and the captive.
Come!" he said, and turned toward a door opposite that through which Tara
of Helium had entered the chamber. "What is your name?" His question was
directed to the girl's captor.

"I am Ghek, third foreman of the fields of Luud," he answered.

"And hers?"

"I do not know."

"It makes no difference. Come!"

The patrician brows of Tara of Helium went high. It made no difference,
indeed! She, a princess of Helium; only daughter of The Warlord of
Barsoom!

"Wait!" she cried. "It makes much difference who I am. If you are
conducting me into the presence of your jed you may announce The
Princess Tara of Helium, daughter of John Carter, The Warlord of
Barsoom."

"Hold your peace!" commanded Sept. "Speak when you are spoken to.
Come with me!"

The anger of Tara of Helium all but choked her. "Come," admonished
Ghek, and took her by the arm, and Tara of Helium came. She was naught
but a prisoner. Her rank and titles meant nothing to these inhuman
monsters. They led her through a short, S-shaped passageway into a
chamber entirely lined with the white, tile-like material with which the
interior of the light wall was faced. Close to the base of the walls were
numerous smaller apertures, circular in shape, but larger than those of
similar aspect that she had noted elsewhere. The majority of these apertures
were sealed. Directly opposite the entrance was one framed in gold, and
above it a peculiar device was inlaid in the same precious metal.

Sept and Ghek halted just within the room, the girl between them, and all
three stood silently facing the opening in the opposite wall. On the floor
beside the aperture lay a headless male body of almost heroic proportions,
and on either side of this stood a heavily armed warrior, with drawn sword.
For perhaps five minutes the three waited and then something appeared in
the opening. It was a pair of large chelae and immediately thereafter there
crawled forth a hideous kaldane of enormous proportions. He was half
again as large as any that Tara of Helium had yet seen and his whole aspect
infinitely more terrible. The skin of the others was a bluish gray—this one
was of a little bluer tinge and the eyes were ringed with bands of white and
scarlet, as was its mouth.

From each nostril a band of white and one of scarlet extended outward
horizontally the width of the face.

No one spoke or moved. The creature crawled to the prostrate body and
affixed itself to the neck. Then the two rose as one and approached the girl.
He looked at her and then he spoke to her captor.

"You are the third foreman of the fields of Luud?" he asked.

"Yes, Luud; I am called Ghek."

"Tell me what you know of this," and he nodded toward Tara of Helium.

Ghek did as he was bid and then Luud addressed the girl.

"What were you doing within the borders of Bantoom?" he asked.

"I was blown hither in a great storm that injured my flier and carried me
I knew not where. I came down into the valley at night for food and drink.
The banths came and drove me to the safety of a tree, and then your people
caught me as I was trying to leave the valley. I do not know why they took
me. I was doing no harm. All I ask is that you let me go my way in peace."

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," replied Luud.

"But my people are not at war with yours. I am a princess of Helium; my
great-grandfather is a jeddak; my grandfather a jed; and my father is
Warlord of all Barsoom. You have no right to keep me and I demand that
you liberate me at once."

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," repeated the creature without
expression. "I know nothing of the lesser creatures of Barsoom, of whom
you speak. There is but one high race—the race of Bantoomians. All Nature
exists to serve them. You shall do your share, but not yet—you are too
skinny. We shall have to put some fat upon it, Sept. I tire of rykor. Perhaps
this will have a different flavor. The banths are too rank and it is seldom
that any other creature enters the valley. And you, Ghek; you shall be
rewarded. I shall promote you from the fields to the burrows. Hereafter you
shall remain underground as every Bantoomian longs to. No more shall you
be forced to endure the hated sun, or look upon the hideous sky, or the
hateful growing things that defile the surface. For the present you shall look
after this thing that you have brought me, seeing that it sleeps and eats—
and does nothing else. You understand me, Ghek; nothing else!"

"I understand, Luud," replied the other.

"Take it away!" commanded the creature.

Ghek turned and led Tara of Helium from the apartment. The girl was
horrified by contemplation of the fate that awaited her—a fate from which
it seemed, there was no escape. It was only too evident that these creatures

possessed no gentle or chivalric sentiments to which she could appeal, and
that she might escape from the labyrinthine mazes of their underground
burrows appeared impossible.

Outside the audience chamber Sept overtook them and conversed with
Ghek for a brief period, then her keeper led her through a confusing web of
winding tunnels until they came to a small apartment.

"We are to remain here for a while. It may be that Luud will send for you
again. If he does you will probably not be fattened—he will use you for
another purpose." It was fortunate for the girl's peace of mind that she did
not realize what he meant. "Sing for me," said Ghek, presently.

Tara of Helium did not feel at all like singing, but she sang, nevertheless,
for there was always the hope that she might escape if given the opportunity
and if she could win the friendship of one of the creatures, her chances
would be increased proportionately. All during the ordeal, for such it was to
the overwrought girl, Ghek stood with his eyes fixed upon her.

"It is wonderful," he said, when she had finished; "but I did not tell Luud
—you noticed that I did not tell Luud about it. Had he known, he would
have had you sing to him and that would have resulted in your being kept
with him that he might hear you sing whenever he wished; but now I can
have you all the time."

"How do you know he would like my singing?" she asked.

"He would have to," replied Ghek. "If I like a thing he has to like it, for
are we not identical—all of us?"

"The people of my race do not all like the same things," said the girl.

"How strange!" commented Ghek. "All kaldanes like the same things
and dislike the same things. If I discover something new and like it I know
that all kaldanes will like it. That is how I know that Luud would like your
singing. You see we are all exactly alike."

"But you do not look like Luud," said the girl.

"Luud is king. He is larger and more gorgeously marked; but otherwise
he and I are identical, and why not? Did not Luud produce the egg from
which I hatched?"

"What?" queried the girl; "I do not understand you."

"Yes," explained Ghek, "all of us are from Luud's eggs, just as all the
swarm of Moak are from Moak's eggs."

"Oh!" exclaimed Tara of Helium understandingly; "you mean that Luud
has many wives and that you are the offspring of one of them."

"No, not that at all," replied Ghek. "Luud has no wife. He lays the eggs
himself. You do not understand."

Tara of Helium admitted that she did not.

"I will try to explain, then," said Ghek, "if you will promise to sing to me
later."

"I promise," she said.

"We are not like the rykors," he began. "They are creatures of a low
order, like yourself and the banths and such things. We have no sex—not
one of us except our king, who is bi-sexual. He produces many eggs from
which we, the workers and the warriors, are hatched; and one in every
thousand eggs is another king egg, from which a king is hatched. Did you
notice the sealed openings in the room where you saw Luud? Sealed in each
of those is another king. If one of them escaped he would fall upon Luud
and try to kill him and if he succeeded we should have a new king; but there
would be no difference. His name would be Luud and all would go on as
before, for are we not all alike? Luud has lived a long time and has
produced many kings, so he lets only a few live that there may be a
successor to him when he dies. The others he kills."

"Why does he keep more than one?" queried the girl.

"Sometimes accidents occur," replied Ghek, "and all the kings that a
swarm has saved are killed. When this happens the swarm comes and
obtains another king from a neighboring swarm."

"Are all of you the children of Luud?" she asked.

"All but a few, who are from the eggs of the preceding king, as was
Luud; but Luud has lived a long time and not many of the others are left."

"You live a long time, or short?" Tara asked.

"A very long time."

"And the rykors, too; they live a long time?"

"No; the rykors live for ten years, perhaps," he said, "if they remain
strong and useful. When they can no longer be of service to us, either
through age or sickness, we leave them in the fields and the banths come at
night and get them."

"How horrible!" she exclaimed.

"Horrible?" he repeated. "I see nothing horrible about that. The rykors
are but brainless flesh. They neither see, nor feel, nor hear. They can scarce
move but for us. If we did not bring them food they would starve to death.
They are less deserving of thought than our leather. All that they can do for
themselves is to take food from a trough and put it in their mouths, but with
us—look at them!" and he proudly exhibited the noble figure that he
surmounted, palpitant with life and energy and feeling.

"How do you do it?" asked Tara of Helium. "I do not understand it at
all."

"I will show you," he said, and lay down upon the floor. Then he
detached himself from the body, which lay as a thing dead. On his spider
legs he walked toward the girl. "Now look," he admonished her. "Do you
see this thing?" and he extended what appeared to be a bundle of tentacles
from the posterior part of his head. "There is an aperture just back of the

rykor's mouth and directly over the upper end of his spinal column. Into this
aperture I insert my tentacles and seize the spinal cord. Immediately I
control every muscle of the rykor's body—it becomes my own, just as you
direct the movement of the muscles of your body. I feel what the rykor
would feel if he had a head and brain. If he is hurt, I would suffer if I
remained connected with him; but the instant one of them is injured or
becomes sick we desert it for another. As we would suffer the pains of their
physical injuries, similarly do we enjoy the physical pleasures of the rykors.
When your body becomes fatigued you are comparatively useless; it is sick,
you are sick; if it is killed, you die. You are the slave of a mass of stupid
flesh and bone and blood. There is nothing more wonderful about your
carcass than there is about the carcass of a banth. It is only your brain that
makes you superior to the banth, but your brain is bound by the limitations
of your body. Not so, ours. With us brain is everything. Ninety per centum
of our volume is brain. We have only the simplest of vital organs and they
are very small for they do not have to assist in the support of a complicated
system of nerves, muscles, flesh and bone. We have no lungs, for we do not
require air. Far below the levels to which we can take the rykors is a vast
network of burrows where the real life of the kaldane is lived. There the air-
breathing rykor would perish as you would perish. There we have stored
vast quantities of food in hermetically sealed chambers. It will last forever.
Far beneath the surface is water that will flow for countless ages after the
surface water is exhausted. We are preparing for the time we know must
come—the time when the last vestige of the Barsoomian atmosphere is
spent—when the waters and the food are gone. For this purpose were we
created, that there might not perish from the planet Nature's divinest
creation—the perfect brain."

"But what purpose can you serve when that time comes?" asked the girl.

"You do not understand," he said. "It is too big for you to grasp, but I
will try to explain it. Barsoom, the moons, the sun, the stars, were created
for a single purpose. From the beginning of time Nature has labored
arduously toward the consummation of this purpose. At the very beginning
things existed with life, but with no brain. Gradually rudimentary nervous
systems and minute brains evolved. Evolution proceeded. The brains
became larger and more powerful. In us you see the highest development;

but there are those of us who believe that there is yet another step—that
some time in the far future our race shall develop into the super-thing—just
brain. The incubus of legs and chelae and vital organs will be removed. The
future kaldane will be nothing but a great brain. Deaf, dumb, and blind it
will lie sealed in its buried vault far beneath the surface of Barsoom—just a
great, wonderful, beautiful brain with nothing to distract it from eternal
thought."

"You mean it will just lie there and think?" cried Tara of Helium.

"Just that!" he exclaimed. "Could aught be more wonderful?"

"Yes," replied the girl, "I can think of a number of things that would be
infinitely more wonderful."

CHAPTER VI

IN THE TOILS OF HORROR

What the creature had told her gave Tara of Helium food for thought.
She had been taught that every created thing fulfilled some useful purpose,
and she tried conscientiously to discover just what was the rightful place of
the kaldane in the universal scheme of things. She knew that it must have its
place but what that place was it was beyond her to conceive. She had to
give it up. They recalled to her mind a little group of people in Helium who
had forsworn the pleasures of life in the pursuit of knowledge. They were
rather patronizing in their relations with those whom they thought not so
intellectual. They considered themselves quite superior. She smiled at
recollection of a remark her father had once made concerning them, to the
effect that if one of them ever dropped his egotism and broke it it would
take a week to fumigate Helium. Her father liked normal people—people
who knew too little and people who knew too much were equally a bore.

Tara of Helium was like her father in this respect and like him, too, she was
both sane and normal.

Outside of her personal danger there was much in this strange world that
interested her. The rykors aroused her keenest pity, and vast conjecture.
How and from what form had they evolved? She asked Ghek.

"Sing to me again and I will tell you," he said. "If Luud would let me
have you, you should never die. I should keep you always to sing to me."

The girl marvelled at the effect her voice had upon the creature.
Somewhere in that enormous brain there was a chord that was touched by
melody. It was the sole link between herself and the brain when detached
from the rykor. When it dominated the rykor it might have other human
instincts; but these she dreaded even to think of. After she had sung she
waited for Ghek to speak. For a long time he was silent, just looking at her
through those awful eyes.

"I wonder," he said presently, "if it might not be pleasant to be of your
race. Do you all sing?"

"Nearly all, a little," she said; "but we do many other interesting and
enjoyable things. We dance and play and work and love and sometimes we
fight, for we are a race of warriors."

"Love!" said the kaldane. "I think I know what you mean; but we,
fortunately, are above sentiment—when we are detached. But when we
dominate the rykor—ah, that is different, and when I hear you sing and look
at your beautiful body I know what you mean by love. I could love you."

The girl shrank from him. "You promised to tell me the origin of the
rykor," she reminded him.

"Ages ago," he commenced, "our bodies were larger and our heads
smaller. Our legs were very weak and we could not travel fast or far. There
was a stupid creature that went upon four legs. It lived in a hole in the
ground, to which it brought its food, so we ran our burrows into this hole
and ate the food it brought; but it did not bring enough for all—for itself

and all the kaldanes that lived upon it, so we had also to go abroad and get
food. This was hard work for our weak legs. Then it was that we
commenced to ride upon the backs of these primitive rykors. It took many
ages, undoubtedly, but at last came the time when the kaldane had found
means to guide the rykor, until presently the latter depended entirely upon
the superior brain of his master to guide him to food. The brain of the rykor
grew smaller as time went on. His ears went and his eyes, for he no longer
had use for them—the kaldane saw and heard for him. By similar steps the
rykor came to go upon its hind feet that the kaldane might be able to see
farther. As the brain shrank, so did the head. The mouth was the only
feature of the head that was used and so the mouth alone remains. Members
of the red race fell into the hands of our ancestors from time to time. They
saw the beauties and the advantages of the form that nature had given the
red race over that which the rykor was developing into. By intelligent
crossing the present rykor was achieved. He is really solely the product of
the super-intelligence of the kaldane—he is our body, to do with as we see
fit, just as you do what you see fit with your body, only we have the
advantage of possessing an unlimited supply of bodies. Do you not wish
that you were a kaldane?"

For how long they kept her in the subterranean chamber Tara of Helium
did not know. It seemed a very long time. She ate and slept and watched the
interminable lines of creatures that passed the entrance to her prison. There
was a laden line passing from above carrying food, food, food. In the other
line they returned empty handed. When she saw them she knew that it was
daylight above. When they did not pass she knew it was night, and that the
banths were about devouring the rykors that had been abandoned in the
fields the previous day. She commenced to grow pale and thin. She did not
like the food they gave her—it was not suited to her kind—nor would she
have eaten overmuch palatable food, for the fear of becoming fat. The idea
of plumpness had a new significance here—a horrible significance.

Ghek noted that she was growing thin and white. He spoke to her about
it and she told him that she could not thrive thus beneath the ground—that
she must have fresh air and sunshine, or she would wither and die.
Evidently he carried her words to Luud, since it was not long after that he
told her that the king had ordered that she be confined in the tower and to

the tower she was taken. She had hoped against hope that this very thing
might result from her conversation with Ghek. Even to see the sun again
was something, but now there sprang to her breast a hope that she had not
dared to nurse before, while she lay in the terrible labyrinth from which she
knew she could never have found her way to the outer world; but now there
was some slight reason to hope. At least she could see the hills and if she
could see them might there not come also the opportunity to reach them? If
she could have but ten minutes—just ten little minutes! The flier was still
there—she knew that it must be. Just ten minutes and she would be free—
free forever from this frightful place; but the days wore on and she was
never alone, not even for half of ten minutes. Many times she planned her
escape. Had it not been for the banths it had been easy of accomplishment
by night. Ghek always detached his body then and sank into what seemed a
semi-comatose condition. It could not be said that he slept, or at least it did
not appear like sleep, since his lidless eyes were unchanged; but he lay
quietly in a corner. Tara of Helium enacted a thousand times in her mind the
scene of her escape. She would rush to the side of the rykor and seize the
sword that hung in its harness. Before Ghek knew what she purposed, she
would have this and then before he could give an alarm she would drive the
blade through his hideous head. It would take but a moment to reach the
enclosure. The rykors could not stop her, for they had no brains to tell them
that she was escaping. She had watched from her window the opening and
closing of the gate that led from the enclosure out into the fields and she
knew how the great latch operated. She would pass through and make a
quick dash for the hill. It was so near that they could not overtake her. It
was so easy! Or it would have been but for the banths! The banths at night
and the workers in the fields by day.

Confined to the tower and without proper exercise or food, the girl failed
to show the improvement that her captors desired. Ghek questioned her in
an effort to learn why it was that she did not grow round and plump; that
she did not even look as well as when they had captured her. His concern
was prompted by repeated inquiries on the part of Luud and finally resulted
in suggesting to Tara of Helium a plan whereby she might find a new
opportunity of escape.

"I am accustomed to walking in the fresh air and the sunlight," she told
Ghek. "I cannot become as I was before if I am to be always shut away in
this one chamber, breathing poor air and getting no proper exercise. Permit
me to go out in the fields every day and walk about while the sun is shining.
Then, I am sure, I shall become nice and fat."

"You would run away," he said.

"But how could I if you were always with me?" she asked. "And even if
I wished to run away where could I go? I do not know even the direction of
Helium. It must be very far. The very first night the banths would get me,
would they not?"

"They would," said Ghek. "I will ask Luud about it."

The following day he told her that Luud had said that she was to be
taken into the fields. He would try that for a time and see if she improved.

"If you do not grow fatter he will send for you anyway," said Ghek; "but
he will not use you for food."

Tara of Helium shuddered.

That day and for many days thereafter she was taken from the tower,
through the enclosure and out into the fields. Always was she alert for an
opportunity to escape; but Ghek was always close by her side. It was not so
much his presence that deterred her from making the attempt as the number
of workers that were always between her and the hills where the flier lay.
She could easily have eluded Ghek, but there were too many of the others.
And then, one day, Ghek told her as he accompanied her into the open that
this would be the last time.

"Tonight you go to Luud," he said. "I am sorry as I shall not hear you
sing again."

"Tonight!" She scarce breathed the word, yet it was vibrant with horror.

She glanced quickly toward the hills. They were so close! Yet between
were the inevitable workers—perhaps a score of them.

"Let us walk over there?" she said, indicating them. "I should like to see
what they are doing."

"It is too far," said Ghek. "I hate the sun. It is much pleasanter here
where I can stand beneath the shade of this tree."

"All right," she agreed; "then you stay here and I will walk over. It will
take me but a minute."

"No," he answered. "I will go with you. You want to escape; but you are
not going to."

"I cannot escape," she said.

"I know it," agreed Ghek; "but you might try. I do not wish you to try.
Possibly it will be better if we return to the tower at once. It would go hard
with me should you escape."

Tara of Helium saw her last chance fading into oblivion. There would
never be another after today. She cast about for some pretext to lure him
even a little nearer to the hills.

"It is very little that I ask," she said. "Tonight you will want me to sing to
you. It will be the last time, if you do not let me go and see what those
kaldanes are doing I shall never sing to you again."

Ghek hesitated. "I will hold you by the arm all the time, then," he said.

"Why, of course, if you wish," she assented. "Come!"

The two moved toward the workers and the hills. The little party was
digging tubers from the ground. She had noted this and that nearly always
they were stooped low over their work, the hideous eyes bent upon the
upturned soil. She led Ghek quite close to them, pretending that she wished
to see exactly how they did the work, and all the time he held her tightly by
her left wrist.

"It is very interesting," she said, with a sigh, and then, suddenly; "Look,
Ghek!" and pointed quickly back in the direction of the tower. The kaldane,
still holding her turned half away from her to look in the direction she had
indicated and simultaneously, with the quickness of a banth, she struck him
with her right fist, backed by every ounce of strength she possessed—struck
the back of the pulpy head just above the collar. The blow was sufficient to
accomplish her design, dislodging the kaldane from its rykor and tumbling
it to the ground. Instantly the grasp upon her wrist relaxed as the body, no
longer controlled by the brain of Ghek, stumbled aimlessly about for an
instant before it sank to its knees and then rolled over on its back; but Tara
of Helium waited not to note the full results of her act. The instant the
fingers loosened upon her wrist she broke away and dashed toward the hills.
Simultaneously a warning whistle broke from Ghek's lips and in instant
response the workers leaped to their feet, one almost in the girl's path. She
dodged the outstretched arms and was away again toward the hills and
freedom, when her foot caught in one of the hoe-like instruments with
which the soil had been upturned and which had been left, half imbedded in
the ground. For an instant she ran on, stumbling, in a mad effort to regain
her equilibrium, but the upturned furrows caught her feet—again she
stumbled and this time went down, and as she scrambled to rise again a
heavy body fell upon her and seized her arms. A moment later she was
surrounded and dragged to her feet and as she looked around she saw Ghek
crawling to his prostrate rykor. A moment later he advanced to her side.

The hideous face, incapable of registering emotion, gave no clue to what
was passing in the enormous brain. Was he nursing thoughts of anger, of
hate, of revenge? Tara of Helium could not guess, nor did she care. The
worst had happened. She had tried to escape and she had failed. There
would never be another opportunity.

"Come!" said Ghek. "We will return to the tower." The deadly monotone
of his voice was unbroken. It was worse than anger, for it revealed nothing
of his intentions. It but increased her horror of these great brains that were
beyond the possibility of human emotions.

And so she was dragged back to her prison in the tower and Ghek took
up his vigil again, squatting by the doorway, but now he carried a naked

sword in his hand and did not quit his rykor, only to change to another that
he had brought to him when the first gave indications of weariness. The girl
sat looking at him. He had not been unkind to her, but she felt no sense of
gratitude, nor, on the other hand, any sense of hatred. The brains, incapable
themselves of any of the finer sentiments, awoke none in her. She could not
feel gratitude, or affection, or hatred of them. There was only the same
unceasing sense of horror in their presence. She had heard great scientists
discuss the future of the red race and she recalled that some had maintained
that eventually the brain would entirely dominate the man. There would be
no more instinctive acts or emotions, nothing would be done on impulse;
but on the contrary reason would direct our every act. The propounder of
the theory regretted that he might never enjoy the blessings of such a state,
which, he argued, would result in the ideal life for mankind.

Tara of Helium wished with all her heart that this learned scientist might
be here to experience to the full the practical results of the fulfillment of his
prophecy. Between the purely physical rykor and the purely mental kaldane
there was little choice; but in the happy medium of normal, and imperfect
man, as she knew him, lay the most desirable state of existence. It would
have been a splendid object lesson, she thought, to all those idealists who
seek mass perfection in any phase of human endeavor, since here they
might discover the truth that absolute perfection is as little to be desired as
is its antithesis.

Gloomy were the thoughts that filled the mind of Tara of Helium as she
awaited the summons from Luud—the summons that could mean for her
but one thing; death. She guessed why he had sent for her and she knew that
she must find the means for self-destruction before the night was over; but
still she clung to hope and to life. She would not give up until there was no
other way. She startled Ghek once by exclaiming aloud, almost fiercely: "I
still live!"

"What do you mean?" asked the kaldane.

"I mean just what I say," she replied. "I still live and while I live I may
still find a way. Dead, there is no hope."

"Find a way to what?" he asked.

"To life and liberty and mine own people," she responded.

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," he droned.

She did not reply and after a time he spoke again. "Sing to me," he said.

It was while she was singing that four warriors came to take her to Luud.
They told Ghek that he was to remain where he was.

"Why?" asked Ghek.

"You have displeased Luud," replied one of the warriors.

"How?" demanded Ghek.

"You have demonstrated a lack of uncontaminated reasoning power. You
have permitted sentiment to influence you, thus demonstrating that you are
a defective. You know the fate of defectives."

"I know the fate of defectives, but I am no defective," insisted Ghek.

"You permitted the strange noises which issue from her throat to please
and soothe you, knowing well that their origin and purpose had nothing
whatever to do with logic or the powers of reason. This in itself constitutes
an unimpeachable indictment of weakness. Then, influenced doubtless by
an illogical feeling of sentiment, you permitted her to walk abroad in the
fields to a place where she was able to make an almost successful attempt to
escape. Your own reasoning power, were it not defective, would convince
you that you are unfit. The natural, and reasonable, consequence is
destruction. Therefore you will be destroyed in such a way that the example
will be beneficial to all other kaldanes of the swarm of Luud. In the
meantime you will remain where you are."

"You are right," said Ghek. "I will remain here until Luud sees fit to
destroy me in the most reasonable manner."

Tara of Helium shot a look of amazement at him as they led her from the
chamber. Over her shoulder she called back to him: "Remember, Ghek, you

still live!" Then they led her along the interminable tunnels to where Luud
awaited her.

When she was conducted into his presence he was squatting in a corner
of the chamber upon his six spidery legs. Near the opposite wall lay his
rykor, its beautiful form trapped in gorgeous harness—a dead thing without
a guiding kaldane. Luud dismissed the warriors who had accompanied the
prisoner. Then he sat with his terrible eyes fixed upon her and without
speaking for some time. Tara of Helium could but wait. What was to come
she could only guess. When it came would be sufficiently the time to meet
it. There was no necessity for anticipating the end. Presently Luud spoke.

"You think to escape," he said, in the deadly, expressionless monotone of
his kind—the only possible result of orally expressing reason uninfluenced
by sentiment. "You will not escape. You are merely the embodiment of two
imperfect things—an imperfect brain and an imperfect body. The two
cannot exist together in perfection. There you see a perfect body." He
pointed toward the rykor. "It has no brain. Here," and he raised one of his
chelae to his head, "is the perfect brain. It needs no body to function
perfectly and properly as a brain. You would pit your feeble intellect against
mine! Even now you are planning to slay me. If you are thwarted in that
you expect to slay yourself. You will learn the power of mind over matter. I
am the mind. You are the matter. What brain you have is too weak and ill-
developed to deserve the name of brain. You have permitted it to be
weakened by impulsive acts dictated by sentiment. It has no value. It has
practically no control over your existence. You will not kill me. You will not
kill yourself. When I am through with you you shall be killed if it seems the
logical thing to do. You have no conception of the possibilities for power
which lie in a perfectly developed brain. Look at that rykor. He has no
brain. He can move but slightly of his own volition. An inherent mechanical
instinct that we have permitted to remain in him allows him to carry food to
his mouth; but he could not find food for himself. We have to place it within
his reach and always in the same place. Should we put food at his feet and
leave him alone he would starve to death. But now watch what a real brain
may accomplish."

He turned his eyes upon the rykor and squatted there glaring at the
insensate thing. Presently, to the girl's horror, the headless body moved. It
rose slowly to its feet and crossed the room to Luud; it stooped and took the
hideous head in its hands; it raised the head and set it on its shoulders.

"What chance have you against such power?" asked Luud. "As I did with
the rykor so can I do with you."

Tara of Helium made no reply. Evidently no vocal reply was necessary.

"You doubt my ability!" stated Luud, which was precisely the fact,
though the girl had only thought it—she had not said it.

Luud crossed the room and lay down. Then he detached himself from the
body and crawled across the floor until he stood directly in front of the
circular opening through which she had seen him emerge the day that she
had first been brought to his presence. He stopped there and fastened his
terrible eyes upon her. He did not speak, but his eyes seemed to be boring
straight to the center of her brain. She felt an almost irresistible force urging
her toward the kaldane. She fought to resist it; she tried to turn away her
eyes, but she could not. They were held as in horrid fascination upon the
glittering, lidless orbs of the great brain that faced her. Slowly, every step a
painful struggle of resistance, she moved toward the horrific monster. She
tried to cry aloud in an effort to awaken her numbing faculties, but no sound
passed her lips. If those eyes would but turn away, just for an instant, she
felt that she might regain the power to control her steps; but the eyes never
left hers. They seemed but to burn deeper and deeper, gathering up every
vestige of control of her entire nervous system.

As she approached the thing it backed slowly away upon its spider legs.
She noticed that its chelae waved slowly to and fro before it as it backed,
backed, backed, through the round aperture in the wall. Must she follow it
there, too? What new and nameless horror lay concealed in that hidden
chamber? No! she would not do it. Yet before she reached the wall she
found herself down and crawling upon her hands and knees straight toward
the hole from which the two eyes still clung to hers. At the very threshold of
the opening she made a last, heroic stand, battling against the force that

drew her on; but in the end she succumbed. With a gasp that ended in a sob
Tara of Helium passed through the aperture into the chamber beyond.

The opening was but barely large enough to admit her. Upon the
opposite side she found herself in a small chamber. Before her squatted
Luud. Against the opposite wall lay a large and beautiful male rykor. He
was without harness or other trappings.

"You see now," said Luud, "the futility of revolt."

The words seemed to release her momentarily from the spell. Quickly
she turned away her eyes.

"Look at me!" commanded Luud.

Tara of Helium kept her eyes averted. She felt a new strength, or at least
a diminution of the creature's power over her. Had she stumbled upon the
secret of its uncanny domination over her will? She dared not hope. With
eyes averted she turned toward the aperture through which those baleful
eyes had drawn her. Again Luud commanded her to stop, but the voice
alone lacked all authority to influence her. It was not like the eyes. She
heard the creature whistle and knew that it was summoning assistance, but
because she did not dare look toward it she did not see it turn and
concentrate its gaze upon the great, headless body lying by the further wall.

The girl was still slightly under the spell of the creature's influence—she
had not regained full and independent domination of her powers. She
moved as one in the throes of some hideous nightmare—slowly, painfully,
as though each limb was hampered by a great weight, or as she were
dragging her body through a viscous fluid. The aperture was close, ah, so
close, yet, struggle as she would, she seemed to be making no appreciable
progress toward it.

Behind her, urged on by the malevolent power of the great brain, the
headless body crawled upon all-fours toward her. At last she had reached
the aperture. Something seemed to tell her that once beyond it the
domination of the kaldane would be broken. She was almost through into
the adjoining chamber when she felt a heavy hand close upon her ankle.

The rykor had reached forth and seized her, and though she struggled the
thing dragged her back into the room with Luud. It held her tight and drew
her close, and then, to her horror, it commenced to caress her.

"You see now," she heard Luud's dull voice, "the futility of revolt—and
its punishment."

Tara of Helium fought to defend herself, but pitifully weak were her
muscles against this brainless incarnation of brute power. Yet she fought,
fought on in the face of hopeless odds for the honor of the proud name she
bore—fought alone, she whom the fighting men of a mighty empire, the
flower of Martian chivalry, would gladly have lain down their lives to save.

CHAPTER VII

A REPELLENT SIGHT

The cruiser Vanator careened through the tempest. That she had not been
dashed to the ground, or twisted by the force of the elements into tangled
wreckage, was due entirely to the caprice of Nature. For all the duration of
the storm she rode, a helpless derelict, upon those storm-tossed waves of
wind. But for all the dangers and vicissitudes they underwent, she and her
crew might have borne charmed lives up to within an hour of the abating of
the hurricane. It was then that the catastrophe occurred—a catastrophe
indeed to the crew of the Vanator and the kingdom of Gathol.

The men had been without food or drink since leaving Helium, and they
had been hurled about and buffeted in their lashings until all were worn to
exhaustion. There was a brief lull in the storm during which one of the crew
attempted to reach his quarters, after releasing the lashings which had held
him to the precarious safety of the deck. The act in itself was a direct
violation of orders and, in the eyes of the other members of the crew, the
effect, which came with startling suddenness, took the form of a swift and
terrible retribution. Scarce had the man released the safety snaps ere a swift
arm of the storm-monster encircled the ship, rolling it over and over, with
the result that the foolhardy warrior went overboard at the first turn.

Unloosed from their lashing by the constant turning and twisting of the
ship and the force of the wind, the boarding and landing tackle had been
trailing beneath the keel, a tangled mass of cordage and leather. Upon the
occasions that the Vanator rolled completely over, these things would be
wrapped around her until another revolution in the opposite direction, or the
wind itself, carried them once again clear of the deck to trail, whipping in
the storm, beneath the hurtling ship.

Into this fell the body of the warrior, and as a drowning man clutches at a
straw so the fellow clutched at the tangled cordage that caught him and
arrested his fall. With the strength of desperation he clung to the cordage,
seeking frantically to entangle his legs and body in it. With each jerk of the
ship his hand holds were all but torn loose, and though he knew that
eventually they would be and that he must be dashed to the ground beneath,
yet he fought with the madness that is born of hopelessness for the pitiful
second which but prolonged his agony.

It was upon this sight then that Gahan of Gathol looked, over the edge of
the careening deck of the Vanator, as he sought to learn the fate of his
warrior. Lashed to the gunwale close at hand a single landing leather that
had not fouled the tangled mass beneath whipped free from the ship's side,
the hook snapping at its outer end. The Jed of Gathol grasped the situation
in a single glance. Below him one of his people looked into the eyes of
Death. To the jed's hand lay the means for succor.

There was no instant's hesitation. Casting off his deck lashings, he seized
the landing leather and slipped over the ship's side. Swinging like a bob
upon a mad pendulum he swung far out and back again, turning and
twisting three thousand feet above the surface of Barsoom, and then, at last,
the thing he had hoped for occurred. He was carried within reach of the
cordage where the warrior still clung, though with rapidly diminishing
strength. Catching one leg on a loop of the tangled strands Gahan pulled
himself close enough to seize another quite near to the fellow. Clinging
precariously to this new hold the jed slowly drew in the landing leather,
down which he had clambered until he could grasp the hook at its end. This
he fastened to a ring in the warrior's harness, just before the man's
weakened fingers slipped from their hold upon the cordage.

Temporarily, at least, he had saved the life of his subject, and now he
turned his attention toward insuring his own safety. Inextricably entangled
in the mess to which he was clinging were numerous other landing hooks
such as he had attached to the warrior's harness, and with one of these he
sought to secure himself until the storm should abate sufficiently to permit
him to climb to the deck, but even as he reached for one that swung near
him the ship was caught in a renewed burst of the storm's fury, the thrashing

cordage whipped and snapped to the lunging of the great craft and one of
the heavy metal hooks, lashing through the air, struck the Jed of Gathol fair
between the eyes.

Momentarily stunned, Gahan's fingers slipped from their hold upon the
cordage and the man shot downward through the thin air of dying Mars
toward the ground three thousand feet beneath, while upon the deck of the
rolling Vanator his faithful warriors clung to their lashings all unconscious
of the fate of their beloved leader; nor was it until more than an hour later,
after the storm had materially subsided, that they realized he was lost, or
knew the self-sacrificing heroism of the act that had sealed his doom. The
Vanator now rested upon an even keel as she was carried along by a strong,
though steady, wind. The warriors had cast off their deck lashings and the
officers were taking account of losses and damage when a weak cry was
heard from oversides, attracting their attention to the man hanging in the
cordage beneath the keel. Strong arms hoisted him to the deck and then it
was that the crew of the Vanator learned of the heroism of their jed and his
end. How far they had traveled since his loss they could only vaguely guess,
nor could they return in search of him in the disabled condition of the ship.
It was a saddened company that drifted onward through the air toward
whatever destination Fate was to choose for them.

And Gahan, Jed of Gathol--what of him? Plummet-like he fell for a
thousand feet and then the storm seized him in its giant clutch and bore him
far aloft again. As a bit of paper borne upon a gale he was tossed about in
mid-air, the sport and plaything of the wind. Over and over it turned him
and upward and downward it carried him, but after each new sally of the
element he was brought nearer to the ground. The freaks of cyclonic storms
are the rule of cyclonic storms, since such storms are in themselves freaks.
They uproot and demolish giant trees, and in the same gust they transport
frail infants for miles and deposit them unharmed in their wake.

And so it was with Gahan of Gathol. Expecting momentarily to be
dashed to destruction he presently found himself deposited gently upon the
soft, ochre moss of a dead sea-bottom, bodily no worse off for his
harrowing adventure than in the possession of a slight swelling upon his
forehead where the metal hook had struck him. Scarcely able to believe that

Fate had dealt thus gently with him, the jed arose slowly, as though more
than half convinced that he should discover crushed and splintered bones
that would not support his weight. But he was intact. He looked about him
in a vain effort at orientation. The air was filled with flying dust and debris.
The Sun was obliterated. His vision was confined to a radius of a few
hundred yards of ochre moss and dust-filled air. Five hundred yards away in
any direction there might have arisen the walls of a great city and he not
known it. It was useless to move from where he was until the air cleared,
since he could not know in what direction he was moving, and so he
stretched himself upon the moss and waited, pondering the fate of his
warriors and his ship, but giving little thought to his own precarious
situation.

Lashed to his harness were his swords, his pistols, and a dagger, and in
his pocket-pouch a small quantity of the concentrated rations that form a
part of the equipment of the fighting men of Barsoom. These things
together with trained muscles, high courage, and an undaunted spirit
sufficed him for whatever misadventures might lie between him and Gathol,
which lay in what direction he knew not, nor at what distance.

The wind was falling rapidly and with it the dust that obscured the
landscape. That the storm was over he was convinced, but he chafed at the
inactivity the low visibility put upon him, nor did conditions better
materially before night fell, so that he was forced to await the new day at
the very spot at which the tempest had deposited him. Without his sleeping
silks and furs he spent a far from comfortable night, and it was with feelings
of unmixed relief that he saw the sudden dawn burst upon him. The air was
now clear and in the light of the new day he saw an undulating plain
stretching in all directions about him, while to the northwest there were
barely discernible the outlines of low hills. Toward the southeast of Gathol
was such a country, and as Gahan surmised the direction and the velocity of
the storm to have carried him somewhere in the vicinity of the country he
thought he recognized, he assumed that Gathol lay behind the hills he now
saw, whereas, in reality, it lay far to the northeast.

It was two days before Gahan had crossed the plain and reached the
summit of the hills from which he hoped to see his own country, only to

meet at last with disappointment. Before him stretched another plain, of
even greater proportions than that he had but just crossed, and beyond this
other hills. In one material respect this plain differed from that behind him
in that it was dotted with occasional isolated hills. Convinced, however, that
Gathol lay somewhere in the direction of his search he descended into the
valley and bent his steps toward the northwest.

For weeks Gahan of Gathol crossed valleys and hills in search of some
familiar landmark that might point his way toward his native land, but the
summit of each succeeding ridge revealed but another unfamiliar view. He
saw few animals and no men, until he finally came to the belief that he had
fallen upon that fabled area of ancient Barsoom which lay under the curse
of her olden gods—the once rich and fertile country whose people in their
pride and arrogance had denied the deities, and whose punishment had been
extermination.

And then, one day, he scaled low hills and looked into an inhabited
valley—a valley of trees and cultivated fields and plots of ground enclosed
by stone walls surrounding strange towers. He saw people working in the
fields, but he did not rush down to greet them. First he must know more of
them and whether they might be assumed to be friends or enemies. Hidden
by concealing shrubbery he crawled to a vantage point upon a hill that
projected further into the valley, and here he lay upon his belly watching the
workers closest to him. They were still quite a distance from him and he
could not be quite sure of them, but there was something verging upon the
unnatural about them. Their heads seemed out of proportion to their bodies
—too large.

For a long time he lay watching them and ever more forcibly it was
borne in upon his consciousness that they were not as he, and that it would
be rash to trust himself among them. Presently he saw a couple appear from
the nearest enclosure and slowly approach those who were working nearest
to the hill where he lay in hiding. Immediately he was aware that one of
these differed from all the others. Even at the greater distance he noted that
the head was smaller and as they approached, he was confident that the
harness of one of them was not as the harness of its companion or of that of
any of those who tilled the fields.

The two stopped often, apparently in argument, as though one would
proceed in the direction that they were going while the other demurred. But
each time the smaller won reluctant consent from the other, and so they
came closer and closer to the last line of workers toiling between the
enclosure from which they had come and the hill where Gahan of Gathol
lay watching, and then suddenly the smaller figure struck its companion full
in the face. Gahan, horrified, saw the latter's head topple from its body, saw
the body stagger and fall to the ground. The man half rose from his
concealment the better to view the happening in the valley below. The
creature that had felled its companion was dashing madly in the direction of
the hill upon which he was hidden, it dodged one of the workers that sought
to seize it. Gahan hoped that it would gain its liberty, why he did not know
other than at closer range it had every appearance of being a creature of his
own race. Then he saw it stumble and go down and instantly its pursuers
were upon it. Then it was that Gahan's eyes chanced to return to the figure
of the creature the fugitive had felled.

What horror was this that he was witnessing? Or were his eyes playing
some ghastly joke upon him? No, impossible though it was—it was true—
the head was moving slowly to the fallen body. It placed itself upon the
shoulders, the body rose, and the creature, seemingly as good as new, ran
quickly to where its fellows were dragging the hapless captive to its feet.

The watcher saw the creature take its prisoner by the arm and lead it
back to the enclosure, and even across the distance that separated them from
him he could note dejection and utter hopelessness in the bearing of the
prisoner, and, too, he was half convinced that it was a woman, perhaps a red
Martian of his own race. Could he be sure that this was true he must make
some effort to rescue her even though the customs of his strange world
required it only in case she was of his own country; but he was not sure; she
might not be a red Martian at all, or, if she were, it was as possible that she
sprang from an enemy people as not. His first duty was to return to his own
people with as little personal risk as possible, and though the thought of
adventure stirred his blood he put the temptation aside with a sigh and
turned away from the peaceful and beautiful valley that he longed to enter,
for it was his intention to skirt its eastern edge and continue his search for
Gathol beyond.

As Gahan of Gathol turned his steps along the southern slopes of the
hills that bound Bantoom upon the south and east, his attention was
attracted toward a small cluster of trees a short distance to his right. The
low sun was casting long shadows. It would soon be night. The trees were
off the path that he had chosen and he had little mind to be diverted from
his way; but as he looked again he hesitated. There was something there
besides boles of trees, and underbrush. There were suggestions of familiar
lines of the handicraft of man. Gahan stopped and strained his eyes in the
direction of the thing that had arrested his attention. No, he must be
mistaken—the branches of the trees and a low bush had taken on an
unnatural semblance in the horizontal rays of the setting sun. He turned and
continued upon his way; but as he cast another side glance in the direction
of the object of his interest, the sun's rays were shot back into his eyes from
a glistening point of radiance among the trees.

Gahan shook his head and walked quickly toward the mystery,
determined now to solve it. The shining object still lured him on and when
he had come closer to it his eyes went wide in surprise, for the thing they
saw was naught else than the jewel-encrusted emblem upon the prow of a
small flier. Gahan, his hand upon his short-sword, moved silently forward,
but as he neared the craft he saw that he had naught to fear, for it was
deserted. Then he turned his attention toward the emblem. As its
significance was flashed to his understanding his face paled and his heart
went cold—it was the insignia of the house of The Warlord of Barsoom.
Instantly he saw the dejected figure of the captive being led back to her
prison in the valley just beyond the hills. Tara of Helium! And he had been
so near to deserting her to her fate. The cold sweat stood in beads upon his
brow.

A hasty examination of the deserted craft unfolded to the young jed the
whole tragic story. The same tempest that had proved his undoing had borne
Tara of Helium to this distant country. Here, doubtless, she had landed in
hope of obtaining food and water since, without a propellor, she could not
hope to reach her native city, or any other friendly port, other than by the
merest caprice of Fate. The flier seemed intact except for the missing
propellor and the fact that it had been carefully moored in the shelter of the
clump of trees indicated that the girl had expected to return to it, while the

dust and leaves upon its deck spoke of the long days, and even weeks, since
she had landed. Mute yet eloquent proofs, these things, that Tara of Helium
was a prisoner, and that she was the very prisoner whose bold dash for
liberty he had so recently witnessed he now had not the slightest doubt.

The question now revolved solely about her rescue. He knew to which
tower she had been taken—that much and no more. Of the number, the
kind, or the disposition of her captors he knew nothing; nor did he care—
for Tara of Helium he would face a hostile world alone. Rapidly he
considered several plans for succoring her; but the one that appealed most
strongly to him was that which offered the greatest chance of escape for the
girl should he be successful in reaching her. His decision reached he turned
his attention quickly toward the flier. Casting off its lashings he dragged it
out from beneath the trees, and, mounting to the deck tested out the various
controls. The motor started at a touch and purred sweetly, the buoyancy
tanks were well stocked, and the ship answered perfectly to the controls
which regulated her altitude. There was nothing needed but a propellor to
make her fit for the long voyage to Helium. Gahan shrugged impatiently—
there must not be a propellor within a thousand haads. But what mattered
it? The craft even without a propellor would still answer the purpose his
plan required of it—provided the captors of Tara of Helium were a people
without ships, and he had seen nothing to suggest that they had ships. The
architecture of their towers and enclosures assured him that they had not.

The sudden Barsoomian night had fallen. Cluros rode majestically the
high heavens. The rumbling roar of a banth reverberated among the hills.
Gahan of Gathol let the ship rise a few feet from the ground, then, seizing a
bow rope, he dropped over the side. To tow the little craft was now a thing
of ease, and as Gahan moved rapidly toward the brow of the hill above
Bantoom the flier floated behind him as lightly as a swan upon a quiet lake.
Now down the hill toward the tower dimly visible in the moonlight the
Gatholian turned his steps. Closer behind him sounded the roar of the
hunting banth. He wondered if the beast sought him or was following some
other spoor. He could not be delayed now by any hungry beast of prey, for
what might that very instant be befalling Tara of Helium he could not guess;
and so he hastened his steps. But closer and closer came the horrid screams
of the great carnivore, and now he heard the swift fall of padded feet upon

the hillside behind him. He glanced back just in time to see the beast break
into a rapid charge. His hand leaped to the hilt of his long-sword, but he did
not draw, for in the same instant he saw the futility of armed resistance,
since behind the first banth came a herd of at least a dozen others. There
was but a single alternative to a futile stand and that he grasped in the
instant that he saw the overwhelming numbers of his antagonists.

Springing lightly from the ground he swarmed up the rope toward the
bow of the flier. His weight drew the craft slightly lower and at the very
instant that the man drew himself to the deck at the bow of the vessel, the
leading banth sprang for the stern. Gahan leaped to his feet and rushed
toward the great beast in the hope of dislodging it before it had succeeded
in clambering aboard. At the same instant he saw that others of the banths
were racing toward them with the quite evident intention of following their
leader to the ship's deck. Should they reach it in any numbers he would be
lost. There was but a single hope. Leaping for the altitude control Gahan
pulled it wide. Simultaneously three banths leaped for the deck. The craft
rose swiftly. Gahan felt the impact of a body against the keel, followed by
the soft thuds of the great bodies as they struck the ground beneath. His act
had not been an instant too soon. And now the leader had gained the deck
and stood at the stern with glaring eyes and snarling jaws. Gahan drew his
sword. The beast, possibly disconcerted by the novelty of its position, did
not charge. Instead it crept slowly toward its intended prey. The craft was
rising and Gahan placed a foot upon the control and stopped the ascent. He
did not wish to chance rising to some higher air current that would bear him
away. Already the craft was moving slowly toward the tower, carried thither
by the impetus of the banth's heavy body leaping upon it from astern.

The man watched the slow approach of the monster, the slavering jowls,
the malignant expression of the devilish face. The creature, finding the deck
stable, appeared to be gaining confidence, and then the man leaped
suddenly to one side of the deck and the tiny flier heeled as suddenly in
response. The banth slipped and clutched frantically at the deck. Gahan
leaped in with his naked sword; the great beast caught itself and reared
upon its hind legs to reach forth and seize this presumptuous mortal that
dared question its right to the flesh it craved; and then the man sprang to the
opposite side of the deck. The banth toppled sideways at the same instant

that it attempted to spring; a raking talon passed close to Gahan's head at
the moment that his sword lunged through the savage heart, and as the
warrior wrenched his blade from the carcass it slipped silently over the side
of the ship.

A glance below showed that the vessel was drifting in the direction of
the tower to which Gahan had seen the prisoner led. In another moment or
two it would be directly over it. The man sprang to the control and let the
craft drop quickly toward the ground where followed the banths, still hot for
their prey. To land outside the enclosure spelled certain death, while inside
he could see many forms huddled upon the ground as in sleep. The ship
floated now but a few feet above the wall of the enclosure. There was
nothing for it but to risk all on a bold bid for fortune, or drift helplessly past
without hope of returning through the banth-infested valley, from many
points of which he could now hear the roars and growls of these fierce
Barsoomian lions.

Slipping over the side Gahan descended by the trailing anchor-rope until
his feet touched the top of the wall, where he had no difficulty in arresting
the slow drifting of the ship. Then he drew up the anchor and lowered it
inside the enclosure. Still there was no movement upon the part of the
sleepers beneath—they lay as dead men. Dull lights shone from openings in
the tower; but there was no sign of guard or waking inmate. Clinging to the
rope Gahan lowered himself within the enclosure, where he had his first
close view of the creatures lying there in what he had thought sleep. With a
half smothered exclamation of horror the man drew back from the headless
bodies of the rykors. At first he thought them the corpses of decapitated
humans like himself, which was quite bad enough; but when he saw them
move and realized that they were endowed with life, his horror and disgust
became even greater.

Here then was the explanation of the thing he had witnessed that
afternoon, when Tara of Helium had struck the head from her captor and
Gahan had seen the head crawl back to its body. And to think that the pearl
of Helium was in the power of such hideous things as these. Again the man
shuddered, but he hastened to make fast the flier, clamber again to its deck
and lower it to the floor of the enclosure. Then he strode toward a door in

the base of the tower, stepping lightly over the recumbent forms of the
unconscious rykors, and crossing the threshold disappeared within.

CHAPTER VIII

CLOSE WORK

Ghek, in his happier days third foreman of the fields of Luud, sat nursing
his anger and his humiliation. Recently something had awakened within
him the existence of which he had never before even dreamed. Had the
influence of the strange captive woman aught to do with this unrest and
dissatisfaction? He did not know. He missed the soothing influence of the
noise she called singing. Could it be that there were other things more
desirable than cold logic and undefiled brain power? Was well balanced
imperfection more to be sought after then, than the high development of a
single characteristic? He thought of the great, ultimate brain toward which
all kaldanes were striving. It would be deaf, and dumb, and blind. A
thousand beautiful strangers might sing and dance about it, but it could
derive no pleasure from the singing or the dancing since it would possess no
perceptive faculties. Already had the kaldanes shut themselves off from
most of the gratifications of the senses. Ghek wondered if much was to be
gained by denying themselves still further, and with the thought came a
question as to the whole fabric of their theory. After all perhaps the girl was
right; what purpose could a great brain serve sealed in the bowels of the
earth?

And he, Ghek, was to die for this theory. Luud had decreed it. The
injustice of it overwhelmed him with rage. But he was helpless. There was
no escape. Beyond the enclosure the banths awaited him; within, his own
kind, equally as merciless and ferocious. Among them there was no such
thing as love, or loyalty, or friendship—they were just brains. He might kill
Luud; but what would that profit him? Another king would be loosed from
his sealed chamber and Ghek would be killed. He did not know it but he

would not even have the poor satisfaction of satisfied revenge, since he was
not capable of feeling so abstruse a sentiment.

Ghek, mounted upon his rykor, paced the floor of the tower chamber in
which he had been ordered to remain. Ordinarily he would have accepted
the sentence of Luud with perfect equanimity, since it was but the logical
result of reason; but now it seemed different. The stranger woman had
bewitched him. Life appeared a pleasant thing—there were great
possibilities in it. The dream of the ultimate brain had receded into a
tenuous haze far in the background of his thoughts.

At that moment there appeared in the doorway of the chamber a red
warrior with naked sword. He was a male counterpart of the prisoner whose
sweet voice had undermined the cold, calculating reason of the kaldane.

"Silence!" admonished the newcomer, his straight brows gathered in an
ominous frown and the point of his longsword playing menacingly before
the eyes of the kaldane. "I seek the woman, Tara of Helium. Where is she?
If you value your life speak quickly and speak the truth."

If he valued his life! It was a truth that Ghek had but just learned. He
thought quickly. After all, a great brain is not without its uses. Perhaps here
lay escape from the sentence of Luud.

"You are of her kind?" he asked. "You come to rescue her?"

"Yes."

"Listen, then. I have befriended her, and because of this I am to die. If I
help you to liberate her, will you take me with you?"

Gahan of Gathol eyed the weird creature from crown to foot—the
perfect body, the grotesque head, the expressionless face. Among such as
these had the beautiful daughter of Helium been held captive for days and
weeks.

"If she lives and is unharmed," he said, "I will take you with us."

"When they took her from me she was alive and unharmed," replied
Ghek. "I cannot say what has befallen her since. Luud sent for her."

"Who is Luud? Where is he? Lead me to him." Gahan spoke quickly in
tones vibrant with authority.

"Come, then," said Ghek, leading the way from the apartment and down
a stairway toward the underground burrows of the kaldanes. "Luud is my
king. I will take you to his chambers."

"Hasten!" urged Gahan.

"Sheathe your sword," warned Ghek, "so that should we pass others of
my kind I may say to them that you are a new prisoner with some likelihood
of winning their belief."

Gahan did as he was bid, but warning the kaldane that his hand was ever
ready at his dagger's hilt.

"You need have no fear of treachery," said Ghek. "My only hope of life
lies in you."

"And if you fail me," Gahan admonished him, "I can promise you as sure
a death as even your king might guarantee you."

Ghek made no reply, but moved rapidly through the winding
subterranean corridors until Gahan began to realize how truly was he in the
hands of this strange monster. If the fellow should prove false it would
profit Gahan nothing to slay him, since without his guidance the red man
might never hope to retrace his way to the tower and freedom.

Twice they met and were accosted by other kaldanes; but in both
instances Ghek's simple statement that he was taking a new prisoner to
Luud appeared to allay all suspicion, and then at last they came to the ante-
chamber of the king.

"Here, now, red man, thou must fight, if ever," whispered Ghek. "Enter
there!" and he pointed to a doorway before them.

"And you?" asked Gahan, still fearful of treachery.

"My rykor is powerful," replied the kaldane. "I shall accompany you and
fight at your side. As well die thus as in torture later at the will of Luud.
Come!"

But Gahan had already crossed the room and entered the chamber
beyond. Upon the opposite side of the room was a circular opening guarded
by two warriors. Beyond this opening he could see two figures struggling
upon the floor, and the fleeting glimpse he had of one of the faces suddenly
endowed him with the strength of ten warriors and the ferocity of a
wounded banth. It was Tara of Helium, fighting for her honor or her life.

The warriors, startled by the unexpected appearance of a red man, stood
for a moment in dumb amazement, and in that moment Gahan of Gathol
was upon them, and one was down, a sword-thrust through its heart.

"Strike at the heads," whispered the voice of Ghek in Gahan's ear. The
latter saw the head of the fallen warrior crawl quickly within the aperture
leading to the chamber where he had seen Tara of Helium in the clutches of
a headless body. Then the sword of Ghek struck the kaldane of the
remaining warrior from its rykor and Gahan ran his sword through the
repulsive head.

Instantly the red warrior leaped for the aperture, while close behind him
came Ghek.

"Look not upon the eyes of Luud," warned the kaldane, "or you are lost."

Within the chamber Gahan saw Tara of Helium in the clutches of a
mighty body, while close to the wall upon the opposite side of the
apartment crouched the hideous, spider-like Luud. Instantly the king
realized the menace to himself and sought to fasten his eyes upon the eyes
of Gahan, and in doing so he was forced to relax his concentration upon the
rykor in whose embraces Tara struggled, so that almost immediately the girl
found herself able to tear away from the awful, headless thing.

As she rose quickly to her feet she saw for the first time the cause of the
interruption of Luud's plans. A red warrior! Her heart leaped in rejoicing
and thanksgiving. What miracle of fate had sent him to her? She did not
recognize him, though, this travel-worn warrior in the plain harness which
showed no single jewel. How could she have guessed him the same as the
scintillant creature of platinum and diamonds that she had seen for a brief
hour under such different circumstances at the court of her august sire?

Luud saw Ghek following the strange warrior into the chamber. "Strike
him down, Ghek!" commanded the king. "Strike down the stranger and
your life shall be yours."

Gahan glanced at the hideous face of the king.

"Seek not his eyes," screamed Tara in warning; but it was too late.
Already the horrid hypnotic gaze of the king kaldane had seized upon the
eyes of Gahan. The red warrior hesitated in his stride. His sword point
drooped slowly toward the floor. Tara glanced toward Ghek. She saw the
creature glaring with his expressionless eyes upon the broad back of the
stranger. She saw the hand of the creature's rykor creeping stealthily toward
the hilt of its dagger.

And then Tara of Helium raised her eyes aloft and poured forth the notes
of Mars' most beautiful melody, The Song of Love.

Ghek drew his dagger from its sheath. His eyes turned toward the
singing girl. Luud's glance wavered from the eyes of the man to the face of
Tara, and the instant that the latter's song distracted his attention from his
victim, Gahan of Gathol shook himself and as with a supreme effort of will
forced his eyes to the wall above Luud's hideous head. Ghek raised his
dagger above his right shoulder, took a single quick step forward, and
struck. The girl's song ended in a stifled scream as she leaped forward with
the evident intention of frustrating the kaldane's purpose; but she was too
late, and well it was, for an instant later she realized the purpose of Ghek's
act as she saw the dagger fly from his hand, pass Gahan's shoulder, and sink
full to the guard in the soft face of Luud.

"Come!" cried the assassin, "we have no time to lose," and started for the
aperture through which they had entered the chamber; but in his stride he
paused as his glance was arrested by the form of the mighty rykor lying
prone upon the floor—a king's rykor; the most beautiful, the most powerful,
that the breeders of Bantoom could produce. Ghek realized that in his
escape he could take with him but a single rykor, and there was none in
Bantoom that could give him better service than this giant lying here.
Quickly he transferred himself to the shoulders of the great, inert hulk.
Instantly the latter was transformed to a sentient creature, filled with
pulsing life and alert energy.

"Now," said the kaldane, "we are ready. Let whoso would revert to
nothingness impede me." Even as he spoke he stooped and crawled into the
chamber beyond, while Gahan, taking Tara by the arm, motioned her to
follow. The girl looked him full in the eyes for the first time. "The Gods of
my people have been kind," she said; "you came just in time. To the thanks
of Tara of Helium shall be added those of The Warlord of Barsoom and his
people. Thy reward shall surpass thy greatest desires."

Gahan of Gathol saw that she did not recognize him, and quickly he
checked the warm greeting that had been upon his lips.

"Be thou Tara of Helium or another," he replied, "is immaterial, to serve
thus a red woman of Barsoom is in itself sufficient reward."

As they spoke the girl was making her way through the aperture after
Ghek, and presently all three had quitted the apartments of Luud and were
moving rapidly along the winding corridors toward the tower. Ghek
repeatedly urged them to greater speed, but the red men of Barsoom were
never keen for retreat, and so the two that followed him moved all too
slowly for the kaldane.

"There are none to impede our progress," urged Gahan, "so why tax the
strength of the Princess by needless haste?"

"I fear not so much opposition ahead, for there are none there who know
the thing that has been done in Luud's chambers this night; but the kaldane
of one of the warriors who stood guard before Luud's apartment escaped,

and you may count it a truth that he lost no time in seeking aid. That it did
not come before we left is due solely to the rapidity with which events
transpired in the king's* room. Long before we reach the tower they will be
upon us from behind, and that they will come in numbers far superior to
ours and with great and powerful rykors I well know."
* I have used the word king in describing the rulers or chiefs of the Bantoomian
swarms, since the word itself is unpronounceable in English, nor does jed or
jeddak of the red Martian tongue have quite the same meaning as the
Bantoomian word, which has practically the same significance as the English
word queen as applied to the leader of a swarm of bees.—J. C.

Nor was Ghek's prophecy long in fulfilment. Presently the sounds of
pursuit became audible in the distant clanking of accouterments and the
whistling call to arms of the kaldanes.

"The tower is but a short distance now," cried Ghek. "Make haste while
yet you may, and if we can barricade it until the sun rises we may yet
escape."

"We shall need no barricades for we shall not linger in the tower,"
replied Gahan, moving more rapidly as he realized from the volume of
sound behind them the great number of their pursuers.

"But we may not go further than the tower tonight," insisted Ghek.
"Beyond the tower await the banths and certain death."

Gahan smiled. "Fear not the banths," he assured them. "Can we but reach
the enclosure a little ahead of our pursuers we have naught to fear from any
evil power within this accursed valley."

Ghek made no reply, nor did his expressionless face denote either belief
or skepticism. The girl looked into the face of the man questioningly. She
did not understand.

"Your flier," he said. "It is moored before the tower."

Her face lighted with pleasure and relief. "You found it!" she exclaimed.
"What fortune!"

"It was fortune indeed," he replied. "Since it not only told that you were
a prisoner here; but it saved me from the banths as I was crossing the valley
from the hills to this tower into which I saw them take you this afternoon
after your brave attempt at escape."

"How did you know it was I?" she asked, her puzzled brows scanning his
face as though she sought to recall from past memories some scene in
which he figured.

"Who is there but knows of the loss of the Princess Tara of Helium?" he
replied. "And when I saw the device upon your flier I knew at once, though
I had not known when I saw you among them in the fields a short time
earlier. Too great was the distance for me to make certain whether the
captive was man or woman. Had chance not divulged the hiding place of
your flier I had gone my way, Tara of Helium. I shudder to think how close
was the chance at that. But for the momentary shining of the sun upon the
emblazoned device on the prow of your craft, I had passed on unknowing."

The girl shuddered. "The Gods sent you," she whispered reverently.

"The Gods sent me, Tara of Helium," he replied.

"But I do not recognize you," she said. "I have tried to recall you, but I
have failed. Your name, what may it be?"

"It is not strange that so great a princess should not recall the face of
every roving panthan of Barsoom," he replied with a smile.

"But your name?" insisted the girl.

"Call me Turan," replied the man, for it had come to him that if Tara of
Helium recognized him as the man whose impetuous avowal of love had
angered her that day in the gardens of The Warlord, her situation might be
rendered infinitely less bearable than were she to believe him a total
stranger. Then, too, as a simple panthan* he might win a greater degree of

her confidence by his loyalty and faithfulness and a place in her esteem that
seemed to have been closed to the resplendent Jed of Gathol.
* Soldier of Fortune; free-lance warrior.

They had reached the tower now, and as they entered it from the
subterranean corridor a backward glance revealed the van of their pursuers
—hideous kaldanes mounted upon swift and powerful rykors. As rapidly as
might be the three ascended the stairways leading to the ground level, but
after them, even more rapidly, came the minions of Luud. Ghek led the way,
grasping one of Tara's hands the more easily to guide and assist her, while
Gahan of Gathol followed a few paces in their rear, his bared sword ready
for the assault that all realized must come upon them now before ever they
reached the enclosure and the flier.

"Let Ghek drop behind to your side," said Tara, "and fight with you."

"There is but room for a single blade in these narrow corridors," replied
the Gatholian. "Hasten on with Ghek and win to the deck of the flier. Have
your hand upon the control, and if I come far enough ahead of these to
reach the dangling cable you can rise at my word and I can clamber to the
deck at my leisure; but if one of them emerges first into the enclosure you
will know that I shall never come, and you will rise quickly and trust to the
Gods of our ancestors to give you a fair breeze in the direction of a more
hospitable people."

Tara of Helium shook her head. "We will not desert you, panthan," she
said.

Gahan, ignoring her reply, spoke above her head to Ghek. "Take her to
the craft moored within the enclosure," he commanded. "It is our only hope.
Alone, I may win to its deck; but have I to wait upon you two at the last
moment the chances are that none of us will escape. Do as I bid." His tone
was haughty and arrogant—the tone of a man who has commanded other
men from birth, and whose will has been law. Tara of Helium was both
angered and vexed. She was not accustomed to being either commanded or

ignored, but with all her royal pride she was no fool, and she knew the man
was right, that he was risking his life to save hers, so she hastened on with
Ghek as she was bid, and after the first flush of anger she smiled, for the
realization came to her that this fellow was but a rough untutored warrior,
skilled not in the finer usages of cultured courts. His heart was right,
though; a brave and loyal heart, and gladly she forgave him the offense of
his tone and manner. But what a tone! Recollection of it gave her sudden
pause. Panthans were rough and ready men. Often they rose to positions of
high command, so it was not the note of authority in the fellow's voice that
seemed remarkable; but something else—a quality that was indefinable, yet
as distinct as it was familiar. She had heard it before when the voice of her
great-grandsire, Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, had risen in command;
and in the voice of her grandfather, Mors Kajak, the jed; and in the ringing
tones of her illustrious sire, John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, when he
addressed his warriors.

But now she had no time to speculate upon so trivial a thing, for behind
her came the sudden clash of arms and she knew that Turan, the panthan,
had crossed swords with the first of their pursuers. As she glanced back he
was still visible beyond a turn in the stairway, so that she could see the
quick swordplay that ensued. Daughter of a world's greatest swordsman,
she knew well the finest points of the art. She saw the clumsy attack of the
kaldane and the quick, sure return of the panthan. As she looked down from
above upon his almost naked body, trapped only in the simplest of
unadorned harness, and saw the play of the lithe muscles beneath the red-
bronze skin, and witnessed the quick and delicate play of his sword point, to
her sense of obligation was added a spontaneous admission of admiration
that was but the natural tribute of a woman to skill and bravery and,
perchance, some trifle to manly symmetry and strength.

Three times the panthan's blade changed its position—once to fend a
savage cut; once to feint; and once to thrust. And as he withdrew it from the
last position the kaldane rolled lifeless from its stumbling rykor and Turan
sprang quickly down the steps to engage the next behind, and then Ghek
had drawn Tara upward and a turn in the stairway shut the battling panthan
from her view; but still she heard the ring of steel on steel, the clank of
accouterments and the shrill whistling of the kaldanes. Her heart moved her

to turn back to the side of her brave defender; but her judgment told her that
she could serve him best by being ready at the control of the flier at the
moment he reached the enclosure.

CHAPTER IX

ADRIFT OVER STRANGE REGIONS

Presently Ghek pushed aside a door that opened from the stairway, and
before them Tara saw the moonlight flooding the walled court where the
headless rykors lay beside their feeding-troughs. She saw the perfect
bodies, muscled as the best of her father's fighting men, and the females
whose figures would have been the envy of many of Helium's most
beautiful women. Ah, if she could but endow these with the power to act!
Then indeed might the safety of the panthan be assured; but they were only
poor lumps of clay, nor had she the power to quicken them to life. Ever
must they lie thus until dominated by the cold, heartless brain of the
kaldane. The girl sighed in pity even as she shuddered in disgust as she
picked her way over and among the sprawled creatures toward the flier.

Quickly she and Ghek mounted to the deck after the latter had cast off
the moorings. Tara tested the control, raising and lowering the ship a few
feet within the walled space. It responded perfectly. Then she lowered it to
the ground again and waited. From the open doorway came the sounds of
conflict, now nearing them, now receding. The girl, having witnessed her
champion's skill, had little fear of the outcome. Only a single antagonist
could face him at a time upon the narrow stairway, he had the advantage of
position and of the defensive, and he was a master of the sword while they
were clumsy bunglers by comparison. Their sole advantage was in their
numbers, unless they might find a way to come upon him from behind.

She paled at the thought. Could she have seen him she might have been
further perturbed, for he took no advantage of many opportunities to win

nearer the enclosure. He fought coolly, but with a savage persistence that
bore little semblance to purely defensive action. Often he clambered over
the body of a fallen foe to leap against the next behind, and once there lay
five dead kaldanes behind him, so far had he pushed back his antagonists.
They did not know it; these kaldanes that he fought, nor did the girl
awaiting him upon the flier, but Gahan of Gathol was engaged in a more
alluring sport than winning to freedom, for he was avenging the indignities
that had been put upon the woman he loved; but presently he realized that
he might be jeopardizing her safety uselessly, and so he struck down
another before him and turning leaped quickly up the stairway, while the
leading kaldanes slipped upon the brain-covered floor and stumbled in
pursuit.

Gahan reached the enclosure twenty paces ahead of them and raced
toward the flier. "Rise!" he shouted to the girl. "I will ascend the cable."

Slowly the small craft rose from the ground as Gahan leaped the inert
bodies of the rykors lying in his path. The first of the pursuers sprang from
the tower just as Gahan seized the trailing rope.

"Faster!" he shouted to the girl above, "or they will drag us down!" But
the ship seemed scarcely to move, though in reality she was rising as
rapidly as might have been expected of a one-man flier carrying a load of
three. Gahan swung free above the top of the wall, but the end of the rope
still dragged the ground as the kaldanes reached it. They were pouring in a
steady stream from the tower into the enclosure. The leader seized the rope.

"Quick!" he cried. "Lay hold and we will drag them down."

It needed but the weight of a few to accomplish his design. The ship was
stopped in its flight and then, to the horror of the girl, she felt it being
dragged steadily downward. Gahan, too, realized the danger and the
necessity for instant action. Clinging to the rope with his left hand, he had
wound a leg about it, leaving his right hand free for his long-sword which
he had not sheathed. A downward cut clove the soft head of a kaldane, and
another severed the taut rope beneath the panthan's feet. The girl heard a
sudden renewal of the shrill whistling of her foes, and at the same time she
realized that the craft was rising again. Slowly it drifted upward, out of

reach of the enemy, and a moment later she saw the figure of Turan clamber
over the side. For the first time in many weeks her heart was filled with the
joy of thanksgiving; but her first thought was of another.

"You are not wounded?" she asked.

"No, Tara of Helium," he replied. "They were scarce worth the effort of
my blade, and never were they a menace to me because of their swords."

"They should have slain you easily," said Ghek. "So great and highly
developed is the power of reason among us that they should have known
before you struck just where, logically, you must seek to strike, and so they
should have been able to parry your every thrust and easily find an opening
to your heart."

"But they did not, Ghek," Gahan reminded him. "Their theory of
development is wrong, for it does not tend toward a perfectly balanced
whole. You have developed the brain and neglected the body and you can
never do with the hands of another what you can do with your own hands.
Mine are trained to the sword—every muscle responds instantly and
accurately, and almost mechanically, to the need of the instant. I am
scarcely objectively aware that I think when I fight, so quickly does my
point take advantage of every opening, or spring to my defense if I am
threatened that it is almost as though the cold steel had eyes and brains.
You, with your kaldane brain and your rykor body, never could hope to
achieve in the same degree of perfection those things that I can achieve.
Development of the brain should not be the sum total of human endeavor.
The richest and happiest peoples will be those who attain closest to well-
balanced perfection of both mind and body, and even these must always be
short of perfection. In absolute and general perfection lies stifling monotony
and death. Nature must have contrasts; she must have shadows as well as
highlights; sorrow with happiness; both wrong and right; and sin as well as
virtue."

"Always have I been taught differently," replied Ghek; "but since I have
known this woman and you, of another race, I have come to believe that
there may be other standards fully as high and desirable as those of the
kaldanes. At least I have had a glimpse of the thing you call happiness and I

realize that it may be good even though I have no means of expressing it. I
cannot laugh nor smile, and yet within me is a sense of contentment when
this woman sings—a sense that seems to open before me wondrous vistas
of beauty and unguessed pleasure that far transcend the cold joys of a
perfectly functioning brain. I would that I had been born of thy race."

Caught by a gentle current of air the flier was drifting slowly toward the
northeast across the valley of Bantoom. Below them lay the cultivated
fields, and one after another they passed over the strange towers of Moak
and Nolach and the other kings of the swarms that inhabited this weird and
terrible land. Within each enclosure surrounding the towers grovelled the
rykors, repellent, headless things, beautiful yet hideous.

"A lesson, those," remarked Gahan, indicating the rykors in an enclosure
above which they were drifting at the time, "to that fortunately small
minority of our race which worships the flesh and makes a god of appetite.
You know them, Tara of Helium; they can tell you exactly what they had at
the midday meal two weeks ago, and how the loin of the thoat should be
prepared, and what drink should be served with the rump of the zitidar."

Tara of Helium laughed. "But not one of them could tell you the name of
the man whose painting took the Jeddak's Award in The Temple of Beauty
this year," she said. "Like the rykors, their development has not been
balanced."

"Fortunate indeed are those in which there is combined a little good and
a little bad, a little knowledge of many things outside their own callings, a
capacity for love and a capacity for hate, for such as these can look with
tolerance upon all, unbiased by the egotism of him whose head is so heavy
on one side that all his brains run to that point."

As Gahan ceased speaking Ghek made a little noise in his throat as one
does who would attract attention. "You speak as one who has thought much
upon many subjects. Is it, then, possible that you of the red race have
pleasure in thought? Do you know aught of the joys of introspection? Do
reason and logic form any part of your lives?"

"Most assuredly," replied Gahan, "but not to the extent of occupying all
our time—at least not objectively. You, Ghek, are an example of the
egotism of which I spoke. Because you and your kind devote your lives to
the worship of mind, you believe that no other created beings think. And
possibly we do not in the sense that you do, who think only of yourselves
and your great brains. We think of many things that concern the welfare of a
world. Had it not been for the red men of Barsoom even the kaldanes had
perished from the planet, for while you may live without air the things upon
which you depend for existence cannot, and there had been no air in
sufficient quantities upon Barsoom these many ages had not a red man
planned and built the great atmosphere plant which gave new life to a dying
world.

"What have all the brains of all the kaldanes that have ever lived done to
compare with that single idea of a single red man?"

Ghek was stumped. Being a kaldane he knew that brains spelled the sum
total of universal achievement, but it had never occurred to him that they
should be put to use in practical and profitable ways. He turned away and
looked down upon the valley of his ancestors across which he was slowly
drifting, into what unknown world? He should be a veritable god among the
underlings, he knew; but somehow a doubt assailed him. It was evident that
these two from that other world were ready to question his preeminence.
Even through his great egotism was filtering a suspicion that they
patronized him; perhaps even pitied him. Then he began to wonder what
was to become of him. No longer would he have many rykors to do his
bidding. Only this single one and when it died there could not be another.
When it tired, Ghek must lie almost helpless while it rested. He wished that
he had never seen this red woman. She had brought him only discontent and
dishonor and now exile. Presently Tara of Helium commenced to hum a
tune and Ghek, the kaldane, was content.

Gently they drifted beneath the hurtling moons above the mad shadows
of a Martian night. The roaring of the banths came in diminishing volume to
their ears as their craft passed on beyond the boundaries of Bantoom,
leaving behind the terrors of that unhappy land. But to what were they
being borne? The girl looked at the man sitting cross-legged upon the deck

of the tiny flier, gazing off into the night ahead, apparently absorbed in
thought.

"Where are we?" she asked. "Toward what are we drifting?"

Turan shrugged his broad shoulders. "The stars tell me that we are
drifting toward the northeast," he replied, "but where we are, or what lies in
our path I cannot even guess. A week since I could have sworn that I knew
what lay behind each succeeding ridge that I approached; but now I admit
in all humility that I have no conception of what lies a mile in any direction.
Tara of Helium, I am lost, and that is all that I can tell you."

He was smiling and the girl smiled back at him. There was a slightly
puzzled expression on her face—there was something tantalizingly familiar
about that smile of his. She had met many a panthan—they came and went,
following the fighting of a world—but she could not place this one.

"From what country are you, Turan?" she asked suddenly.

"Know you not, Tara of Helium," he countered, "that a panthan has no
country? Today he fights beneath the banner of one master, tomorrow
beneath that of another."

"But you must own allegiance to some country when you are not
fighting," she insisted. "What banner, then, owns you now?"

He rose and stood before her, then, bowing low. "And I am acceptable,"
he said, "I serve beneath the banner of the daughter of The Warlord now—
and forever."

She reached forth and touched his arm with a slim brown hand. "Your
services are accepted," she said; "and if ever we reach Helium I promise
that your reward shall be all that your heart could desire."

"I shall serve faithfully, hoping for that reward," he said; but Tara of
Helium did not guess what was in his mind, thinking rather that he was
mercenary. For how could the proud daughter of The Warlord guess that a
simple panthan aspired to her hand and heart?

The dawn found them moving rapidly over an unfamiliar landscape. The
wind had increased during the night and had borne them far from Bantoom.
The country below them was rough and inhospitable. No water was visible
and the surface of the ground was cut by deep gorges, while nowhere was
any but the most meager vegetation discernible. They saw no life of any
nature, nor was there any indication that the country could support life. For
two days they drifted over this horrid wasteland. They were without food or
water and suffered accordingly. Ghek had temporarily abandoned his rykor
after enlisting Turan's assistance in lashing it safely to the deck. The less he
used it the less would its vitality be spent. Already it was showing the
effects of privation. Ghek crawled about the vessel like a great spider—over
the side, down beneath the keel, and up over the opposite rail. He seemed
equally at home one place as another. For his companions, however, the
quarters were cramped, for the deck of a one-man flier is not intended for
three.

Turan sought always ahead for signs of water. Water they must have, or
that water-giving plant which makes life possible upon many of the
seemingly arid areas of Mars; but there was neither the one nor the other for
these two days and now the third night was upon them. The girl did not
complain, but Turan knew that she must be suffering and his heart was
heavy within him. Ghek suffered least of all, and he explained to them that
his kind could exist for long periods without food or water. Turan almost
cursed him as he saw the form of Tara of Helium slowly wasting away
before his eyes, while the hideous kaldane seemed as full of vitality as ever.

"There are circumstances," remarked Ghek, "under which a gross and
material body is less desirable than a highly developed brain."

Turan looked at him, but said nothing. Tara of Helium smiled faintly.
"One cannot blame him," she said, "were we not a bit boastful in the pride
of our superiority? When our stomachs were filled," she added.

"Perhaps there is something to be said for their system," Turan admitted.
"If we could but lay aside our stomachs when they cried for food and water
I have no doubt but that we should do so."

"I should never miss mine now," assented Tara; "it is mighty poor
company."

A new day had dawned, revealing a less desolate country and renewing
again the hope that had been low within them. Suddenly Turan leaned
forward, pointing ahead.

"Look, Tara of Helium!" he cried. "A city! As I am Ga—as I am Turan
the panthan, a city."

Far in the distance the domes and walls and slender towers of a city
shone in the rising sun. Quickly the man seized the control and the ship
dropped rapidly behind a low range of intervening hills, for well Turan
knew that they must not be seen until they could discover whether friend or
foe inhabited the strange city. Chances were that they were far from the
abode of friends and so must the panthan move with the utmost caution; but
there was a city and where a city was, was water, even though it were a
deserted city, and food if it were inhabited.

To the red man food and water, even in the citadel of an enemy, meant
food and drink for Tara of Helium. He would accept it from friends or he
would take it from enemies. Just so long as it was there he would have it—
and there was shown the egotism of the fighting man, though Turan did not
see it, nor Tara who came from a long line of fighting men; but Ghek might
have smiled had he known how.

Turan permitted the flier to drift closer behind the screening hills, and
then when he could advance no farther without fear of discovery, he
dropped the craft gently to ground in a little ravine, and leaping over the
side made her fast to a stout tree. For several moments they discussed their
plans—whether it would be best to wait where they were until darkness hid
their movements and then approach the city in search of food and water, or
approach it now, taking advantage of what cover they could, until they
could glean something of the nature of its inhabitants.

It was Turan's plan which finally prevailed. They would approach as
close as safety dictated in the hope of finding water outside the city; food,
too, perhaps. If they did not they could at least reconnoiter the ground by

daylight, and then when night came Turan could quickly come close to the
city and in comparative safety prosecute his search for food and drink.

Following the ravine upward they finally topped the summit of the ridge,
from which they had an excellent view of that part of the city which lay
nearest them, though themselves hidden by the brush behind which they
crouched. Ghek had resumed his rykor, which had suffered less than either
Tara or Turan through their enforced fast.

The first glance at the city, now much closer than when they had first
discovered it, revealed the fact that it was inhabited. Banners and pennons
broke from many a staff. People were moving about the gate before them.
The high white walls were paced by sentinels at far intervals. Upon the
roofs of higher buildings the women could be seen airing the sleeping silks
and furs. Turan watched it all in silence for some time.

"I do not know them," he said at last. "I cannot guess what city this may
be. But it is an ancient city. Its people have no fliers and no firearms. It
must be old indeed."

"How do you know they have not these things?" asked the girl.

"There are no landing-stages upon the roofs—not one that can be seen
from here; while were we looking similarly at Helium we would see
hundreds. And they have no firearms because their defenses are all built to
withstand the attack of spear and arrow, with spear and arrow. They are an
ancient people."

"If they are ancient perhaps they are friendly," suggested the girl. "Did
we not learn as children in the history of our planet that it was once peopled
by a friendly, peace-loving race?"

"But I fear they are not as ancient as that," replied Turan, laughing. "It
has been long ages since the men of Barsoom loved peace."

"My father loves peace," returned the girl.

"And yet he is always at war," said the man.

She laughed. "But he says he likes peace."

"We all like peace," he rejoined; "peace with honor; but our neighbors
will not let us have it, and so we must fight."

"And to fight well men must like to fight," she added.

"And to like to fight they must know how to fight," he said, "for no man
likes to do the thing that he does not know how to do well."

"Or that some other man can do better than he."

"And so always there will be wars and men will fight," he concluded,
"for always the men with hot blood in their veins will practice the art of
war."

"We have settled a great question," said the girl, smiling; "but our
stomachs are still empty."

"Your panthan is neglecting his duty," replied Turan; "and how can he
with the great reward always before his eyes!"

She did not guess in what literal a sense he spoke.

"I go forthwith," he continued, "to wrest food and drink from the
ancients."

"No," she cried, laying a hand upon his arm, "not yet. They would slay
you or make you prisoner. You are a brave panthan and a mighty one, but
you cannot overcome a city singlehanded."

She smiled up into his face and her hand still lay upon his arm. He felt
the thrill of hot blood coursing through his veins. He could have seized her
in his arms and crushed her to him. There was only Ghek the kaldane there,
but there was something stronger within him that restrained his hand. Who
may define it—that inherent chivalry that renders certain men the natural
protectors of women?

From their vantage point they saw a body of armed warriors ride forth
from the gate, and winding along a well-beaten road pass from sight about
the foot of the hill from which they watched. The men were red, like
themselves, and they rode the small saddle thoats of the red race. Their
trappings were barbaric and magnificent, and in their head-dress were many
feathers as had been the custom of ancients. They were armed with swords
and long spears and they rode almost naked, their bodies being painted in
ochre and blue and white. There were, perhaps, a score of them in the party
and as they galloped away on their tireless mounts they presented a picture
at once savage and beautiful.

"They have the appearance of splendid warriors," said Turan. "I have a
great mind to walk boldly into their city and seek service."

Tara shook her head. "Wait," she admonished. "What would I do without
you, and if you were captured how could you collect your reward?"

"I should escape," he said. "At any rate I shall try it," and he started to
rise.

"You shall not," said the girl, her tone all authority.

The man looked at her quickly—questioningly.

"You have entered my service," she said, a trifle haughtily.

"You have entered my service for hire and you shall do as I bid you."

Turan sank down beside her again with a half smile upon his lips. "It is
yours to command, Princess," he said.

The day passed. Ghek, tiring of the sunlight, had deserted his rykor and
crawled down a hole he had discovered close by. Tara and Turan reclined
beneath the scant shade of a small tree. They watched the people coming
and going through the gate. The party of horsemen did not return. A small
herd of zitidars was driven into the city during the day, and once a caravan
of broad-wheeled carts drawn by these huge animals wound out of the
distant horizon and came down to the city. It, too, passed from their sight

within the gateway. Then darkness came and Tara of Helium bid her
panthan search for food and drink; but she cautioned him against attempting
to enter the city. Before he left her he bent and kissed her hand as a warrior
may kiss the hand of his queen.

CHAPTER X

ENTRAPPED

Turan the panthan approached the strange city under cover of the
darkness. He entertained little hope of finding either food or water outside
the wall, but he would try and then, if he failed, he would attempt to make
his way into the city, for Tara of Helium must have sustenance and have it
soon. He saw that the walls were poorly sentineled, but they were
sufficiently high to render an attempt to scale them foredoomed to failure.
Taking advantage of underbrush and trees, Turan managed to reach the base
of the wall without detection. Silently he moved north past the gateway
which was closed by a massive gate which effectively barred even the
slightest glimpse within the city beyond. It was Turan's hope to find upon
the north side of the city away from the hills a level plain where grew the
crops of the inhabitants, and here too water from their irrigating system, but
though he traveled far along that seemingly interminable wall he found no
fields nor any water. He searched also for some means of ingress to the city,
yet here, too, failure was his only reward, and now as he went keen eyes
watched him from above and a silent stalker kept pace with him for a time
upon the summit of the wall; but presently the shadower descended to the
pavement within and hurrying swiftly raced ahead of the stranger without.

He came presently to a small gate beside which was a low building and
before the doorway of the building a warrior standing guard. He spoke a
few quick words to the warrior and then entered the building only to return
almost immediately to the street, followed by fully forty warriors.
Cautiously opening the gate the fellow peered carefully along the wall upon

the outside in the direction from which he had come. Evidently satisfied, he
issued a few words of instruction to those behind him, whereupon half the
warriors returned to the interior of the building, while the other half
followed the man stealthily through the gateway where they crouched low
among the shrubbery in a half circle just north of the gateway which they
had left open. Here they waited in utter silence, nor had they long to wait
before Turan the panthan came cautiously along the base of the wall. To the
very gate he came and when he found it and that it was open he paused for a
moment, listening; then he approached and looked within. Assured that
there was none within sight to apprehend him he stepped through the
gateway into the city.

He found himself in a narrow street that paralleled the wall. Upon the
opposite side rose buildings of an architecture unknown to him, yet
strangely beautiful. While the buildings were packed closely together there
seemed to be no two alike and their fronts were of all shapes and heights
and of many hues. The skyline was broken by spire and dome and minaret
and tall, slender towers, while the walls supported many a balcony and in
the soft light of Cluros, the farther moon, now low in the west, he saw, to
his surprise and consternation, the figures of people upon the balconies.
Directly opposite him were two women and a man. They sat leaning upon
the rail of the balcony looking, apparently, directly at him; but if they saw
him they gave no sign.

Turan hesitated a moment in the face of almost certain discovery and
then, assured that they must take him for one of their own people, he moved
boldly into the avenue. Having no idea of the direction in which he might
best hope to find what he sought, and not wishing to arouse suspicion by
further hesitation, he turned to the left and stepped briskly along the
pavement with the intention of placing himself as quickly as possible
beyond the observation of those nocturnal watchers. He knew that the night
must be far spent; and so he could not but wonder why people should sit
upon their balconies when they should have been asleep among their silks
and furs. At first he had thought them the late guests of some convivial host;
but the windows behind them were shrouded in darkness and utter quiet
prevailed, quite upsetting such a theory. And as he proceeded he passed
many another group sitting silently upon other balconies. They paid no

attention to him, seeming not even to note his passing. Some leaned with a
single elbow upon the rail, their chins resting in their palms; others leaned
upon both arms across the balcony, looking down into the street, while
several that he saw held musical instruments in their hands, but their fingers
moved not upon the strings.

And then Turan came to a point where the avenue turned to the right, to
skirt a building that jutted from the inside of the city wall, and as he
rounded the corner he came full upon two warriors standing upon either
side of the entrance to a building upon his right. It was impossible for them
not to be aware of his presence, yet neither moved, nor gave other evidence
that they had seen him. He stood there waiting, his hand upon the hilt of his
long-sword, but they neither challenged nor halted him. Could it be that
these also thought him one of their own kind? Indeed upon no other
grounds could he explain their inaction.

As Turan had passed through the gateway into the city and taken his
unhindered way along the avenue, twenty warriors had entered the city and
closed the gate behind them, and then one had taken to the wall and
followed along its summit in the rear of Turan, and another had followed
him along the avenue, while a third had crossed the street and entered one
of the buildings upon the opposite side.

The balance of them, with the exception of a single sentinel beside the
gate, had re-entered the building from which they had been summoned.
They were well built, strapping, painted fellows, their naked figures
covered now by gorgeous robes against the chill of night. As they spoke of
the stranger they laughed at the ease with which they had tricked him, and
were still laughing as they threw themselves upon their sleeping silks and
furs to resume their broken slumber. It was evident that they constituted a
guard detailed for the gate beside which they slept, and it was equally
evident that the gates were guarded and the city watched much more
carefully than Turan had believed. Chagrined indeed had been the Jed of
Gathol had he dreamed that he was being so neatly tricked.

As Turan proceeded along the avenue he passed other sentries beside
other doors but now he gave them small heed, since they neither challenged
nor otherwise outwardly noted his passing; but while at nearly every turn of

the erratic avenue he passed one or more of these silent sentinels he could
not guess that he had passed one of them many times and that his every
move was watched by silent, clever stalkers. Scarce had he passed a certain
one of these rigid guardsmen before the fellow awoke to sudden life,
bounded across the avenue, entered a narrow opening in the outer wall
where he swiftly followed a corridor built within the wall itself until
presently he emerged a little distance ahead of Turan, where he assumed the
stiff and silent attitude of a soldier upon guard. Nor did Turan know that a
second followed in the shadows of the buildings behind him, nor of the
third who hastened ahead of him upon some urgent mission.

And so the panthan moved through the silent streets of the strange city in
search of food and drink for the woman he loved. Men and women looked
down upon him from shadowy balconies, but spoke not; and sentinels saw
him pass and did not challenge. Presently from along the avenue before him
came the familiar sound of clanking accouterments, the herald of marching
warriors, and almost simultaneously he saw upon his right an open doorway
dimly lighted from within. It was the only available place where he might
seek to hide from the approaching company, and while he had passed
several sentries unquestioned he could scarce hope to escape scrutiny and
questioning from a patrol, as he naturally assumed this body of men to be.

Inside the doorway he discovered a passage turning abruptly to the right
and almost immediately thereafter to the left. There was none in sight
within and so he stepped cautiously around the second turn the more
effectually to be hidden from the street. Before him stretched a long
corridor, dimly lighted like the entrance. Waiting there he heard the party
approach the building, he heard someone at the entrance to his hiding place,
and then he heard the door past which he had come slam to. He laid his
hand upon his sword, expecting momentarily to hear footsteps approaching
along the corridor; but none came. He approached the turn and looked
around it; the corridor was empty to the closed door. Whoever had closed it
had remained upon the outside.

Turan waited, listening. He heard no sound. Then he advanced to the
door and placed an ear against it. All was silence in the street beyond. A
sudden draft must have closed the door, or perhaps it was the duty of the

patrol to see to such things. It was immaterial. They had evidently passed
on and now he would return to the street and continue upon his way.
Somewhere there would be a public fountain where he could obtain water,
and the chance of food lay in the strings of dried vegetables and meat which
hung before the doorways of nearly every Barsoomian home of the poorer
classes that he had ever seen. It was this district he was seeking, and it was
for this reason his search had led him away from the main gate of the city
which he knew would not be located in a poor district.

He attempted to open the door only to find that it resisted his every effort
—it was locked upon the outside. Here indeed was a sorry contretemps.
Turan the panthan scratched his head. "Fortune frowns upon me," he
murmured; but beyond the door, Fate, in the form of a painted warrior,
stood smiling. Neatly had he tricked the unwary stranger. The lighted
doorway, the marching patrol—these had been planned and timed to a
nicety by the third warrior who had sped ahead of Turan along another
avenue, and the stranger had done precisely what the fellow had thought he
would do—no wonder, then, that he smiled.

This exit barred to him Turan turned back into the corridor. He followed
it cautiously and silently. Occasionally there was a door on one side or the
other. These he tried only to find each securely locked. The corridor wound
more erratically the farther he advanced. A locked door barred his way at its
end, but a door upon his right opened and he stepped into a dimly-lighted
chamber, about the walls of which were three other doors, each of which he
tried in turn. Two were locked; the other opened upon a runway leading
downward. It was spiral and he could see no farther than the first turn. A
door in the corridor he had quitted opened after he had passed, and the third
warrior stepped out and followed after him. A faint smile still lingered upon
the fellow's grim lips.

Turan drew his short-sword and cautiously descended. At the bottom
was a short corridor with a closed door at the end. He approached the single
heavy panel and listened. No sound came to him from beyond the
mysterious portal. Gently he tried the door, which swung easily toward him
at his touch. Before him was a low-ceiled chamber with a dirt floor. Set in
its walls were several other doors and all were closed. As Turan stepped

cautiously within, the third warrior descended the spiral runway behind
him. The panthan crossed the room quickly and tried a door. It was locked.
He heard a muffled click behind him and turned about with ready sword. He
was alone; but the door through which he had entered was closed—it was
the click of its lock that he had heard.

With a bound he crossed the room and attempted to open it; but to no
avail. No longer did he seek silence, for he knew now that the thing had
gone beyond the sphere of chance. He threw his weight against the wooden
panel; but the thick skeel of which it was constructed would have withstood
a battering ram. From beyond came a low laugh.

Rapidly Turan examined each of the other doors. They were all locked.
A glance about the chamber revealed a wooden table and a bench. Set in the
walls were several heavy rings to which rusty chains were attached—all too
significant of the purpose to which the room was dedicated. In the dirt floor
near the wall were two or three holes resembling the mouths of burrows—
doubtless the habitat of the giant Martian rat. He had observed this much
when suddenly the dim light was extinguished, leaving him in darkness
utter and complete. Turan, groping about, sought the table and the bench.
Placing the latter against the wall he drew the table in front of him and sat
down upon the bench, his long-sword gripped in readiness before him. At
least they should fight before they took him.

For some time he sat there waiting for he knew not what. No sound
penetrated to his subterranean dungeon. He slowly revolved in his mind the
incidents of the evening—the open, unguarded gate; the lighted doorway—
the only one he had seen thus open and lighted along the avenue he had
followed; the advance of the warriors at precisely the moment that he could
find no other avenue of escape or concealment; the corridors and chambers
that led past many locked doors to this underground prison leaving no other
path for him to pursue.

"By my first ancestor!" he swore; "but it was simple and I a simpleton.
They tricked me neatly and have taken me without exposing themselves to
a scratch; but for what purpose?"

He wished that he might answer that question and then his thoughts
turned to the girl waiting there on the hill beyond the city for him—and he
would never come. He knew the ways of the more savage peoples of
Barsoom. No, he would never come, now. He had disobeyed her. He smiled
at the sweet recollection of those words of command that had fallen from
her dear lips. He had disobeyed her and now he had lost the reward.

But what of her? What now would be her fate—starving before a hostile
city with only an inhuman kaldane for company? Another thought—a
horrid thought—obtruded itself upon him. She had told him of the hideous
sights she had witnessed in the burrows of the kaldanes and he knew that
they ate human flesh. Ghek was starving. Should he eat his rykor he would
be helpless; but—there was sustenance there for them both, for the rykor
and the kaldane. Turan cursed himself for a fool. Why had he left her? Far
better to have remained and died with her, ready always to protect her, than
to have left her at the mercy of the hideous Bantoomian.

Now Turan detected a heavy odor in the air. It oppressed him with a
feeling of drowsiness. He would have risen to fight off the creeping
lethargy, but his legs seemed weak, so that he sank again to the bench.
Presently his sword slipped from his fingers and he sprawled forward upon
the table his head resting upon his arms.

Tara of Helium, as the night wore on and Turan did not return, became
more and more uneasy, and when dawn broke with no sign of him she
guessed that he had failed. Something more than her own unhappy
predicament brought a feeling of sorrow to her heart—of sorrow and
loneliness. She realized now how she had come to depend upon this
panthan not only for protection but for companionship as well. She missed
him, and in missing him realized suddenly that he had meant more to her
than a mere hired warrior. It was as though a friend had been taken from her
—an old and valued friend. She rose from her place of concealment that she
might have a better view of the city.

U-Dor, dwar of the 8th Utan of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, rode back in
the early dawn toward Manator from a brief excursion to a neighboring
village. As he was rounding the hills south of the city, his keen eyes were

attracted by a slight movement among the shrubbery close to the summit of
the nearest hill. He halted his vicious mount and watched more closely. He
saw a figure rise facing away from him and peer down toward Manator
beyond the hill.

"Come!" he signalled to his followers, and with a word to his thoat
turned the beast at a rapid gallop up the hillside. In his wake swept his
twenty savage warriors, the padded feet of their mounts soundless upon the
soft turf. It was the rattle of sidearms and harness that brought Tara of
Helium suddenly about, facing them. She saw a score of warriors with
couched lances bearing down upon her.

She glanced at Ghek. What would the spiderman do in this emergency?
She saw him crawl to his rykor and attach himself. Then he arose, the
beautiful body once again animated and alert. She thought that the creature
was preparing for flight. Well, it made little difference to her. Against such
as were streaming up the hill toward them a single mediocre swordsman
such as Ghek was worse than no defense at all.

"Hurry, Ghek!" she admonished him. "Back into the hills! You may find
there a hiding-place;" but the creature only stepped between her and the
oncoming riders, drawing his long-sword.

"It is useless, Ghek," she said, when she saw that he intended to defend
her. "What can a single sword accomplish against such odds?"

"I can die but once," replied the kaldane. "You and your panthan saved
me from Luud and I but do what your panthan would do were he here to
protect you."

"It is brave, but it is useless," she replied. "Sheathe your sword. They
may not intend us harm."

Ghek let the point of his weapon drop to the ground, but he did not
sheathe it, and thus the two stood waiting as U-Dor the dwar stopped his
thoat before them while his twenty warriors formed a rough circle about.
For a long minute U-Dor sat his mount in silence, looking searchingly first
at Tara of Helium and then at her hideous companion.

"What manner of creature are you?" he asked presently. "And what do
you before the gates of Manator?"

"We are from far countries," replied the girl, "and we are lost and
starving. We ask only food and rest and the privilege to go our way seeking
our own homes."

U-Dor smiled a grim smile. "Manator and the hills which guard it alone
know the age of Manator," he said; "yet in all the ages that have rolled by
since Manator first was, there be no record in the annals of Manator of a
stranger departing from Manator."

"But I am a princess," cried the girl haughtily, "and my country is not at
war with yours. You must give me and my companions aid and assist us to
return to our own land. It is the law of Barsoom."

"Manator knows only the laws of Manator," replied U-Dor; "but come.
You shall go with us to the city, where you, being beautiful, need have no
fear. I, myself, will protect you if O-Tar so decrees. And as for your
companion—but hold! You said 'companions'—there are others of your
party then?"

"You see what you see," replied Tara haughtily.

"Be that as it may," said U-Dor. "If there be more they shall not escape
Manator; but as I was saying, if your companion fights well he too may
live, for O-Tar is just, and just are the laws of Manator. Come!"

Ghek demurred.

"It is useless," said the girl, seeing that he would have stood his ground
and fought them. "Let us go with them. Why pit your puny blade against
their mighty ones when there should lie in your great brain the means to
outwit them?" She spoke in a low whisper, rapidly.

"You are right, Tara of Helium," he replied and sheathed his sword.

And so they moved down the hillside toward the gates of Manator—
Tara, Princess of Helium, and Ghek, the kaldane of Bantoom—and
surrounding them rode the savage, painted warriors of U-Dor, dwar of the
8th Utan of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator.

CHAPTER XI

THE CHOICE OF TARA

The dazzling sunlight of Barsoom clothed Manator in an aureole of
splendor as the girl and her captors rode into the city through The Gate of
Enemies. Here the wall was some fifty feet thick, and the sides of the
passageway within the gate were covered with parallel shelves of masonry
from bottom to top. Within these shelves, or long, horizontal niches, stood
row upon row of small figures, appearing like tiny, grotesque statuettes of
men, their long, black hair falling below their feet and sometimes trailing to
the shelf beneath. The figures were scarce a foot in height and but for their
diminutive proportions might have been the mummified bodies of once
living men. The girl noticed that as they passed, the warriors saluted the
figures with their spears after the manner of Barsoomian fighting men in
extending a military courtesy, and then they rode on into the avenue
beyond, which ran, wide and stately, through the city toward the east.

On either side were great buildings wondrously wrought. Paintings of
great beauty and antiquity covered many of the walls, their colors softened
and blended by the suns of ages. Upon the pavement the life of the newly-
awakened city was already afoot. Women in brilliant trappings, befeathered
warriors, their bodies daubed with paint; artisans, armed but less gaily
caparisoned, took their various ways upon the duties of the day. A giant
zitidar, magnificent in rich harness, rumbled its broad-wheeled cart along
the stone pavement toward The Gate of Enemies. Life and color and beauty
wrought together a picture that filled the eyes of Tara of Helium with
wonder and with admiration, for here was a scene out of the dead past of

dying Mars. Such had been the cities of the founders of her race before
Throxeus, mightiest of oceans, had disappeared from the face of a world.
And from balconies on either side men and women looked down in silence
upon the scene below.

The people in the street looked at the two prisoners, especially at the
hideous Ghek, and called out in question or comment to their guard; but the
watchers upon the balconies spoke not, nor did one so much as turn a head
to note their passing. There were many balconies on each building and not a
one that did not hold its silent party of richly trapped men and women, with
here and there a child or two, but even the children maintained the uniform
silence and immobility of their elders. As they approached the center of the
city the girl saw that even the roofs bore companies of these idle watchers,
harnessed and bejeweled as for some gala-day of laughter and music, but no
laughter broke from those silent lips, nor any music from the strings of the
instruments that many of them held in jeweled fingers.

And now the avenue widened into an immense square, at the far end of
which rose a stately edifice gleaming white in virgin marble among the
gaily painted buildings surrounding it and its scarlet sward and gaily-
flowering, green-foliaged shrubbery. Toward this U-Dor led his prisoners
and their guard to the great arched entrance before which a line of fifty
mounted warriors barred the way. When the commander of the guard
recognized U-Dor the guardsmen fell back to either side leaving a broad
avenue through which the party passed. Directly inside the entrance were
inclined runways leading upward on either side. U-Dor turned to the left
and led them upward to the second floor and down a long corridor. Here
they passed other mounted men and in chambers upon either side they saw
more. Occasionally there was another runway leading either up or down. A
warrior, his steed at full gallop, dashed into sight from one of these and
raced swiftly past them upon some errand.

Nowhere as yet had Tara of Helium seen a man afoot in this great
building; but when at a turn, U-Dor led them to the third floor she caught
glimpses of chambers in which many riderless thoats were penned and
others adjoining where dismounted warriors lolled at ease or played games
of skill or chance and many there were who played at jetan, and then the

party passed into a long, wide hall of state, as magnificent an apartment as
even a princess of mighty Helium ever had seen. The length of the room ran
an arched ceiling ablaze with countless radium bulbs. The mighty spans
extended from wall to wall leaving the vast floor unbroken by a single
column. The arches were of white marble, apparently quarried in single,
huge blocks from which each arch was cut complete. Between the arches,
the ceiling was set solid about the radium bulbs with precious stones whose
scintillant fire and color and beauty filled the whole apartment. The stones
were carried down the walls in an irregular fringe for a few feet, where they
appeared to hang like a beautiful and gorgeous drapery against the white
marble of the wall. The marble ended some six or seven feet from the floor,
the walls from that point down being wainscoted in solid gold. The floor
itself was of marble richly inlaid with gold. In that single room was a vast
treasure equal to the wealth of many a large city.

But what riveted the girl's attention even more than the fabulous treasure
of decorations were the files of gorgeously harnessed warriors who sat their
thoats in grim silence and immobility on either side of the central aisle, rank
after rank of them to the farther walls, and as the party passed between them
she could not note so much as the flicker of an eyelid, or the twitching of a
thoat's ear.

"The Hall of Chiefs," whispered one of her guard, evidently noting her
interest. There was a note of pride in the fellow's voice and something of
hushed awe. Then they passed through a great doorway into the chamber
beyond, a large, square room in which a dozen mounted warriors lolled in
their saddles.

As U-Dor and his party entered the room, the warriors came quickly
erect in their saddles and formed a line before another door upon the
opposite side of the wall. The padwar commanding them saluted U-Dor
who, with his party, had halted facing the guard.

"Send one to O-Tar announcing that U-Dor brings two prisoners worthy
of the observation of the great jeddak," said U-Dor; "one because of her
extreme beauty, the other because of his extreme ugliness."

"O-Tar sits in council with the lesser chiefs," replied the lieutenant; "but
the words of U-Dor the dwar shall be carried to him," and he turned and
gave instructions to one who sat his thoat behind him.

"What manner of creature is the male?" he asked of U-Dor. "It cannot be
that both are of one race."

"They were together in the hills south of the city," explained U-Dor, "and
they say that they are lost and starving."

"The woman is beautiful," said the padwar. "She will not long go
begging in the city of Manator," and then they spoke of other matters—of
the doings of the palace, of the expedition of U-Dor, until the messenger
returned to say that O-Tar bade them bring the prisoners to him.

They passed then through a massive doorway, which, when opened,
revealed the great council chamber of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, beyond. A
central aisle led from the doorway the full length of the great hall,
terminating at the steps of a marble dais upon which a man sat in a great
throne-chair. Upon either side of the aisle were ranged rows of highly
carved desks and chairs of skeel, a hard wood of great beauty. Only a few of
the desks were occupied—those in the front row, just below the rostrum.

At the entrance U-Dor dismounted with four of his followers who
formed a guard about the two prisoners who were then conducted toward
the foot of the throne, following a few paces behind U-Dor. As they halted
at the foot of the marble steps, the proud gaze of Tara of Helium rested
upon the enthroned figure of the man above her. He sat erect without
stiffness—a commanding presence trapped in the barbaric splendor that the
Barsoomian chieftain loves. He was a large man, the perfection of whose
handsome face was marred only by the hauteur of his cold eyes and the
suggestion of cruelty imparted by too thin lips. It needed no second glance
to assure the least observing that here indeed was a ruler of men—a fighting
jeddak whose people might worship but not love, and for whose slightest
favor warriors would vie with one another to go forth and die. This was O-
Tar, Jeddak of Manator, and as Tara of Helium saw him for the first time
she could not but acknowledge a certain admiration for this savage chieftain
who so virilely personified the ancient virtues of the God of War.

U-Dor and the jeddak interchanged the simple greetings of Barsoom, and
then the former recounted the details of the discovery and capture of the
prisoners. O-Tar scrutinized them both intently during U-Dor's narration of
events, his expression revealing naught of what passed in the brain behind
those inscrutable eyes. When the officer had finished the jeddak fastened
his gaze upon Ghek.

"And you," he asked, "what manner of thing are you? From what
country? Why are you in Manator?"

"I am a kaldane," replied Ghek; "the highest type of created creature
upon the face of Barsoom; I am mind, you are matter. I come from
Bantoom. I am here because we were lost and starving."

"And you!" O-Tar turned suddenly on Tara. "You, too, are a kaldane?"

"I am a princess of Helium," replied the girl. "I was a prisoner in
Bantoom. This kaldane and a warrior of my own race rescued me. The
warrior left us to search for food and water. He has doubtless fallen into the
hands of your people. I ask you to free him and give us food and drink and
let us go upon our way. I am a granddaughter of a jeddak, the daughter of a
jeddak of jeddaks, The Warlord of Barsoom. I ask only the treatment that
my people would accord you or yours."

"Helium," repeated O-Tar. "I know naught of Helium, nor does the
Jeddak of Helium rule Manator. I, O-Tar, am Jeddak of Manator. I alone
rule. I protect my own. You have never seen a woman or a warrior of
Manator captive in Helium! Why should I protect the people of another
jeddak? It is his duty to protect them. If he cannot, he is weak, and his
people must fall into the hands of the strong. I, O-Tar, am strong. I will keep
you. That—" he pointed at Ghek—"can it fight?"

"It is brave," replied Tara of Helium, "but it has not the skill at arms
which my people possess."

"There is none then to fight for you?" asked O-Tar. "We are a just
people," he continued without waiting for a reply, "and had you one to fight
for you he might win to freedom for himself and you as well."

"But U-Dor assured me that no stranger ever had departed from
Manator," she answered.

O-Tar shrugged. "That does not disprove the justice of the laws of
Manator," replied O-Tar, "but rather that the warriors of Manator are
invincible. Had there come one who could defeat our warriors that one had
won to liberty."

"And you fetch my warrior," cried Tara haughtily, "you shall see such
swordplay as doubtless the crumbling walls of your decaying city never
have witnessed, and if there be no trick in your offer we are already as good
as free."

O-Tar smiled more broadly than before and U-Dor smiled, too, and the
chiefs and warriors who looked on nudged one another and whispered,
laughing. And Tara of Helium knew then that there was trickery in their
justice; but though her situation seemed hopeless she did not cease to hope,
for was she not the daughter of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, whose
famous challenge to Fate, "I still live!" remained the one irreducible defense
against despair? At thought of her noble sire the patrician chin of Tara of
Helium rose a shade higher. Ah! if he but knew where she was there were
little to fear then. The hosts of Helium would batter at the gates of Manator,
the great green warriors of John Carter's savage allies would swarm up from
the dead sea bottoms lusting for pillage and for loot, the stately ships of her
beloved navy would soar above the unprotected towers and minarets of the
doomed city which only capitulation and heavy tribute could then save.

But John Carter did not know! There was only one other to whom she
might hope to look—Turan the panthan; but where was he? She had seen
his sword in play and she knew that it had been wielded by a master hand,
and who should know swordplay better than Tara of Helium, who had
learned it well under the constant tutorage of John Carter himself. Tricks
she knew that discounted even far greater physical prowess than her own,
and a method of attack that might have been at once the envy and despair of
the cleverest of warriors. And so it was that her thoughts turned to Turan the
panthan, though not alone because of the protection he might afford her.
She had realized, since he had left her in search of food, that there had
grown between them a certain comradeship that she now missed. There had

been that about him which seemed to have bridged the gulf between their
stations in life. With him she had failed to consider that he was a panthan or
that she was a princess—they had been comrades. Suddenly she realized
that she missed him for himself more than for his sword. She turned toward
O-Tar.

"Where is Turan, my warrior?" she demanded.

"You shall not lack for warriors," replied the jeddak. "One of your
beauty will find plenty ready to fight for her. Possibly it shall not be
necessary to look farther than the jeddak of Manator. You please me,
woman. What say you to such an honor?"

Through narrowed lids the Princess of Helium scrutinized the Jeddak of
Manator, from feathered headdress to sandaled foot and back to feathered
headdress.

"'Honor'!" she mimicked in tones of scorn. "I please thee, do I? Then
know, swine, that thou pleaseth me not—that the daughter of John Carter is
not for such as thou!"

A sudden, tense silence fell upon the assembled chiefs. Slowly the blood
receded from the sinister face of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, leaving him a
sickly purple in his wrath. His eyes narrowed to two thin slits, his lips were
compressed to a bloodless line of malevolence. For a long moment there
was no sound in the throne room of the palace at Manator. Then the jeddak
turned toward U-Dor.

"Take her away," he said in a level voice that belied his appearance of
rage. "Take her away, and at the next games let the prisoners and the
common warriors play at Jetan for her."

"And this?" asked U-Dor, pointing at Ghek.

"To the pits until the next games," replied O-Tar.

"So this is your vaunted justice!" cried Tara of Helium; "that two
strangers who have not wronged you shall be sentenced without trial? And

one of them is a woman. The swine of Manator are as just as they are
brave."

"Away with her!" shouted O-Tar, and at a sign from U-Dor the guards
formed about the two prisoners and conducted them from the chamber.

Outside the palace, Ghek and Tara of Helium were separated. The girl
was led through long avenues toward the center of the city and finally into a
low building, topped by lofty towers of massive construction. Here she was
turned over to a warrior who wore the insignia of a dwar, or captain.

"It is O-Tar's wish," explained U-Dor to this one, "that she be kept until
the next games, when the prisoners and the common warriors shall play for
her. Had she not the tongue of a thoat she had been a worthy stake for our
noblest steel," and U-Dor sighed. "Perhaps even yet I may win a pardon for
her. It were too bad to see such beauty fall to the lot of some common
fellow. I would have honored her myself."

"If I am to be imprisoned, imprison me," said the girl. "I do not recall
that I was sentenced to listen to the insults of every low-born boor who
chanced to admire me."

"You see, A-Kor," cried U-Dor, "the tongue that she has. Even so and
worse spoke she to O-Tar the jeddak."

"I see," replied A-Kor, whom Tara saw was with difficulty restraining a
smile. "Come, then, with me, woman," he said, "and we shall find a safe
place within The Towers of Jetan—but stay! what ails thee?"

The girl had staggered and would have fallen had not the man caught her
in his arms. She seemed to gather herself then and bravely sought to stand
erect without support. A-Kor glanced at U-Dor. "Knew you the woman was
ill?" he asked.

"Possibly it is lack of food," replied the other. "She mentioned, I believe,
that she and her companions had not eaten for several days."

"Brave are the warriors of O-Tar," sneered A-Kor; "lavish their
hospitality. U-Dor, whose riches are uncounted, and the brave O-Tar, whose
squealing thoats are stabled within marble halls and fed from troughs of
gold, can spare no crust to feed a starving girl."

The black haired U-Dor scowled. "Thy tongue will yet pierce thy heart,
son of a slave!" he cried. "Once too often mayst thou try the patience of the
just O-Tar. Hereafter guard thy speech as well as thy towers."

"Think not to taunt me with my mother's state," said A-Kor. "'Tis the
blood of the slave woman that fills my veins with pride, and my only shame
is that I am also the son of thy jeddak."

"And O-Tar heard this?" queried U-Dor.

"O-Tar has already heard it from my own lips," replied A-Kor; "this, and
more."

He turned upon his heel, a supporting arm still around the waist of Tara
of Helium and thus he half led, half carried her into The Towers of Jetan,
while U-Dor wheeled his thoat and galloped back in the direction of the
palace.

Within the main entrance to The Tower of Jetan lolled a half-dozen
warriors. To one of these spoke A-Kor, keeper of the towers. "Fetch Lan-O,
the slave girl, and bid her bring food and drink to the upper level of the
Thurian tower," then he lifted the half-fainting girl in his arms and bore her
along the spiral, inclined runway that led upward within the tower.

Somewhere in the long ascent Tara lost consciousness. When it returned
she found herself in a large, circular chamber, the stone walls of which were
pierced by windows at regular intervals about the entire circumference of
the room. She was lying upon a pile of sleeping silks and furs while there
knelt above her a young woman who was forcing drops of some cooling
beverage between her parched lips. Tara of Helium half rose upon an elbow
and looked about. In the first moments of returning consciousness there
were swept from the screen of recollection the happenings of many weeks.

She thought that she awoke in the palace of The Warlord at Helium. Her
brows knit as she scrutinized the strange face bending over her.

"Who are you?" she asked, and, "Where is Uthia?"

"I am Lan-O the slave girl," replied the other. "I know none by the name
of Uthia."

Tara of Helium sat erect and looked about her. This rough stone was not
the marble of her father's halls. "Where am I?" she asked.

"In The Thurian Tower," replied the girl, and then seeing that the other
still did not understand she guessed the truth. "You are a prisoner in The
Towers of Jetan in the city of Manator," she explained. "You were brought
to this chamber, weak and fainting, by A-Kor, Dwar of The Towers of Jetan,
who sent me to you with food and drink, for kind is the heart of A-Kor."

"I remember, now," said Tara, slowly. "I remember; but where is Turan,
my warrior? Did they speak of him?"

"I heard naught of another," replied Lan-O; "you alone were brought to
the towers. In that you are fortunate, for there be no nobler man in Manator
than A-Kor. It is his mother's blood that makes him so. She was a slave girl
from Gathol."

"Gathol!" exclaimed Tara of Helium. "Lies Gathol close by Manator?"

"Not close, yet still the nearest country," replied Lan-O. "About twenty-
two degrees* east, it lies."
* Approximately 814 Earth Miles.

"Gathol!" murmured Tara, "Far Gathol!"

"But you are not from Gathol," said the slave girl; "your harness is not of
Gathol."

"I am from Helium," said Tara.

"It is far from Helium to Gathol," said the slave girl, "but in our studies
we learned much of the greatness of Helium, we of Gathol, so it seems not
so far away."

"You, too, are from Gathol?" asked Tara.

"Many of us are from Gathol who are slaves in Manator," replied the
girl. "It is to Gathol, nearest country, that the Manatorians look for slaves
most often. They go in great numbers at intervals of three or seven years
and haunt the roads that lead to Gathol, and thus they capture whole
caravans leaving none to bear warning to Gathol of their fate. Nor do any
ever escape from Manator to carry word of us back to Gahan our jed."

Tara of Helium ate slowly and in silence. The girl's words aroused
memories of the last hours she had spent in her father's palace and the great
midday function at which she had met Gahan of Gathol. Even now she
flushed as she recalled his daring words.

Upon her reveries the door opened and a burly warrior appeared in the
opening—a hulking fellow, with thick lips and an evil, leering face. The
slave girl sprang to her feet, facing him.

"What does this mean, E-Med?" she cried, "was it not the will of A-Kor
that this woman be not disturbed?"

"The will of A-Kor, indeed!" and the man sneered. "The will of A-Kor is
without power in The Towers of Jetan, or elsewhere, for A-Kor lies now in
the pits of O-Tar, and E-Med is dwar of the Towers."

Tara of Helium saw the face of the slave girl pale and the terror in her
eyes.

CHAPTER XII

GHEK PLAYS PRANKS

While Tara of Helium was being led to The Towers of Jetan, Ghek was
escorted to the pits beneath the palace where he was imprisoned in a dimly-
lighted chamber. Here he found a bench and a table standing upon the dirt
floor near the wall, and set in the wall several rings from which depended
short lengths of chain. At the base of the walls were several holes in the dirt
floor. These, alone, of the several things he saw, interested him. Ghek sat
down upon the bench and waited in silence, listening. Presently the lights
were extinguished. If Ghek could have smiled he would have then, for
Ghek could see as well in the dark as in the light—better, perhaps. He
watched the dark openings of the holes in the floor and waited. Presently he
detected a change in the air about him—it grew heavy with a strange odor,
and once again might Ghek have smiled, could he have smiled.

Let them replace all the air in the chamber with their most deadly fumes;
it would be all the same to Ghek, the kaldane, who, having no lungs,
required no air. With the rykor it might be different. Deprived of air it
would die; but if only a sufficient amount of the gas was introduced to
stupefy an ordinary creature it would have no effect upon the rykor, who
had no objective mind to overcome. So long as the excess of carbon dioxide
in the blood was not sufficient to prevent heart action, the rykor would
suffer only a diminution of vitality; but would still respond to the exciting
agency of the kaldane's brain.

Ghek caused the rykor to assume a sitting position with its back against
the wall where it might remain without direction from his brain. Then he
released his contact with its spinal cord; but remained in position upon its
shoulders, waiting and watching, for the kaldane's curiosity was aroused.
He had not long to wait before the lights were flashed on and one of the
locked doors opened to admit a half-dozen warriors. They approached him
rapidly and worked quickly. First they removed all his weapons and then,
snapping a fetter about one of the rykor's ankles, secured him to the end of
one of the chains hanging from the walls. Next they dragged the long table
to a new position and there bolted it to the floor so that an end, instead of

the middle, was directly before the prisoner. On the table before him they
set food and water and upon the opposite end of the table they laid the key
to the fetter. Then they unlocked and opened all the doors and departed.

When Turan the panthan regained consciousness it was to the realization
of a sharp pain in one of his forearms. The effects of the gas departed as
rapidly as they had overcome him so that as he opened his eyes he was in
full possession of all his faculties. The lights were on again and in their
glow there was revealed to the man the figure of a giant Martian rat
crouching upon the table and gnawing upon his arm. Snatching his arm
away he reached for his short-sword, while the rat, growling, sought to
seize his arm again. It was then that Turan discovered that his weapons had
been removed—short-sword, long-sword, dagger, and pistol. The rat
charged him then and striking the creature away with his hand the man rose
and backed off, searching for something with which to strike a harder blow.
Again the rat charged and as Turan stepped quickly back to avoid the
menacing jaws, something seemed to jerk suddenly upon his right ankle,
and as he drew his left foot back to regain his equilibrium his heel caught
upon a taut chain and he fell heavily backward to the floor just as the rat
leaped upon his breast and sought his throat.

The Martian rat is a fierce and unlovely thing. It is many-legged and
hairless, its hide resembling that of a newborn mouse in repulsiveness. In
size and weight it is comparable to a large Airedale terrier. Its eyes are small
and close-set, and almost hidden in deep, fleshy apertures. But its most
ferocious and repulsive feature is its jaws, the entire bony structure of
which protrudes several inches beyond the flesh, revealing five sharp,
spadelike teeth in the upper jaw and the same number of similar teeth in the
lower, the whole suggesting the appearance of a rotting face from which
much of the flesh has sloughed away.

It was such a thing that leaped upon the breast of the panthan to tear at
his jugular. Twice Turan struck it away as he sought to regain his feet, but
both times it returned with increased ferocity to renew the attack. Its only
weapons are its jaws since its broad, splay feet are armed with blunt talons.
With its protruding jaws it excavates its winding burrows and with its broad

feet it pushes the dirt behind it. To keep the jaws from his flesh then was
Turan's only concern and this he succeeded in doing until chance gave him
a hold upon the creature's throat. After that the end was but a matter of
moments. Rising at last he flung the lifeless thing from him with a shudder
of disgust.

Now he turned his attention to a hurried inventory of the new conditions
which surrounded him since the moment of his incarceration. He realized
vaguely what had happened. He had been anaesthetized and stripped of his
weapons, and as he rose to his feet he saw that one ankle was fettered to a
chain in the wall. He looked about the room. All the doors swung wide
open! His captors would render his imprisonment the more cruel by leaving
ever before him tempting glimpses of open aisles to the freedom he could
not attain. Upon the end of the table and within easy reach was food and
drink. This at least was attainable and at sight of it his starved stomach
seemed almost to cry aloud for sustenance. It was with difficulty that he ate
and drank in moderation.

As he devoured the food his eyes wandered about the confines of his
prison until suddenly they seized upon a thing that lay on the table at the
end farthest from him. It was a key. He raised his fettered ankle and
examined the lock. There could be no doubt of it! The key that lay there on
the table before him was the key to that very lock. A careless warrior had
laid it there and departed, forgetting.

Hope surged high in the breast of Gahan of Gathol, of Turan the panthan.
Furtively his eyes sought the open doorways. There was no one in sight. Ah,
if he could but gain his freedom! He would find some way from this odious
city back to her side and never again would he leave her until he had won
safety for her or death for himself.

He rose and moved cautiously toward the opposite end of the table
where lay the coveted key. The fettered ankle halted his first step, but he
stretched at full length along the table, extending eager fingers toward the
prize. They almost laid hold upon it—a little more and they would touch it.
He strained and stretched, but still the thing lay just beyond his reach. He
hurled himself forward until the iron fetter bit deep into his flesh, but all
futilely. He sat back upon the bench then and glared at the open doors and

the key, realizing now that they were part of a well-laid scheme of refined
torture, none the less demoralizing because it inflicted no physical
suffering.

For just a moment the man gave way to useless regret and foreboding,
then he gathered himself together, his brows cleared, and he returned to his
unfinished meal. At least they should not have the satisfaction of knowing
how sorely they had hit him. As he ate it occurred to him that by dragging
the table along the floor he could bring the key within his reach, but when
he essayed to do so, he found that the table had been securely bolted to the
floor during the period of his unconsciousness. Again Gahan smiled and
shrugged and resumed his eating.

When the warriors had departed from the prison in which Ghek was
confined, the kaldane crawled from the shoulders of the rykor to the table.
Here he drank a little water and then directed the hands of the rykor to the
balance of it and to the food, upon which the brainless thing fell with
avidity. While it was thus engaged Ghek took his spider-like way along the
table to the opposite end where lay the key to the fetter. Seizing it in a chela
he leaped to the floor and scurried rapidly toward the mouth of one of the
burrows against the wall, into which he disappeared. For long had the brain
been contemplating these burrow entrances. They appealed to his kaldanean
tastes, and further, they pointed a hiding place for the key and a lair for the
only kind of food that the kaldane relished—flesh and blood.

Ghek had never seen an ulsio, since these great Martian rats had long
ago disappeared from Bantoom, their flesh and blood having been greatly
relished by the kaldanes; but Ghek had inherited, almost unimpaired, every
memory of every ancestor, and so he knew that ulsio inhabited these lairs
and that ulsio was good to eat, and he knew what ulsio looked like and what
his habits were, though he had never seen him nor any picture of him. As
we breed animals for the transmission of physical attributes, so the
Kaldanes breed themselves for the transmission of attributes of the mind,
including memory and the power of recollection, and thus have they raised
what we term instinct, above the level of the threshold of the objective mind
where it may be commanded and utilized by recollection. Doubtless in our

own subjective minds lie many of the impressions and experiences of our
forebears. These may impinge upon our consciousness in dreams only, or in
vague, haunting suggestions that we have before experienced some
transient phase of our present existence. Ah, if we had but the power to
recall them! Before us would unfold the forgotten story of the lost eons that
have preceded us. We might even walk with God in the garden of His stars
while man was still but a budding idea within His mind.

Ghek descended into the burrow at a steep incline for some ten feet,
when he found himself in an elaborate and delightful network of burrows!
The kaldane was elated. This indeed was life! He moved rapidly and
fearlessly and he went as straight to his goal as you could to the kitchen of
your own home. This goal lay at a low level in a spheroidal cavity about the
size of a large barrel. Here, in a nest of torn bits of silk and fur lay six baby
ulsios.

When the mother returned there were but five babies and a great spider-
like creature, which she immediately sprang to attack only to be met by
powerful chelae which seized and held her so that she could not move.
Slowly they dragged her throat toward a hideous mouth and in a little
moment she was dead.

Ghek might have remained in the nest for a long time, since there was
ample food for many days; but he did not do so. Instead he explored the
burrows. He followed them into many subterranean chambers of the city of
Manator, and upward through walls to rooms above the ground. He found
many ingeniously devised traps, and he found poisoned food and other
signs of the constant battle that the inhabitants of Manator waged against
these repulsive creatures that dwelt beneath their homes and public
buildings.

His exploration revealed not only the vast proportions of the network of
runways that apparently traversed every portion of the city, but the great
antiquity of the majority of them. Tons upon tons of dirt must have been
removed, and for a long time he wondered where it had been deposited,
until in following downward a tunnel of great size and length he sensed
before him the thunderous rush of subterranean waters, and presently came
to the bank of a great, underground river, tumbling onward, no doubt, the

length of a world to the buried sea of Omean. Into this torrential sewer had
unthinkable generations of ulsios pushed their few handsful of dirt in the
excavating of their vast labyrinth.

For only a moment did Ghek tarry by the river, for his seemingly aimless
wanderings were in reality prompted by a definite purpose, and this he
pursued with vigor and singleness of design. He followed such runways as
appeared to terminate in the pits or other chambers of the inhabitants of the
city, and these he explored, usually from the safety of a burrow's mouth,
until satisfied that what he sought was not there. He moved swiftly upon his
spider legs and covered remarkable distances in short periods of time.

His search not being rewarded with immediate success, he decided to
return to the pit where his rykor lay chained and look to its wants. As he
approached the end of the burrow that terminated in the pit he slackened his
pace, stopping just within the entrance of the runway that he might scan the
interior of the chamber before entering it. As he did so he saw the figure of
a warrior appear suddenly in an opposite doorway. The rykor sprawled upon
the table, his hands groping blindly for more food. Ghek saw the warrior
pause and gaze in sudden astonishment at the rykor; he saw the fellow's
eyes go wide and an ashen hue replace the copper bronze of his cheek. He
stepped back as though someone had struck him in the face. For an instant
only he stood thus as in a paralysis of fear, then he uttered a smothered
shriek and turned and fled. Again was it a catastrophe that Ghek, the
kaldane, could not smile.

Quickly entering the room he crawled to the table top and affixed
himself to the shoulders of his rykor, and there he waited; and who may say
that Ghek, though he could not smile, possessed not a sense of humor? For
a half-hour he sat there, and then there came to him the sound of men
approaching along corridors of stone. He could hear their arms clank
against the rocky walls and he knew that they came at a rapid pace; but just
before they reached the entrance to his prison they paused and advanced
more slowly. In the lead was an officer, and just behind him, wide-eyed and
perhaps still a little ashen, the warrior who had so recently departed in
haste. At the doorway they halted and the officer turned sternly upon the
warrior. With upraised finger he pointed at Ghek.

"There sits the creature! Didst thou dare lie, then, to thy dwar?"

"I swear," cried the warrior, "that I spoke the truth. But a moment since
the thing groveled, headless, upon this very table! And may my first
ancestor strike me dead upon the spot if I speak other than a true word!"

The officer looked puzzled. The men of Mars seldom if ever lie. He
scratched his head. Then he addressed Ghek. "How long have you been
here?" he asked.

"Who knows better than those who placed me here and chained me to a
wall?" he returned in reply.

"Saw you this warrior enter here a few minutes since?"

"I saw him," replied Ghek.

"And you sat there where you sit now?" continued the officer.

"Look thou to my chain and tell me then where else might I sit!" cried
Ghek. "Art the people of thy city all fools?"

Three other warriors pressed behind the two in front, craning their necks
to view the prisoner while they grinned at the discomfiture of their fellow.
The officer scowled at Ghek.

"Thy tongue is as venomous as that of the she-banth O-Tar sent to The
Towers of Jetan," he said.

"You speak of the young woman who was captured with me?" asked
Ghek, his expressionless monotone and face revealing naught of the interest
he felt.

"I speak of her," replied the dwar, and then turning to the warrior who
had summoned him: "return to thy quarters and remain there until the next
games. Perhaps by that time thy eyes may have learned not to deceive
thee."

The fellow cast a venomous glance at Ghek and turned away. The officer
shook his head. "I do not understand it," he muttered. "Always has U-Van
been a true and dependable warrior. Could it be—?" he glanced piercingly
at Ghek. "Thou hast a strange head that misfits thy body, fellow," he cried.
"Our legends tell us of those ancient creatures that placed hallucinations
upon the mind of their fellows. If thou be such then maybe U-Van suffered
from thy forbidden powers. If thou be such O-Tar will know well how to
deal with thee." He wheeled about and motioned his warriors to follow him.

"Wait!" cried Ghek. "Unless I am to be starved, send me food."

"You have had food," replied the warrior.

"Am I to be fed but once a day?" asked Ghek. "I require food oftener
than that. Send me food."

"You shall have food," replied the officer. "None may say that the
prisoners of Manator are ill-fed. Just are the laws of Manator," and he
departed.

No sooner had the sounds of their passing died away in the distance than
Ghek clambered from the shoulders of his rykor, and scurried to the burrow
where he had hidden the key. Fetching it he unlocked the fetter from about
the creature's ankle, locked it empty and carried the key farther down into
the burrow. Then he returned to his place upon his brainless servitor. After a
while he heard footsteps approaching, whereupon he rose and passed into
another corridor from that down which he knew the warrior was coming.
Here he waited out of sight, listening. He heard the man enter the chamber
and halt. He heard a muttered exclamation, followed by the jangle of metal
dishes as a salver was slammed upon a table; then rapidly retreating
footsteps, which quickly died away in the distance.

Ghek lost no time in returning to the chamber, recovering the key,
relocking the rykor to his chain. Then he replaced the key in the burrow and
squatting on the table beside his headless body, directed its hands toward
the food. While the rykor ate Ghek sat listening for the scraping sandals and
clattering arms that he knew soon would come. Nor had he long to wait.
Ghek scrambled to the shoulders of his rykor as he heard them coming.

Again it was the officer who had been summoned by U-Van and with him
were three warriors. The one directly behind him was evidently the same
who had brought the food, for his eyes went wide when he saw Ghek sitting
at the table and he looked very foolish as the dwar turned his stern glance
upon him.

"It is even as I said," he cried. "He was not here when I brought his
food."

"But he is here now," said the officer grimly, "and his fetter is locked
about his ankle. Look! it has not been opened—but where is the key? It
should be upon the table at the end opposite him. Where is the key,
creature?" he shouted at Ghek.

"How should I, a prisoner, know better than my jailer the whereabouts of
the key to my fetters?" he retorted.

"But it lay here," cried the officer, pointing to the other end of the table.

"Did you see it?" asked Ghek.

The officer hesitated. "No but it must have been there," he parried.

"Did you see the key lying there?" asked Ghek, pointing to another
warrior.

The fellow shook his head negatively. "And you? and you?" continued
the kaldane addressing the others.

They both admitted that they never had seen the key. "And if it had been
there how could I have reached it?" he continued.

"No, he could not have reached it," admitted the officer; "but there shall
be no more of this! I-Zav, you will remain here on guard with this prisoner
until you are relieved."

I-Zav looked anything but happy as this intelligence was transmitted to
him, and he eyed Ghek suspiciously as the dwar and the other warriors
turned and left him to his unhappy lot.

CHAPTER XIII

A DESPERATE DEED

E-Med crossed the tower chamber toward Tara of Helium and the slave
girl, Lan-O. He seized the former roughly by a shoulder. "Stand!" he
commanded. Tara struck his hand from her and rising, backed away.

"Lay not your hand upon the person of a princess of Helium, beast!" she
warned.

E-Med laughed. "Think you that I play at jetan for you without first
knowing something of the stake for which I play?" he demanded. "Come
here!"

The girl drew herself to her full height, folding her arms across her
breast, nor did E-Med note that the slim fingers of her right hand were
inserted beneath the broad leather strap of her harness where it passed over
her left shoulder.

"And O-Tar learns of this you shall rue it, E-Med," cried the slave girl;
"there be no law in Manator that gives you this girl before you shall have
won her fairly."

"What cares O-Tar for her fate?" replied E-Med. "Have I not heard? Did
she not flout the great jeddak, heaping abuse upon him? By my first
ancestor, I think O-Tar might make a jed of the man who subdued her," and
again he advanced toward Tara.

"Wait!" said the girl in low, even tone. "Perhaps you know not what you
do. Sacred to the people of Helium are the persons of the women of
Helium. For the honor of the humblest of them would the great jeddak
himself unsheathe his sword. The greatest nations of Barsoom have
trembled to the thunders of war in defense of the person of Dejah Thoris,

my mother. We are but mortal and so may die; but we may not be defiled.
You may play at jetan for a princess of Helium, but though you may win the
match, never may you claim the reward. If thou wouldst possess a dead
body press me too far, but know, man of Manator, that the blood of The
Warlord flows not in the veins of Tara of Helium for naught. I have
spoken."

"I know naught of Helium and O-Tar is our warlord," replied E-Med;
"but I do know that I would examine more closely the prize that I shall play
for and win. I would test the lips of her who is to be my slave after the next
games; nor is it well, woman, to drive me too far to anger." His eyes
narrowed as he spoke, his visage taking on the semblance of that of a
snarling beast. "If you doubt the truth of my words ask Lan-O, the slave
girl."

"He speaks truly, O woman of Helium," interjected Lan-O. "Try not the
temper of E-Med, if you value your life."

But Tara of Helium made no reply. Already had she spoken. She stood in
silence now facing the burly warrior who approached her. He came close
and then quite suddenly he seized her and, bending, tried to draw her lips to
his.

Lan-O saw the woman from Helium half turn, and with a quick
movement jerk her right hand from where it had lain upon her breast. She
saw the hand shoot from beneath the arm of E-Med and rise behind his
shoulder and she saw in the hand a long, slim blade. The lips of the warrior
were drawing closer to those of the woman, but they never touched them,
for suddenly the man straightened, stiffly, a shriek upon his lips, and then he
crumpled like an empty fur and lay, a shrunken heap, upon the floor. Tara of
Helium stooped and wiped her blade upon his harness.

Lan-O, wide-eyed, looked with horror upon the corpse. "For this we
shall both die," she cried.

"And who would live a slave in Manator?" asked Tara of Helium.

"I am not so brave as thou," said the slave girl, "and life is sweet and
there is always hope."

"Life is sweet," agreed Tara of Helium, "but honor is sacred. But do not
fear. When they come I shall tell them the truth—that you had no hand in
this and no opportunity to prevent it."

For a moment the slave girl seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly her
eyes lighted. "There is a way, perhaps," she said, "to turn suspicion from us.
He has the key to this chamber upon him. Let us open the door and drag
him out—maybe we shall find a place to hide him."

"Good!" exclaimed Tara of Helium, and the two immediately set about
the matter Lan-O had suggested. Quickly they found the key and unlatched
the door and then, between them, they half carried, half dragged, the corpse
of E-Med from the room and down the stairway to the next level where
Lan-O said there were vacant chambers. The first door they tried was
unlatched, and through this the two bore their grisly burden into a small
room lighted by a single window. The apartment bore evidence of having
been utilized as a living-room rather than as a cell, being furnished with a
degree of comfort and even luxury. The walls were paneled to a height of
about seven feet from the floor, while the plaster above and the ceiling were
decorated with faded paintings of another day.

As Tara's eyes ran quickly over the interior her attention was drawn to a
section of paneling that seemed to be separated at one edge from the piece
next adjoining it. Quickly she crossed to it, discovering that one vertical
edge of an entire panel projected a half-inch beyond the others. There was a
possible explanation which piqued her curiosity, and acting upon its
suggestion she seized upon the projecting edge and pulled outward. Slowly
the panel swung toward her, revealing a dark aperture in the wall behind.

"Look, Lan-O!" she cried. "See what I have found—a hole in which we
may hide the thing upon the floor."

Lan-O joined her and together the two investigated the dark aperture,
finding a small platform from which a narrow runway led downward into
Stygian darkness. Thick dust covered the floor within the doorway,

indicating that a great period of time had elapsed since human foot had trod
it—a secret way, doubtless, unknown to living Manatorians. Here they
dragged the corpse of E-Med, leaving it upon the platform, and as they left
the dark and forbidden closet Lan-O would have slammed to the panel had
not Tara prevented.

"Wait!" she said, and fell to examining the door frame and the stile.

"Hurry!" whispered the slave girl. "If they come we are lost."

"It may serve us well to know how to open this place again," replied Tara
of Helium, and then suddenly she pressed a foot against a section of the
carved base at the right of the open panel. "Ah!" she breathed, a note of
satisfaction in her tone, and closed the panel until it fitted snugly in its
place. "Come!" she said and turned toward the outer doorway of the
chamber.

They reached their own cell without detection, and closing the door Tara
locked it from the inside and placed the key in a secret pocket in her
harness.

"Let them come," she said. "Let them question us! What could two poor
prisoners know of the whereabouts of their noble jailer? I ask you, Lan-O,
what could they?"

"Nothing," admitted Lan-O, smiling with her companion.

"Tell me of these men of Manator," said Tara presently. "Are they all like
E-Med, or are some of them like A-Kor, who seemed a brave and chivalrous
character?"

"They are not unlike the peoples of other countries," replied Lan-O.
"There be among them both good and bad. They are brave warriors and
mighty. Among themselves they are not without chivalry and honor, but in
their dealings with strangers they know but one law—the law of might. The
weak and unfortunate of other lands fill them with contempt and arouse all
that is worst in their natures, which doubtless accounts for their treatment of
us, their slaves."

"But why should they feel contempt for those who have suffered the
misfortune of falling into their hands?" queried Tara.

"I do not know," said Lan-O; "A-Kor says that he believes that it is
because their country has never been invaded by a victorious foe. In their
stealthy raids never have they been defeated, because they have never
waited to face a powerful force; and so they have come to believe
themselves invincible, and the other peoples are held in contempt as inferior
in valor and the practice of arms."

"Yet A-Kor is one of them," said Tara.

"He is a son of O-Tar, the jeddak," replied Lan-O; "but his mother was a
high born Gatholian, captured and made slave by O-Tar, and A-Kor boasts
that in his veins runs only the blood of his mother, and indeed is he different
from the others. His chivalry is of a gentler form, though not even his worst
enemy has dared question his courage, while his skill with the sword, and
the spear, and the thoat is famous throughout the length and breadth of
Manator."

"What think you they will do with him?" asked Tara of Helium.

"Sentence him to the games," replied Lan-O. "If O-Tar be not greatly
angered he may be sentenced to but a single game, in which case he may
come out alive; but if O-Tar wishes really to dispose of him he will be
sentenced to the entire series, and no warrior has ever survived the full ten,
or rather none who was under a sentence from O-Tar."

"What are the games? I do not understand," said Tara "I have heard them
speak of playing at jetan, but surely no one can be killed at jetan. We play it
often at home."

"But not as they play it in the arena at Manator," replied Lan-O. "Come
to the window," and together the two approached an aperture facing toward
the east.

Below her Tara of Helium saw a great field entirely surrounded by the
low building, and the lofty towers of which that in which she was

imprisoned was but a unit. About the arena were tiers of seats; but the thing
that caught her attention was a gigantic jetan board laid out upon the floor
of the arena in great squares of alternate orange and black.

"Here they play at jetan with living pieces. They play for great stakes
and usually for a woman—some slave of exceptional beauty. O-Tar himself
might have played for you had you not angered him, but now you will be
played for in an open game by slaves and criminals, and you will belong to
the side that wins—not to a single warrior, but to all who survive the game."

The eyes of Tara of Helium flashed, but she made no comment.

"Those who direct the play do not necessarily take part in it," continued
the slave girl, "but sit in those two great thrones which you see at either end
of the board and direct their pieces from square to square."

"But where lies the danger?" asked Tara of Helium. "If a piece be taken
it is merely removed from the board—this is a rule of jetan as old almost as
the civilization of Barsoom."

"But here in Manator, when they play in the great arena with living men,
that rule is altered," explained Lan-O. "When a warrior is moved to a square
occupied by an opposing piece, the two battle to the death for possession of
the square and the one that is successful advantages by the move. Each is
caparisoned to simulate the piece he represents and in addition he wears
that which indicates whether he be slave, a warrior serving a sentence, or a
volunteer. If serving a sentence the number of games he must play is also
indicated, and thus the one directing the moves knows which pieces to risk
and which to conserve, and further than this, a man's chances are affected
by the position that is assigned him for the game. Those whom they wish to
die are always Panthans in the game, for the Panthan has the least chance of
surviving."

"Do those who direct the play ever actually take part in it?" asked Tara.

"Oh, yes," said Lan-O. "Often when two warriors, even of the highest
class, hold a grievance against one another O-Tar compels them to settle it
upon the arena. Then it is that they take active part and with drawn swords

direct their own players from the position of Chief. They pick their own
players, usually the best of their own warriors and slaves, if they be
powerful men who possess such, or their friends may volunteer, or they
may obtain prisoners from the pits. These are games indeed—the very best
that are seen. Often the great chiefs themselves are slain."

"It is within this amphitheater that the justice of Manator is meted,
then?" asked Tara.

"Very largely," replied Lan-O.

"How, then, through such justice, could a prisoner win his liberty?"
continued the girl from Helium.

"If a man, and he survived ten games his liberty would be his," replied
Lan-O.

"But none ever survives?" queried Tara. "And if a woman?"

"No stranger within the gates of Manator ever has survived ten games,"
replied the slave girl. "They are permitted to offer themselves into perpetual
slavery if they prefer that to fighting at jetan. Of course they may be called
upon, as any warrior, to take part in a game, but their chances then of
surviving are increased, since they may never again have the chance of
winning to liberty."

"But a woman," insisted Tara; "how may a woman win her freedom?"

Lan-O laughed. "Very simply," she cried, derisively. "She has but to find
a warrior who will fight through ten consecutive games for her and
survive."

"'Just are the laws of Manator,'" quoted Tara, scornfully.

Then it was that they heard footsteps outside their cell and a moment
later a key turned in the lock and the door opened. A warrior faced them.

"Hast seen E-Med the dwar?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Tara, "he was here some time ago."

The man glanced quickly about the bare chamber and then searchingly
first at Tara of Helium and then at the slave girl, Lan-O. The puzzled
expression upon his face increased. He scratched his head. "It is strange,"
he said. "A score of men saw him ascend into this tower; and though there
is but a single exit, and that well guarded, no man has seen him pass out."

Tara of Helium hid a yawn with the back of a shapely hand. "The
Princess of Helium is hungry, fellow," she drawled; "tell your master that
she would eat."

It was an hour later that food was brought, an officer and several
warriors accompanying the bearer. The former examined the room
carefully, but there was no sign that aught amiss had occurred there. The
wound that had sent E-Med the dwar to his ancestors had not bled,
fortunately for Tara of Helium.

"Woman," cried the officer, turning upon Tara, "you were the last to see
E-Med the dwar. Answer me now and answer me truthfully. Did you see
him leave this room?"

"I did," answered Tara of Helium.

"Where did he go from here?"

"How should I know? Think you that I can pass through a locked door of
skeel?" the girl's tone was scornful.

"Of that we do not know," said the officer. "Strange things have
happened in the cell of your companion in the pits of Manator. Perhaps you
could pass through a locked door of skeel as easily as he performs
seemingly more impossible feats."

"Whom do you mean," she cried; "Turan the panthan? He lives, then?
Tell me, is he here in Manator unharmed?"

"I speak of that thing which calls itself Ghek the kaldane," replied the
officer.

"But Turan! Tell me, padwar, have you heard aught of him?" Tara's tone
was insistent and she leaned a little forward toward the officer, her lips
slightly parted in expectancy.

Into the eyes of the slave girl, Lan-O, who was watching her, there crept
a soft light of understanding; but the officer ignored Tara's question—what
was the fate of another slave to him? "Men do not disappear into thin air,"
he growled, "and if E-Med be not found soon O-Tar himself may take a
hand in this. I warn you, woman, if you be one of those horrid Corphals that
by commanding the spirits of the wicked dead gains evil mastery over the
living, as many now believe the thing called Ghek to be, that lest you return
E-Med, O-Tar will have no mercy on you."

"What foolishness is this?" cried the girl. "I am a princess of Helium, as
I have told you all a score of times. Even if the fabled Corphals existed, as
none but the most ignorant now believes, the lore of the ancients tells us
that they entered only into the bodies of wicked criminals of the lowest
class. Man of Manator, thou art a fool, and thy jeddak and all his people,"
and she turned her royal back upon the padwar, and gazed through the
window across the Field of Jetan and the roofs of Manator through the low
hills and the rolling country and freedom.

"And you know so much of Corphals, then," he cried, "you know that
while no common man dare harm them they may be slain by the hand of a
jeddak with impunity!"

The girl did not reply, nor would she speak again, for all his threats and
rage, for she knew now that none in all Manator dared harm her save O-Tar,
the jeddak, and after a while the padwar left, taking his men with him. And
after they had gone Tara stood for long looking out upon the city of
Manator, and wondering what more of cruel wrongs Fate held in store for
her. She was standing thus in silent meditation when there rose to her the
strains of martial music from the city below—the deep, mellow tones of the
long war trumpets of mounted troops, the clear, ringing notes of foot-
soldiers' music. The girl raised her head and looked about, listening, and

Lan-O, standing at an opposite window, looking toward the west, motioned
Tara to join her. Now they could see across roofs and avenues to The Gate
of Enemies, through which troops were marching into the city.

"The Great Jed is coming," said Lan-O, "none other dares enter thus,
with blaring trumpets, the city of Manator. It is U-Thor, Jed of Manatos,
second city of Manator. They call him The Great Jed the length and breadth
of Manator, and because the people love him, O-Tar hates him. They say,
who know, that it would need but slight provocation to inflame the two to
war. How such a war would end no one could guess; for the people of
Manator worship the great O-Tar, though they do not love him. U-Thor they
love, but he is not the jeddak," and Tara understood, as only a Martian may,
how much that simple statement encompassed.

The loyalty of a Martian to his jeddak is almost an instinct, and second
not even to the instinct of self-preservation at that. Nor is this strange in a
race whose religion includes ancestor worship, and where families trace
their origin back into remote ages and a jeddak sits upon the same throne
that his direct progenitors have occupied for, perhaps, hundreds of
thousands of years, and rules the descendants of the same people that his
forebears ruled. Wicked jeddaks have been dethroned, but seldom are they
replaced by other than members of the imperial house, even though the law
gives to the jeds the right to select whom they please.

"U-Thor is a just man and good, then?" asked Tara of Helium.

"There be none nobler," replied Lan-O. "In Manatos none but wicked
criminals who deserve death are forced to play at jetan, and even then the
play is fair and they have their chance for freedom. Volunteers may play,
but the moves are not necessarily to the death—a wound, and even
sometimes points in swordplay, deciding the issue. There they look upon
jetan as a martial sport—here it is but butchery. And U-Thor is opposed to
the ancient slave raids and to the policy that keeps Manator forever isolated
from the other nations of Barsoom; but U-Thor is not jeddak and so there is
no change."

The two girls watched the column moving up the broad avenue from The
Gate of Enemies toward the palace of O-Tar. A gorgeous, barbaric

procession of painted warriors in jewel-studded harness and waving
feathers; vicious, squealing thoats caparisoned in rich trappings; far above
their heads the long lances of their riders bore fluttering pennons; foot-
soldiers swinging easily along the stone pavement, their sandals of zitidar
hide giving forth no sound; and at the rear of each utan a train of painted
chariots, drawn by mammoth zitidars, carrying the equipment of the
company to which they were attached. Utan after utan entered through the
great gate, and even when the head of the column reached the palace of O-
Tar they were not all within the city.

"I have been here many years," said the girl, Lan-O; "but never have I
seen even The Great Jed bring so many fighting men into the city of
Manator."

Through half-closed eyes Tara of Helium watched the warriors marching
up the broad avenue, trying to imagine them the fighting men of her
beloved Helium coming to the rescue of their princess. That splendid figure
upon the great thoat might be John Carter, himself, Warlord of Barsoom,
and behind him utan after utan of the veterans of the empire, and then the
girl opened her eyes again and saw the host of painted, befeathered
barbarians, and sighed. But yet she watched, fascinated by the martial
scene, and now she noted again the groups of silent figures upon the
balconies. No waving silks; no cries of welcome; no showers of flowers and
jewels such as would have marked the entry of such a splendid, friendly
pageant into the twin cities of her birth.

"The people do not seem friendly to the warriors of Manatos," she
remarked to Lan-O; "I have not seen a single welcoming sign from the
people on the balconies."

The slave girl looked at her in surprise. "It cannot be that you do not
know!" she exclaimed. "Why, they are—" but she got no further. The door
swung open and an officer stood before them.

"The slave girl, Tara, is summoned to the presence of O-Tar, the jeddak!"
he announced.

CHAPTER XIV

AT GHEK'S COMMAND

Turan the panthan chafed in his chains. Time dragged; silence and
monotony prolonged minutes into hours. Uncertainty of the fate of the
woman he loved turned each hour into an eternity of hell. He listened
impatiently for the sound of approaching footsteps that he might see and
speak to some living creature and learn, perchance, some word of Tara of
Helium. After torturing hours his ears were rewarded by the rattle of
harness and arms. Men were coming! He waited breathlessly. Perhaps they
were his executioners; but he would welcome them notwithstanding. He
would question them. But if they knew naught of Tara he would not divulge
the location of the hiding place in which he had left her.

Now they came—a half-dozen warriors and an officer, escorting an
unarmed man; a prisoner, doubtless. Of this Turan was not left long in
doubt, since they brought the newcomer and chained him to an adjoining
ring. Immediately the panthan commenced to question the officer in charge
of the guard.

"Tell me," he demanded, "why I have been made prisoner, and if other
strangers were captured since I entered your city."

"What other prisoners?" asked the officer.

"A woman, and a man with a strange head," replied Turan.

"It is possible," said the officer; "but what were their names?"

"The woman was Tara, Princess of Helium, and the man was Ghek, a
kaldane, of Bantoom."

"These were your friends?" asked the officer.

"Yes," replied Turan.

"It is what I would know," said the officer, and with a curt command to
his men to follow him he turned and left the cell.

"Tell me of them!" cried Turan after him. "Tell me of Tara of Helium! Is
she safe?" but the man did not answer and soon the sound of their departure
died in the distance.

"Tara of Helium was safe, but a short time since," said the prisoner
chained at Turan's side.

The panthan turned toward the speaker, seeing a large man, handsome of
face and with a manner both stately and dignified. "You have seen her?" he
asked. "They captured her then? She is in danger?"

"She is being held in The Towers of Jetan as a prize for the next games,"
replied the stranger.

"And who are you?" asked Turan. "And why are you here, a prisoner?"

"I am A-Kor the dwar, keeper of The Towers of Jetan," replied the other.
"I am here because I dared speak the truth of O-Tar the jeddak, to one of his
officers."

"And your punishment?" asked Turan.

"I do not know. O-Tar has not yet spoken. Doubtless the games—
perhaps the full ten, for O-Tar does not love A-Kor, his son."

"You are the jeddak's son?" asked Turan.

"I am the son of O-Tar and of a slave, Haja of Gathol, who was a
princess in her own land."

Turan looked searchingly at the speaker. A son of Haja of Gathol! A son
of his mother's sister, this man, then, was his own cousin. Well did Gahan
remember the mysterious disappearance of the Princess Haja and an entire
utan of her personal troops. She had been upon a visit far from the city of

Gathol and returning home had vanished with her whole escort from the
sight of man. So this was the secret of the seeming mystery? Doubtless it
explained many other similar disappearances that extended nearly as far
back as the history of Gathol. Turan scrutinized his companion, discovering
many evidences of resemblance to his mother's people. A-Kor might have
been ten years younger than he, but such differences in age are scarce
accounted among a people who seldom or never age outwardly after
maturity and whose span of life may be a thousand years.

"And where lies Gathol?" asked Turan.

"Almost due east of Manator," replied A-Kor.

"And how far?"

"Some twenty-one degrees it is from the city of Manator to the city of
Gathol," replied A-Kor; "but little more than ten degrees between the
boundaries of the two countries. Between them, though, there lies a country
of torn rocks and yawning chasms."

Well did Gahan know this country that bordered his upon the west—
even the ships of the air avoided it because of the treacherous currents that
rose from the deep chasms, and the almost total absence of safe landings.
He knew now where Manator lay and for the first time in long weeks the
way to his own Gathol, and here was a man, a fellow prisoner, in whose
veins flowed the blood of his own ancestors—a man who knew Manator; its
people, its customs and the country surrounding it—one who could aid him,
with advice at least, to find a plan for the rescue of Tara of Helium and for
escape. But would A-Kor—could he dare broach the subject? He could do
no less than try.

"And O-Tar you think will sentence you to death?" he asked; "and why?"

"He would like to," replied A-Kor, "for the people chafe beneath his iron
hand and their loyalty is but the loyalty of a people to the long line of
illustrious jeddaks from which he has sprung. He is a jealous man and has
found the means of disposing of most of those whose blood might entitle
them to a claim upon the throne, and whose place in the affections of the

people endowed them with any political significance. The fact that I was the
son of a slave relegated me to a position of minor importance in the
consideration of O-Tar, yet I am still the son of a jeddak and might sit upon
the throne of Manator with as perfect congruity as O-Tar himself.
Combined with this is the fact that of recent years the people, and especially
many of the younger warriors, have evinced a growing affection for me,
which I attribute to certain virtues of character and training derived from
my mother, but which O-Tar assumes to be the result of an ambition upon
my part to occupy the throne of Manator.

"And now, I am firmly convinced, he has seized upon my criticism of his
treatment of the slave girl Tara as a pretext for ridding himself of me."

"But if you could escape and reach Gathol," suggested Turan.

"I have thought of that," mused A-Kor; "but how much better off would I
be? In the eyes of the Gatholians I would be, not a Gatholian; but a stranger
and doubtless they would accord me the same treatment that we of Manator
accord strangers."

"Could you convince them that you are the son of the Princess Haja your
welcome would be assured," said Turan; "while on the other hand you could
purchase your freedom and citizenship with a brief period of labor in the
diamond mines."

"How know you all these things?" asked A-Kor. "I thought you were
from Helium."

"I am a panthan," replied Turan, "and I have served many countries,
among them Gathol."

"It is what the slaves from Gathol have told me," said A-Kor,
thoughtfully, "and my mother, before O-Tar sent her to live at Manatos. I
think he must have feared her power and influence among the slaves from
Gathol and their descendants, who number perhaps a million people
throughout the land of Manator."

"Are these slaves organized?" asked Turan.

A-Kor looked straight into the eyes of the panthan for a long moment
before he replied. "You are a man of honor," he said; "I read it in your face,
and I am seldom mistaken in my estimate of a man; but—" and he leaned
closer to the other—"even the walls have ears," he whispered, and Turan's
question was answered.

It was later in the evening that warriors came and unlocked the fetter
from Turan's ankle and led him away to appear before O-Tar, the jeddak.
They conducted him toward the palace along narrow, winding streets and
broad avenues; but always from the balconies there looked down upon them
in endless ranks the silent people of the city. The palace itself was filled
with life and activity. Mounted warriors galloped through the corridors and
up and down the runways connecting adjacent floors. It seemed that no one
walked within the palace other than a few slaves. Squealing, fighting thoats
were stabled in magnificent halls while their riders, if not upon some duty
of the palace, played at jetan with small figures carved from wood.

Turan noted the magnificence of the interior architecture of the palace,
the lavish expenditure of precious jewels and metals, the gorgeous mural
decorations which depicted almost exclusively martial scenes, and
principally duels which seemed to be fought upon jetan boards of heroic
size. The capitals of many of the columns supporting the ceilings of the
corridors and chambers through which they passed were wrought into
formal likenesses of jetan pieces—everywhere there seemed a suggestion of
the game. Along the same path that Tara of Helium had been led Turan was
conducted toward the throne room of O-Tar the jeddak, and when he
entered the Hall of Chiefs his interest turned to wonder and admiration as
he viewed the ranks of statuesque thoatmen decked in their gorgeous,
martial panoply. Never, he thought, had he seen upon Barsoom more
soldierly figures or thoats so perfectly trained to perfection of immobility as
these. Not a muscle quivered, not a tail lashed, and the riders were as
motionless as their mounts—each warlike eye straight to the front, the great
spears inclined at the same angle. It was a picture to fill the breast of a
fighting man with awe and reverence. Nor did it fail in its effect upon Turan
as they conducted him the length of the chamber, where he waited before
great doors until he should be summoned into the presence of the ruler of
Manator.

When Tara of Helium was ushered into the throne room of O-Tar she
found the great hall filled with the chiefs and officers of O-Tar and U-Thor,
the latter occupying the place of honor at the foot of the throne, as was his
due. The girl was conducted to the foot of the aisle and halted before the
jeddak, who looked down upon her from his high throne with scowling
brows and fierce, cruel eyes.

"The laws of Manator are just," said O-Tar, addressing her; "thus is it
that you have been summoned here again to be judged by the highest
authority of Manator. Word has reached me that you are suspected of being
a Corphal. What word have you to say in refutation of the charge?"

Tara of Helium could scarce restrain a sneer as she answered the
ridiculous accusation of witchcraft. "So ancient is the culture of my
people," she said, "that authentic history reveals no defense for that which
we know existed only in the ignorant and superstitious minds of the most
primitive peoples of the past. To those who are yet so untutored as to
believe in the existence of Corphals, there can be no argument that will
convince them of their error—only long ages of refinement and culture can
accomplish their release from the bondage of ignorance. I have spoken."

"Yet you do not deny the accusation," said O-Tar.

"It is not worthy the dignity of a denial," she responded haughtily.

"And I were you, woman," said a deep voice at her side, "I should,
nevertheless, deny it."

Tara of Helium turned to see the eyes of U-Thor, the great jed of
Manatos, upon her. Brave eyes they were, but neither cold nor cruel. O-Tar
rapped impatiently upon the arm of his throne. "U-Thor forgets," he cried,
"that O-Tar is the jeddak."

"U-Thor remembers," replied the jed of Manatos, "that the laws of
Manator permit any who may be accused to have advice and counsel before
their judge."

Tara of Helium saw that for some reason this man would have assisted
her, and so she acted upon his advice.

"I deny the charge," she said, "I am no Corphal."

"Of that we shall learn," snapped O-Tar. "U-Dor, where are those who
have knowledge of the powers of this woman?"

And U-Dor brought several who recounted the little that was known of
the disappearance of E-Med, and others who told of the capture of Ghek
and Tara, suggesting by deduction that having been found together they had
sufficient in common to make it reasonably certain that one was as bad as
the other, and that, therefore, it remained but to convict one of them of
Corphalism to make certain the guilt of both. And then O-Tar called for
Ghek, and immediately the hideous kaldane was dragged before him by
warriors who could not conceal the fear in which they held this creature.

"And you!" said O-Tar in cold accusing tones. "Already have I been told
enough of you to warrant me in passing through your heart the jeddak's
steel—of how you stole the brains from the warrior U-Van so that he
thought he saw your headless body still endowed with life; of how you
caused another to believe that you had escaped, making him to see naught
but an empty bench and a blank wall where you had been."

"Ah, O-Tar, but that is as nothing!" cried a young padwar who had come
in command of the escort that brought Ghek. "The thing which he did to I-
Zav, here, would prove his guilt alone."

"What did he to the warrior I-Zav?" demanded O-Tar. "Let I-Zav speak!"

The warrior I-Zav, a great fellow of bulging muscles and thick neck,
advanced to the foot of the throne. He was pale and still trembling visibly as
from a nervous shock.

"Let my first ancestor be my witness, O-Tar, that I speak the truth," he
began. "I was left to guard this creature, who sat upon a bench, shackled to
the wall. I stood by the open doorway at the opposite side of the chamber.
He could not reach me, yet, O-Tar, may Iss engulf me if he did not drag me

to him helpless as an unhatched egg. He dragged me to him, greatest of
jeddaks, with his eyes! With his eyes he seized upon my eyes and dragged
me to him and he made me lay my swords and dagger upon the table and
back off into a corner, and still keeping his eyes upon my eyes his head
quitted his body and crawling upon six short legs it descended to the floor
and backed part way into the hole of an ulsio, but not so far that the eyes
were not still upon me and then it returned with the key to its fetter and
after resuming its place upon its own shoulders it unlocked the fetter and
again dragged me across the room and made me to sit upon the bench
where it had been and there it fastened the fetter about my ankle, and I
could do naught for the power of its eyes and the fact that it wore my two
swords and my dagger. And then the head disappeared down the hole of the
ulsio with the key, and when it returned, it resumed its body and stood
guard over me at the doorway until the padwar came to fetch it hither."

"It is enough!" said O-Tar, sternly. "Both shall receive the jeddak's steel,"
and rising from his throne he drew his long sword and descended the
marble steps toward them, while two brawny warriors seized Tara by either
arm and two seized Ghek, holding them facing the naked blade of the
jeddak.

"Hold, just O-Tar!" cried U-Dor. "There be yet another to be judged. Let
us confront him who calls himself Turan with these his fellows before they
die."

"Good!" exclaimed O-Tar, pausing half way down the steps. "Fetch
Turan, the slave!"

When Turan had been brought into the chamber he was placed a little to
Tara's left and a step nearer the throne. O-Tar eyed him menacingly.

"You are Turan," he asked, "friend and companion of these?"

The panthan was about to reply when Tara of Helium spoke. "I know not
this fellow," she said. "Who dares say that he be a friend and companion of
the Princess Tara of Helium?"

Turan and Ghek looked at her in surprise, but at Turan she did not look,
and to Ghek she passed a quick glance of warning, as to say: "Hold thy
peace."

The panthan tried not to fathom her purpose for the head is useless when
the heart usurps its functions, and Turan knew only that the woman he
loved had denied him, and though he tried not even to think it his foolish
heart urged but a single explanation—that she refused to recognize him lest
she be involved in his difficulties.

O-Tar looked first at one and then at another of them; but none of them
spoke.

"Were they not captured together?" he asked of U-Dor.

"No," replied the dwar. "He who is called Turan was found seeking
entrance to the city and was enticed to the pits. The following morning I
discovered the other two upon the hill beyond The Gate of Enemies."

"But they are friends and companions," said a young padwar, "for this
Turan inquired of me concerning these two, calling them by name and
saying that they were his friends."

"It is enough," stated O-Tar, "all three shall die," and he took another
step downward from the throne.

"For what shall we die?" asked Ghek. "Your people prate of the just laws
of Manator, and yet you would slay three strangers without telling them of
what crime they are accused."

"He is right," said a deep voice. It was the voice of U-Thor, the great jed
of Manatos. O-Tar looked at him and scowled; but there came voices from
other portions of the chamber seconding the demand for justice.

"Then know, though you shall die anyway," cried O-Tar, "that all three
are convicted of Corphalism and that as only a jeddak may slay such as you
in safety you are about to be honored with the steel of O-Tar."

"Fool!" cried Turan. "Know you not that in the veins of this woman
flows the blood of ten thousand jeddaks—that greater than yours is her
power in her own land? She is Tara, Princess of Helium, great-
granddaughter of Tardos Mors, daughter of John Carter, Warlord of
Barsoom. She cannot be a Corphal. Nor is this creature Ghek, nor am I. And
you would know more, I can prove my right to be heard and to be believed
if I may have word with the Princess Haja of Gathol, whose son is my
fellow prisoner in the pits of O-Tar, his father."

At this U-Thor rose to his feet and faced O-Tar. "What means this?" he
asked. "Speaks the man the truth? Is the son of Haja a prisoner in thy pits,
O-Tar?"

"And what is it to the jed of Manatos who be the prisoners in the pits of
his jeddak?" demanded O-Tar, angrily.

"It is this to the jed of Manatos," replied U-Thor in a voice so low as to
be scarce more than a whisper and yet that was heard the whole length and
breadth of the great throne room of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator. "You gave
me a slave woman, Haja, who had been a princess in Gathol, because you
feared her influence among the slaves from Gathol. I have made of her a
free woman, and I have married her and made her thus a princess of
Manatos. Her son is my son, O-Tar, and though thou be my jeddak, I say to
you that for any harm that befalls A-Kor you shall answer to U-Thor of
Manatos."

O-Tar looked long at U-Thor, but he made no reply. Then he turned
again to Turan. "If one be a Corphal," he said, "then all of you be Corphals,
and we know well from the things that this creature has done," he pointed at
Ghek, "that he is a Corphal, for no mortal has such powers as he. And as
you are all Corphals you must all die." He took another step downward,
when Ghek spoke.

"These two have no such powers as I," he said. "They are but ordinary,
brainless things such as yourself. I have done all the things that your poor,
ignorant warriors have told you; but this only demonstrates that I am of a
higher order than yourselves, as is indeed the fact. I am a kaldane, not a
Corphal. There is nothing supernatural or mysterious about me, other than

that to the ignorant all things which they cannot understand are mysterious.
Easily might I have eluded your warriors and escaped your pits; but I
remained in the hope that I might help these two foolish creatures who have
not the brains to escape without help. They befriended me and saved my
life. I owe them this debt. Do not slay them—they are harmless. Slay me if
you will. I offer my life if it will appease your ignorant wrath. I cannot
return to Bantoom and so I might as well die, for there is no pleasure in
intercourse with the feeble intellects that cumber the face of the world
outside the valley of Bantoom."

"Hideous egotist," said O-Tar, "prepare to die and assume not to dictate
to O-Tar the jeddak. He has passed sentence and all three of you shall feel
the jeddak's naked steel. I have spoken!"

He took another step downward and then a strange thing happened. He
paused, his eyes fixed upon the eyes of Ghek. His sword slipped from
nerveless fingers, and still he stood there swaying forward and back. A jed
rose to rush to his side; but Ghek stopped him with a word.

"Wait!" he cried. "The life of your jeddak is in my hands. You believe
me a Corphal and so you believe, too, that only the sword of a jeddak may
slay me, therefore your blades are useless against me. Offer harm to any
one of us, or seek to approach your jeddak until I have spoken, and he shall
sink lifeless to the marble. Release the two prisoners and let them come to
my side—I would speak to them, privately. Quick! do as I say; I would as
lief as not slay O-Tar. I but let him live that I may gain freedom for my
friends—obstruct me and he dies."

The guards fell back, releasing Tara and Turan, who came close to
Ghek's side.

"Do as I tell you and do it quickly," whispered the kaldane. "I cannot
hold this fellow long, nor could I kill him thus. There are many minds
working against mine and presently mine will tire and O-Tar will be himself
again. You must make the best of your opportunity while you may. Behind
the arras that you see hanging in the rear of the throne above you is a secret
opening. From it a corridor leads to the pits of the palace, where there are
storerooms containing food and drink. Few people go there. From these pits

lead others to all parts of the city. Follow one that runs due west and it will
bring you to The Gate of Enemies. The rest will then lie with you. I can do
no more; hurry before my waning powers fail me—I am not as Luud, who
was a king. He could have held this creature forever. Make haste! Go!"

CHAPTER XV

THE OLD MAN OF THE PITS

"I shall not desert you, Ghek," said Tara of Helium, simply.

"Go! Go!" whispered the kaldane. "You can do me no good. Go, or all I
have done is for naught."

Tara shook her head. "I cannot," she said.

"They will slay her," said Ghek to Turan, and the panthan, torn between
loyalty to this strange creature who had offered its life for him, and love of
the woman, hesitated but a moment, then he swept Tara from her feet and
lifting her in his arms leaped up the steps that led to the throne of Manator.
Behind the throne he parted the arras and found the secret opening. Into this
he bore the girl and down a long, narrow corridor and winding runways that
led to lower levels until they came to the pits of the palace of O-Tar. Here
was a labyrinth of passages and chambers presenting a thousand hiding-
places.

As Turan bore Tara up the steps toward the throne a score of warriors
rose as though to rush forward to intercept them. "Stay!" cried Ghek, "or
your jeddak dies," and they halted in their tracks, waiting the will of this
strange, uncanny creature.

Presently Ghek took his eyes from the eyes of O-Tar and the jeddak
shook himself as one who would be rid of a bad dream and straightened up,
half dazed still.

"Look," said Ghek, then, "I have given your jeddak his life, nor have I
harmed one of those whom I might easily have slain when they were in my
power. No harm have I or my friends done in the city of Manator. Why then
should you persecute us? Give us our lives. Give us our liberty."

O-Tar, now in command of his faculties, stooped and regained his sword.
In the room was silence as all waited to hear the jeddak's answer.

"Just are the laws of Manator," he said at last. "Perhaps, after all, there is
truth in the words of the stranger. Return him then to the pits and pursue the
others and capture them. Through the mercy of O-Tar they shall be
permitted to win their freedom upon the Field of Jetan, in the coming
games."

Still ashen was the face of the jeddak as Ghek was led away and his
appearance was that of a man who had been snatched from the brink of
eternity into which he has gazed, not with the composure of great courage,
but with fear. There were those in the throne room who knew that the
execution of the three prisoners had but been delayed and the responsibility
placed upon the shoulders of others, and one of those who knew was U-
Thor, the great jed of Manatos. His curling lip betokened his scorn of the
jeddak who had chosen humiliation rather than death. He knew that O-Tar
had lost more of prestige in those few moments than he could regain in a
lifetime, for the Martians are jealous of the courage of their chiefs—there
can be no evasions of stern duty, no temporizing with honor. That there
were others in the room who shared U-Thor's belief was evidenced by the
silence and the grim scowls.

O-Tar glanced quickly around. He must have sensed the hostility and
guessed its cause, for he went suddenly angry, and as one who seeks by the
vehemence of his words to establish the courage of his heart he roared forth
what could be considered as naught other than a challenge.

"The will of O-Tar, the jeddak, is the law of Manator," he cried, "and the
laws of Manator are just—they cannot err. U-Dor, dispatch those who will
search the palace, the pits, and the city, and return the fugitives to their
cells.

"And now for you, U-Thor of Manatos! Think you with impunity to
threaten your jeddak—to question his right to punish traitors and instigators
of treason? What am I to think of your own loyalty, who takes to wife a
woman I have banished from my court because of her intrigues against the
authority of her jeddak and her master? But O-Tar is just. Make your
explanations and your peace, then, before it is too late."

"U-Thor has nothing to explain," replied the jed of Manatos; "nor is he at
war with his jeddak; but he has the right that every jed and every warrior
enjoys, of demanding justice at the hands of the jeddak for whomsoever he
believes to be persecuted. With increasing rigor has the jeddak of Manator
persecuted the slaves from Gathol since he took to himself the unwilling
Princess Haja. If the slaves from Gathol have harbored thoughts of
vengeance and escape 'tis no more than might be expected from a proud and
courageous people. Ever have I counselled greater fairness in our treatment
of our slaves, many of whom, in their own lands, are people of great
distinction and power; but always has O-Tar, the jeddak, flouted with
arrogance my every suggestion. Though it has been through none of my
seeking that the question has arisen now I am glad that it has, for the time
was bound to come when the jeds of Manator would demand from O-Tar
the respect and consideration that is their due from the man who holds his
high office at their pleasure. Know, then, O-Tar, that you must free A-Kor,
the dwar, forthwith or bring him to fair trial before the assembled jeds of
Manator. I have spoken."

"You have spoken well and to the point, U-Thor," cried O-Tar, "for you
have revealed to your jeddak and your fellow jeds the depth of the
disloyalty that I have long suspected. A-Kor already has been tried and
sentenced by the supreme tribunal of Manator—O-Tar, the jeddak; and you
too shall receive justice from the same unfailing source. In the meantime
you are under arrest. To the pits with him! To the pits with U-Thor the false
jed!" He clapped his hands to summon the surrounding warriors to do his
bidding. A score leaped forward to seize U-Thor. They were warriors of the
palace, mostly; but two score leaped to defend U-Thor, and with ringing
steel they fought at the foot of the steps to the throne of Manator where
stood O-Tar, the jeddak, with drawn sword ready to take his part in the
melee.

At the clash of steel, palace guards rushed to the scene from other parts
of the great building until those who would have defended U-Thor were
outnumbered two to one, and then the jed of Manatos slowly withdrew with
his forces, and fighting his way through the corridors and chambers of the
palace came at last to the avenue. Here he was reinforced by the little army
that had marched with him into Manator. Slowly they retreated toward The
Gate of Enemies between the rows of silent people looking down upon
them from the balconies and there, within the city walls, they made their
stand.

In a dimly-lighted chamber beneath the palace of O-Tar the jeddak,
Turan the panthan lowered Tara of Helium from his arms and faced her. "I
am sorry, Princess," he said, "that I was forced to disobey your commands,
or to abandon Ghek; but there was no other way. Could he have saved you I
would have stayed in his place. Tell me that you forgive me."

"How could I do less?" she replied graciously. "But it seemed cowardly
to abandon a friend."

"Had we been three fighting men it had been different," he said. "We
could only have remained and died together, fighting; but you know, Tara of
Helium, that we may not jeopardize a woman's safety even though we risk
the loss of honor."

"I know that, Turan," she said; "but no one may say that you have risked
honor, who knows the honor and bravery that are yours."

He heard her with surprise for these were the first words that she had
spoken to him that did not savor of the attitude of a princess to a panthan—
though it was more in her tone than the actual words that he apprehended
the difference. How at variance were they to her recent repudiation of him!
He could not fathom her, and so he blurted out the question that had been in
his mind since she had told O-Tar that she did not know him.

"Tara of Helium," he said, "your words are balm to the wound you gave
me in the throne room of O-Tar. Tell me, Princess, why you denied me."

She turned her great, deep eyes up to his and in them was a little of
reproach.

"You did not guess," she asked, "that it was my lips alone and not my
heart that denied you? O-Tar had ordered that I die, more because I was a
companion of Ghek than because of any evidence against me, and so I
knew that if I acknowledged you as one of us, you would be slain, too."

"It was to save me, then?" he cried, his face suddenly lighting.

"It was to save my brave panthan," she said in a low voice.

"Tara of Helium," said the warrior, dropping to one knee, "your words
are as food to my hungry heart," and he took her fingers in his and pressed
them to his lips.

Gently she raised him to his feet. "You need not tell me, kneeling," she
said, softly.

Her hand was still in his as he rose and they were very close, and the
man was still flushed with the contact of her body since he had carried her
from the throne room of O-Tar. He felt his heart pounding in his breast and
the hot blood surging through his veins as he looked at her beautiful face,
with its downcast eyes and the half-parted lips that he would have given a
kingdom to possess, and then he swept her to him and as he crushed her
against his breast his lips smothered hers with kisses.

But only for an instant. Like a tigress the girl turned upon him, striking
him, and thrusting him away. She stepped back, her head high and her eyes
flashing fire. "You would dare?" she cried. "You would dare thus defile a
princess of Helium?"

His eyes met hers squarely and there was no shame and no remorse in
them.

"Yes, I would dare," he said. "I would dare love Tara of Helium; but I
would not dare defile her or any woman with kisses that were not prompted
by love of her alone." He stepped closer to her and laid his hands upon her

shoulders. "Look into my eyes, daughter of The Warlord," he said, "and tell
me that you do not wish the love of Turan, the panthan."

"I do not wish your love," she cried, pulling away. "I hate you!" and then
turning away she bent her head into the hollow of her arm, and wept.

The man took a step toward her as though to comfort her when he was
arrested by the sound of a crackling laugh behind him. Wheeling about, he
discovered a strange figure of a man standing in a doorway. It was one of
those rarities occasionally to be seen upon Barsoom—an old man with the
signs of age upon him. Bent and wrinkled, he had more the appearance of a
mummy than a man.

"Love in the pits of O-Tar!" he cried, and again his thin laughter jarred
upon the silence of the subterranean vaults. "A strange place to woo! A
strange place to woo, indeed! When I was a young man we roamed in the
gardens beneath giant pimalias and stole our kisses in the brief shadows of
hurtling Thuria. We came not to the gloomy pits to speak of love; but times
have changed and ways have changed, though I had never thought to live to
see the time when the way of a man with a maid, or a maid with a man
would change. Ah, but we kissed them then! And what if they objected, eh?
What if they objected? Why, we kissed them more. Ey, ey, those were the
days!" and he cackled again. "Ey, well do I recall the first of them I ever
kissed, and I've kissed an army of them since; she was a fine girl, but she
tried to slip a dagger into me while I was kissing her. Ey, ey, those were the
days! But I kissed her. She's been dead over a thousand years now, but she
was never kissed again like that while she lived, I'll swear, not since she's
been dead, either. And then there was that other—" but Turan, seeing a
thousand or more years of osculatory memoirs portending, interrupted.

"Tell me, ancient one," he said, "not of thy loves but of thyself. Who are
you? What do you here in the pits of O-Tar?"

"I might ask you the same, young man," replied the other. "Few there are
who visit the pits other than the dead, except my pupils—ey! That is it—
you are new pupils! Good! But never before have they sent a woman to
learn the great art from the greatest artist. But times have changed. Now, in
my day the women did no work—they were just for kissing and loving. Ey,

those were the women. I mind the one we captured in the south—ey! she
was a devil, but how she could love. She had breasts of marble and a heart
of fire. Why, she—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Turan; "we are pupils, and we are anxious to get
to work. Lead on and we will follow."

"Ey, yes! Ey, yes! Come! All is rush and hurry as though there were not
another countless myriad of ages ahead. Ey, yes! as many as lie behind.
Two thousand years have passed since I broke my shell and always rush,
rush, rush, yet I cannot see that aught has been accomplished. Manator is
the same today as it was then—except the girls. We had the girls then.
There was one that I gained upon The Fields of Jetan. Ey, but you should
have seen—"

"Lead on!" cried Turan. "After we are at work you shall tell us of her."

"Ey, yes," said the old fellow and shuffled off down a dimly lighted
passage. "Follow me!"

"You are going with him?" asked Tara.

"Why not?" replied Turan. "We know not where we are, or the way from
these pits; for I know not east from west; but he doubtless knows and if we
are shrewd we may learn from him that which we would know. At least we
cannot afford to arouse his suspicions"; and so they followed him—
followed along winding corridors and through many chambers, until they
came at last to a room in which there were several marble slabs raised upon
pedestals some three feet above the floor and upon each slab lay a human
corpse.

"Here we are," exclaimed the old man. "These are fresh and we shall
have to get to work upon them soon. I am working now on one for The Gate
of Enemies. He slew many of our warriors. Truly is he entitled to a place in
The Gate. Come, you shall see him."

He led them to an adjoining apartment. Upon the floor were many fresh,
human bones and upon a marble slab a mass of shapeless flesh.

"You will learn this later," announced the old man; "but it will not harm
you to watch me now, for there are not many thus prepared, and it may be
long before you will have the opportunity to see another prepared for The
Gate of Enemies. First, you see, I remove all the bones, carefully that the
skin may be damaged as little as possible. The skull is the most difficult, but
it can be removed by a skilful artist. You see, I have made but a single
opening. This I now sew up, and that done, the body is hung so," and he
fastened a piece of rope to the hair of the corpse and swung the horrid thing
to a ring in the ceiling. Directly below it was a circular manhole in the floor
from which he removed the cover revealing a well partially filled with a
reddish liquid. "Now we lower it into this, the formula for which you shall
learn in due time. We fasten it thus to the bottom of the cover, which we
now replace. In a year it will be ready; but it must be examined often in the
meantime and the liquid kept above the level of its crown. It will be a very
beautiful piece, this one, when it is ready.

"And you are fortunate again, for there is one to come out today." He
crossed to the opposite side of the room and raised another cover, reached
in and dragged a grotesque looking figure from the hole. It was a human
body, shrunk by the action of the chemical in which it had been immersed,
to a little figure scarce a foot high.

"Ey! is it not fine?" cried the little old man. "Tomorrow it will take its
place in The Gate of Enemies." He dried it off with cloths and packed it
away carefully in a basket. "Perhaps you would like to see some of my life
work," he suggested, and without waiting for their assent led them to
another apartment, a large chamber in which were forty or fifty people. All
were sitting or standing quietly about the walls, with the exception of one
huge warrior who bestrode a great thoat in the very center of the room, and
all were motionless. Instantly there sprang to the minds of Tara and Turan
the rows of silent people upon the balconies that lined the avenues of the
city, and the noble array of mounted warriors in The Hall of Chiefs, and the
same explanation came to both but neither dared voice the question that was
in his mind, for fear of revealing by his ignorance the fact that they were
strangers in Manator and therefore impostors in the guise of pupils.

"It is very wonderful," said Turan. "It must require great skill and
patience and time."

"That it does," replied the old man, "though having done it so long I am
quicker than most; but mine are the most natural. Why, I would defy the
wife of that warrior to say that insofar as appearances are concerned he does
not live," and he pointed at the man upon the thoat. "Many of them, of
course, are brought here wasted or badly wounded and these I have to
repair. That is where great skill is required, for everyone wants his dead to
look as they did at their best in life; but you shall learn—to mount them and
paint them and repair them and sometimes to make an ugly one look
beautiful. And it will be a great comfort to be able to mount your own. Why,
for fifteen hundred years no one has mounted my own dead but myself.

"I have many, my balconies are crowded with them; but I keep a great
room for my wives. I have them all, as far back as the first one, and many is
the evening I spend with them—quiet evenings and very pleasant. And then
the pleasure of preparing them and making them even more beautiful than
in life partially recompenses one for their loss. I take my time with them,
looking for a new one while I am working on the old. When I am not sure
about a new one I bring her to the chamber where my wives are, and
compare her charms with theirs, and there is always a great satisfaction at
such times in knowing that they will not object. I love harmony."

"Did you prepare all the warriors in The Hall of Chiefs?" asked Turan.

"Yes, I prepare them and repair them," replied the old man. "O-Tar will
trust no other. Even now I have two in another room who were damaged in
some way and brought down to me. O-Tar does not like to have them gone
long, since it leaves two riderless thoats in the Hall; but I shall have them
ready presently. He wants them all there in the event any momentous
question arises upon which the living jeds cannot agree, or do not agree
with O-Tar. Such questions he carries to the jeds in The Hall of Chiefs.
There he shuts himself up alone with the great chiefs who have attained
wisdom through death. It is an excellent plan and there is never any friction
or misunderstandings. O-Tar has said that it is the finest deliberative body
upon Barsoom—much more intelligent than that composed of the living

jeds. But come, we must get to work; come into the next chamber and I will
begin your instruction."

He led the way into the chamber in which lay the several corpses upon
their marble slabs, and going to a cabinet he donned a pair of huge
spectacles and commenced to select various tools from little compartments.
This done he turned again toward his two pupils.

"Now let me have a look at you," he said. "My eyes are not what they
once were, and I need these powerful lenses for my work, or to see
distinctly the features of those around me."

He turned his eyes upon the two before him. Turan held his breath for he
knew that now the man must discover that they wore not the harness or
insignia of Manator. He had wondered before why the old fellow had not
noticed it, for he had not known that he was half blind. The other examined
their faces, his eyes lingering long upon the beauty of Tara of Helium, and
then they drifted to the harness of the two. Turan thought that he noted an
appreciable start of surprise on the part of the taxidermist, but if the old man
noticed anything his next words did not reveal it.

"Come with I-Gos," he said to Turan. "I have materials in the next room
that I would have you fetch hither. Remain here, woman, we shall be gone
but a moment."

He led the way to one of the numerous doors opening into the chamber
and entered ahead of Turan. Just inside the door he stopped, and pointing to
a bundle of silks and furs upon the opposite side of the room directed Turan
to fetch them. The latter had crossed the room and was stooping to raise the
bundle when he heard the click of a lock behind him. Wheeling instantly he
saw that he was alone in the room and that the single door was closed.
Running rapidly to it he strove to open it, only to find that he was a
prisoner.

I-Gos, stepping out and locking the door behind him, turned toward Tara.

"Your leather betrayed you," he said, laughing his cackling laugh. "You
sought to deceive old I-Gos, but you found that though his eyes are weak

his brain is not. But it shall not go ill with you. You are beautiful and I-Gos
loves beautiful women. I might not have you elsewhere in Manator, but
here there is none to deny old I-Gos. Few come to the pits of the dead—
only those who bring the dead and they hasten away as fast as they can. No
one will know that I-Gos has a beautiful woman locked with his dead. I
shall ask you no questions and then I will not have to give you up, for I will
not know to whom you belong, eh? And when you die I shall mount you
beautifully and place you in the chamber with my other women. Will not
that be fine, eh?" He had approached until he stood close beside the
horrified girl. "Come!" he cried, seizing her by the wrist. "Come to I-Gos!"

CHAPTER XVI

ANOTHER CHANGE OF NAME

Turan dashed himself against the door of his prison in a vain effort to
break through the solid skeel to the side of Tara whom he knew to be in
grave danger, but the heavy panels held and he succeeded only in bruising
his shoulders and his arms. At last he desisted and set about searching his
prison for some other means of escape. He found no other opening in the
stone walls, but his search revealed a heterogeneous collection of odds and
ends of arms and apparel, of harness and ornaments and insignia, and
sleeping silks and furs in great quantities. There were swords and spears
and several large, two-bladed battle-axes, the heads of which bore a striking
resemblance to the propellor of a small flier. Seizing one of these he
attacked the door once more with great fury. He expected to hear something
from I-Gos at this ruthless destruction, but no sound came to him from
beyond the door, which was, he thought, too thick for the human voice to
penetrate; but he would have wagered much that I-Gos heard him. Bits of
the hard wood splintered at each impact of the heavy axe, but it was slow
work and heavy. Presently he was compelled to rest, and so it went for what
seemed hours—working almost to the verge of exhaustion and then resting
for a few minutes; but ever the hole grew larger though he could see

nothing of the interior of the room beyond because of the hanging that I-
Gos had drawn across it after he had locked Turan within.

At last, however, the panthan had hewn an opening through which his
body could pass, and seizing a long-sword that he had brought close to the
door for the purpose he crawled through into the next room. Flinging aside
the arras he stood ready, sword in hand, to fight his way to the side of Tara
of Helium—but she was not there. In the center of the room lay I-Gos, dead
upon the floor; but Tara of Helium was nowhere to be seen.

Turan was nonplussed. It must have been her hand that had struck down
the old man, yet she had made no effort to release Turan from his prison.
And then he thought of those last words of hers: "I do not want your love! I
hate you," and the truth dawned upon him—she had seized upon this first
opportunity to escape him. With downcast heart Turan turned away. What
should he do? There could be but one answer. While he lived and she lived
he must still leave no stone unturned to effect her escape and safe return to
the land of her people. But how? How was he even to find his way from this
labyrinth? How was he to find her again? He walked to the nearest
doorway. It chanced to be that which led into the room containing the
mounted dead, awaiting transportation to balcony or grim room or whatever
place was to receive them. His eyes travelled to the great, painted warrior
on the thoat and as they ran over the splendid trappings and the serviceable
arms a new light came into the pain-dulled eyes of the panthan. With a
quick step he crossed to the side of the dead warrior and dragged him from
his mount. With equal celerity he stripped him of his harness and his arms,
and tearing off his own, donned the regalia of the dead man. Then he
hastened back to the room in which he had been trapped, for there he had
seen that which he needed to make his disguise complete. In a cabinet he
found them—pots of paint that the old taxidermist had used to place the
war-paint in its wide bands across the cold faces of dead warriors.

A few moments later Gahan of Gathol emerged from the room a warrior
of Manator in every detail of harness, equipment, and ornamentation. He
had removed from the leather of the dead man the insignia of his house and
rank so that he might pass, with the least danger of arousing suspicion, as a
common warrior.

To search for Tara of Helium in the vast, dim labyrinth of the pits of O-
Tar seemed to the Gatholian a hopeless quest, foredoomed to failure. It
would be wiser to seek the streets of Manator where he might hope to learn
first if she had been recaptured and, if not, then he could return to the pits
and pursue the hunt for her. To find egress from the maze he must perforce
travel a considerable distance through the winding corridors and chambers,
since he had no idea as to the location or direction of any exit. In fact, he
could not have retraced his steps a hundred yards toward the point at which
he and Tara had entered the gloomy caverns, and so he set out in the hope
that he might find by accident either Tara of Helium or a way to the street
level above.

For a time he passed room after room filled with the cunningly preserved
dead of Manator, many of which were piled in tiers after the manner that
firewood is corded, and as he moved through corridor and chamber he
noticed hieroglyphics painted upon the walls above every opening and at
each fork or crossing of corridors, until by observation he reached the
conclusion that these indicated the designations of passageways, so that one
who understood them might travel quickly and surely through the pits; but
Turan did not understand them. Even could he have read the language of
Manator they might not materially have aided one unfamiliar with the city;
but he could not read them at all since, though there is but one spoken
language upon Barsoom, there are as many different written languages as
there are nations. One thing, however, soon became apparent to him—the
hieroglyphic of a corridor remained the same until the corridor ended.

It was not long before Turan realized from the distance that he had
traveled that the pits were part of a vast system undermining, possibly, the
entire city. At least he was convinced that he had passed beyond the
precincts of the palace. The corridors and chambers varied in appearance
and architecture from time to time. All were lighted, though usually quite
dimly, with radium bulbs. For a long time he saw no signs of life other than
an occasional ulsio, then quite suddenly he came face to face with a warrior
at one of the numerous crossings. The fellow looked at him, nodded, and
passed on. Turan breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that his disguise
was effective, but he was caught in the middle of it by a hail from the
warrior who had stopped and turned toward him. The panthan was glad that

a sword hung at his side, and glad too that they were buried in the dim
recesses of the pits and that there would be but a single antagonist, for time
was precious.

"Heard you any word of the other?" called the warrior to him.

"No," replied Turan, who had not the faintest idea to whom or what the
fellow referred.

"He cannot escape," continued the warrior. "The woman ran directly into
our arms, but she swore that she knew not where her companion might be
found."

"They took her back to O-Tar?" asked Turan, for now he knew whom the
other meant, and he would know more.

"They took her back to The Towers of Jetan," replied the warrior.
"Tomorrow the games commence and doubtless she will be played for,
though I doubt if any wants her, beautiful as she is. She fears not even O-
Tar. By Cluros! but she would make a hard slave to subdue—a regular she-
banth she is. Not for me," and he continued on his way shaking his head.

Turan hurried on searching for an avenue that led to the level of the
streets above when suddenly he came to the open doorway of a small
chamber in which sat a man who was chained to the wall. Turan voiced a
low exclamation of surprise and pleasure as he recognized that the man was
A-Kor, and that he had stumbled by accident upon the very cell in which he
had been imprisoned. A-Kor looked at him questioningly. It was evident
that he did not recognize his fellow prisoner. Turan crossed to the table and
leaning close to the other whispered to him.

"I am Turan the panthan," he said, "who was chained beside you."

A-Kor looked at him closely. "Your own mother would never know
you!" he said; "but tell me, what has transpired since they took you away?"

Turan recounted his experiences in the throne room of O-Tar and in the
pits beneath, "and now," he continued, "I must find these Towers of Jetan

and see what may be done toward liberating the Princess of Helium."

A-Kor shook his head. "Long was I dwar of the Towers," he said, "and I
can say to you, stranger, that you might as well attempt to reduce Manator,
single handed, as to rescue a prisoner from The Towers of Jetan."

"But I must," replied Turan.

"Are you better than a good swordsman?" asked A-Kor presently.

"I am accounted so," replied Turan.

"Then there is a way—sst!" he was suddenly silent and pointing toward
the base of the wall at the end of the room.

Turan looked in the direction the other's forefinger indicated, to see
projecting from the mouth of an ulsio's burrow two large chelae and a pair
of protruding eyes.

"Ghek!" he cried and immediately the hideous kaldane crawled out upon
the floor and approached the table. A-Kor drew back with a half-stifled
ejaculation of repulsion. "Do not fear," Turan reassured him. "It is my
friend—he whom I told you held O-Tar while Tara and I escaped."

Ghek climbed to the table top and squatted between the two warriors.
"You are safe in assuming," he said addressing A-Kor, "that Turan the
panthan has no master in all Manator where the art of sword-play is
concerned. I overheard your conversation—go on."

"You are his friend," continued A-Kor, "and so I may explain safely in
your presence the only plan I know whereby he may hope to rescue the
Princess of Helium. She is to be the stake of one of the games and it is O-
Tar's desire that she be won by slaves and common warriors, since she
repulsed him. Thus would he punish her. Not a single man, but all who
survive upon the winning side are to possess her. With money, however, one
may buy off the others before the game. That you could do, and if your side
won and you survived she would become your slave."

"But how may a stranger and a hunted fugitive accomplish this?" asked
Turan.

"No one will recognize you. You will go tomorrow to the keeper of the
Towers and enlist in that game for which the girl is to be the stake, telling
the keeper that you are from Manataj, the farthest city of Manator. If he
questions you, you may say that you saw her when she was brought into the
city after her capture. If you win her, you will find thoats stabled at my
palace and you will carry from me a token that will place all that is mine at
your disposal."

"But how can I buy off the others in the game without money?" asked
Turan. "I have none—not even of my own country."

A-Kor opened his pocket-pouch and drew forth a packet of Manatorian
money.

"Here is sufficient to buy them off twice over," he said, handing a
portion of it to Turan.

"But why do you do this for a stranger?" asked the panthan.

"My mother was a captive princess here," replied A-Kor. "I but do for
the Princess of Helium what my mother would have me do."

"Under the circumstances, then, Manatorian," replied Turan, "I cannot
but accept your generosity on behalf of Tara of Helium and live in hope that
some day I may do for you something in return."

"Now you must be gone," advised A-Kor. "At any minute a guard may
come and discover you here. Go directly to the Avenue of Gates, which
circles the city just within the outer wall. There you will find many places
devoted to the lodging of strangers. You will know them by the thoat's head
carved above the doors. Say that you are here from Manataj to witness the
games. Take the name of U-Kal—it will arouse no suspicion, nor will you if
you can avoid conversation. Early in the morning seek the keeper of The
Towers of Jetan. May the strength and fortune of all your ancestors be with
you!"

Bidding good-bye to Ghek and A-Kor, the panthan, following directions
given him by A-Kor, set out to find his way to the Avenue of Gates, nor had
he any great difficulty. On the way he met several warriors, but beyond a
nod they gave him no heed. With ease he found a lodging place where there
were many strangers from other cities of Manator. As he had had no sleep
since the previous night he threw himself among the silks and furs of his
couch to gain the rest which he must have, was he to give the best possible
account of himself in the service of Tara of Helium the following day.

It was already morning when he awoke, and rising he paid for his
lodgings, sought a place to eat, and a short time later was on his way toward
The Towers of Jetan, which he had no difficulty in finding owing to the
great crowds that were winding along the avenues toward the games. The
new keeper of The Towers who had succeeded E-Med was too busy to
scrutinize entries closely, for in addition to the many volunteer players there
were scores of slaves and prisoners being forced into the games by their
owners or the government. The name of each must be recorded as well as
the position he was to play and the game or games in which he was to be
entered, and then there were the substitutes for each that was entered in
more than a single game—one for each additional game that an individual
was entered for, that no succeeding game might be delayed by the death or
disablement of a player.

"Your name?" asked a clerk as Turan presented himself.

"U-Kal," replied the panthan.

"Your city?"

"Manataj."

The keeper, who was standing beside the clerk, looked at Turan. "You
have come a great way to play at jetan," he said. "It is seldom that the men
of Manataj attend other than the decennial games. Tell me of O-Zar! Will he
attend next year? Ah, but he was a noble fighter. If you be half the
swordsman, U-Kal, the fame of Manataj will increase this day. But tell me,
what of O-Zar?"

"He is well," replied Turan, glibly, "and he sent greetings to his friends
in Manator."

"Good!" exclaimed the keeper, "and now in what game would you
enter?"

"I would play for the Heliumetic princess, Tara," replied Turan.

"But man, she is to be the stake of a game for slaves and criminals,"
cried the keeper. "You would not volunteer for such a game!"

"But I would," replied Turan. "I saw her when she was brought into the
city and even then I vowed to possess her."

"But you will have to share her with the survivors even if your color
wins," objected the other.

"They may be brought to reason," insisted Turan.

"And you will chance incurring the wrath of O-Tar, who has no love for
this savage barbarian," explained the keeper.

"And I win her O-Tar will be rid of her," said Turan.

The keeper of The Towers of Jetan shook his head. "You are rash," he
said. "I would that I might dissuade the friend of my friend O-Zar from
such madness."

"Would you favor the friend of O-Zar?" asked Turan.

"Gladly!" exclaimed the other. "What may I do for him?"

"Make me chief of the Black and give me for my pieces all slaves from
Gathol, for I understand that those be excellent warriors," replied the
panthan.

"It is a strange request," said the keeper, "but for my friend O-Zar I
would do even more, though of course—" he hesitated—"it is customary for
one who would be chief to make some slight payment."

"Certainly," Turan hastened to assure him; "I had not forgotten that. I
was about to ask you what the customary amount is."

"For the friend of my friend it shall be nominal," replied the keeper,
naming a figure that Gahan, accustomed to the high price of wealthy
Gathol, thought ridiculously low.

"Tell me," he said, handing the money to the keeper, "when the game for
the Heliumite is to be played."

"It is the second in order of the day's games; and now if you will come
with me you may select your pieces."

Turan followed the keeper to a large court which lay between the towers
and the jetan field, where hundreds of warriors were assembled. Already
chiefs for the games of the day were selecting their pieces and assigning
them to positions, though for the principal games these matters had been
arranged for weeks before. The keeper led Turan to a part of the courtyard
where the majority of the slaves were assembled.

"Take your choice of those not assigned," said the keeper, "and when
you have your quota conduct them to the field. Your place will be assigned
you by an officer there, and there you will remain with your pieces until the
second game is called. I wish you luck, U-Kal, though from what I have
heard you will be more lucky to lose than to win the slave from Helium."

After the fellow had departed Turan approached the slaves. "I seek the
best swordsmen for the second game," he announced. "Men from Gathol I
wish, for I have heard that these be noble fighters."

A slave rose and approached him. "It is all the same in which game we
die," he said. "I would fight for you as a panthan in the second game."

Another came. "I am not from Gathol," he said. "I am from Helium, and
I would fight for the honor of a princess of Helium."

"Good!" exclaimed Turan. "Art a swordsman of repute in Helium?"

"I was a dwar under the great Warlord, and I have fought at his side in a
score of battles from The Golden Cliffs to The Carrion Caves. My name is
Val Dor. Who knows Helium, knows my prowess."

The name was well known to Gahan, who had heard the man spoken of
on his last visit to Helium, and his mysterious disappearance discussed as
well as his renown as a fighter.

"How could I know aught of Helium?" asked Turan; "but if you be such
a fighter as you say no position could suit you better than that of Flier. What
say you?"

The man's eyes denoted sudden surprise. He looked keenly at Turan, his
eyes running quickly over the other's harness. Then he stepped quite close
so that his words might not be overheard.

"Methinks you may know more of Helium than of Manator," he
whispered.

"What mean you, fellow?" demanded Turan, seeking to cudgel his brains
for the source of this man's knowledge, guess, or inspiration.

"I mean," replied Val Dor, "that you are not of Manator and that if you
wish to hide the fact it is well that you speak not to a Manatorian as you did
just speak to me of—Fliers! There be no Fliers in Manator and no piece in
their game of Jetan bearing that name. Instead they call him who stands
next to the Chief or Princess, Odwar. The piece has the same moves and
power that the Flier has in the game as played outside Manator. Remember
this then and remember, too, that if you have a secret it be safe in the
keeping of Val Dor of Helium."

Turan made no reply but turned to the task of selecting the remainder of
his pieces. Val Dor, the Heliumite, and Floran, the volunteer from Gathol,
were of great assistance to him, since one or the other of them knew most of
the slaves from whom his selection was to be made. The pieces all chosen,
Turan led them to the place beside the playing field where they were to wait
their turn, and here he passed the word around that they were to fight for
more than the stake he offered for the princess should they win. This stake

they accepted, so that Turan was sure of possessing Tara if his side was
victorious, but he knew that these men would fight even more valorously
for chivalry than for money, nor was it difficult to enlist the interest even of
the Gatholians in the service of the princess. And now he held out the
possibility of a still further reward.

"I cannot promise you," he explained, "but I may say I have heard that
this day which makes it possible that should we win this game we may even
win your freedom!"

They leaped to their feet and crowded around him with many questions.

"It may not be spoken of aloud," he said; "but Floran and Val Dor know
and they assure me that you may all be trusted. Listen! What I would tell
you places my life in your hands, but you must know that every man will
realize that he is fighting today the greatest battle of his life—for the honor
and the freedom of Barsoom's most wondrous princess and for his own
freedom as well—for the chance to return each to his own country and to
the woman who awaits him there.

"First, then, is my secret. I am not of Manator. Like yourselves I am a
slave, though for the moment disguised as a Manatorian from Manataj. My
country and my identity must remain undisclosed for reasons that have no
bearing upon our game today. I, then, am one of you. I fight for the same
things that you will fight for.

"And now for that which I have but just learned. U-Thor, the great jed of
Manatos, quarreled with O-Tar in the palace the day before yesterday and
their warriors set upon one another. U-Thor was driven as far as The Gate
of Enemies, where he now lies encamped. At any moment the fight may be
renewed; but it is thought that U-Thor has sent to Manatos for
reinforcements. Now, men of Gathol, here is the thing that interests you. U-
Thor has recently taken to wife the Princess Haja of Gathol, who was slave
to O-Tar and whose son, A-Kor, was dwar of The Towers of Jetan. Haja's
heart is filled with loyalty for Gathol and compassion for her sons who are
here enslaved, and this latter sentiment she has to some extent transmitted
to U-Thor. Aid me, therefore, in freeing the Princess Tara of Helium and I
believe that I can aid you and her and myself to escape the city. Bend close

your ears, slaves of O-Tar, that no cruel enemy may hear my words," and
Gahan of Gathol whispered in low tones the daring plan he had conceived.
"And now," he demanded, when he had finished, "let him who does not
dare speak now." None replied. "Is there none?"

"And it would not betray you should I cast my sword at thy feet, it had
been done ere this," said one in low tones pregnant with suppressed feeling.

"And I!" "And I!" "And I!" chorused the others in vibrant whispers.

CHAPTER XVII

A PLAY TO THE DEATH

Clear and sweet a trumpet spoke across The Fields of Jetan. From The
High Tower its cool voice floated across the city of Manator and above the
babel of human discords rising from the crowded mass that filled the seats
of the stadium below. It called the players for the first game, and
simultaneously there fluttered to the peaks of a thousand staffs on tower and
battlement and the great wall of the stadium the rich, gay pennons of the
fighting chiefs of Manator. Thus was marked the opening of The Jeddak's
Games, the most important of the year and second only to the Grand
Decennial Games.

Gahan of Gathol watched every play with eagle eye. The match was an
unimportant one, being but to settle some petty dispute between two chiefs,
and was played with professional jetan players for points only. No one was
killed and there was but little blood spilled. It lasted about an hour and was
terminated by the chief of the losing side deliberately permitting himself to
be out-pointed, that the game might be called a draw.

Again the trumpet sounded, this time announcing the second and last
game of the afternoon. While this was not considered an important match,

those being reserved for the fourth and fifth days of the games, it promised
to afford sufficient excitement since it was a game to the death. The vital
difference between the game played with living men and that in which
inanimate pieces are used, lies in the fact that while in the latter the mere
placing of a piece upon a square occupied by an opponent piece terminates
the move, in the former the two pieces thus brought together engage in a
duel for possession of the square. Therefore there enters into the former
game not only the strategy of jetan but the personal prowess and bravery of
each individual piece, so that a knowledge not only of one's own men but of
each player upon the opposing side is of vast value to a chief.

In this respect was Gahan handicapped, though the loyalty of his players
did much to offset his ignorance of them, since they aided him in arranging
the board to the best advantage and told him honestly the faults and virtues
of each. One fought best in a losing game; another was too slow; another
too impetuous; this one had fire and a heart of steel, but lacked endurance.
Of the opponents, though, they knew little or nothing, and now as the two
sides took their places upon the black and orange squares of the great jetan
board Gahan obtained, for the first time, a close view of those who opposed
him. The Orange Chief had not yet entered the field, but his men were all in
place. Val Dor turned to Gahan. "They are all criminals from the pits of
Manator," he said. "There is no slave among them. We shall not have to
fight against a single fellow-countryman and every life we take will be the
life of an enemy."

"It is well," replied Gahan; "but where is their Chief, and where the two
Princesses?"

"They are coming now, see?" and he pointed across the field to where
two women could be seen approaching under guard.

As they came nearer Gahan saw that one was indeed Tara of Helium, but
the other he did not recognize, and then they were brought to the center of
the field midway between the two sides and there waited until the Orange
Chief arrived.

Floran voiced an exclamation of surprise when he recognized him. "By
my first ancestor if it is not one of their great chiefs," he said, "and we were

told that slaves and criminals were to play for the stake of this game."

His words were interrupted by the keeper of The Towers whose duty it
was not only to announce the games and the stakes, but to act as referee as
well.

"Of this, the second game of the first day of the Jeddak's Games in the
four hundred and thirty-third year of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, the
Princesses of each side shall be the sole stakes and to the survivors of the
winning side shall belong both the Princesses, to do with as they shall see
fit. The Orange Princess is the slave woman Lan-O of Gathol; the Black
Princess is the slave woman Tara, a princess of Helium. The Black Chief is
U-Kal of Manataj, a volunteer player; the Orange Chief is the dwar U-Dor
of the 8th Utan of the jeddak of Manator, also a volunteer player. The
squares shall be contested to the death. Just are the laws of Manator! I have
spoken."

The initial move was won by U-Dor, following which the two Chiefs
escorted their respective Princesses to the square each was to occupy. It was
the first time Gahan had been alone with Tara since she had been brought
upon the field. He saw her scrutinizing him closely as he approached to lead
her to her place and wondered if she recognized him: but if she did she gave
no sign of it. He could not but remember her last words—"I hate you!" and
her desertion of him when he had been locked in the room beneath the
palace by I-Gos, the taxidermist, and so he did not seek to enlighten her as
to his identity. He meant to fight for her—to die for her, if necessary—and
if he did not die to go on fighting to the end for her love. Gahan of Gathol
was not easily to be discouraged, but he was compelled to admit that his
chances of winning the love of Tara of Helium were remote. Already had
she repulsed him twice. Once as jed of Gathol and again as Turan the
panthan. Before his love, however, came her safety and the former must be
relegated to the background until the latter had been achieved.

Passing among the players already at their stations the two took their
places upon their respective squares. At Tara's left was the Black Chief,
Gahan of Gathol; directly in front of her the Princess' Panthan, Floran of
Gathol; and at her right the Princess' Odwar, Val Dor of Helium. And each
of these knew the part that he was to play, win or lose, as did each of the

other Black players. As Tara took her place Val Dor bowed low. "My sword
is at your feet, Tara of Helium," he said.

She turned and looked at him, an expression of surprise and incredulity
upon her face. "Val Dor, the dwar!" she exclaimed. "Val Dor of Helium—
one of my father's trusted captains! Can it be possible that my eyes speak
the truth?"

"It is Val Dor, Princess," the warrior replied, "and here to die for you if
need be, as is every wearer of the Black upon this field of jetan today.
Know Princess," he whispered, "that upon this side is no man of Manator,
but each and every is an enemy of Manator."

She cast a quick, meaning glance toward Gahan. "But what of him?" she
whispered, and then she caught her breath quickly in surprise. "Shade of the
first jeddak!" she exclaimed. "I did but just recognize him through his
disguise."

"And you trust him?" asked Val Dor. "I know him not; but he spoke
fairly, as an honorable warrior, and we have taken him at his word."

"You have made no mistake," replied Tara of Helium. "I would trust him
with my life—with my soul; and you, too, may trust him."

Happy indeed would have been Gahan of Gathol could he have heard
those words; but Fate, who is usually unkind to the lover in such matters,
ordained it otherwise, and then the game was on.

U-Dor moved his Princess' Odwar three squares diagonally to the right,
which placed the piece upon the Black Chief's Odwar's seventh. The move
was indicative of the game that U-Dor intended playing—a game of blood,
rather than of science—and evidenced his contempt for his opponents.

Gahan followed with his Odwar's Panthan one square straight forward, a
more scientific move, which opened up an avenue for himself through his
line of Panthans, as well as announcing to the players and spectators that he
intended having a hand in the fighting himself even before the exigencies of
the game forced it upon him. The move elicited a ripple of applause from

those sections of seats reserved for the common warriors and their women,
showing perhaps that U-Dor was none too popular with these, and, too, it
had its effect upon the morale of Gahan's pieces. A Chief may, and often
does, play almost an entire game without leaving his own square, where,
mounted upon a thoat, he may overlook the entire field and direct each
move, nor may he be reproached for lack of courage should he elect thus to
play the game since, by the rules, were he to be slain or so badly wounded
as to be compelled to withdraw, a game that might otherwise have been
won by the science of his play and the prowess of his men would be drawn.
To invite personal combat, therefore, denotes confidence in his own
swordsmanship, and great courage, two attributes that were calculated to fill
the Black players with hope and valor when evinced by their Chief thus
early in the game.

U-Dor's next move placed Lan-O's Odwar upon Tara's Odwar's fourth—
within striking distance of the Black Princess.

Another move and the game would be lost to Gahan unless the Orange
Odwar was overthrown, or Tara moved to a position of safety; but to move
his Princess now would be to admit his belief in the superiority of the
Orange. In the three squares allowed him he could not place himself
squarely upon the square occupied by the Odwar of U-Dor's Princess. There
was only one player upon the Black side that might dispute the square with
the enemy and that was the Chief's Odwar, who stood upon Gahan's left.
Gahan turned upon his thoat and looked at the man. He was a splendid
looking fellow, resplendent in the gorgeous trappings of an Odwar, the five
brilliant feathers which denoted his position rising defiantly erect from his
thick, black hair. In common with every player upon the field and every
spectator in the crowded stands he knew what was passing in his Chief's
mind. He dared not speak, the ethics of the game forbade it, but what his
lips might not voice his eyes expressed in martial fire, and eloquently: "The
honor of the Black and the safety of our Princess are secure with me!"

Gahan hesitated no longer. "Chief's Odwar to Princess' Odwar's fourth!"
he commanded. It was the courageous move of a leader who had taken up
the gauntlet thrown down by his opponent.

The warrior sprang forward and leaped into the square occupied by U-
Dor's piece. It was the first disputed square of the game. The eyes of the
players were fastened upon the contestants, the spectators leaned forward in
their seats after the first applause that had greeted the move, and silence fell
upon the vast assemblage. If the Black went down to defeat, U-Dor could
move his victorious piece on to the square occupied by Tara of Helium and
the game would be over—over in four moves and lost to Gahan of Gathol.
If the Orange lost U-Dor would have sacrificed one of his most important
pieces and more than lost what advantage the first move might have given
him.

Physically the two men appeared perfectly matched and each was
fighting for his life, but from the first it was apparent that the Black Odwar
was the better swordsman, and Gahan knew that he had another and perhaps
a greater advantage over his antagonist. The latter was fighting for his life
only, without the spur of chivalry or loyalty. The Black Odwar had these to
strengthen his arm, and besides these the knowledge of the thing that Gahan
had whispered into the ears of his players before the game, and so he fought
for what is more than life to the man of honor.

It was a duel that held those who witnessed it in spellbound silence. The
weaving blades gleamed in the brilliant sunlight, ringing to the parries of
cut and thrust. The barbaric harness of the duelists lent splendid color to the
savage, martial scene. The Orange Odwar, forced upon the defensive, was
fighting madly for his life. The Black, with cool and terrible efficiency, was
forcing him steadily, step by step, into a corner of the square—a position
from which there could be no escape. To abandon the square was to lose it
to his opponent and win for himself ignoble and immediate death before the
jeering populace. Spurred on by the seeming hopelessness of his plight, the
Orange Odwar burst into a sudden fury of offense that forced the Black
back a half dozen steps, and then the sword of U-Dor's piece leaped in and
drew first blood, from the shoulder of his merciless opponent. An ill-
smothered cry of encouragement went up from U-Dor's men; the Orange
Odwar, encouraged by his single success, sought to bear down the Black by
the rapidity of his attack. There was a moment in which the swords moved
with a rapidity that no man's eye might follow, and then the Black Odwar
made a lightning parry of a vicious thrust, leaned quickly forward into the

opening he had effected, and drove his sword through the heart of the
Orange Odwar—to the hilt he drove it through the body of the Orange
Odwar.

A shout arose from the stands, for wherever may have been the favor of
the spectators, none there was who could say that it had not been a pretty
fight, or that the better man had not won. And from the Black players came
a sigh of relief as they relaxed from the tension of the past moments.

I shall not weary you with the details of the game—only the high
features of it are necessary to your understanding of the outcome. The
fourth move after the victory of the Black Odwar found Gahan upon U-
Dor's fourth; an Orange Panthan was on the adjoining square diagonally to
his right and the only opposing piece that could engage him other than U-
Dor himself.

It had been apparent to both players and spectators for the past two
moves, that Gahan was moving straight across the field into the enemy's
country to seek personal combat with the Orange Chief—that he was
staking all upon his belief in the superiority of his own swordsmanship,
since if the two Chiefs engage, the outcome decides the game. U-Dor could
move out and engage Gahan, or he could move his Princess' Panthan upon
the square occupied by Gahan in the hope that the former would defeat the
Black Chief and thus draw the game, which is the outcome if any other than
a Chief slays the opposing Chief, or he could move away and escape,
temporarily, the necessity for personal combat, or at least that is evidently
what he had in mind as was obvious to all who saw him scanning the board
about him; and his disappointment was apparent when he finally discovered
that Gahan had so placed himself that there was no square to which U-Dor
could move that it was not within Gahan's power to reach at his own next
move.

U-Dor had placed his own Princess four squares east of Gahan when her
position had been threatened, and he had hoped to lure the Black Chief after
her and away from U-Dor; but in that he had failed. He now discovered that
he might play his own Odwar into personal combat with Gahan; but he had
already lost one Odwar and could ill spare the other. His position was a
delicate one, since he did not wish to engage Gahan personally, while it

appeared that there was little likelihood of his being able to escape. There
was just one hope and that lay in his Princess' Panthan, so, without more
deliberation he ordered the piece onto the square occupied by the Black
Chief.

The sympathies of the spectators were all with Gahan now. If he lost, the
game would be declared a draw, nor do they think better of drawn games
upon Barsoom than do Earth men. If he won, it would doubtless mean a
duel between the two Chiefs, a development for which they all were
hoping. The game already bade fair to be a short one and it would be an
angry crowd should it be decided a draw with only two men slain. There
were great, historic games on record where of the forty pieces on the field
when the game opened only three survived—the two Princesses and the
victorious Chief.

They blamed U-Dor, though in fact he was well within his rights in
directing his play as he saw fit, nor was a refusal on his part to engage the
Black Chief necessarily an imputation of cowardice. He was a great chief
who had conceived a notion to possess the slave Tara. There was no honor
that could accrue to him from engaging in combat with slaves and
criminals, or an unknown warrior from Manataj, nor was the stake of
sufficient import to warrant the risk.

But now the duel between Gahan and the Orange Panthan was on and
the decision of the next move was no longer in other hands than theirs. It
was the first time that these Manatorians had seen Gahan of Gathol fight,
but Tara of Helium knew that he was master of his sword. Could he have
seen the proud light in her eyes as he crossed blades with the wearer of the
Orange, he might easily have wondered if they were the same eyes that had
flashed fire and hatred at him that time he had covered her lips with mad
kisses, in the pits of the palace of O-Tar. As she watched him she could not
but compare his swordplay with that of the greatest swordsman of two
worlds—her father, John Carter, of Virginia, a Prince of Helium, Warlord of
Barsoom—and she knew that the skill of the Black Chief suffered little by
the comparison.

Short and to the point was the duel that decided possession of the Orange
Chief's fourth. The spectators had settled themselves for an interesting

engagement of at least average duration when they were brought almost
standing by a brilliant flash of rapid swordplay that was over ere one could
catch his breath. They saw the Black Chief step quickly back, his point
upon the ground, while his opponent, his sword slipping from his fingers,
clutched his breast, sank to his knees and then lunged forward upon his
face.

And then Gahan of Gathol turned his eyes directly upon U-Dor of
Manator, three squares away. Three squares is a Chief's move—three
squares in any direction or combination of directions, only provided that he
does not cross the same square twice in a given move. The people saw and
guessed Gahan's intention. They rose and roared forth their approval as he
moved deliberately across the intervening squares toward the Orange Chief.

O-Tar, in the royal enclosure, sat frowning upon the scene. O-Tar was
angry. He was angry with U-Dor for having entered this game for
possession of a slave, for whom it had been his wish only slaves and
criminals should strive. He was angry with the warrior from Manataj for
having so far out-generaled and out-fought the men from Manator. He was
angry with the populace because of their open hostility toward one who had
basked in the sunshine of his favor for long years. O-Tar the jeddak had not
enjoyed the afternoon. Those who surrounded him were equally glum—
they, too, scowled upon the field, the players, and the people. Among them
was a bent and wrinkled old man who gazed through weak and watery eyes
upon the field and the players.

As Gahan entered his square, U-Dor leaped toward him with drawn
sword with such fury as might have overborne a less skilled and powerful
swordsman. For a minute the fighting was fast and furious and by
comparison reducing to insignificance all that had gone before. Here indeed
were two magnificent swordsmen, and here was to be a battle that bade fair
to make up for whatever the people felt they had been defrauded of by the
shortness of the game. Nor had it continued long before many there were
who would have prophesied that they were witnessing a duel that was to
become historic in the annals of jetan at Manator. Every trick, every
subterfuge, known to the art of fence these men employed. Time and again
each scored a point and brought blood to his opponent's copper hide until

both were red with gore; but neither seemed able to administer the coup de
grace.

From her position upon the opposite side of the field Tara of Helium
watched the long-drawn battle. Always it seemed to her that the Black Chief
fought upon the defensive, or when he assumed to push his opponent, he
neglected a thousand openings that her practiced eye beheld. Never did he
seem in real danger, nor never did he appear to exert himself to quite the
pitch needful for victory. The duel already had been long contested and the
day was drawing to a close. Presently the sudden transition from daylight to
darkness which, owing to the tenuity of the air upon Barsoom, occurs
almost without the warning twilight of Earth, would occur. Would the fight
never end? Would the game be called a draw after all? What ailed the Black
Chief?

Tara wished that she might answer at least the last of these questions for
she was sure that Turan the panthan, as she knew him, while fighting
brilliantly, was not giving of himself all that he might. She could not believe
that fear was restraining his hand, but that there was something beside
inability to push U-Dor more fiercely she was confident. What it was,
however, she could not guess.

Once she saw Gahan glance quickly up toward the sinking sun. In thirty
minutes it would be dark. And then she saw and all those others saw a
strange transition steal over the swordplay of the Black Chief. It was as
though he had been playing with the great dwar, U-Dor, all these hours, and
now he still played with him but there was a difference. He played with him
terribly as a carnivore plays with its victim in the instant before the kill. The
Orange Chief was helpless now in the hands of a swordsman so superior
that there could be no comparison, and the people sat in open-mouthed
wonder and awe as Gahan of Gathol cut his foe to ribbons and then struck
him down with a blow that cleft him to the chin.

In twenty minutes the sun would set. But what of that?

CHAPTER XVIII

A TASK FOR LOYALTY

Long and loud was the applause that rose above the Field of Jetan at
Manator, as The Keeper of the Towers summoned the two Princesses and
the victorious Chief to the center of the field and presented to the latter the
fruits of his prowess, and then, as custom demanded, the victorious players,
headed by Gahan and the two Princesses, formed in procession behind The
Keeper of the Towers and were conducted to the place of victory before the
royal enclosure that they might receive the commendation of the jeddak.
Those who were mounted gave up their thoats to slaves as all must be on
foot for this ceremony. Directly beneath the royal enclosure are the gates to
one of the tunnels that, passing beneath the seats, give ingress or egress to
or from the Field. Before this gate the party halted while O-Tar looked
down upon them from above. Val Dor and Floran, passing quietly ahead of
the others, went directly to the gates, where they were hidden from those
who occupied the enclosure with O-Tar. The Keeper of the Towers may
have noticed them, but so occupied was he with the formality of presenting
the victorious Chief to the jeddak that he paid no attention to them.

"I bring you, O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, U-Kal of Manataj," he cried in a
loud voice that might be heard by as many as possible, "victor over the
Orange in the second of the Jeddak's Games of the four hundred and thirty-
third year of O-Tar, and the slave woman Tara and the slave woman Lan-O
that you may bestow these, the stakes, upon U-Kal."

As he spoke, a little, wrinkled, old man peered over the rail of the
enclosure down upon the three who stood directly behind The Keeper, and
strained his weak and watery eyes in an effort to satisfy the curiosity of old
age in a matter of no particular import, for what were two slaves and a
common warrior from Manataj to any who sat with O-Tar the jeddak?

"U-Kal of Manataj," said O-Tar, "you have deserved the stakes. Seldom
have we looked upon more noble swordplay. And you tire of Manataj there
be always here in the city of Manator a place for you in The Jeddak's
Guard."

While the jeddak was speaking the little, old man, failing clearly to
discern the features of the Black Chief, reached into his pocket-pouch and
drew forth a pair of thick-lensed spectacles, which he placed upon his nose.
For a moment he scrutinized Gahan closely, then he leaped to his feet and
addressing O-Tar pointed a shaking finger at Gahan. As he rose Tara of
Helium clutched the Black Chief's arm.

"Turan!" she whispered. "It is I-Gos, whom I thought to have slain in the
pits of O-Tar. It is I-Gos and he recognizes you and will—"

But what I-Gos would do was already transpiring. In his falsetto voice he
fairly screamed: "It is the slave Turan who stole the woman Tara from your
throne room, O-Tar. He desecrated the dead chief I-Mal and wears his
harness now!"

Instantly all was pandemonium. Warriors drew their swords and leaped
to their feet. Gahan's victorious players rushed forward in a body, sweeping
The Keeper of the Towers from his feet. Val Dor and Floran threw open the
gates beneath the royal enclosure, opening the tunnel that led to the avenue
in the city beyond the Towers. Gahan, surrounded by his men, drew Tara
and Lan-O into the passageway, and at a rapid pace the party sought to
reach the opposite end of the tunnel before their escape could be cut off.
They were successful and when they emerged into the city the sun had set
and darkness had come, relieved only by an antiquated and ineffective
lighting system, which cast but a pale glow over the shadowy streets.

Now it was that Tara of Helium guessed why the Black Chief had drawn
out his duel with U-Dor and realized that he might have slain his man at
almost any moment he had elected. The whole plan that Gahan had
whispered to his players before the game was thoroughly understood. They
were to make their way to The Gate of Enemies and there offer their
services to U-Thor, the great Jed of Manatos. The fact that most of them
were Gatholians and that Gahan could lead rescuers to the pit where A-Kor,
the son of U-Thor's wife, was confined, convinced the Jed of Gathol that
they would meet with no rebuff at the hands of U-Thor. But even should he
refuse them, still were they bound together to go on toward freedom, if
necessary cutting their way through the forces of U-Thor at The Gate of

Enemies—twenty men against a small army; but of such stuff are the
warriors of Barsoom.

They had covered a considerable distance along the almost deserted
avenue before signs of pursuit developed and then there came upon them
suddenly from behind a dozen warriors mounted on thoats—a detachment,
evidently, from The Jeddak's Guard. Instantly the avenue was a
pandemonium of clashing blades, cursing warriors, and squealing thoats. In
the first onslaught life blood was spilled upon both sides. Two of Gahan's
men went down, and upon the enemies' side three riderless thoats attested at
least a portion of their casualties.

Gahan was engaged with a fellow who appeared to have been selected to
account for him only, since he rode straight for him and sought to cut him
down without giving the slightest heed to several who slashed at him as he
passed them. The Gatholian, practiced in the art of combating a mounted
warrior from the ground, sought to reach the left side of the fellow's thoat a
little to the rider's rear, the only position in which he would have any
advantage over his antagonist, or rather the position that would most greatly
reduce the advantage of the mounted man, and, similarly, the Manatorian
strove to thwart his design. And so the guardsman wheeled and turned his
vicious, angry mount while Gahan leaped in and out in an effort to reach the
coveted vantage point, but always seeking some other opening in his foe's
defense.

And while they jockeyed for position a rider swept swiftly past them. As
he passed behind Gahan the latter heard a cry of alarm.

"Turan, they have me!" came to his ears in the voice of Tara of Helium.

A quick glance across his shoulder showed him the galloping thoatman
in the act of dragging Tara to the withers of the beast, and then, with the
fury of a demon, Gahan of Gathol leaped for his own man, dragged him
from his mount and as he fell smote his head from his shoulders with a
single cut of his keen sword. Scarce had the body touched the pavement
when the Gatholian was upon the back of the dead warrior's mount, and
galloping swiftly down the avenue after the diminishing figures of Tara and
her abductor, the sounds of the fight waning in the distance as he pursued

his quarry along the avenue that passes the palace of O-Tar and leads to The
Gate of Enemies.

Gahan's mount, carrying but a single rider, gained upon that of the
Manatorian, so that as they neared the palace Gahan was scarce a hundred
yards behind, and now, to his consternation, he saw the fellow turn into the
great entrance-way. For a moment only was he halted by the guards and
then he disappeared within. Gahan was almost upon him then, but evidently
he had warned the guards, for they leaped out to intercept the Gatholian.
But no! the fellow could not have known that he was pursued, since he had
not seen Gahan seize a mount, nor would he have thought that pursuit
would come so soon. If he had passed then, so could Gahan pass, for did he
not wear the trappings of a Manatorian? The Gatholian thought quickly, and
stopping his thoat called to the guardsmen to let him pass, "In the name of
O-Tar!" They hesitated a moment.

"Aside!" cried Gahan. "Must the jeddak's messenger parley for the right
to deliver his message?"

"To whom would you deliver it?" asked the padwar of the guard.

"Saw you not him who just entered?" cried Gahan, and without waiting
for a reply urged his thoat straight past them into the palace, and while they
were deliberating what was best to be done, it was too late to do anything—
which is not unusual.

Along the marble corridors Gahan guided his thoat, and because he had
gone that way before, rather than because he knew which way Tara had
been taken, he followed the runways and passed through the chambers that
led to the throne room of O-Tar. On the second level he met a slave.

"Which way went he who carried the woman before him?" he asked.

The slave pointed toward a nearby runway that led to the third level and
Gahan dashed rapidly on in pursuit. At the same moment a thoatman, riding
at a furious pace, approached the palace and halted his mount at the gate.

"Saw you aught of a warrior pursuing one who carried a woman before
him on his thoat?" he shouted to the guard.

"He but just passed in," replied the padwar, "saying that he was O-Tar's
messenger."

"He lied," cried the newcomer. "He was Turan, the slave, who stole the
woman from the throne room two days since. Arouse the palace! He must
be seized, and alive if possible. It is O-Tar's command."

Instantly warriors were dispatched to search for the Gatholian and warn
the inmates of the palace to do likewise. Owing to the games there were
comparatively few retainers in the great building, but those whom they
found were immediately enlisted in the search, so that presently at least fifty
warriors were seeking through the countless chambers and corridors of the
palace of O-Tar.

As Gahan's thoat bore him to the third Level the man glimpsed the hind
quarters of another thoat disappearing at the turn of a corridor far ahead.
Urging his own animal forward he raced swiftly in pursuit and making the
turn discovered only an empty corridor ahead. Along this he hurried to
discover near its farther end a runway to the fourth level, which he followed
upward. Here he saw that he had gained upon his quarry who was just
turning through a doorway fifty yards ahead. As Gahan reached the opening
he saw that the warrior had dismounted and was dragging Tara toward a
small door on the opposite side of the chamber. At the same instant the
clank of harness to his rear caused him to cast a glance behind where, along
the corridor he had just traversed, he saw three warriors approaching on
foot at a run. Leaping from his thoat Gahan sprang into the chamber where
Tara was struggling to free herself from the grasp of her captor, slammed
the door behind him, shot the great bolt into its seat, and drawing his sword
crossed the room at a run to engage the Manatorian. The fellow, thus
menaced, called aloud to Gahan to halt, at the same time thrusting Tara at
arm's length and threatening her heart with the point of his short-sword.

"Stay!" he cried, "or the woman dies, for such is the command of O-Tar,
rather than that she again fall into your hands."

Gahan stopped. But a few feet separated him from Tara and her captor,
yet he was helpless to aid her. Slowly the warrior backed toward the open
doorway behind him, dragging Tara with him. The girl struggled and
fought, but the warrior was a powerful man and having seized her by the
harness from behind was able to hold her in a position of helplessness.

"Save me, Turan!" she cried. "Let them not drag me to a fate worse than
death. Better that I die now while my eyes behold a brave friend than later,
fighting alone among enemies in defense of my honor."

He took a step nearer. The warrior made a threatening gesture with his
sword close to the soft, smooth skin of the princess, and Gahan halted.

"I cannot, Tara of Helium," he cried. "Think not ill of me that I am weak
—that I cannot see you die. Too great is my love for you, daughter of
Helium."

The Manatorian warrior, a derisive grin upon his lips, backed steadily
away. He had almost reached the doorway when Gahan saw another warrior
in the chamber toward which Tara was being borne—a fellow who moved
silently, almost stealthily, across the marble floor as he approached Tara's
captor from behind. In his right hand he grasped a long-sword.

"Two to one," thought Gahan, and a grim smile touched his lips, for he
had no doubt that once they had Tara safely in the adjoining chamber the
two would set upon him. If he could not save her, he could at least die for
her.

And then, suddenly, Gahan's eyes fastened with amazement upon the
figure of the warrior behind the grinning fellow who held Tara and was
forcing her to the doorway. He saw the newcomer step almost within arm's
reach of the other. He saw him stop, an expression of malevolent hatred
upon his features. He saw the great sword swing through the arc of a great
circle, gathering swift and terrific momentum from its own weight backed
by the brawn of the steel thews that guided it; he saw it pass through the
feathered skull of the Manatorian, splitting his sardonic grin in twain, and
open him to the middle of his breast bone.

As the dead hand relaxed its grasp upon Tara's wrist the girl leaped
forward, without a backward glance, to Gahan's side. His left arm encircled
her, nor did she draw away, as with ready sword the Gatholian awaited
Fate's next decree. Before them Tara's deliverer was wiping the blood from
his sword upon the hair of his victim. He was evidently a Manatorian, his
trappings those of the Jeddak's Guard, and so his act was inexplicable to
Gahan and to Tara. Presently he sheathed his sword and approached them.

"When a man chooses to hide his identity behind an assumed name," he
said, looking straight into Gahan's eyes, "whatever friend pierces the
deception were no friend if he divulged the other's secret."

He paused as though awaiting a reply.

"Your integrity has perceived and your lips voiced an unalterable truth,"
replied Gahan, whose mind was filled with wonder if the implication could
by any possibility be true—that this Manatorian had guessed his identity.

"We are thus agreed," continued the other, "and I may tell you that
though I am here known as A-Sor, my real name is Tasor." He paused and
watched Gahan's face intently for any sign of the effect of this knowledge
and was rewarded with a quick, though guarded expression of recognition.

Tasor! Friend of his youth. The son of that great Gatholian noble who
had given his life so gloriously, however futilely, in an attempt to defend
Gahan's sire from the daggers of the assassins. Tasor an under-padwar in the
guard of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator! It was inconceivable—and yet it was
he; there could be no doubt of it. "Tasor," Gahan repeated aloud. "But it is
no Manatorian name." The statement was half interrogatory, for Gahan's
curiosity was aroused. He would know how his friend and loyal subject had
become a Manatorian. Long years had passed since Tasor had disappeared
as mysteriously as the Princess Haja and many other of Gahan's subjects.
The Jed of Gathol had long supposed him dead.

"No," replied Tasor, "nor is it a Manatorian name. Come, while I search
for a hiding place for you in some forgotten chamber in one of the
untenanted portions of the palace, and as we go I will tell you briefly how
Tasor the Gatholian became A-Sor the Manatorian.

"It befell that as I rode with a dozen of my warriors along the western
border of Gathol searching for zitidars that had strayed from my herds, we
were set upon and surrounded by a great company of Manatorians. They
overpowered us, though not before half our number was slain and the
balance helpless from wounds. And so I was brought a prisoner to Manataj,
a distant city of Manator, and there sold into slavery. A woman bought me
—a princess of Manataj whose wealth and position were unequaled in the
city of her birth. She loved me and when her husband discovered her
infatuation she beseeched me to slay him, and when I refused she hired
another to do it. Then she married me; but none would have aught to do
with her in Manataj, for they suspected her guilty knowledge of her
husband's murder. And so we set out from Manataj for Manatos
accompanied by a great caravan bearing all her worldly goods and jewels
and precious metals, and on the way she caused the rumor to be spread that
she and I had died. Then we came to Manator instead, she taking a new
name and I the name A-Sor, that we might not be traced through our names.
With her great wealth she bought me a post in The Jeddak's Guard and none
knows that I am not a Manatorian, for she is dead. She was beautiful, but
she was a devil."

"And you never sought to return to your native city?" asked Gahan.

"Never has the hope been absent from my heart, or my mind empty of a
plan," replied Tasor. "I dream of it by day and by night, but always must I
return to the same conclusion—that there can be but a single means for
escape. I must wait until Fortune favors me with a place in a raiding party
to Gathol. Then, once within the boundaries of my own country, they shall
see me no more."

"Perhaps your opportunity lies already within your grasp," said Gahan,
"has not your fealty to your own Jed been undermined by years of
association with the men of Manator." The statement was half challenge.

"And my Jed stood before me now," cried Tasor, "and my avowal could
be made without violating his confidence, I should cast my sword at his feet
and beg the high privilege of dying for him as my sire died for his sire."

There could be no doubt of his sincerity nor any that he was cognizant of
Gahan's identity. The Jed of Gathol smiled. "And if your Jed were here
there is little doubt but that he would command you to devote your talents
and your prowess to the rescue of the Princess Tara of Helium," he said,
meaningly. "And he possessed the knowledge I have gained during my
captivity he would say to you, 'Go, Tasor, to the pit where A-kor, son of
Haja of Gathol, is confined and set him free and with him arouse the slaves
from Gathol and march to The Gate of Enemies and offer your services to
U-Thor of Manataj, who is wed to Haja of Gathol, and ask of him in return
that he attack the palace of O-Tar and rescue Tara of Helium and when that
thing is accomplished that he free the slaves of Gathol and furnish them
with the arms and the means to return to their own country.' That, Tasor of
Gathol, is what Gahan your Jed would demand of you."

"And that, Turan the slave, is what I shall bend my every effort to
accomplish after I have found a safe refuge for Tara of Helium and her
panthan," replied Tasor.

Gahan's glance carried to Tasor an intimation of his Jed's gratification
and filled him with a chivalrous determination to do the thing required of
him, or die, for he considered that he had received from the lips of his
beloved ruler a commission that placed upon his shoulders a responsibility
that encompassed not alone the life of Gahan and Tara but the welfare,
perhaps the whole future, of Gathol. And so he hastened them onward
through the musty corridors of the old palace where the dust of ages lay
undisturbed upon the marble tiles. Now and again he tried a door until he
found one that was unlocked. Opening it he ushered them into a chamber,
heavy with dust. Crumbling silks and furs adorned the walls, with ancient
weapons, and great paintings whose colors were toned by age to wondrous
softness.

"This be as good as any place," he said. "No one comes here. Never have
I been here before, so I know no more of the other chambers than you; but
this one, at least, I can find again when I bring you food and drink. O-Mai
the Cruel occupied this portion of the palace during his reign, five thousand
years before O-Tar. In one of these apartments he was found dead, his face
contorted in an expression of fear so horrible that it drove to madness those

who looked upon it; yet there was no mark of violence upon him. Since
then the quarters of O-Mai have been shunned for the legends have it that
the ghosts of Corphals pursue the spirit of the wicked Jeddak nightly
through these chambers, shrieking and moaning as they go. But," he added,
as though to reassure himself as well as his companions, "such things may
not be countenanced by the culture of Gathol or Helium."

Gahan laughed. "And if all who looked upon him were driven mad, who
then was there to perform the last rites or prepare the body of the Jeddak for
them?"

"There was none," replied Tasor. "Where they found him they left him
and there to this very day his mouldering bones lie hid in some forgotten
chamber of this forbidden suite."

Tasor left them then assuring them that he would seek the first
opportunity to speak with A-Kor, and upon the following day he would
bring them food and drink.*
* Those who have read John Carter's description of the Green Martians in A
Princess of Mars will recall that these strange people could exist for considerable
periods of time without food or water, and to a lesser degree is the same true of
all Martians.

After Tasor had gone Tara turned to Gahan and approaching laid a hand
upon his arm. "So swiftly have events transpired since I recognized you
beneath your disguise," she said, "that I have had no opportunity to assure
you of my gratitude and the high esteem that your valor has won for you in
my consideration. Let me now acknowledge my indebtedness; and if
promises be not vain from one whose life and liberty are in grave jeopardy,
accept my assurance of the great reward that awaits you at the hand of my
father in Helium."

"I desire no reward," he replied, "other than the happiness of knowing
that the woman I love is happy."

For an instant the eyes of Tara of Helium blazed as she drew herself
haughtily to her full height, and then they softened and her attitude relaxed
as she shook her head sadly.

"I have it not in my heart to reprimand you, Turan," she said, "however
great your fault, for you have been an honorable and a loyal friend to Tara
of Helium; but you must not say what my ears must not hear."

"You mean," he asked, "that the ears of a Princess must not listen to
words of love from a panthan?"

"It is not that, Turan," she replied; "but rather that I may not in honor
listen to words of love from another than him to whom I am betrothed—a
fellow countryman, Djor Kantos."

"You mean, Tara of Helium," he cried, "that were it not for that you
would—"

"Stop!" she commanded. "You have no right to assume aught else than
my lips testify."

"The eyes are ofttimes more eloquent than the lips, Tara," he replied;
"and in yours I have read that which is neither hatred nor contempt for
Turan the panthan, and my heart tells me that your lips bore false witness
when they cried in anger: 'I hate you!'"

"I do not hate you, Turan, nor yet may I love you," said the girl, simply.

"When I broke my way out from the chamber of I-Gos I was indeed
upon the verge of believing that you did hate me," he said, "for only hatred,
it seemed to me, could account for the fact that you had gone without
making an effort to liberate me; but presently both my heart and my
judgment told me that Tara of Helium could not have deserted a companion
in distress, and though I still am in ignorance of the facts I know that it was
beyond your power to aid me."

"It was indeed," said the girl. "Scarce had I-Gos fallen at the bite of my
dagger than I heard the approach of warriors. I ran then to hide until they

had passed, thinking to return and liberate you; but in seeking to elude the
party I had heard I ran full into the arms of another. They questioned me as
to your whereabouts, and I told them that you had gone ahead and that I
was following you and thus I led them from you."

"I knew," was Gahan's only comment, but his heart was glad with
elation, as a lover's must be who has heard from the lips of his divinity an
avowal of interest and loyalty, however little tinged by a suggestion of
warmer regard it may be. To be abused, even, by the mistress of one's heart
is better than to be ignored.

As the two conversed in the ill-lit chamber, the dim bulbs of which were
encrusted with the accumulated dust of centuries, a bent and withered figure
traversed slowly the gloomy corridors without, his weak and watery eyes
peering through thick lenses at the signs of passage written upon the dusty
floor.

CHAPTER XIX

THE MENACE OF THE DEAD

The night was still young when there came one to the entrance of the
banquet hall where O-Tar of Manator dined with his chiefs, and brushing
past the guards entered the great room with the insolence of a privileged
character, as in truth he was. As he approached the head of the long board
O-Tar took notice of him.

"Well, hoary one!" he cried. "What brings you out of your beloved and
stinking burrow again this day. We thought that the sight of the multitude of
living men at the games would drive you back to your corpses as quickly as
you could go."

The cackling laugh of I-Gos acknowledged the royal sally. "Ey, ey, O-
Tar," squeaked the ancient one, "I-Gos goes out not upon pleasure bound;
but when one does ruthlessly desecrate the dead of I-Gos, vengeance must
be had!"

"You refer to the act of the slave Turan?" demanded O-Tar.

"Turan, yes, and the slave Tara, who slipped beneath my hide a
murderous blade. Another fraction of an inch, O-Tar, and I-Gos' ancient and
wrinkled covering were even now in some apprentice tanner's hands, ey,
ey!"

"But they have again eluded us," cried O-Tar. "Even in the palace of the
great jeddak twice have they escaped the stupid knaves I call The Jeddak's
Guard." O-Tar had risen and was angrily emphasizing his words with heavy
blows upon the table, dealt with a golden goblet.

"Ey, O-Tar, they elude thy guard but not the wise old calot, I-Gos."

"What mean you? Speak!" commanded O-Tar.

"I know where they are hid," said the ancient taxidermist. "In the dust of
unused corridors their feet have betrayed them."

"You followed them? You have seen them?" demanded the jeddak.

"I followed them and I heard them speaking beyond a closed door,"
replied I-Gos; "but I did not see them."

"Where is that door?" cried O-Tar. "We will send at once and fetch
them," he looked about the table as though to decide to whom he would
entrust this duty. A dozen warrior chiefs arose and laid their hands upon
their swords.

"To the chambers of O-Mai the Cruel I traced them," squeaked I-Gos.
"There you will find them where the moaning Corphals pursue the
shrieking ghost of O-Mai; ey!" and he turned his eyes from O-Tar toward

the warriors who had arisen, only to discover that, to a man, they were
hurriedly resuming their seats.

The cackling laughter of I-Gos broke derisively the hush that had fallen
on the room. The warriors looked sheepishly at the food upon their plates of
gold. O-Tar snapped his fingers impatiently.

"Be there only cravens among the chiefs of Manator?" he cried.
"Repeatedly have these presumptuous slaves flouted the majesty of your
jeddak. Must I command one to go and fetch them?"

Slowly a chief arose and two others followed his example, though with
ill-concealed reluctance. "All, then, are not cowards," commented O-Tar.
"The duty is distasteful. Therefore all three of you shall go, taking as many
warriors as you wish."

"But do not ask for volunteers," interrupted I-Gos, "or you will go
alone."

The three chiefs turned and left the banquet hall, walking slowly like
doomed men to their fate.

Gahan and Tara remained in the chamber to which Tasor had led them,
the man brushing away the dust from a deep and comfortable bench where
they might rest in comparative comfort. He had found the ancient sleeping
silks and furs too far gone to be of any service, crumbling to powder at a
touch, thus removing any chance of making a comfortable bed for the girl,
and so the two sat together, talking in low tones, of the adventures through
which they already had passed and speculating upon the future; planning
means of escape and hoping Tasor would not be long gone. They spoke of
many things—of Hastor, and Helium, and Ptarth, and finally the
conversation reminded Tara of Gathol.

"You have served there?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Turan.

"I met Gahan the Jed of Gathol at my father's palace," she said, "the very
day before the storm snatched me from Helium—he was a presumptuous
fellow, magnificently trapped in platinum and diamonds. Never in my life
saw I so gorgeous a harness as his, and you must well know, Turan, that the
splendor of all Barsoom passes through the court at Helium; but in my mind
I could not see so resplendent a creature drawing that jeweled sword in
mortal combat. I fear me that the Jed of Gathol, though a pretty picture of a
man, is little else."

In the dim light Tara did not perceive the wry expression upon the half-
averted face of her companion.

"You thought little then of the Jed of Gathol?" he asked.

"Then or now," she replied, and with a little laugh; "how it would pique
his vanity to know, if he might, that a poor panthan had won a higher place
in the regard of Tara of Helium," and she laid her fingers gently upon his
knee.

He seized the fingers in his and carried them to his lips. "O, Tara of
Helium," he cried. "Think you that I am a man of stone?" One arm slipped
about her shoulders and drew the yielding body toward him.

"May my first ancestor forgive me my weakness," she cried, as her arms
stole about his neck and she raised her panting lips to his. For long they
clung there in love's first kiss and then she pushed him away, gently. "I love
you, Turan," she half sobbed; "I love you so! It is my only poor excuse for
having done this wrong to Djor Kantos, whom now I know I never loved,
who knew not the meaning of love. And if you love me as you say, Turan,
your love must protect me from greater dishonor, for I am but as clay in
your hands."

Again he crushed her to him and then as suddenly released her, and
rising, strode rapidly to and fro across the chamber as though he endeavored
by violent exercise to master and subdue some evil spirit that had laid hold
upon him. Ringing through his brain and heart and soul like some joyous
paean were those words that had so altered the world for Gahan of Gathol:
"I love you, Turan; I love you so!" And it had come so suddenly. He had

thought that she felt for him only gratitude for his loyalty and then, in an
instant, her barriers were all down, she was no longer a princess; but instead
a—his reflections were interrupted by a sound from beyond the closed door.
His sandals of zitidar hide had given forth no sound upon the marble floor
he strode, and as his rapid pacing carried him past the entrance to the
chamber there came faintly from the distance of the long corridor the sound
of metal on metal—the unmistakable herald of the approach of armed men.

For a moment Gahan listened intently, close to the door, until there could
be no doubt but that a party of warriors was approaching. From what Tasor
had told him he guessed correctly that they would be coming to this portion
of the palace but for a single purpose—to search for Tara and himself—and
it behooved him therefore to seek immediate means for eluding them. The
chamber in which they were had other doorways beside that at which they
had entered, and to one of these he must look for some safer hiding place.
Crossing to Tara he acquainted her with his suspicion, leading her to one of
the doors which they found unsecured. Beyond it lay a dimly-lighted
chamber at the threshold of which they halted in consternation, drawing
back quickly into the chamber they had just quitted, for their first glance
revealed four warriors seated around a jetan board.

That their entrance had not been noted was attributed by Gahan to the
absorption of the two players and their friends in the game. Quietly closing
the door the fugitives moved silently to the next, which they found locked.
There was now but another door which they had not tried, and this they
approached quickly as they knew that the searching party must be close to
the chamber. To their chagrin they found this avenue of escape barred.

Now indeed were they in a sorry plight, for should the searchers have
information leading them to this room they were lost. Again leading Tara to
the door behind which were the jetan players Gahan drew his sword and
waited, listening. The sound of the party in the corridor came distinctly to
their ears—they must be quite close, and doubtless they were coming in
force. Beyond the door were but four warriors who might be readily
surprised. There could, then, be but one choice and acting upon it Gahan
quietly opened the door again, stepped through into the adjoining chamber,
Tara's hand in his, and closed the door behind them. The four at the jetan

board evidently failed to hear them. One player had either just made or was
contemplating a move, for his fingers grasped a piece that still rested upon
the board. The other three were watching his move. For an instant Gahan
looked at them, playing jetan there in the dim light of this forgotten and
forbidden chamber, and then a slow smile of understanding lighted his face.

"Come!" he said to Tara. "We have nothing to fear from these. For more
than five thousand years they have sat thus, a monument to the handiwork
of some ancient taxidermist."

As they approached more closely they saw that the lifelike figures were
coated with dust, but that otherwise the skin was in as fine a state of
preservation as the most recent of I-Gos' groups, and then they heard the
door of the chamber they had quitted open and knew that the searchers were
close upon them. Across the room they saw the opening of what appeared to
be a corridor and which investigation proved to be a short passageway,
terminating in a chamber in the center of which was an ornate sleeping dais.
This room, like the others, was but poorly lighted, time having dimmed the
radiance of its bulbs and coated them with dust. A glance showed that it was
hung with heavy goods and contained considerable massive furniture in
addition to the sleeping platform, a second glance at which revealed what
appeared to be the form of a man lying partially on the floor and partially
on the dais. No doorways were visible other than that at which they had
entered, though both knew that others might be concealed by the hangings.

Gahan, his curiosity aroused by the legends surrounding this portion of
the palace, crossed to the dais to examine the figure that apparently had
fallen from it, to find the dried and shrivelled corpse of a man lying upon
his back on the floor with arms outstretched and fingers stiffly outspread.
One of his feet was doubled partially beneath him, while the other was still
entangled in the sleeping silks and furs upon the dais. After five thousand
years the expression of the withered face and the eyeless sockets retained
the aspect of horrid fear to such an extent, that Gahan knew that he was
looking upon the body of O-Mai the Cruel.

Suddenly Tara, who stood close beside him, clutched his arm and
pointed toward a far corner of the room. Gahan looked and looking felt the
hairs upon his neck rising. He threw his left arm about the girl and with

bared sword stood between her and the hangings that they watched, and
then slowly Gahan of Gathol backed away, for in this grim and somber
chamber, which no human foot had trod for five thousand years and to
which no breath of wind might enter, the heavy hangings in the far corner
had moved. Not gently had they moved as a draught might have moved
them had there been a draught, but suddenly they had bulged out as though
pushed against from behind. To the opposite corner backed Gahan until they
stood with their backs against the hangings there, and then hearing the
approach of their pursuers across the chamber beyond Gahan pushed Tara
through the hangings and, following her, kept open with his left hand,
which he had disengaged from the girl's grasp, a tiny opening through
which he could view the apartment and the doorway upon the opposite side
through which the pursuers would enter, if they came this far.

Behind the hangings there was a space of about three feet in width
between them and the wall, making a passageway entirely around the room,
broken only by the single entrance opposite them; this being a common
arrangement especially in the sleeping apartments of the rich and powerful
upon Barsoom. The purposes of this arrangement were several. The
passageway afforded a station for guards in the same room with their master
without intruding entirely upon his privacy; it concealed secret exits from
the chamber; it permitted the occupant of the room to hide eavesdroppers
and assassins for use against enemies that he might lure to his chamber.

The three chiefs with a dozen warriors had had no difficulty in following
the tracks of the fugitives through the dust of the corridors and chambers
they had traversed. To enter this portion of the palace at all had required all
the courage they possessed, and now that they were within the very
chambers of O-Mai their nerves were pitched to the highest key—another
turn and they would snap; for the people of Manator are filled with weird
superstitions. As they entered the outer chamber they moved slowly, with
drawn swords, no one seeming anxious to take the lead, and the twelve
warriors hanging back in unconcealed and shameless terror, while the three
chiefs, spurred on by fear of O-Tar and by pride, pressed together for
mutual encouragement as they slowly crossed the dimly-lighted room.

Following the tracks of Gahan and Tara they found that though each
doorway had been approached only one threshold had been crossed and this
door they gingerly opened, revealing to their astonished gaze the four
warriors at the jetan table. For a moment they were on the verge of flight,
for though they knew what they were, coming as they did upon them in this
mysterious and haunted suite, they were as startled as though they had
beheld the very ghosts of the departed. But they presently regained their
courage sufficiently to cross this chamber too and enter the short
passageway that led to the ancient sleeping apartment of O-Mai the Cruel.
They did not know that this awful chamber lay just before them, or it were
doubtful that they would have proceeded farther; but they saw that those
they sought had come this way and so they followed, but within the gloomy
interior of the chamber they halted, the three chiefs urging their followers,
in low whispers, to close in behind them, and there just within the entrance
they stood until, their eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, one of
them pointed suddenly to the thing lying upon the floor with one foot
tangled in the coverings of the dais.

"Look!" he gasped. "It is the corpse of O-Mai! Ancestor of ancestors! we
are in the forbidden chamber." Simultaneously there came from behind the
hangings beyond the grewsome dead a hollow moan followed by a piercing
scream, and the hangings shook and bellied before their eyes.

With one accord, chieftains and warriors, they turned and bolted for the
doorway; a narrow doorway, where they jammed, fighting and screaming in
an effort to escape. They threw away their swords and clawed at one
another to make a passage for escape; those behind climbed upon the
shoulders of those in front; and some fell and were trampled upon; but at
last they all got through, and, the swiftest first, they bolted across the two
intervening chambers to the outer corridor beyond, nor did they halt their
mad retreat before they stumbled, weak and trembling, into the banquet hall
of O-Tar. At sight of them the warriors who had remained with the jeddak
leaped to their feet with drawn swords, thinking that their fellows were
pursued by many enemies; but no one followed them into the room, and the
three chieftains came and stood before O-Tar with bowed heads and
trembling knees.

"Well?" demanded the jeddak. "What ails you? Speak!"

"O-Tar," cried one of them when at last he could master his voice.
"When have we three failed you in battle or combat? Have our swords been
not always among the foremost in defense of your safety and your honor?"

"Have I denied this?" demanded O-Tar.

"Listen, then, O Jeddak, and judge us with leniency. We followed the
two slaves to the apartments of O-Mai the Cruel. We entered the accursed
chambers and still we did not falter. We came at last to that horrid chamber
no human eye had scanned before in fifty centuries and we looked upon the
dead face of O-Mai lying as he has lain for all this time. To the very death
chamber of O-Mai the Cruel we came and yet we were ready to go farther;
when suddenly there broke upon our horrified ears the moans and the
shrieking that mark these haunted chambers and the hangings moved and
rustled in the dead air. O-Tar, it was more than human nerves could endure.
We turned and fled. We threw away our swords and fought with one another
to escape. With sorrow, but without shame, I tell it, for there be no man in
all Manator that would not have done the same. If these slaves be Corphals
they are safe among their fellow ghosts. If they be not Corphals, then
already are they dead in the chambers of O-Mai, and there may they rot for
all of me, for I would not return to that accursed spot for the harness of a
jeddak and the half of Barsoom for an empire. I have spoken."

O-Tar knitted his scowling brows. "Are all my chieftains cowards and
cravens?" he demanded presently in sneering tones.

From among those who had not been of the searching party a chieftain
arose and turned a scowling face upon O-Tar.

"The jeddak knows," he said, "that in the annals of Manator her jeddaks
have ever been accounted the bravest of her warriors. Where my jeddak
leads I will follow, nor may any jeddak call me a coward or a craven unless
I refuse to go where he dares to go. I have spoken."

After he had resumed his seat there was a painful silence, for all knew
that the speaker had challenged the courage of O-Tar the Jeddak of Manator

and all awaited the reply of their ruler. In every mind was the same thought
—O-Tar must lead them at once to the chamber of O-Mai the Cruel, or
accept forever the stigma of cowardice, and there could be no coward upon
the throne of Manator. That they all knew and that O-Tar knew, as well.

But O-Tar hesitated. He looked about upon the faces of those around him
at the banquet board; but he saw only the grim visages of relentless
warriors. There was no trace of leniency in the face of any. And then his
eyes wandered to a small entrance at one side of the great chamber. An
expression of relief expunged the scowl of anxiety from his features.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "See who has come!"

CHAPTER XX

THE CHARGE OF COWARDICE

Gahan, watching through the aperture between the hangings, saw the
frantic flight of their pursuers. A grim smile rested upon his lips as he
viewed the mad scramble for safety and saw them throw away their swords
and fight with one another to be first from the chamber of fear, and when
they were all gone he turned back toward Tara, the smile still upon his lips;
but the smile died the instant that he turned, for he saw that Tara had
disappeared.

"Tara!" he called in a loud voice, for he knew that there was no danger
that their pursuers would return; but there was no response, unless it was a
faint sound as of cackling laughter from afar. Hurriedly he searched the
passageway behind the hangings finding several doors, one of which was
ajar. Through this he entered the adjoining chamber which was lighted more
brilliantly for the moment by the soft rays of hurtling Thuria taking her mad
way through the heavens. Here he found the dust upon the floor disturbed,

and the imprint of sandals. They had come this way—Tara and whatever the
creature was that had stolen her.

But what could it have been? Gahan, a man of culture and high
intelligence, held few if any superstitions. In common with nearly all races
of Barsoom he clung, more or less inherently, to a certain exalted form of
ancestor worship, though it was rather the memory or legends of the virtues
and heroic deeds of his forebears that he deified rather than themselves. He
never expected any tangible evidence of their existence after death; he did
not believe that they had the power either for good or for evil other than the
effect that their example while living might have had upon following
generations; he did not believe therefore in the materialization of dead
spirits. If there was a life hereafter he knew nothing of it, for he knew that
science had demonstrated the existence of some material cause for every
seemingly supernatural phenomenon of ancient religions and superstitions.
Yet he was at a loss to know what power might have removed Tara so
suddenly and mysteriously from his side in a chamber that had not known
the presence of man for five thousand years.

In the darkness he could not see whether there were the imprints of other
sandals than Tara's—only that the dust was disturbed—and when it led him
into gloomy corridors he lost the trail altogether. A perfect labyrinth of
passages and apartments were now revealed to him as he hurried on through
the deserted quarters of O-Mai. Here was an ancient bath—doubtless that of
the jeddak himself, and again he passed through a room in which a meal
had been laid upon a table five thousand years before—the untasted
breakfast of O-Mai, perhaps. There passed before his eyes in the brief
moments that he traversed the chambers, a wealth of ornaments and jewels
and precious metals that surprised even the Jed of Gathol whose harness
was of diamonds and platinum and whose riches were the envy of a world.
But at last his search of O-Mai's chambers ended in a small closet in the
floor of which was the opening to a spiral runway leading straight down
into Stygian darkness. The dust at the entrance of the closet had been
freshly disturbed, and as this was the only possible indication that Gahan
had of the direction taken by the abductor of Tara it seemed as well to
follow on as to search elsewhere. So, without hesitation, he descended into
the utter darkness below. Feeling with a foot before taking a forward step

his descent was necessarily slow, but Gahan was a Barsoomian and so knew
the pitfalls that might await the unwary in such dark, forbidden portions of
a jeddak's palace.

He had descended for what he judged might be three full levels and was
pausing, as he occasionally did, to listen, when he distinctly heard a
peculiar shuffling, scraping sound approaching him from below. Whatever
the thing was it was ascending the runway at a steady pace and would soon
be near him. Gahan laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword and drew it
slowly from its scabbard that he might make no noise that would apprise the
creature of his presence. He wished that there might be even the slightest
lessening of the darkness. If he could see but the outline of the thing that
approached him he would feel that he had a fairer chance in the meeting;
but he could see nothing, and then because he could see nothing the end of
his scabbard struck the stone side of the runway, giving off a sound that the
stillness and the narrow confines of the passage and the darkness seemed to
magnify to a terrific clatter.

Instantly the shuffling sound of approach ceased. For a moment Gahan
stood in silent waiting, then casting aside discretion he moved on again
down the spiral. The thing, whatever it might be, gave forth no sound now
by which Gahan might locate it. At any moment it might be upon him and
so he kept his sword in readiness. Down, ever downward the steep spiral
led. The darkness and the silence of the tomb surrounded him, yet
somewhere ahead was something. He was not alone in that horrid place—
another presence that he could not hear or see hovered before him—of that
he was positive. Perhaps it was the thing that had stolen Tara. Perhaps Tara
herself, still in the clutches of some nameless horror, was just ahead of him.
He quickened his pace—it became almost a run at the thought of the danger
that threatened the woman he loved, and then he collided with a wooden
door that swung open to the impact. Before him was a lighted corridor. On
either side were chambers. He had advanced but a short distance from the
bottom of the spiral when he recognized that he was in the pits below the
palace. A moment later he heard behind him the shuffling sound that had
attracted his attention in the spiral runway. Wheeling about he saw the
author of the sound emerging from a doorway he had just passed. It was
Ghek the kaldane.

"Ghek!" exclaimed Gahan. "It was you in the runway? Have you seen
Tara of Helium?"

"It was I in the spiral," replied the kaldane; "but I have not seen Tara of
Helium. I have been searching for her. Where is she?"

"I do not know," replied the Gatholian; "but we must find her and take
her from this place."

"We may find her," said Ghek; "but I doubt our ability to take her away.
It is not so easy to leave Manator as it is to enter it. I may come and go at
will, through the ancient burrows of the ulsios; but you are too large for that
and your lungs need more air than may be found in some of the deeper
runways."

"But U-Thor!" exclaimed Gahan. "Have you heard aught of him or his
intentions?"

"I have heard much," replied Ghek. "He camps at The Gate of Enemies.
That spot he holds and his warriors lie just beyond The Gate; but he has not
sufficient force to enter the city and take the palace. An hour since and you
might have made your way to him; but now every avenue is strongly
guarded since O-Tar learned that A-Kor had escaped to U-Thor."

"A-Kor has escaped and joined U-Thor!" exclaimed Gahan.

"But little more than an hour since. I was with him when a warrior came
—a man whose name is Tasor—who brought a message from you. It was
decided that Tasor should accompany A-Kor in an attempt to reach the
camp of U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos, and exact from him the
assurances you required. Then U-Thor was to return and take food to you
and the Princess of Helium. I accompanied them. We won through easily
and found U-Thor more than willing to respect your every wish, but when
Tasor would have returned to you the way was blocked by the warriors of
O-Tar. Then it was that I volunteered to come to you and report and find
food and drink and then go forth among the Gatholian slaves of Manator
and prepare them for their part in the plan that U-Thor and Tasor
conceived."

"And what was this plan?"

"U-Thor has sent for reinforcements. To Manatos he has sent and to all
the outlying districts that are his. It will take a month to collect and bring
them hither and in the meantime the slaves within the city are to organize
secretly, stealing and hiding arms against the day that the reinforcements
arrive. When that day comes the forces of U-Thor will enter the Gate of
Enemies and as the warriors of O-Tar rush to repulse them the slaves from
Gathol will fall upon them from the rear with the majority of their numbers,
while the balance will assault the palace. They hope thus to divert so many
from The Gate that U-Thor will have little difficulty in forcing an entrance
to the city."

"Perhaps they will succeed," commented Gahan; "but the warriors of O-
Tar are many, and those who fight in defense of their homes and their
jeddak have always an advantage. Ah, Ghek, would that we had the great
warships of Gathol or of Helium to pour their merciless fire into the streets
of Manator while U-Thor marched to the palace over the corpses of the
slain." He paused, deep in thought, and then turned his gaze again upon the
kaldane. "Heard you aught of the party that escaped with me from The Field
of Jetan—of Floran, Val Dor, and the others? What of them?"

"Ten of these won through to U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies and were
well received by him. Eight fell in the fighting upon the way. Val Dor and
Floran live, I believe, for I am sure that I heard U-Thor address two
warriors by these names."

"Good!" exclaimed Gahan. "Go then, through the burrows of the ulsios,
to The Gate of Enemies and carry to Floran the message that I shall write in
his own language. Come, while I write the message."

In a nearby room they found a bench and table and there Gahan sat and
wrote in the strange, stenographic characters of Martian script a message to
Floran of Gathol. "Why," he asked, when he had finished it, "did you search
for Tara through the spiral runway where we nearly met?"

"Tasor told me where you were to be found, and as I have explored the
greater part of the palace by means of the ulsio runways and the darker and

less frequented passages I knew precisely where you were and how to reach
you. This secret spiral ascends from the pits to the roof of the loftiest of the
palace towers. It has secret openings at every level; but there is no living
Manatorian, I believe, who knows of its existence. At least never have I met
one within it and I have used it many times. Thrice have I been in the
chamber where O-Mai lies, though I knew nothing of his identity or the
story of his death until Tasor told it to us in the camp of U-Thor."

"You know the palace thoroughly then?" Gahan interrupted.

"Better than O-Tar himself or any of his servants."

"Good! And you would serve the Princess Tara, Ghek, you may serve her
best by accompanying Floran and following his instructions. I will write
them here at the close of my message to him, for the walls have ears, Ghek,
while none but a Gatholian may read what I have written to Floran. He will
transmit it to you. Can I trust you?"

"I may never return to Bantoom," replied Ghek. "Therefore I have but
two friends in all Barsoom. What better may I do than serve them
faithfully? You may trust me, Gatholian, who with a woman of your kind
has taught me that there be finer and nobler things than perfect mentality
uninfluenced by the unreasoning tuitions of the heart. I go."

As O-Tar pointed to the little doorway all eyes turned in the direction he
indicated and surprise was writ large upon the faces of the warriors when
they recognized the two who had entered the banquet hall. There was I-Gos,
and he dragged behind him one who was gagged and whose hands were
fastened behind with a ribbon of tough silk. It was the slave girl. I-Gos'
cackling laughter rose above the silence of the room.

"Ey, ey!" he shrilled. "What the young warriors of O-Tar cannot do, old
I-Gos does alone."

"Only a Corphal may capture a Corphal," growled one of the chiefs who
had fled from the chambers of O-Mai.