Warlord of Mars



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3. THE TEMPLE OF THE SUN

There was nothing for it now other than to fight; nor did I have

any advantage as I sprang, sword in hand, into the corridor before

the two therns, for my untimely sneeze had warned them of my presence

and they were ready for me.
There were no words, for they would have been a waste of breath.

The very presence of the two proclaimed their treachery. That

they were following to fall upon me unawares was all too plain,

and they, of course, must have known that I understood their plan.


In an instant I was engaged with both, and though I loathe the very

name of thern, I must in all fairness admit that they are mighty

swordsmen; and these two were no exception, unless it were that

they were even more skilled and fearless than the average among

their race.
While it lasted it was indeed as joyous a conflict as I ever had

experienced. Twice at least I saved my breast from the mortal

thrust of piercing steel only by the wondrous agility with which

my earthly muscles endow me under the conditions of lesser gravity

and air pressure upon Mars.
Yet even so I came near to tasting death that day in the gloomy

corridor beneath Mars's southern pole, for Lakor played a trick

upon me that in all my experience of fighting upon two planets I

never before had witnessed the like of.


The other thern was engaging me at the time, and I was forcing

him back--touching him here and there with my point until he was

bleeding from a dozen wounds, yet not being able to penetrate his

marvelous guard to reach a vulnerable spot for the brief instant

that would have been sufficient to send him to his ancestors.
It was then that Lakor quickly unslung a belt from his harness,

and as I stepped back to parry a wicked thrust he lashed one end

of it about my left ankle so that it wound there for an instant,

while he jerked suddenly upon the other end, throwing me heavily

upon my back.
Then, like leaping panthers, they were upon me; but they

had reckoned without Woola, and before ever a blade touched me, a

roaring embodiment of a thousand demons hurtled above my prostrate

form and my loyal Martian calot was upon them.


Imagine, if you can, a huge grizzly with ten legs armed with mighty

talons and an enormous froglike mouth splitting his head from ear

to ear, exposing three rows of long, white tusks. Then endow this

creature of your imagination with the agility and ferocity of a

half-starved Bengal tiger and the strength of a span of bulls, and

you will have some faint conception of Woola in action.


Before I could call him off he had crushed Lakor into a jelly with

a single blow of one mighty paw, and had literally torn the other

thern to ribbons; yet when I spoke to him sharply he cowed sheepishly

as though he had done a thing to deserve censure and chastisement.


Never had I had the heart to punish Woola during the long years

that had passed since that first day upon Mars when the green jed

of the Tharks had placed him on guard over me, and I had won his

love and loyalty from the cruel and loveless masters of his former

life, yet I believe he would have submitted to any cruelty that I

might have inflicted upon him, so wondrous was his affection for

me.
The diadem in the center of the circlet of gold upon the brow of

Lakor proclaimed him a Holy Thern, while his companion, not thus

adorned, was a lesser thern, though from his harness I gleaned that

he had reached the Ninth Cycle, which is but one below that of the

Holy Therns.
As I stood for a moment looking at the gruesome havoc Woola had

wrought, there recurred to me the memory of that other occasion

upon which I had masqueraded in the wig, diadem, and harness of

Sator Throg, the Holy Thern whom Thuvia of Ptarth had slain, and now

it occurred to me that it might prove of worth to utilize Lakor's

trappings for the same purpose.


A moment later I had torn his yellow wig from his bald pate and

transferred it and the circlet, as well as all his harness, to my

own person.
Woola did not approve of the metamorphosis. He sniffed at me and

growled ominously, but when I spoke to him and patted his huge head

he at length became reconciled to the change, and at my command

trotted off along the corridor in the direction we had been going

when our progress had been interrupted by the therns.
We moved cautiously now, warned by the fragment of conversation

I had overheard. I kept abreast of Woola that we might have the

benefit of all our eyes for what might appear suddenly ahead to

menace us, and well it was that we were forewarned.


At the bottom of a flight of narrow steps the corridor turned sharply

back upon itself, immediately making another turn in the original

direction, so that at that point it formed a perfect letter S,

the top leg of which debouched suddenly into a large chamber, illy

lighted, and the floor of which was completely covered by venomous

snakes and loathsome reptiles.


To have attempted to cross that floor would have been to court

instant death, and for a moment I was almost completely discouraged.

Then it occurred to me that Thurid and Matai Shang with their party

must have crossed it, and so there was a way.


Had it not been for the fortunate accident by which I overheard

even so small a portion of the therns' conversation we should

have blundered at least a step or two into that wriggling mass of

destruction, and a single step would have been all-sufficient to

have sealed our doom.
These were the only reptiles I had ever seen upon Barsoom, but I

knew from their similarity to the fossilized remains of supposedly

extinct species I had seen in the museums of Helium that they

comprised many of the known prehistoric reptilian genera, as well

as others undiscovered.
A more hideous aggregation of monsters had never before assailed my

vision. It would be futile to attempt to describe them to Earth

men, since substance is the only thing which they possess in

common with any creature of the past or present with which you are

familiar--even their venom is of an unearthly virulence that, by

comparison, would make the cobra de capello seem quite as harmless

as an angleworm.
As they spied me there was a concerted rush by those nearest the

entrance where we stood, but a line of radium bulbs inset along the

threshold of their chamber brought them to a sudden halt--evidently

they dared not cross that line of light.


I had been quite sure that they would not venture beyond the room

in which I had discovered them, though I had not guessed at what

deterred them. The simple fact that we had found no reptiles in

the corridor through which we had just come was sufficient assurance

that they did not venture there.
I drew Woola out of harm's way, and then began a careful survey

of as much of the Chamber of Reptiles as I could see from where

I stood. As my eyes became accustomed to the dim light of its

interior I gradually made out a low gallery at the far end of the

apartment from which opened several exits.
Coming as close to the threshold as I dared, I followed this

gallery with my eyes, discovering that it circled the room as far

as I could see. Then I glanced above me along the upper edge of

the entrance to which we had come, and there, to my delight, I saw

an end of the gallery not a foot above my head. In an instant I

had leaped to it and called Woola after me.


Here there were no reptiles--the way was clear to the opposite side

of the hideous chamber--and a moment later Woola and I dropped down

to safety in the corridor beyond.
Not ten minutes later we came into a vast circular apartment

of white marble, the walls of which were inlaid with gold in the

strange hieroglyphics of the First Born.
From the high dome of this mighty apartment a huge circular column

extended to the floor, and as I watched I saw that it slowly

revolved.
I had reached the base of the Temple of the Sun!
Somewhere above me lay Dejah Thoris, and with her were Phaidor,

daughter of Matai Shang, and Thuvia of Ptarth. But how to reach

them, now that I had found the only vulnerable spot in their mighty

prison, was still a baffling riddle.


Slowly I circled the great shaft, looking for a means of ingress.

Part way around I found a tiny radium flash torch, and as I examined

it in mild curiosity as to its presence there in this almost

inaccessible and unknown spot, I came suddenly upon the insignia

of the house of Thurid jewel-inset in its metal case.
I am upon the right trail, I thought, as I slipped the bauble into

the pocket-pouch which hung from my harness. Then I continued

my search for the entrance, which I knew must be somewhere about;

nor had I long to search, for almost immediately thereafter I came

upon a small door so cunningly inlaid in the shaft's base that it

might have passed unnoticed by a less keen or careful observer.


There was the door that would lead me within the prison, but where

was the means to open it? No button or lock were visible. Again

and again I went carefully over every square inch of its surface,

but the most that I could find was a tiny pinhole a little above

and to the right of the door's center--a pinhole that seemed only

an accident of manufacture or an imperfection of material.


Into this minute aperture I attempted to peer, but whether it was

but a fraction of an inch deep or passed completely through the door

I could not tell--at least no light showed beyond it. I put my ear

to it next and listened, but again my efforts brought negligible

results.
During these experiments Woola had been standing at my side gazing

intently at the door, and as my glance fell upon him it occurred

to me to test the correctness of my hypothesis, that this portal

had been the means of ingress to the temple used by Thurid, the

black dator, and Matai Shang, Father of Therns.
Turning away abruptly, I called to him to follow me. For a moment

he hesitated, and then leaped after me, whining and tugging at my

harness to draw me back. I walked on, however, some distance from

the door before I let him have his way, that I might see precisely

what he would do. Then I permitted him to lead me wherever he

would.
Straight back to that baffling portal he dragged me, again taking

up his position facing the blank stone, gazing straight at its

shining surface. For an hour I worked to solve the mystery of the

combination that would open the way before me.
Carefully I recalled every circumstance of my pursuit of Thurid,

and my conclusion was identical with my original belief--that Thurid

had come this way without other assistance than his own knowledge

and passed through the door that barred my progress, unaided from

within. But how had he accomplished it?
I recalled the incident of the Chamber of Mystery in the Golden

Cliffs that time I had freed Thuvia of Ptarth from the dungeon of

the therns, and she had taken a slender, needle-like key from the

keyring of her dead jailer to open the door leading back into the

Chamber of Mystery where Tars Tarkas fought for his life with the

great banths. Such a tiny keyhole as now defied me had opened the

way to the intricate lock in that other door.
Hastily I dumped the contents of my pocket-pouch upon the ground

before me. Could I but find a slender bit of steel I might yet

fashion a key that would give me ingress to the temple prison.
As I examined the heterogeneous collection of odds and ends that

is always to be found in the pocket-pouch of a Martian warrior my

hand fell upon the emblazoned radium flash torch of the black dator.
As I was about to lay the thing aside as of no value in my present

predicament my eyes chanced upon a few strange characters roughly

and freshly scratched upon the soft gold of the case.
Casual curiosity prompted me to decipher them, but what I read

carried no immediate meaning to my mind. There were three sets of

characters, one below another:

3 |--| 50 T

1 |--| 1 X

9 |--| 25 T

For only an instant my curiosity was piqued, and then I replaced

the torch in my pocket-pouch, but my fingers had not unclasped

from it when there rushed to my memory the recollection of the

conversation between Lakor and his companion when the lesser thern

had quoted the words of Thurid and scoffed at them: "And what

think you of the ridiculous matter of the light? Let the light

shine with the intensity of three radium units for fifty tals"--ah,

there was the first line of characters upon the torch's metal

case--3--50 T; "and for one xat let it shine with the intensity

of one radium unit"--there was the second line; "and then for

twenty-five tals with nine units."
The formula was complete; but--what did it mean?
I thought I knew, and, seizing a powerful magnifying glass from the

litter of my pocket-pouch, I applied myself to a careful examination

of the marble immediately about the pinhole in the door. I could

have cried aloud in exultation when my scrutiny disclosed the almost

invisible incrustation of particles of carbonized electrons which

are thrown off by these Martian torches.


It was evident that for countless ages radium torches had been

applied to this pinhole, and for what purpose there could be but

a single answer--the mechanism of the lock was actuated by light

rays; and I, John Carter, Prince of Helium, held the combination

in my hand--scratched by the hand of my enemy upon his own torch

case.
In a cylindrical bracelet of gold about my wrist was my Barsoomian

chronometer--a delicate instrument that records the tals and xats

and zodes of Martian time, presenting them to view beneath a strong

crystal much after the manner of an earthly odometer.
Timing my operations carefully, I held the torch to the small aperture

in the door, regulating the intensity of the light by means of the

thumb-lever upon the side of the case.
For fifty tals I let three units of light shine full in the pinhole,

then one unit for one xat, and for twenty-five tals nine units.

Those last twenty-five tals were the longest twenty-five seconds

of my life. Would the lock click at the end of those seemingly


interminable intervals of time?
Twenty-three! Twenty-four! Twenty-five!
I shut off the light with a snap. For seven tals I waited--there

had been no appreciable effect upon the lock's mechanism. Could

it be that my theory was entirely wrong?
Hold! Had the nervous strain resulted in a hallucination, or did

the door really move? Slowly the solid stone sank noiselessly back

into the wall--there was no hallucination here.
Back and back it slid for ten feet until it had disclosed at its

right a narrow doorway leading into a dark and narrow corridor that

paralleled the outer wall. Scarcely was the entrance uncovered

than Woola and I had leaped through--then the door slipped quietly

back into place.
Down the corridor at some distance I saw the faint reflection of

a light, and toward this we made our way. At the point where the

light shone was a sharp turn, and a little distance beyond this a

brilliantly lighted chamber.


Here we discovered a spiral stairway leading up from the center of

the circular room.


Immediately I knew that we had reached the center of the base of

the Temple of the Sun--the spiral runway led upward past the inner

walls of the prison cells. Somewhere above me was Dejah Thoris,

unless Thurid and Matai Shang had already succeeded in stealing

her.
We had scarcely started up the runway when Woola suddenly displayed

the wildest excitement. He leaped back and forth, snapping at my

legs and harness, until I thought that he was mad, and finally when

I pushed him from me and started once more to ascend he grasped my

sword arm between his jaws and dragged me back.
No amount of scolding or cuffing would suffice to make him release

me, and I was entirely at the mercy of his brute strength unless

I cared to use my dagger upon him with my left hand; but, mad or

no, I had not the heart to run the sharp blade into that faithful

body.
Down into the chamber he dragged me, and across it to the side

opposite that at which we had entered. Here was another doorway

leading into a corridor which ran directly down a steep incline.

Without a moment's hesitation Woola jerked me along this rocky

passage.
Presently he stopped and released me, standing between me and the

way we had come, looking up into my face as though to ask if I would

now follow him voluntarily or if he must still resort to force.
Looking ruefully at the marks of his great teeth upon my bare arm

I decided to do as he seemed to wish me to do. After all, his strange

instinct might be more dependable than my faulty human judgment.
And well it was that I had been forced to follow him. But a

short distance from the circular chamber we came suddenly into a

brilliantly lighted labyrinth of crystal glass partitioned passages.
At first I thought it was one vast, unbroken chamber, so clear and

transparent were the walls of the winding corridors, but after I

had nearly brained myself a couple of times by attempting to pass

through solid vitreous walls I went more carefully.


We had proceeded but a few yards along the corridor that had given

us entrance to this strange maze when Woola gave mouth to a most

frightful roar, at the same time dashing against the clear partition

at our left.


The resounding echoes of that fearsome cry were still reverberating

through the subterranean chambers when I saw the thing that had

startled it from the faithful beast.
Far in the distance, dimly through the many thicknesses of intervening

crystal, as in a haze that made them seem unreal and ghostly, I

discerned the figures of eight people--three females and five men.
At the same instant, evidently startled by Woola's fierce cry, they

halted and looked about. Then, of a sudden, one of them, a woman,

held her arms out toward me, and even at that great distance I could

see that her lips moved--it was Dejah Thoris, my ever beautiful

and ever youthful Princess of Helium.
With her were Thuvia of Ptarth, Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang,

and Thurid, and the Father of Therns, and the three lesser therns

that had accompanied them.
Thurid shook his fist at me, and then two of the therns grasped

Dejah Thoris and Thuvia roughly by their arms and hurried them on.

A moment later they had disappeared into a stone corridor beyond

the labyrinth of glass.


They say that love is blind; but so great a love as that of Dejah

Thoris that knew me even beneath the thern disguise I wore and across

the misty vista of that crystal maze must indeed be far from blind.


4. THE SECRET TOWER

I have no stomach to narrate the monotonous events of the tedious

days that Woola and I spent ferreting our way across the labyrinth

of glass, through the dark and devious ways beyond that led beneath

the Valley Dor and Golden Cliffs to emerge at last upon the flank

of the Otz Mountains just above the Valley of Lost Souls--that

pitiful purgatory peopled by the poor unfortunates who dare not

continue their abandoned pilgrimage to Dor, or return to the various

lands of the outer world from whence they came.
Here the trail of Dejah Thoris' abductors led along the mountains'

base, across steep and rugged ravines, by the side of appalling

precipices, and sometimes out into the valley, where we found

fighting aplenty with the members of the various tribes that make

up the population of this vale of hopelessness.
But through it all we came at last to where the way led up a narrow

gorge that grew steeper and more impracticable at every step until

before us loomed a mighty fortress buried beneath the side of an

overhanging cliff.


Here was the secret hiding place of Matai Shang, Father of Therns.

Here, surrounded by a handful of the faithful, the hekkador of

the ancient faith, who had once been served by millions of vassals

and dependents, dispensed the spiritual words among the half dozen

nations of Barsoom that still clung tenaciously to their false and

discredited religion.


Darkness was just falling as we came in sight of the seemingly

impregnable walls of this mountain stronghold, and lest we be seen

I drew back with Woola behind a jutting granite promontory, into

a clump of the hardy, purple scrub that thrives upon the barren

sides of Otz.
Here we lay until the quick transition from daylight to darkness

had passed. Then I crept out to approach the fortress walls in

search of a way within.
Either through carelessness or over-confidence in the supposed

inaccessibility of their hiding place, the triple-barred gate stood

ajar. Beyond were a handful of guards, laughing and talking over

one of their incomprehensible Barsoomian games.


I saw that none of the guardsmen had been of the party that

accompanied Thurid and Matai Shang; and so, relying entirely upon

my disguise, I walked boldly through the gateway and up to the

thern guard.


The men stopped their game and looked up at me, but there was no

sign of suspicion. Similarly they looked at Woola, growling at my

heel.
"Kaor!" I said in true Martian greeting, and the warriors arose and

saluted me. "I have but just found my way hither from the Golden

Cliffs," I continued, "and seek audience with the hekkador, Matai

Shang, Father of Therns. Where may he be found?"


"Follow me," said one of the guard, and, turning, led me across

the outer courtyard toward a second buttressed wall.


Why the apparent ease with which I seemingly deceived them did

not rouse my suspicions I know not, unless it was that my mind was

still so full of that fleeting glimpse of my beloved princess that

there was room in it for naught else. Be that as it may, the fact

is that I marched buoyantly behind my guide straight into the jaws

of death.


Afterward I learned that thern spies had been aware of my coming

for hours before I reached the hidden fortress.


The gate had been purposely left ajar to tempt me on. The guards

had been schooled well in their part of the conspiracy; and I,

more like a schoolboy than a seasoned warrior, ran headlong into

the trap.


At the far side of the outer court a narrow door let into the

angle made by one of the buttresses with the wall. Here my guide

produced a key and opened the way within; then, stepping back, he

motioned me to enter.


"Matai Shang is in the temple court beyond," he said; and as Woola

and I passed through, the fellow closed the door quickly upon us.


The nasty laugh that came to my ears through the heavy planking of

the door after the lock clicked was my first intimation that all

was not as it should be.
I found myself in a small, circular chamber within the buttress.

Before me a door opened, presumably, upon the inner court beyond.

For a moment I hesitated, all my suspicions now suddenly, though

tardily, aroused; then, with a shrug of my shoulders, I opened the

door and stepped out into the glare of torches that lighted the

inner court.


Directly opposite me a massive tower rose to a height of three

hundred feet. It was of the strangely beautiful modern Barsoomian

style of architecture, its entire surface hand carved in bold

relief with intricate and fanciful designs. Thirty feet above

the courtyard and overlooking it was a broad balcony, and there,

indeed, was Matai Shang, and with him were Thurid and Phaidor,

Thuvia, and Dejah Thoris--the last two heavily ironed. A handful

of thern warriors stood just behind the little party.


As I entered the enclosure the eyes of those in the balcony were

full upon me.


An ugly smile distorted the cruel lips of Matai Shang. Thurid

hurled a taunt at me and placed a familiar hand upon the shoulder

of my princess. Like a tigress she turned upon him, striking the

beast a heavy blow with the manacles upon her wrist.


He would have struck back had not Matai Shang interfered, and then

I saw that the two men were not over-friendly; for the manner of

the thern was arrogant and domineering as he made it plain to the

First Born that the Princess of Helium was the personal property

of the Father of Therns. And Thurid's bearing toward the ancient

hekkador savored not at all of liking or respect.


When the altercation in the balcony had subsided Matai Shang turned

again to me.


"Earth man," he cried, "you have earned a more ignoble death than

now lies within our weakened power to inflict upon you; but that the

death you die tonight may be doubly bitter, know you that when you

have passed, your widow becomes the wife of Matai Shang, Hekkador

of the Holy Therns, for a Martian year.
"At the end of that time, as you know, she shall be discarded,

as is the law among us, but not, as is usual, to lead a quiet and

honored life as high priestess of some hallowed shrine. Instead,

Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, shall become the plaything of

my lieutenants--perhaps of thy most hated enemy, Thurid, the black

dator."
As he ceased speaking he awaited in silence evidently for some

outbreak of rage upon my part--something that would have added to

the spice of his revenge. But I did not give him the satisfaction

that he craved.
Instead, I did the one thing of all others that might rouse his

anger and increase his hatred of me; for I knew that if I died

Dejah Thoris, too, would find a way to die before they could heap

further tortures or indignities upon her.


Of all the holy of holies which the thern venerates and worships

none is more revered than the yellow wig which covers his bald pate,

and next thereto comes the circlet of gold and the great diadem,

whose scintillant rays mark the attainment of the Tenth Cycle.


And, knowing this, I removed the wig and circlet from my head,

tossing them carelessly upon the flagging of the court. Then I

wiped my feet upon the yellow tresses; and as a groan of rage arose

from the balcony I spat full upon the holy diadem.


Matai Shang went livid with anger, but upon the lips of Thurid I

could see a grim smile of amusement, for to him these things were

not holy; so, lest he should derive too much amusement from my

act, I cried: "And thus did I with the holies of Issus, Goddess

of Life Eternal, ere I threw Issus herself to the mob that once

had worshiped her, to be torn to pieces in her own temple."


That put an end to Thurid's grinning, for he had been high in the

favor of Issus.


"Let us have an end to this blaspheming!" he cried, turning to the

Father of Therns.


Matai Shang rose and, leaning over the edge of the balcony, gave

voice to the weird call that I had heard from the lips of the

priests upon the tiny balcony upon the face of the Golden Cliffs

overlooking the Valley Dor, when, in times past, they called

the fearsome white apes and the hideous plant men to the feast of

victims floating down the broad bosom of the mysterious Iss toward

the silian-infested waters of the Lost Sea of Korus. "Let loose

the death!" he cried, and immediately a dozen doors in the base of

the tower swung open, and a dozen grim and terrible banths sprang

into the arena.


This was not the first time that I had faced the ferocious Barsoomian

lion, but never had I been pitted, single-handed, against a full

dozen of them. Even with the assistance of the fierce Woola, there

could be but a single outcome to so unequal a struggle.


For a moment the beasts hesitated beneath the brilliant glare

of the torches; but presently their eyes, becoming accustomed to

the light, fell upon Woola and me, and with bristling manes and

deep-throated roars they advanced, lashing their tawny sides with

their powerful tails.
In the brief interval of life that was left me I shot a last,

parting glance toward my Dejah Thoris. Her beautiful face was set

in an expression of horror; and as my eyes met hers she extended

both arms toward me as, struggling with the guards who now held

her, she endeavored to cast herself from the balcony into the pit

beneath, that she might share my death with me. Then, as the banths

were about to close upon me, she turned and buried her dear face

in her arms.


Suddenly my attention was drawn toward Thuvia of Ptarth. The

beautiful girl was leaning far over the edge of the balcony, her

eyes bright with excitement.
In another instant the banths would be upon me, but I could not

force my gaze from the features of the red girl, for I knew that

her expression meant anything but the enjoyment of the grim tragedy

that would so soon be enacted below her; there was some deeper,

hidden meaning which I sought to solve.
For an instant I thought of relying on my earthly muscles and

agility to escape the banths and reach the balcony, which I could

easily have done, but I could not bring myself to desert the

faithful Woola and leave him to die alone beneath the cruel fangs

of the hungry banths; that is not the way upon Barsoom, nor was it

ever the way of John Carter.


Then the secret of Thuvia's excitement became apparent as from her

lips there issued the purring sound I had heard once before; that

time that, within the Golden Cliffs, she called the fierce banths

about her and led them as a shepherdess might lead her flock of

meek and harmless sheep.
At the first note of that soothing sound the banths halted in their

tracks, and every fierce head went high as the beasts sought the

origin of the familiar call. Presently they discovered the red

girl in the balcony above them, and, turning, roared out their

recognition and their greeting.
Guards sprang to drag Thuvia away, but ere they had succeeded she

had hurled a volley of commands at the listening brutes, and as

one they turned and marched back into their dens.
"You need not fear them now, John Carter!" cried Thuvia, before

they could silence her. "Those banths will never harm you now,

nor Woola, either."
It was all I cared to know. There was naught to keep me from that

balcony now, and with a long, running leap I sprang far aloft until

my hands grasped its lowest sill.
In an instant all was wild confusion. Matai Shang shrank back.

Thurid sprang forward with drawn sword to cut me down.


Again Dejah Thoris wielded her heavy irons and fought him back.

Then Matai Shang grasped her about the waist and dragged her away

through a door leading within the tower.
For an instant Thurid hesitated, and then, as though fearing that

the Father of Therns would escape him with the Princess of Helium,

he, too, dashed from the balcony in their wake.
Phaidor alone retained her presence of mind. Two of the guards she

ordered to bear away Thuvia of Ptarth; the others she commanded to

remain and prevent me from following. Then she turned toward me.
"John Carter," she cried, "for the last time I offer you the love

of Phaidor, daughter of the Holy Hekkador. Accept and your princess

shall be returned to the court of her grandfather, and you shall

live in peace and happiness. Refuse and the fate that my father

has threatened shall fall upon Dejah Thoris.
"You cannot save her now, for by this time they have reached a

place where even you may not follow. Refuse and naught can save

you; for, though the way to the last stronghold of the Holy Therns

was made easy for you, the way hence hath been made impossible.

What say you?"
"You knew my answer, Phaidor," I replied, "before ever you spoke.

Make way," I cried to the guards, "for John Carter, Prince of

Helium, would pass!"
With that I leaped over the low baluster that surrounded the balcony,

and with drawn long-sword faced my enemies.


There were three of them; but Phaidor must have guessed what the

outcome of the battle would be, for she turned and fled from the

balcony the moment she saw that I would have none of her proposition.
The three guardsmen did not wait for my attack. Instead, they

rushed me--the three of them simultaneously; and it was that which

gave me an advantage, for they fouled one another in the narrow

precincts of the balcony, so that the foremost of them stumbled

full upon my blade at the first onslaught.
The red stain upon my point roused to its full the old blood-lust

of the fighting man that has ever been so strong within my breast,

so that my blade flew through the air with a swiftness and deadly

accuracy that threw the two remaining therns into wild despair.


When at last the sharp steel found the heart of one of them the

other turned to flee, and, guessing that his steps would lead him

along the way taken by those I sought, I let him keep ever far

enough ahead to think that he was safely escaping my sword.


Through several inner chambers he raced until he came to a spiral

runway. Up this he dashed, I in close pursuit. At the upper end

we came out into a small chamber, the walls of which were plank

except for a single window overlooking the slopes of Otz and the

Valley of Lost Souls beyond.
Here the fellow tore frantically at what appeared to be but a

piece of the blank wall opposite the single window. In an instant

I guessed that it was a secret exit from the room, and so I paused

that he might have an opportunity to negotiate it, for I cared

nothing to take the life of this poor servitor--all I craved was

a clear road in pursuit of Dejah Thoris, my long-lost princess.


But, try as he would, the panel would yield neither to cunning nor

force, so that eventually he gave it up and turned to face me.


"Go thy way, Thern," I said to him, pointing toward the entrance

to the runway up which we had but just come. "I have no quarrel

with you, nor do I crave your life. Go!"
For answer he sprang upon me with his sword, and so suddenly, at

that, that I was like to have gone down before his first rush. So

there was nothing for it but to give him what he sought, and that

as quickly as might be, that I might not be delayed too long in

this chamber while Matai Shang and Thurid made way with Dejah Thoris

and Thuvia of Ptarth.


The fellow was a clever swordsman--resourceful and extremely

tricky. In fact, he seemed never to have heard that there existed

such a thing as a code of honor, for he repeatedly outraged a dozen

Barsoomian fighting customs that an honorable man would rather die

than ignore.
He even went so far as to snatch his holy wig from his head and

throw it in my face, so as to blind me for a moment while he thrust

at my unprotected breast.
When he thrust, however, I was not there, for I had fought with

therns before; and while none had ever resorted to precisely that

same expedient, I knew them to be the least honorable and most

treacherous fighters upon Mars, and so was ever on the alert for

some new and devilish subterfuge when I was engaged with one of

their race.


But at length he overdid the thing; for, drawing his shortsword,

he hurled it, javelinwise, at my body, at the same instant rushing

upon me with his long-sword. A single sweeping circle of my own

blade caught the flying weapon and hurled it clattering against

the far wall, and then, as I sidestepped my antagonist's impetuous

rush, I let him have my point full in the stomach as he hurtled

by.
Clear to the hilt my weapon passed through his body, and with a

frightful shriek he sank to the floor, dead.


Halting only for the brief instant that was required to wrench

my sword from the carcass of my late antagonist, I sprang across

the chamber to the blank wall beyond, through which the thern had

attempted to pass. Here I sought for the secret of its lock, but

all to no avail.
In despair I tried to force the thing, but the cold, unyielding

stone might well have laughed at my futile, puny endeavors. In fact,

I could have sworn that I caught the faint suggestion of taunting

laughter from beyond the baffling panel.


In disgust I desisted from my useless efforts and stepped to the

chamber's single window.


The slopes of Otz and the distant Valley of Lost Souls held nothing

to compel my interest then; but, towering far above me, the tower's

carved wall riveted my keenest attention.
Somewhere within that massive pile was Dejah Thoris. Above me I

could see windows. There, possibly, lay the only way by which I

could reach her. The risk was great, but not too great when the

fate of a world's most wondrous woman was at stake.


I glanced below. A hundred feet beneath lay jagged granite boulders

at the brink of a frightful chasm upon which the tower abutted; and

if not upon the boulders, then at the chasm's bottom, lay death,

should a foot slip but once, or clutching fingers loose their hold

for the fraction of an instant.
But there was no other way and with a shrug, which I must admit

was half shudder, I stepped to the window's outer sill and began

my perilous ascent.
To my dismay I found that, unlike the ornamentation upon most

Heliumetic structures, the edges of the carvings were quite generally

rounded, so that at best my every hold was most precarious.
Fifty feet above me commenced a series of projecting cylindrical

stones some six inches in diameter. These apparently circled the

tower at six-foot intervals, in bands six feet apart; and as each

stone cylinder protruded some four or five inches beyond the surface

of the other ornamentation, they presented a comparatively easy

mode of ascent could I but reach them.


Laboriously I climbed toward them by way of some windows which

lay below them, for I hoped that I might find ingress to the tower

through one of these, and thence an easier avenue along which to

prosecute my search.


At times so slight was my hold upon the rounded surfaces of the

carving's edges that a sneeze, a cough, or even a slight gust of

wind would have dislodged me and sent me hurtling to the depths

below.
But finally I reached a point where my fingers could just clutch

the sill of the lowest window, and I was on the point of breathing

a sigh of relief when the sound of voices came to me from above

through the open window.
"He can never solve the secret of that lock." The voice was Matai

Shang's. "Let us proceed to the hangar above that we may be far

to the south before he finds another way--should that be possible."
"All things seem possible to that vile calot," replied another

voice, which I recognized as Thurid's.


"Then let us haste," said Matai Shang. "But to be doubly sure, I

will leave two who shall patrol this runway. Later they may follow

us upon another flier--overtaking us at Kaol."
My upstretched fingers never reached the window's sill. At the

first sound of the voices I drew back my hand and clung there to

my perilous perch, flattened against the perpendicular wall, scarce
daring to breathe.
What a horrible position, indeed, in which to be discovered by

Thurid! He had but to lean from the window to push me with his

sword's point into eternity.
Presently the sound of the voices became fainter, and once again

I took up my hazardous ascent, now more difficult, since more

circuitous, for I must climb so as to avoid the windows.
Matai Shang's reference to the hangar and the fliers indicated

that my destination lay nothing short of the roof of the tower,

and toward this seemingly distant goal I set my face.
The most difficult and dangerous part of the journey was accomplished

at last, and it was with relief that I felt my fingers close about

the lowest of the stone cylinders.
It is true that these projections were too far apart to make the

balance of the ascent anything of a sinecure, but I at least had

always within my reach a point of safety to which I might cling in

case of accident.


Some ten feet below the roof, the wall inclined slightly inward

possibly a foot in the last ten feet, and here the climbing was

indeed immeasurably easier, so that my fingers soon clutched the

eaves.
As I drew my eyes above the level of the tower's top I saw a flier

all but ready to rise.
Upon her deck were Matai Shang, Phaidor, Dejah Thoris, Thuvia of

Ptarth, and a few thern warriors, while near her was Thurid in the

act of clambering aboard.
He was not ten paces from me, facing in the opposite direction;

and what cruel freak of fate should have caused him to turn about

just as my eyes topped the roof's edge I may not even guess.
But turn he did; and when his eyes met mine his wicked face lighted

with a malignant smile as he leaped toward me, where I was hastening

to scramble to the secure footing of the roof.
Dejah Thoris must have seen me at the same instant, for she screamed

a useless warning just as Thurid's foot, swinging in a mighty kick,

landed full in my face.
Like a felled ox, I reeled and tumbled backward over the tower's

side.


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