In the shadows of the forest that flanks the crimson plain by the side
of the Lost Sea of Korus in the Valley Dor, beneath the hurtling moons
of Mars, speeding their meteoric way close above the bosom of the dying
planet, I crept stealthily along the trail of a shadowy form that
hugged the darker places with a persistency that proclaimed the
sinister nature of its errand.
For six long Martian months I had haunted the vicinity of the hateful
Temple of the Sun, within whose slow-revolving shaft, far beneath the
surface of Mars, my princess lay entombed—but whether alive or dead I
knew not. Had Phaidor’s slim blade found that beloved heart? Time only
would reveal the truth.
Six hundred and eighty-seven Martian days must come and go before the
cell’s door would again come opposite the tunnel’s end where last I had
seen my ever-beautiful Dejah Thoris.
Half of them had passed, or would on the morrow, yet vivid in my
memory, obliterating every event that had come before or after, there
remained the last scene before the gust of smoke blinded my eyes and
the narrow slit that had given me sight of the interior of her cell
closed between me and the Princess of Helium for a long Martian year.
As if it were yesterday, I still saw the beautiful face of Phaidor,
daughter of Matai Shang, distorted with jealous rage and hatred as she
sprang forward with raised dagger upon the woman I loved.
I saw the red girl, Thuvia of Ptarth, leap forward to prevent the
hideous deed.
The smoke from the burning temple had come then to blot out the
tragedy, but in my ears rang the single shriek as the knife fell. Then
silence, and when the smoke had cleared, the revolving temple had shut
off all sight or sound from the chamber in which the three beautiful
women were imprisoned.
Much there had been to occupy my attention since that terrible moment;
but never for an instant had the memory of the thing faded, and all the
time that I could spare from the numerous duties that had devolved upon
me in the reconstruction of the government of the First Born since our
victorious fleet and land forces had overwhelmed them, had been spent
close to the grim shaft that held the mother of my boy, Carthoris of
Helium.
The race of blacks that for ages had worshiped Issus, the false deity
of Mars, had been left in a state of chaos by my revealment of her as
naught more than a wicked old woman. In their rage they had torn her to
pieces.
From the high pinnacle of their egotism the First Born had been plunged
to the depths of humiliation. Their deity was gone, and with her the
whole false fabric of their religion. Their vaunted navy had fallen in
defeat before the superior ships and fighting men of the red men of
Helium.
Fierce green warriors from the ocher sea bottoms of outer Mars had
ridden their wild thoats across the sacred gardens of the Temple of
Issus, and Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark, fiercest of them all, had sat
upon the throne of Issus and ruled the First Born while the allies were
deciding the conquered nation’s fate.
Almost unanimous was the request that I ascend the ancient throne of
the black men, even the First Born themselves concurring in it; but I
would have none of it. My heart could never be with the race that had
heaped indignities upon my princess and my son.
At my suggestion Xodar became Jeddak of the First Born. He had been a
dator, or prince, until Issus had degraded him, so that his fitness for
the high office bestowed was unquestioned.
The peace of the Valley Dor thus assured, the green warriors dispersed
to their desolate sea bottoms, while we of Helium returned to our own
country. Here again was a throne offered me, since no word had been
received from the missing Jeddak of Helium, Tardos Mors, grandfather of
Dejah Thoris, or his son, Mors Kajak, Jed of Helium, her father.
Over a year had elapsed since they had set out to explore the northern
hemisphere in search of Carthoris, and at last their disheartened
people had accepted as truth the vague rumors of their death that had
filtered in from the frozen region of the pole.
Once again I refused a throne, for I would not believe that the mighty
Tardos Mors, or his no less redoubtable son, was dead.
“Let one of their own blood rule you until they return,” I said to the
assembled nobles of Helium, as I addressed them from the Pedestal of
Truth beside the Throne of Righteousness in the Temple of Reward, from
the very spot where I had stood a year before when Zat Arras pronounced
the sentence of death upon me.
As I spoke I stepped forward and laid my hand upon the shoulder of
Carthoris where he stood in the front rank of the circle of nobles
about me.
As one, the nobles and the people lifted their voices in a long cheer
of approbation. Ten thousand swords sprang on high from as many
scabbards, and the glorious fighting men of ancient Helium hailed
Carthoris Jeddak of Helium.
His tenure of office was to be for life or until his great-grandfather,
or grandfather, should return. Having thus satisfactorily arranged this
important duty for Helium, I started the following day for the Valley
Dor that I might remain close to the Temple of the Sun until the
fateful day that should see the opening of the prison cell where my
lost love lay buried.
Hor Vastus and Kantos Kan, with my other noble lieutenants, I left with
Carthoris at Helium, that he might have the benefit of their wisdom,
bravery, and loyalty in the performance of the arduous duties which had
devolved upon him. Only Woola, my Martian hound, accompanied me.
At my heels tonight the faithful beast moved softly in my tracks. As
large as a Shetland pony, with hideous head and frightful fangs, he was
indeed an awesome spectacle, as he crept after me on his ten short,
muscular legs; but to me he was the embodiment of love and loyalty.
The figure ahead was that of the black dator of the First Born, Thurid,
whose undying enmity I had earned that time I laid him low with my bare
hands in the courtyard of the Temple of Issus, and bound him with his
own harness before the noble men and women who had but a moment before
been extolling his prowess.
Like many of his fellows, he had apparently accepted the new order of
things with good grace, and had sworn fealty to Xodar, his new ruler;
but I knew that he hated me, and I was sure that in his heart he envied
and hated Xodar, so I had kept a watch upon his comings and goings, to
the end that of late I had become convinced that he was occupied with
some manner of intrigue.
Several times I had observed him leaving the walled city of the First
Born after dark, taking his way out into the cruel and horrible Valley
Dor, where no honest business could lead any man.
Tonight he moved quickly along the edge of the forest until well beyond
sight or sound of the city, then he turned across the crimson sward
toward the shore of the Lost Sea of Korus.
The rays of the nearer moon, swinging low across the valley, touched
his jewel-incrusted harness with a thousand changing lights and glanced
from the glossy ebony of his smooth hide. Twice he turned his head back
toward the forest, after the manner of one who is upon an evil errand,
though he must have felt quite safe from pursuit.
I did not dare follow him there beneath the moonlight, since it best
suited my plans not to interrupt his—I wished him to reach his
destination unsuspecting, that I might learn just where that
destination lay and the business that awaited the night prowler there.
So it was that I remained hidden until after Thurid had disappeared
over the edge of the steep bank beside the sea a quarter of a mile
away. Then, with Woola following, I hastened across the open after the
black dator.
The quiet of the tomb lay upon the mysterious valley of death,
crouching deep in its warm nest within the sunken area at the south
pole of the dying planet. In the far distance the Golden Cliffs raised
their mighty barrier faces far into the starlit heavens, the precious
metals and scintillating jewels that composed them sparkling in the
brilliant light of Mars’s two gorgeous moons.
At my back was the forest, pruned and trimmed like the sward to
parklike symmetry by the browsing of the ghoulish plant men.
Before me lay the Lost Sea of Korus, while farther on I caught the
shimmering ribbon of Iss, the River of Mystery, where it wound out from
beneath the Golden Cliffs to empty into Korus, to which for countless
ages had been borne the deluded and unhappy Martians of the outer world
upon the voluntary pilgrimage to this false heaven.
The plant men, with their blood-sucking hands, and the monstrous white
apes that make Dor hideous by day, were hidden in their lairs for the
night.
There was no longer a Holy Thern upon the balcony in the Golden Cliffs
above the Iss to summon them with weird cry to the victims floating
down to their maws upon the cold, broad bosom of ancient Iss.
The navies of Helium and the First Born had cleared the fortresses and
the temples of the therns when they had refused to surrender and accept
the new order of things that had swept their false religion from
long-suffering Mars.
In a few isolated countries they still retained their age-old power;
but Matai Shang, their hekkador, Father of Therns, had been driven from
his temple. Strenuous had been our endeavors to capture him; but with a
few of the faithful he had escaped, and was in hiding—where we knew
not.
As I came cautiously to the edge of the low cliff overlooking the Lost
Sea of Korus I saw Thurid pushing out upon the bosom of the shimmering
water in a small skiff—one of those strangely wrought craft of
unthinkable age which the Holy Therns, with their organization of
priests and lesser therns, were wont to distribute along the banks of
the Iss, that the long journey of their victims might be facilitated.
Drawn up on the beach below me were a score of similar boats, each with
its long pole, at one end of which was a pike, at the other a paddle.
Thurid was hugging the shore, and as he passed out of sight round a
near-by promontory I shoved one of the boats into the water and,
calling Woola into it, pushed out from shore.
The pursuit of Thurid carried me along the edge of the sea toward the
mouth of the Iss. The farther moon lay close to the horizon, casting a
dense shadow beneath the cliffs that fringed the water. Thuria, the
nearer moon, had set, nor would it rise again for near four hours, so
that I was ensured concealing darkness for that length of time at
least.
On and on went the black warrior. Now he was opposite the mouth of the
Iss. Without an instant’s hesitation he turned up the grim river,
paddling hard against the strong current.
After him came Woola and I, closer now, for the man was too intent upon
forcing his craft up the river to have any eyes for what might be
transpiring behind him. He hugged the shore where the current was less
strong.
Presently he came to the dark cavernous portal in the face of the
Golden Cliffs, through which the river poured. On into the Stygian
darkness beyond he urged his craft.
It seemed hopeless to attempt to follow him here where I could not see
my hand before my face, and I was almost on the point of giving up the
pursuit and drifting back to the mouth of the river, there to await his
return, when a sudden bend showed a faint luminosity ahead.
My quarry was plainly visible again, and in the increasing light from
the phosphorescent rock that lay embedded in great patches in the
roughly arched roof of the cavern I had no difficulty in following him.
It was my first trip upon the bosom of Iss, and the things I saw there
will live forever in my memory.
Terrible as they were, they could not have commenced to approximate the
horrible conditions which must have obtained before Tars Tarkas, the
great green warrior, Xodar, the black dator, and I brought the light of
truth to the outer world and stopped the mad rush of millions upon the
voluntary pilgrimage to what they believed would end in a beautiful
valley of peace and happiness and love.
Even now the low islands which dotted the broad stream were choked with
the skeletons and half devoured carcasses of those who, through fear or
a sudden awakening to the truth, had halted almost at the completion of
their journey.
In the awful stench of these frightful charnel isles haggard maniacs
screamed and gibbered and fought among the torn remnants of their
grisly feasts; while on those which contained but clean-picked bones
they battled with one another, the weaker furnishing sustenance for the
stronger; or with clawlike hands clutched at the bloated bodies that
drifted down with the current.
Thurid paid not the slightest attention to the screaming things that
either menaced or pleaded with him as the mood directed them—evidently
he was familiar with the horrid sights that surrounded him. He
continued up the river for perhaps a mile; and then, crossing over to
the left bank, drew his craft up on a low ledge that lay almost on a
level with the water.
I dared not follow across the stream, for he most surely would have
seen me. Instead I stopped close to the opposite wall beneath an
overhanging mass of rock that cast a dense shadow beneath it. Here I
could watch Thurid without danger of discovery.
The black was standing upon the ledge beside his boat, looking up the
river, as though he were awaiting one whom he expected from that
direction.
As I lay there beneath the dark rocks I noticed that a strong current
seemed to flow directly toward the center of the river, so that it was
difficult to hold my craft in its position. I edged farther into the
shadow that I might find a hold upon the bank; but, though I proceeded
several yards, I touched nothing; and then, finding that I would soon
reach a point from where I could no longer see the black man, I was
compelled to remain where I was, holding my position as best I could by
paddling strongly against the current which flowed from beneath the
rocky mass behind me.
I could not imagine what might cause this strong lateral flow, for the
main channel of the river was plainly visible to me from where I sat,
and I could see the rippling junction of it and the mysterious current
which had aroused my curiosity.
While I was still speculating upon the phenomenon, my attention was
suddenly riveted upon Thurid, who had raised both palms forward above
his head in the universal salute of Martians, and a moment later his
“Kaor!” the Barsoomian word of greeting, came in low but distinct
tones.
I turned my eyes up the river in the direction that his were bent, and
presently there came within my limited range of vision a long boat, in
which were six men. Five were at the paddles, while the sixth sat in
the seat of honor.
The white skins, the flowing yellow wigs which covered their bald
pates, and the gorgeous diadems set in circlets of gold about their
heads marked them as Holy Therns.
As they drew up beside the ledge upon which Thurid awaited them, he in
the bow of the boat arose to step ashore, and then I saw that it was
none other than Matai Shang, Father of Therns.
The evident cordiality with which the two men exchanged greetings
filled me with wonder, for the black and white men of Barsoom were
hereditary enemies—nor ever before had I known of two meeting other
than in battle.
Evidently the reverses that had recently overtaken both peoples had
resulted in an alliance between these two individuals—at least against
the common enemy—and now I saw why Thurid had come so often out into
the Valley Dor by night, and that the nature of his conspiring might be
such as to strike very close to me or to my friends.
I wished that I might have found a point closer to the two men from
which to have heard their conversation; but it was out of the question
now to attempt to cross the river, and so I lay quietly watching them,
who would have given so much to have known how close I lay to them, and
how easily they might have overcome and killed me with their superior
force.
Several times Thurid pointed across the river in my direction, but that
his gestures had any reference to me I did not for a moment believe.
Presently he and Matai Shang entered the latter’s boat, which turned
out into the river and, swinging round, forged steadily across in my
direction.
As they advanced I moved my boat farther and farther in beneath the
overhanging wall, but at last it became evident that their craft was
holding the same course. The five paddlers sent the larger boat ahead
at a speed that taxed my energies to equal.
Every instant I expected to feel my prow crash against solid rock. The
light from the river was no longer visible, but ahead I saw the faint
tinge of a distant radiance, and still the water before me was open.
At last the truth dawned upon me—I was following a subterranean river
which emptied into the Iss at the very point where I had hidden.
The rowers were now quite close to me. The noise of their own paddles
drowned the sound of mine, but in another instant the growing light
ahead would reveal me to them.
There was no time to be lost. Whatever action I was to take must be
taken at once. Swinging the prow of my boat toward the right, I sought
the river’s rocky side, and there I lay while Matai Shang and Thurid
approached up the center of the stream, which was much narrower than
the Iss.
As they came nearer I heard the voices of Thurid and the Father of
Therns raised in argument.
“I tell you, Thern,” the black dator was saying, “that I wish only
vengeance upon John Carter, Prince of Helium. I am leading you into no
trap. What could I gain by betraying you to those who have ruined my
nation and my house?”
“Let us stop here a moment that I may hear your plans,” replied the
hekkador, “and then we may proceed with a better understanding of our
duties and obligations.”
To the rowers he issued the command that brought their boat in toward
the bank not a dozen paces beyond the spot where I lay.
Had they pulled in below me they must surely have seen me against the
faint glow of light ahead, but from where they finally came to rest I
was as secure from detection as though miles separated us.
The few words I had already overheard whetted my curiosity, and I was
anxious to learn what manner of vengeance Thurid was planning against
me. Nor had I long to wait. I listened intently.
“There are no obligations, Father of Therns,” continued the First Born.
“Thurid, Dator of Issus, has no price. When the thing has been
accomplished I shall be glad if you will see to it that I am well
received, as is befitting my ancient lineage and noble rank, at some
court that is yet loyal to thy ancient faith, for I cannot return to
the Valley Dor or elsewhere within the power of the Prince of Helium;
but even that I do not demand—it shall be as your own desire in the
matter directs.”
“It shall be as you wish, Dator,” replied Matai Shang; “nor is that
all—power and riches shall be yours if you restore my daughter,
Phaidor, to me, and place within my power Dejah Thoris, Princess of
Helium.
“Ah,” he continued with a malicious snarl, “but the Earth man shall
suffer for the indignities he has put upon the holy of holies, nor
shall any vileness be too vile to inflict upon his princess. Would that
it were in my power to force him to witness the humiliation and
degradation of the red woman.”
“You shall have your way with her before another day has passed, Matai
Shang,” said Thurid, “if you but say the word.”
“I have heard of the Temple of the Sun, Dator,” replied Matai Shang,
“but never have I heard that its prisoners could be released before the
allotted year of their incarceration had elapsed. How, then, may you
accomplish the impossible?”
“Access may be had to any cell of the temple at any time,” replied
Thurid. “Only Issus knew this; nor was it ever Issus’ way to divulge
more of her secrets than were necessary. By chance, after her death, I
came upon an ancient plan of the temple, and there I found, plainly
writ, the most minute directions for reaching the cells at any time.
“And more I learned—that many men had gone thither for Issus in the
past, always on errands of death and torture to the prisoners; but
those who thus learned the secret way were wont to die mysteriously
immediately they had returned and made their reports to cruel Issus.”
“Let us proceed, then,” said Matai Shang at last. “I must trust you,
yet at the same time you must trust me, for we are six to your one.”
“I do not fear,” replied Thurid, “nor need you. Our hatred of the
common enemy is sufficient bond to insure our loyalty to each other,
and after we have defiled the Princess of Helium there will be still
greater reason for the maintenance of our allegiance—unless I greatly
mistake the temper of her lord.”
Matai Shang spoke to the paddlers. The boat moved on up the tributary.
It was with difficulty that I restrained myself from rushing upon them
and slaying the two vile plotters; but quickly I saw the mad rashness
of such an act, which would cut down the only man who could lead the
way to Dejah Thoris’ prison before the long Martian year had swung its
interminable circle.
If he should lead Matai Shang to that hallowed spot, then, too, should
he lead John Carter, Prince of Helium.
With silent paddle I swung slowly into the wake of the larger craft.