With the realization that Dejah Thoris was no longer within the
throneroom came the belated recollection of the dark face that I had
glimpsed peering from behind the draperies that backed the throne of
Salensus Oll at the moment that I had first come so unexpectedly upon
the strange scene being enacted within the chamber.
Why had the sight of that evil countenance not warned me to greater
caution? Why had I permitted the rapid development of new situations to
efface the recollection of that menacing danger? But, alas, vain regret
would not erase the calamity that had befallen.
Once again had Dejah Thoris fallen into the clutches of that archfiend,
Thurid, the black dator of the First Born. Again was all my arduous
labor gone for naught. Now I realized the cause of the rage that had
been writ so large upon the features of Matai Shang and the cruel
pleasure that I had seen upon the face of Phaidor.
They had known or guessed the truth, and the hekkador of the Holy
Therns, who had evidently come to the chamber in the hope of thwarting
Salensus Oll in his contemplated perfidy against the high priest who
coveted Dejah Thoris for himself, realized that Thurid had stolen the
prize from beneath his very nose.
Phaidor’s pleasure had been due to her realization of what this last
cruel blow would mean to me, as well as to a partial satisfaction of
her jealous hatred for the Princess of Helium.
My first thought was to look beyond the draperies at the back of the
throne, for there it was that I had seen Thurid. With a single jerk I
tore the priceless stuff from its fastenings, and there before me was
revealed a narrow doorway behind the throne.
No question entered my mind but that here lay the opening of the avenue
of escape which Thurid had followed, and had there been it would have
been dissipated by the sight of a tiny, jeweled ornament which lay a
few steps within the corridor beyond.
As I snatched up the bauble I saw that it bore the device of the
Princess of Helium, and then pressing it to my lips I dashed madly
along the winding way that led gently downward toward the lower
galleries of the palace.
I had followed but a short distance when I came upon the room in which
Solan formerly had held sway. His dead body still lay where I had left
it, nor was there any sign that another had passed through the room
since I had been there; but I knew that two had done so—Thurid, the
black dator, and Dejah Thoris.
For a moment I paused uncertain as to which of the several exits from
the apartment would lead me upon the right path. I tried to recollect
the directions which I had heard Thurid repeat to Solan, and at last,
slowly, as though through a heavy fog, the memory of the words of the
First Born came to me:
“Follow a corridor, passing three diverging corridors upon the right;
then into the fourth right-hand corridor to where three corridors meet;
here again follow to the right, hugging the left wall closely to avoid
the pit. At the end of this corridor I shall come to a spiral runway
which I must follow down instead of up; after that the way is along but
a single branchless corridor.”
And I recalled the exit at which he had pointed as he spoke.
It did not take me long to start upon that unknown way, nor did I go
with caution, although I knew that there might be grave dangers before
me.
Part of the way was black as sin, but for the most it was fairly well
lighted. The stretch where I must hug the left wall to avoid the pits
was darkest of them all, and I was nearly over the edge of the abyss
before I knew that I was near the danger spot. A narrow ledge, scarce a
foot wide, was all that had been left to carry the initiated past that
frightful cavity into which the unknowing must surely have toppled at
the first step. But at last I had won safely beyond it, and then a
feeble light made the balance of the way plain, until, at the end of
the last corridor, I came suddenly out into the glare of day upon a
field of snow and ice.
Clad for the warm atmosphere of the hothouse city of Kadabra, the
sudden change to arctic frigidity was anything but pleasant; but the
worst of it was that I knew I could not endure the bitter cold, almost
naked as I was, and that I would perish before ever I could overtake
Thurid and Dejah Thoris.
To be thus blocked by nature, who had had all the arts and wiles of
cunning man pitted against him, seemed a cruel fate, and as I staggered
back into the warmth of the tunnel’s end I was as near hopelessness as
I ever have been.
I had by no means given up my intention of continuing the pursuit, for
if needs be I would go ahead though I perished ere ever I reached my
goal, but if there were a safer way it were well worth the delay to
attempt to discover it, that I might come again to the side of Dejah
Thoris in fit condition to do battle for her.
Scarce had I returned to the tunnel than I stumbled over a portion of a
fur garment that seemed fastened to the floor of the corridor close to
the wall. In the darkness I could not see what held it, but by groping
with my hands I discovered that it was wedged beneath the bottom of a
closed door.
Pushing the portal aside, I found myself upon the threshold of a small
chamber, the walls of which were lined with hooks from which depended
suits of the complete outdoor apparel of the yellow men.
Situated as it was at the mouth of a tunnel leading from the palace, it
was quite evident that this was the dressing-room used by the nobles
leaving and entering the hothouse city, and that Thurid, having
knowledge of it, had stopped here to outfit himself and Dejah Thoris
before venturing into the bitter cold of the arctic world beyond.
In his haste he had dropped several garments upon the floor, and the
telltale fur that had fallen partly within the corridor had proved the
means of guiding me to the very spot he would least have wished me to
have knowledge of.
It required but the matter of a few seconds to don the necessary
orluk-skin clothing, with the heavy, fur-lined boots that are so
essential a part of the garmenture of one who would successfully
contend with the frozen trails and the icy winds of the bleak
northland.
Once more I stepped beyond the tunnel’s mouth to find the fresh tracks
of Thurid and Dejah Thoris in the new-fallen snow. Now, at last, was my
task an easy one, for though the going was rough in the extreme, I was
no longer vexed by doubts as to the direction I should follow, or
harassed by darkness or hidden dangers.
Through a snow-covered canyon the way led up toward the summit of low
hills. Beyond these it dipped again into another canyon, only to rise a
quarter-mile farther on toward a pass which skirted the flank of a
rocky hill.
I could see by the signs of those who had gone before that when Dejah
Thoris had walked she had been continually holding back, and that the
black man had been compelled to drag her. For other stretches only his
foot-prints were visible, deep and close together in the heavy snow,
and I knew from these signs that then he had been forced to carry her,
and I could well imagine that she had fought him fiercely every step of
the way.
As I came round the jutting promontory of the hill’s shoulder I saw
that which quickened my pulses and set my heart to beating high, for
within a tiny basin between the crest of this hill and the next stood
four people before the mouth of a great cave, and beside them upon the
gleaming snow rested a flier which had evidently but just been dragged
from its hiding place.
The four were Dejah Thoris, Phaidor, Thurid, and Matai Shang. The two
men were engaged in a heated argument—the Father of Therns threatening,
while the black scoffed at him as he went about the work at which he
was engaged.
As I crept toward them cautiously that I might come as near as possible
before being discovered, I saw that finally the men appeared to have
reached some sort of a compromise, for with Phaidor’s assistance they
both set about dragging the resisting Dejah Thoris to the flier’s deck.
Here they made her fast, and then both again descended to the ground to
complete the preparations for departure. Phaidor entered the small
cabin upon the vessel’s deck.
I had come to within a quarter of a mile of them when Matai Shang
espied me. I saw him seize Thurid by the shoulder, wheeling him around
in my direction as he pointed to where I was now plainly visible, for
the moment that I knew I had been perceived I cast aside every attempt
at stealth and broke into a mad race for the flier.
The two redoubled their efforts at the propeller at which they were
working, and which very evidently was being replaced after having been
removed for some purpose of repair.
They had the thing completed before I had covered half the distance
that lay between me and them, and then both made a rush for the
boarding-ladder.
Thurid was the first to reach it, and with the agility of a monkey
clambered swiftly to the boat’s deck, where a touch of the button
controlling the buoyancy tanks sent the craft slowly upward, though not
with the speed that marks the well-conditioned flier.