The flier upon whose deck Dejah Thoris and I found ourselves after
twelve long years of separation proved entirely useless. Her buoyancy
tanks leaked badly. Her engine would not start. We were helpless there
in mid air above the arctic ice.
The craft had drifted across the chasm which held the corpses of Matai
Shang, Thurid, and Phaidor, and now hung above a low hill. Opening the
buoyancy escape valves I permitted her to come slowly to the ground,
and as she touched, Dejah Thoris and I stepped from her deck and, hand
in hand, turned back across the frozen waste toward the city of
Kadabra.
Through the tunnel that had led me in pursuit of them we passed,
walking slowly, for we had much to say to each other.
She told me of that last terrible moment months before when the door of
her prison cell within the Temple of the Sun was slowly closing between
us. Of how Phaidor had sprung upon her with uplifted dagger, and of
Thuvia’s shriek as she had realized the foul intention of the thern
goddess.
It had been that cry that had rung in my ears all the long, weary
months that I had been left in cruel doubt as to my princess’ fate; for
I had not known that Thuvia had wrested the blade from the daughter of
Matai Shang before it had touched either Dejah Thoris or herself.
She told me, too, of the awful eternity of her imprisonment. Of the
cruel hatred of Phaidor, and the tender love of Thuvia, and of how even
when despair was the darkest those two red girls had clung to the same
hope and belief—that John Carter would find a way to release them.
Presently we came to the chamber of Solan. I had been proceeding
without thought of caution, for I was sure that the city and the palace
were both in the hands of my friends by this time.
And so it was that I bolted into the chamber full into the midst of a
dozen nobles of the court of Salensus Oll. They were passing through on
their way to the outside world along the corridors we had just
traversed.
At sight of us they halted in their tracks, and then an ugly smile
overspread the features of their leader.
“The author of all our misfortunes!” he cried, pointing at me. “We
shall have the satisfaction of a partial vengeance at least when we
leave behind us here the dead and mutilated corpses of the Prince and
Princess of Helium.
“When they find them,” he went on, jerking his thumb upward toward the
palace above, “they will realize that the vengeance of the yellow man
costs his enemies dear. Prepare to die, John Carter, but that your end
may be the more bitter, know that I may change my intention as to
meting a merciful death to your princess—possibly she shall be
preserved as a plaything for my nobles.”
I stood close to the instrument-covered wall—Dejah Thoris at my side.
She looked up at me wonderingly as the warriors advanced upon us with
drawn swords, for mine still hung within its scabbard at my side, and
there was a smile upon my lips.
The yellow nobles, too, looked in surprise, and then as I made no move
to draw they hesitated, fearing a ruse; but their leader urged them on.
When they had come almost within sword’s reach of me I raised my hand
and laid it upon the polished surface of a great lever, and then, still
smiling grimly, I looked my enemies full in the face.
As one they came to a sudden stop, casting affrighted glances at me and
at one another.
“Stop!” shrieked their leader. “You dream not what you do!”
“Right you are,” I replied. “John Carter does not dream. He knows—knows
that should one of you take another step toward Dejah Thoris, Princess
of Helium, I pull this lever wide, and she and I shall die together;
but we shall not die alone.”
The nobles shrank back, whispering together for a few moments. At last
their leader turned to me.
“Go your way, John Carter,” he said, “and we shall go ours.”
“Prisoners do not go their own way,” I answered, “and you are
prisoners—prisoners of the Prince of Helium.”
Before they could make answer a door upon the opposite side of the
apartment opened and a score of yellow men poured into the apartment.
For an instant the nobles looked relieved, and then as their eyes fell
upon the leader of the new party their faces fell, for he was Talu,
rebel Prince of Marentina, and they knew that they could look for
neither aid nor mercy at his hands.
“Well done, John Carter,” he cried. “You turn their own mighty power
against them. Fortunate for Okar is it that you were here to prevent
their escape, for these be the greatest villains north of the
ice-barrier, and this one”—pointing to the leader of the party—“would
have made himself Jeddak of Jeddaks in the place of the dead Salensus
Oll. Then indeed would we have had a more villainous ruler than the
hated tyrant who fell before your sword.”
The Okarian nobles now submitted to arrest, since nothing but death
faced them should they resist, and, escorted by the warriors of Talu,
we made our way to the great audience chamber that had been Salensus
Oll’s. Here was a vast concourse of warriors.
Red men from Helium and Ptarth, yellow men of the north, rubbing elbows
with the blacks of the First Born who had come under my friend Xodar to
help in the search for me and my princess. There were savage, green
warriors from the dead sea bottoms of the south, and a handful of
white-skinned therns who had renounced their religion and sworn
allegiance to Xodar.
There was Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, and tall and mighty in his
gorgeous warrior trappings, Carthoris, my son. These three fell upon
Dejah Thoris as we entered the apartment, and though the lives and
training of royal Martians tend not toward vulgar demonstration, I
thought that they would suffocate her with their embraces.
And there were Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark, and Kantos Kan, my
old-time friends, and leaping and tearing at my harness in the
exuberance of his great love was dear old Woola—frantic mad with
happiness.
Long and loud was the cheering that burst forth at sight of us;
deafening was the din of ringing metal as the veteran warriors of every
Martian clime clashed their blades together on high in token of success
and victory, but as I passed among the throng of saluting nobles and
warriors, jeds and jeddaks, my heart still was heavy, for there were
two faces missing that I would have given much to have seen
there—Thuvan Dihn and Thuvia of Ptarth were not to be found in the
great chamber.
I made inquiries concerning them among men of every nation, and at last
from one of the yellow prisoners of war I learned that they had been
apprehended by an officer of the palace as they sought to reach the Pit
of Plenty while I lay imprisoned there.
I did not need to ask to know what had sent them thither—the courageous
jeddak and his loyal daughter. My informer said that they lay now in
one of the many buried dungeons of the palace where they had been
placed pending a decision as to their fate by the tyrant of the north.
A moment later searching parties were scouring the ancient pile in
search of them, and my cup of happiness was full when I saw them being
escorted into the room by a cheering guard of honor.
Thuvia’s first act was to rush to the side of Dejah Thoris, and I
needed no better proof of the love these two bore for each other than
the sincerity with which they embraced.
Looking down upon that crowded chamber stood the silent and empty
throne of Okar.
Of all the strange scenes it must have witnessed since that long-dead
age that had first seen a Jeddak of Jeddaks take his seat upon it, none
might compare with that upon which it now looked down, and as I
pondered the past and future of that long-buried race of black-bearded
yellow men I thought that I saw a brighter and more useful existence
for them among the great family of friendly nations that now stretched
from the south pole almost to their very doors.
Twenty-two years before I had been cast, naked and a stranger, into
this strange and savage world. The hand of every race and nation was
raised in continual strife and warring against the men of every other
land and color. Today, by the might of my sword and the loyalty of the
friends my sword had made for me, black man and white, red man and
green rubbed shoulders in peace and good-fellowship. All the nations of
Barsoom were not yet as one, but a great stride forward toward that
goal had been taken, and now if I could but cement the fierce yellow
race into this solidarity of nations I should feel that I had rounded
out a great lifework, and repaid to Mars at least a portion of the
immense debt of gratitude I owed her for having given me my Dejah
Thoris.
And as I thought, I saw but one way, and a single man who could insure
the success of my hopes. As is ever the way with me, I acted then as I
always act—without deliberation and without consultation.
Those who do not like my plans and my ways of promoting them have
always their swords at their sides wherewith to back up their
disapproval; but now there seemed to be no dissenting voice, as,
grasping Talu by the arm, I sprang to the throne that had once been
Salensus Oll’s.
“Warriors of Barsoom,” I cried, “Kadabra has fallen, and with her the
hateful tyrant of the north; but the integrity of Okar must be
preserved. The red men are ruled by red jeddaks, the green warriors of
the ancient seas acknowledge none but a green ruler, the First Born of
the south pole take their law from black Xodar; nor would it be to the
interests of either yellow or red man were a red jeddak to sit upon the
throne of Okar.
“There be but one warrior best fitted for the ancient and mighty title
of Jeddak of Jeddaks of the North. Men of Okar, raise your swords to
your new ruler—Talu, the rebel prince of Marentina!”
And then a great cry of rejoicing rose among the free men of Marentina
and the Kadabran prisoners, for all had thought that the red men would
retain that which they had taken by force of arms, for such had been
the way upon Barsoom, and that they should be ruled henceforth by an
alien Jeddak.
The victorious warriors who had followed Carthoris joined in the mad
demonstration, and amidst the wild confusion and the tumult and the
cheering, Dejah Thoris and I passed out into the gorgeous garden of the
jeddaks that graces the inner courtyard of the palace of Kadabra.
At our heels walked Woola, and upon a carved seat of wondrous beauty
beneath a bower of purple blooms we saw two who had preceded us—Thuvia
of Ptarth and Carthoris of Helium.
The handsome head of the handsome youth was bent low above the
beautiful face of his companion. I looked at Dejah Thoris, smiling, and
as I drew her close to me I whispered: “Why not?”
Indeed, why not? What matter ages in this world of perpetual youth?
We remained at Kadabra, the guests of Talu, until after his formal
induction into office, and then, upon the great fleet which I had been
so fortunate to preserve from destruction, we sailed south across the
ice-barrier; but not before we had witnessed the total demolition of
the grim Guardian of the North under orders of the new Jeddak of
Jeddaks.
“Henceforth,” he said, as the work was completed, “the fleets of the
red men and the black are free to come and go across the ice-barrier as
over their own lands.
“The Carrion Caves shall be cleansed, that the green men may find an
easy way to the land of the yellow, and the hunting of the sacred apt
shall be the sport of my nobles until no single specimen of that
hideous creature roams the frozen north.”
We bade our yellow friends farewell with real regret, as we set sail
for Ptarth. There we remained, the guest of Thuvan Dihn, for a month;
and I could see that Carthoris would have remained forever had he not
been a Prince of Helium.
Above the mighty forests of Kaol we hovered until word from Kulan Tith
brought us to his single landing-tower, where all day and half a night
the vessels disembarked their crews. At the city of Kaol we visited,
cementing the new ties that had been formed between Kaol and Helium,
and then one long-to-be-remembered day we sighted the tall, thin towers
of the twin cities of Helium.
The people had long been preparing for our coming. The sky was gorgeous
with gaily trimmed fliers. Every roof within both cities was spread
with costly silks and tapestries.
Gold and jewels were scattered over roof and street and plaza, so that
the two cities seemed ablaze with the fires of the hearts of the
magnificent stones and burnished metal that reflected the brilliant
sunlight, changing it into countless glorious hues.
At last, after twelve years, the royal family of Helium was reunited in
their own mighty city, surrounded by joy-mad millions before the palace
gates. Women and children and mighty warriors wept in gratitude for the
fate that had restored their beloved Tardos Mors and the divine
princess whom the whole nation idolized. Nor did any of us who had been
upon that expedition of indescribable danger and glory lack for
plaudits.
That night a messenger came to me as I sat with Dejah Thoris and
Carthoris upon the roof of my city palace, where we had long since
caused a lovely garden to be made that we three might find seclusion
and quiet happiness among ourselves, far from the pomp and ceremony of
court, to summon us to the Temple of Reward—“where one is to be judged
this night,” the summons concluded.
I racked my brain to try and determine what important case there might
be pending which could call the royal family from their palaces on the
eve of their return to Helium after years of absence; but when the
jeddak summons no man delays.
As our flier touched the landing stage at the temple’s top we saw
countless other craft arriving and departing. In the streets below a
great multitude surged toward the great gates of the temple.
Slowly there came to me the recollection of the deferred doom that
awaited me since that time I had been tried here in the Temple by Zat
Arras for the sin of returning from the Valley Dor and the Lost Sea of
Korus.
Could it be possible that the strict sense of justice which dominates
the men of Mars had caused them to overlook the great good that had
come out of my heresy? Could they ignore the fact that to me, and me
alone, was due the rescue of Carthoris, of Dejah Thoris, of Mors Kajak,
of Tardos Mors?
I could not believe it, and yet for what other purpose could I have
been summoned to the Temple of Reward immediately upon the return of
Tardos Mors to his throne?
My first surprise as I entered the temple and approached the Throne of
Righteousness was to note the men who sat there as judges. There was
Kulan Tith, Jeddak of Kaol, whom we had but just left within his own
palace a few days since; there was Thuvan Dihn, Jeddak of Ptarth—how
came he to Helium as soon as we?
There was Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark, and Xodar, Jeddak of the First
Born; there was Talu, Jeddak of Jeddaks of the North, whom I could have
sworn was still in his ice-bound hothouse city beyond the northern
barrier, and among them sat Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, with enough
lesser jeds and jeddaks to make up the thirty-one who must sit in
judgment upon their fellow-man.
A right royal tribunal indeed, and such a one, I warrant, as never
before sat together during all the history of ancient Mars.
As I entered, silence fell upon the great concourse of people that
packed the auditorium. Then Tardos Mors arose.
“John Carter,” he said in his deep, martial voice, “take your place
upon the Pedestal of Truth, for you are to be tried by a fair and
impartial tribunal of your fellow-men.”
With level eye and high-held head I did as he bade, and as I glanced
about that circle of faces that a moment before I could have sworn
contained the best friends I had upon Barsoom, I saw no single friendly
glance—only stern, uncompromising judges, there to do their duty.
A clerk rose and from a great book read a long list of the more notable
deeds that I had thought to my credit, covering a long period of
twenty-two years since first I had stepped the ocher sea bottom beside
the incubator of the Tharks. With the others he read of all that I had
done within the circle of the Otz Mountains where the Holy Therns and
the First Born had held sway.
It is the way upon Barsoom to recite a man’s virtues with his sins when
he is come to trial, and so I was not surprised that all that was to my
credit should be read there to my judges—who knew it all by heart—even
down to the present moment. When the reading had ceased Tardos Mors
arose.
“Most righteous judges,” he exclaimed, “you have heard recited all that
is known of John Carter, Prince of Helium—the good with the bad. What
is your judgment?”
Then Tars Tarkas came slowly to his feet, unfolding all his mighty,
towering height until he loomed, a green-bronze statue, far above us
all. He turned a baleful eye upon me—he, Tars Tarkas, with whom I had
fought through countless battles; whom I loved as a brother.
I could have wept had I not been so mad with rage that I almost whipped
my sword out and had at them all upon the spot.
“Judges,” he said, “there can be but one verdict. No longer may John
Carter be Prince of Helium”—he paused—“but instead let him be Jeddak of
Jeddaks, Warlord of Barsoom!”
As the thirty-one judges sprang to their feet with drawn and upraised
swords in unanimous concurrence in the verdict, the storm broke
throughout the length and breadth and height of that mighty building
until I thought the roof would fall from the thunder of the mad
shouting.
Now, at last, I saw the grim humor of the method they had adopted to do
me this great honor, but that there was any hoax in the reality of the
title they had conferred upon me was readily disproved by the sincerity
of the congratulations that were heaped upon me by the judges first and
then the nobles.
Presently fifty of the mightiest nobles of the greatest courts of Mars
marched down the broad Aisle of Hope bearing a splendid car upon their
shoulders, and as the people saw who sat within, the cheers that had
rung out for me paled into insignificance beside those which thundered
through the vast edifice now, for she whom the nobles carried was Dejah
Thoris, beloved Princess of Helium.
Straight to the Throne of Righteousness they bore her, and there Tardos
Mors assisted her from the car, leading her forward to my side.
“Let a world’s most beautiful woman share the honor of her husband,” he
said.
Before them all I drew my wife close to me and kissed her upon the
lips.