XAXA
The officer returned, the gates swung out and we were commanded to enter
the courtyard of the palace of Xaxa, Jeddara of Phundahl. After that
events transpired with great rapidity—surprising and totally unexpected
events. We were led through an intricate maze of corridors and chambers
until I became suspicious that we were purposely being confused, and
convinced that whether such was the intention or not the fact remained
that I could no more have retraced my steps to the outer courtyard than
I could have flown without wings. We had planned that, in the event of
gaining admission to the palace, we would carefully note whatever might
be essential to a speedy escape; but when, in a whisper, I asked Gor
Hajus if he could find his way out again he assured me that he was as
confused as I.
The palace was in no sense remarkable nor particularly interesting, the
work of the Phundahlian artists being heavy and oppressing and without
indication of high imaginative genius. The scenes depicted were mostly
of a religious nature illustrating passages from Turgan, the Phundahlian
bible, and, for the most part, were a series of monotonous repetitions.
There was one, which appeared again and again, depicting Turgan creating
a round, flat Mars and hurling it into Space, that always reminded me of
a culinary artist turning a flap jack in a child’s window.
There were also numerous paintings of what appeared to be court scenes
delineating members of the Phundahlian royal line in various activities;
it was noticeable that the more recent ones in which Xaxa appeared had
had the principal figure repainted so that there confronted me from time
to time portraits, none too well done, of the beautiful face and figure
of Valla Dia in the royal trappings of a Jeddara. The effect of these
upon me is not easy of description. They brought home to me the fact
that I was approaching, and should presently be face to face with, the
person of the woman to whom I had consecrated my love and my life, and
yet in that same person I should be confronting one whom I loathed and
would destroy.
We were halted at last before a great door and from the number of
warriors and nobles congregated before it I was confident that we were
soon to be ushered into the presence of the Jeddara. As we waited those
assembled about us eyed us with, it seemed to me, more of hostility than
curiosity and when the door swung open they accompanied us, with the
exception of a few warriors, into the chamber beyond. The room was of
medium size and at the farther side, behind a massive table, sat Xaxa.
About her were grouped a number of heavily armed nobles. As I looked
them over I wondered if among them was he for whom the body of Dar Tarus
had been filched; for we had promised him that if conditions were
favorable we would attempt to recover it.
Xaxa eyed us coldly as we were halted before her. “Let us see the beast
perform,” she commanded, and then suddenly: “What mean you by permitting
strangers to enter my presence bearing arms?” she cried. “Sag Or, see
that their weapons are removed!” and she turned to a handsome young
warrior standing near her.
Sag Or! That was the name. Before me stood the noble for whom Dar Tarus
had suffered the loss of his liberty, his body and his love. Gor Hajus
had also recognized the name and Hovan Du, too; I could tell by the way
they eyed the man as he advanced. Curtly he instructed us to hand our
weapons to two warriors who advanced to receive them. Gor Hajus
hesitated. I admit that I did not know what course to pursue.
Everyone seemed hostile and yet that might be, and doubtless was, but a
reflection of their attitude towards all strangers. If we refused to
disarm we were but three against a room full, if they chose to resort to
force; or if they turned us out of the palace because of it we would be
robbed of this seemingly god given opportunity to win to the very heart
of Xaxa’s palace and to her very presence, where we must eventually win
before we could strike. Would such an opportunity ever be freely offered
us again? I doubted it and felt that we had better assume a vague risk
now than, by refusing their demand, definitely arm their suspicions. So
I quietly removed my weapons and handed them to the warrior waiting to
receive them; and following my example, Gor Hajus did likewise, though I
can imagine with what poor grace.
Once again Xaxa signified that she would see Hovan Du perform. As Gor
Hajus put him through his antics she watched listlessly; nor did
anything that the ape did arouse the slightest flicker of interest among
the entire group assembled about the Jeddara. As the thing dragged on I
became obsessed with apprehensions that all was not right. It seemed to
me that an effort was being made to detain us for some purpose—to gain
time. I could not understand, for instance, why Xaxa required that we
repeat several times the least interesting of the ape’s performances.
And all the time Xaxa sat playing with a long, slim dagger, and I saw
that she watched me quite as much as she watched Hovan Du, while I found
it difficult to keep my eyes averted from that perfect face, even though
I knew that it was but a stolen mask behind which lurked the cruel mind
of a tyrant and a murderess.
At last came an interruption to the performance. The door opened and a
noble entered, who went directly to the Jeddara whom he addressed
briefly and in a low tone. I saw that she asked him several questions
and that she seemed vexed by his replies. Then she dismissed him with a
curt gesture and turned towards us.
“Enough of this!” she cried. Her eyes rested upon mine and she pointed
her slim dagger at me. “Where is the other?” she demanded.
“What other?” I inquired.
“There were three of you, beside the ape. I know nothing about the ape,
nor where, nor how you acquired it; but I do know all about you, Vad
Varo, and Gor Hajus, the Assassin of Toonol, and Dar Tarus. Where is Dar
Tarus?” her voice was low and musical and entirely beautiful—the voice
of Valla Dia—but behind it I knew was the terrible personality of Xaxa,
and I knew too that it would be hard to deceive her, for she must have
received what information she had directly from Ras Thavas. It had been
stupid of me not to foresee that Ras Thavas would immediately guess the
purpose of my mission and warn Xaxa. I perceived instantly that it would
be worse than useless to deny our identity, rather I must explain our
presence—if I could.
“Where is Dar Tarus?” she repeated.
“How should I know?” I countered. “Dar Tarus has reasons to believe that
he would not be safe in Phundahl and I imagine that he is not anxious
that anyone should know his whereabouts—myself included. He helped me
to escape from the Island of Thavas, for which his liberty was to be his
reward. He has not chosen to accompany me further upon my adventures.”
Xaxa seemed momentarily disarmed that I did not deny my
identity—evidently she had supposed that I would do so.
“You admit then,” she said, “that you are Vad Varo, the assistant of Ras
Thavas?”
“Have I ever sought to deny it?”
“You have disguised yourself as a red-man of Barsoom.”
“How could I travel in Barsoom otherwise, where every man’s hand is
against a stranger?”
“And why would you travel in Barsoom?” Her eyes narrowed as she waited
for my reply.
“As Ras Thavas has doubtless sent you word, I am from another world and
I would see more of this one,” I told her. “Is that strange?”
“And you come to Phundahl and seek to gain entrance to my presence and
bring with you the notorious Assassin of Toonol that you may see more of
Barsoom?”
“Gor Hajus may not return to Toonol,” I explained, “and so he must seek
service for his sword at some other court than that of Vobis Kan—in
Phundahl perhaps, or if not here he must move on. I hope that he will
decide to accompany me as I am a stranger in Barsoom, unaccustomed to
the manners and ways of her people. I would fare ill without a guide and
mentor.”
“You shall fare ill,” she cried. “You have seen all of Barsoom that you
are destined to see—you have reached the end of your adventure. You
think to deceive me, eh? You do not know, perhaps, that I have heard of
your infatuation for Valla Dia or that I am fully conversant with the
purpose of your visit to Phundahl.” Her eyes left me and swept her
nobles and her warriors. “To the pits with them!” she cried. “Later we
shall choose the manner of their passing.”
Instantly we were surrounded by a score of naked blades. There was no
escape for Gor Hajus or me, but I thought that I saw an opportunity for
Hovan Du to get away. I had had the possibility of such a contingency in
mind from the first and always I had been on the look-out for an avenue
of escape for one of us, and so the open windows at the right of the
Jeddara had not gone unnoticed, nor the great trees growing in the
courtyard beneath. Hovan Du was close beside me as Xaxa spoke.
“Go!” I whispered. “The windows are open. Go, and tell Dar Tarus what
has happened to us,” and then I fell back away from him and dragged Gor
Hajus with me as though we would attempt to resist arrest; and while I
thus distracted their attention from him Hovan Du turned towards an open
window. He had taken but a few steps when a warrior attempted to halt
him; with that the ferocious brain of the anthropoid seemed to seize
dominion over the great creature. With a hideous growl he leaped with
the agility of a cat upon the unfortunate Phundahlian, swung him high in
giant hands and using his body as a flail tumbled his fellows to right
and left as he cut a swath towards the open window nearest him.
Instantly pandemonium reigned in the apartment. The attention of all
seemed centered upon the great ape and even those who had been
confronting us turned to attack Hovan Du. And in the midst of the
confusion I saw Xaxa step to some heavy hangings directly behind her
desk, part them and disappear.
“Come!” I whispered to Gor Hajus. Apparently intent only upon watching
the conflict between the ape and the warriors I moved forward with the
fighters but always to the left towards the desk that Xaxa had just
quitted. Hovan Du was giving a good account of himself. He had discarded
his first victim and one by one had seized others as they came within
range of his long arms and powerful hands, sometimes four at a time as
he stood well braced upon two of his hand-like feet and fought with the
other four. His shock of bristling hair stood erect upon his skull and
his fierce eyes blazed with rage as, towering high above his
antagonists, he fought for his life—the most feared of all the savage
creatures of Barsoom. Perhaps his greatest advantage lay in the inherent
fear of him that was a part of every man in that room who faced him, and
it forwarded my quickly conceived plan, too, for it kept every eye
turned upon Hovan Du, so that Gor Hajus and I were able to work our way
to the rear of the desk. I think Hovan Du must have sensed my intention
then, for he did the one thing best suited to attract every eye from us
to him and, too, he gave me notice that the human half of his brain was
still alert and watchful of our welfare.
Heretofore the Phundahlians must have looked upon him as a remarkable
specimen of great ape, marvelously trained, but now, of a sudden, he
paralyzed them with awe, for his roars and growls took the form of words
and he spoke with the tongue of a human. He was near the window now.
Several of the nobles were pushing bravely forward. Among them was Sag
Or. Hovan Du reached forth and seized him, wrenching his weapons from
him. “I go,” he cried, “but let harm befall my friends and I shall
return and tear the heart from Xaxa. Tell her that, from the Great Ape
of Ptarth.”
For an instant the warriors and the nobles stood transfixed with awe.
Every eye was upon Hovan Du as he stood there with the struggling figure
of Sag Or in his mighty grasp. Gor Hajus and I were forgotten. And then
Hovan Du turned and leaped to the sill of the window and from there
lightly to the branches of the nearest tree; and with him went Sag Or,
the favorite of Xaxa, the Jeddara. At the same instant I drew Gor Hajus
with me between the hangings in the rear of Xaxa’s desk, and as they
fell behind us we found ourselves in the narrow mouth of a dark
corridor.
Without knowledge of where the passage led we could only follow it
blindly, urged on by the necessity for discovering a hiding place or an
avenue of escape from the palace before the pursuit, which we knew would
be immediately instituted, overtook us. As our eyes became accustomed to
the gloom, which was partially dispelled by a faint luminosity, we moved
more rapidly and presently came to a narrow spiral runway which
descended into a dark hole below the level of the corridor and also
arose into equal darkness above.
“Which way?” I asked Gor Hajus.
“They will expect us to descend,” he replied, “for in that direction
lies the nearest avenue of escape.”
“Then we will go up.”
“Good!” he exclaimed. “All we seek now is a place to hide until night
has fallen, for we may not escape by day.”
We had scarcely started to ascend before we heard the first sound of
pursuit—the clank of accoutrements in the corridor beneath. Yet, even
with this urge from behind, we were forced to move with great caution,
for we knew not what lay before. At the next level there was a doorway,
the door closed and locked, but there was no corridor, nor anywhere to
hide, and so we continued on upward. The second level was identical with
that just beneath, but at the third a single corridor ran straight off
into darkness and at our right was a door, ajar. The sounds of pursuit
were appreciably nearer now and the necessity for concealment seemed
increasing as the square of their growing proportions until every other
consideration was overwhelmed by it. Nor is this so strange when the
purpose of my adventure is considered and that discovery now must
assuredly spell defeat and blast for ever the slender ray of hope that
remained for the resurrection of Valla Dia in her own flesh.
There was scarce a moment for consideration. The corridor before us was
shrouded in darkness—it might be naught but a blind alley. The door was
close and ajar. I pushed it gently inward. An odor of heavy incense
greeted our nostrils and through the small aperture we saw a portion of
a large chamber garishly decorated. Directly before us, and almost
wholly obstructing our view of the entire chamber, stood a colossal
statue of a squatting manlike figure. Behind us we heard voices—our
pursuers already were ascending the spiral—they would be upon us in a
few seconds. I examined the door and discovered that it fastened with a
spring lock. I looked again into the chamber and saw no one within the
range of our vision, and then I motioned Gor Hajus to follow me and
stepping into the room closed the door behind us. We had burned our
bridges. As the door closed the lock engaged with a sharp, metallic
click.
“What was that?” demanded a voice, originating, seemingly, at the far
end of the chamber.
Gor Hajus looked at me and shrugged his shoulders in resignation (he
must have been thinking what I was thinking—that with two avenues we
had chosen the wrong one) but he smiled and there was no reproach in his
eyes.
“It sounded from the direction of the Great Tur,” replied a second
voice.
“Perhaps someone is at the door,” suggested the first speaker.
Gor Hajus and I were flattened against the back of the statue that we
might postpone as long as possible our inevitable discovery should the
speakers decide to investigate the origin of the noise that had
attracted their suspicions. I was facing against the polished stone of
the figure’s back, my hands outspread upon it. Beneath my fingers were
the carven bits of its ornamental harness—jutting protuberances that
were costly gems set in these trappings of stone, and there were
gorgeous inlays of gold filagree; but these things I had no eyes for
now. We could hear the two conversing as they came nearer. Perhaps I was
nervous, I do not know. I am sure I never shrank from an encounter when
either duty or expediency called; but in this instance both demanded
that we avoid conflict and remain undiscovered. However that may be, my
fingers must have been moving nervously over the jeweled harness of the
figure when I became vaguely, perhaps subconsciously, aware that one of
the gems was loose in its setting. I do not recall that this made any
impression upon my conscious mind, but I do know that it seemed to catch
the attention of my wandering fingers and they must have paused to play
with the loosened stone.
The voices seemed quite close now—it could be but a matter of seconds
before we should be confronted by their owners. My muscles seemed to
tense for the anticipated encounter and unconsciously I pressed heavily
upon the loosened setting—whereat a portion of the figure’s back gave
noiselessly inward revealing to us the dimly lighted interior of the
statue. We needed no further invitation; simultaneously we stepped
across the threshold and in almost the same movement I turned and closed
the panel gently behind us. I think that there was absolutely no sound
connected with the entire transaction; and following it we remained in
utter silence, motionless—scarce breathing. Our eyes became quickly
accustomed to the dim interior which we discovered was lighted through
numerous small orifices in the shell of the statue, which was entirely
hollow, and through these same orifices every outside sound came clearly
to our ears.
We had scarcely closed the opening when we heard the voices directly
outside it and simultaneously there came a hammering on the door by
which we had entered the apartment from the corridor. “Who seeks
entrance to Xaxa’s Temple?” demanded one of the voices within the room.
“’Tis I, dwar of the Jeddara’s Guard,” boomed a voice from without. “We
are seeking two who came to assassinate Xaxa.”
“Came they this way?”
“Think you, priest, that I should be seeking them here had they not?”
“How long since?”
“Scarce twenty tals since,” replied the dwar.
“Then they are not here,” the priest assured him, “for we have been here
for a full zode[A] and no other has entered the temple during that time.
Look quickly to Xaxa’s apartments above and to the roof and the hangars,
for if you followed them up the spiral there is no other where they
might flee.”
-----
[A] A tal is about one second, and a zode approximately two and one-half
hours, Earth time.
-----
“Watch then the temple carefully until I return,” shouted the warrior
and we heard him and his men moving on up the spiral.
Now we heard the priests conversing as they moved slowly past the
statue.
“What could have caused the noise that first attracted our attention?”
asked one.
“Perhaps the fugitives tried the door,” suggested the other.
“It must have been that, but they did not enter or we should have seen
them when they emerged from behind the Great Tur, for we were facing him
at the time, nor have once turned our eyes from this end of the temple.”
“Then at least they are not within the temple.”
“And where else they may be is no concern of ours.”
“No, nor if they reached Xaxa’s apartment, if they did not pass through
the temple.”
“Perhaps they did reach it.”
“And they were assassins!”
“Worse things might befall Phundahl.”
“Hush! the gods have ears.”
“Of stone.”
“But the ears of Xaxa are not of stone and they hear many things that
are not intended for them.”
“The old she-banth!”
“She is Jeddara and High Priestess.”
“Yes, but——” the voices passed beyond the range of our ears at the far
end of the temple, yet they had told me much—that Xaxa was feared and
hated by the priesthood and that the priests themselves had none too
much reverence for their deity as evidenced by the remark of one that
the gods have ears of stone. And they had told us other things,
important things, when they conversed with the dwar of the Jeddara’s
Guard.
Gor Hajus and I now felt that we had fallen by chance upon a most ideal
place of concealment, for the very guardians of the temple would swear
that we were not, could not be, where we were. Already had they thrown
the pursuers off our track.
Now, for the first time, we had an opportunity to examine our hiding
place. The interior of the statue was hollow and far above us, perhaps
forty feet, we could see the outside light shining through the mouth,
ears and nostrils, just below which a circular platform could be
discerned running around the inside of the neck. A ladder with flat
rungs led upward from the base to the platform. Thick dust covered the
floor on which we stood, and the extremity of our position suggested a
careful examination of this dust, with the result that I was at once
impressed by the evidence that it revealed; which indicated that we were
the first to enter the statue for a long time, possibly for years, as
the fine coating of almost impalpable dust that covered the floor was
undisturbed. As I searched for this evidence my eyes fell upon something
lying huddled close to the base of the ladder and approaching nearer I
saw that it was a human skeleton, while a closer examination revealed
that the skull was crushed and one arm and several ribs broken. About it
lay, dust-covered, the most gorgeous trappings I had ever seen. Its
position at the foot of the ladder, as well as the crushed skull and
broken bones, appeared quite conclusive evidence of the manner in which
death had come—the man had fallen head foremost from the circular
platform forty feet above, carrying with him to eternity, doubtless, the
secret of the entrance to the interior of the Great Tur.
I suggested this to Gor Hajus who was examining the dead man’s trappings
and he agreed with me that such must have been the manner of his death.
“He was a high priest of Tur,” whispered Gor Hajus, “and probably a
member of the royal house—possibly a Jeddak. He has been dead a long
time.”
“I am going up above,” I said. “I will test the ladder. If it is safe,
follow me up. I think we shall be able to see the interior of the temple
through the mouth of Tur.”
“Go carefully,” Gor Hajus admonished. “The ladder is very old.”
I went carefully, testing each rung before I trusted my weight to it,
but I found the old sorapus wood of which it was constructed sound and
as staunch as steel. How the high priest came to his death must always
remain a mystery, for the ladder or the circular platform would have
carried the weight of a hundred red-men.
From the platform I could see through the mouth of Tur. Below me was a
large chamber along the sides of which were ranged other, though lesser,
idols. They were even more grotesque than those I had seen in the temple
in the city and their trappings were rich beyond the conception of
man—Earthman—for the gems of Barsoom scintillate with rays unknown to
us and of such gorgeous and blinding beauty as to transcend description.
Directly in front of the Great Tur was an altar of palthon, a rare and
beautiful stone, blood red, in which are traced in purest white Nature’s
most fanciful designs; the whole vastly enhanced by the wondrous polish
which the stone takes beneath the hand of the craftsman.
Gor Hajus joined me and together we examined the interior of the temple.
Tall windows lined two sides, letting in a flood of light. At the far
end, opposite the Great Tur, were two enormous doors, closing the main
entrance to the chamber, and here stood the two priests whom we had
heard conversing. Otherwise the temple was deserted. Incense burned upon
tiny altars before each of the minor idols, but whether any burned
before the Great Tur we could not see.
Having satisfied our curiosity relative to the temple, we returned our
attention to a further examination of the interior of Tur’s huge head
and were rewarded by the discovery of another ladder leading upward
against the rear wall to a higher and smaller platform that evidently
led to the eyes. It did not take me long to investigate and here I found
a most comfortable chair set before a control that operated the eyes, so
that they could be made to turn from side to side, or up or down,
according to the whim of the operator; and here too was a speaking-tube
leading to the mouth. This again I must needs investigate and so I
returned to the lower platform and there I discovered a device beneath
the tongue of the idol, and this device, which was in the nature of an
amplifier, was connected with the speaking-tube from above. I could not
repress a smile as I considered these silent witnesses to the perfidy of
man and thought of the broken thing lying at the foot of the ladder.
Tur, I could have sworn, had been silent for many years.
Together Gor Hajus and I returned to the higher platform and again I
made a discovery—the eyes of Tur were veritable periscopes. By turning
them we could see any portion of the temple and what we saw through the
eyes was magnified. Nothing could escape the eyes of Tur and presently,
when the priests began to talk again, we discovered that nothing could
escape Tur’s ears, for every slightest sound in the temple came clearly
to us. What a valuable adjunct to high priesthood this Great Tur must
have been in the days when that broken skeleton lying below us was a
thing of blood and life!