A DESPERATE DEED
E-Med crossed the tower chamber toward Tara of Helium and the slave
girl, Lan-O. He seized the former roughly by a shoulder. "Stand!" he
commanded. Tara struck his hand from her and rising, backed away.
"Lay not your hand upon the person of a princess of Helium, beast!" she
warned.
E-Med laughed. "Think you that I play at jetan for you without first
knowing something of the stake for which I play?" he demanded. "Come
here!"
The girl drew herself to her full height, folding her arms across her
breast, nor did E-Med note that the slim fingers of her right hand were
inserted beneath the broad leather strap of her harness where it passed
over her left shoulder.
"And O-Tar learns of this you shall rue it, E-Med," cried the slave
girl; "there be no law in Manator that gives you this girl before you
shall have won her fairly."
"What cares O-Tar for her fate?" replied E-Med. "Have I not heard? Did
she not flout the great jeddak, heaping abuse upon him? By my first
ancestor, I think O-Tar might make a jed of the man who subdued her,"
and again he advanced toward Tara.
"Wait!" said the girl in low, even tone. "Perhaps you know not what you
do. Sacred to the people of Helium are the persons of the women of
Helium. For the honor of the humblest of them would the great jeddak
himself unsheathe his sword. The greatest nations of Barsoom have
trembled to the thunders of war in defense of the person of Dejah
Thoris, my mother. We are but mortal and so may die; but we may not be
defiled. You may play at jetan for a princess of Helium, but though you
may win the match, never may you claim the reward. If thou wouldst
possess a dead body press me too far, but know, man of Manator, that
the blood of The Warlord flows not in the veins of Tara of Helium for
naught. I have spoken."
"I know naught of Helium and O-Tar is our warlord," replied E-Med; "but
I do know that I would examine more closely the prize that I shall play
for and win. I would test the lips of her who is to be my slave after
the next games; nor is it well, woman, to drive me too far to anger."
His eyes narrowed as he spoke, his visage taking on the semblance of
that of a snarling beast. "If you doubt the truth of my words ask
Lan-O, the slave girl."
"He speaks truly, O woman of Helium," interjected Lan-O. "Try not the
temper of E-Med, if you value your life."
But Tara of Helium made no reply. Already had she spoken. She stood in
silence now facing the burly warrior who approached her. He came close
and then quite suddenly he seized her and, bending, tried to draw her
lips to his.
Lan-O saw the woman from Helium half turn, and with a quick movement
jerk her right hand from where it had lain upon her breast. She saw the
hand shoot from beneath the arm of E-Med and rise behind his shoulder
and she saw in the hand a long, slim blade. The lips of the warrior
were drawing closer to those of the woman, but they never touched them,
for suddenly the man straightened, stiffly, a shriek upon his lips, and
then he crumpled like an empty fur and lay, a shrunken heap, upon the
floor. Tara of Helium stooped and wiped her blade upon his harness.
Lan-O, wide-eyed, looked with horror upon the corpse. "For this we
shall both die," she cried.
"And who would live a slave in Manator?" asked Tara of Helium.
"I am not so brave as thou," said the slave girl, "and life is sweet
and there is always hope."
"Life is sweet," agreed Tara of Helium, "but honor is sacred. But do
not fear. When they come I shall tell them the truth--that you had no
hand in this and no opportunity to prevent it."
For a moment the slave girl seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly her
eyes lighted. "There is a way, perhaps," she said, "to turn suspicion
from us. He has the key to this chamber upon him. Let us open the door
and drag him out--maybe we shall find a place to hide him."
"Good!" exclaimed Tara of Helium, and the two immediately set about the
matter Lan-O had suggested. Quickly they found the key and unlatched
the door and then, between them, they half carried, half dragged, the
corpse of E-Med from the room and down the stairway to the next level
where Lan-O said there were vacant chambers. The first door they tried
was unlatched, and through this the two bore their grisly burden into a
small room lighted by a single window. The apartment bore evidence of
having been utilized as a living-room rather than as a cell, being
furnished with a degree of comfort and even luxury. The walls were
paneled to a height of about seven feet from the floor, while the
plaster above and the ceiling were decorated with faded paintings of
another day.
As Tara's eyes ran quickly over the interior her attention was drawn to
a section of paneling that seemed to be separated at one edge from the
piece next adjoining it. Quickly she crossed to it, discovering that
one vertical edge of an entire panel projected a half-inch beyond the
others. There was a possible explanation which piqued her curiosity,
and acting upon its suggestion she seized upon the projecting edge and
pulled outward. Slowly the panel swung toward her, revealing a dark
aperture in the wall behind.
"Look, Lan-O!" she cried. "See what I have found--a hole in which we
may hide the thing upon the floor."
Lan-O joined her and together the two investigated the dark aperture,
finding a small platform from which a narrow runway led downward into
Stygian darkness. Thick dust covered the floor within the doorway,
indicating that a great period of time had elapsed since human foot had
trod it--a secret way, doubtless, unknown to living Manatorians. Here
they dragged the corpse of E-Med, leaving it upon the platform, and as
they left the dark and forbidden closet Lan-O would have slammed to the
panel had not Tara prevented.
"Wait!" she said, and fell to examining the door frame and the stile.
"Hurry!" whispered the slave girl. "If they come we are lost."
"It may serve us well to know how to open this place again," replied
Tara of Helium, and then suddenly she pressed a foot against a section
of the carved base at the right of the open panel. "Ah!" she breathed,
a note of satisfaction in her tone, and closed the panel until it
fitted snugly in its place. "Come!" she said and turned toward the
outer doorway of the chamber.
They reached their own cell without detection, and closing the door
Tara locked it from the inside and placed the key in a secret pocket in
her harness.
"Let them come," she said. "Let them question us! What could two poor
prisoners know of the whereabouts of their noble jailer? I ask you,
Lan-O, what could they?"
"Nothing," admitted Lan-O, smiling with her companion.
"Tell me of these men of Manator," said Tara presently. "Are they all
like E-Med, or are some of them like A-Kor, who seemed a brave and
chivalrous character?"
"They are not unlike the peoples of other countries," replied Lan-O.
"There be among them both good and bad. They are brave warriors and
mighty. Among themselves they are not without chivalry and honor, but
in their dealings with strangers they know but one law--the law of
might. The weak and unfortunate of other lands fill them with contempt
and arouse all that is worst in their natures, which doubtless accounts
for their treatment of us, their slaves."
"But why should they feel contempt for those who have suffered the
misfortune of falling into their hands?" queried Tara.
"I do not know," said Lan-O; "A-Kor says that he believes that it is
because their country has never been invaded by a victorious foe. In
their stealthy raids never have they been defeated, because they have
never waited to face a powerful force; and so they have come to believe
themselves invincible, and the other peoples are held in contempt as
inferior in valor and the practice of arms."
"Yet A-Kor is one of them," said Tara.
"He is a son of O-Tar, the jeddak," replied Lan-O; "but his mother was
a high born Gatholian, captured and made slave by O-Tar, and A-Kor
boasts that in his veins runs only the blood of his mother, and indeed
is he different from the others. His chivalry is of a gentler form,
though not even his worst enemy has dared question his courage, while
his skill with the sword, and the spear, and the thoat is famous
throughout the length and breadth of Manator."
"What think you they will do with him?" asked Tara of Helium.
"Sentence him to the games," replied Lan-O. "If O-Tar be not greatly
angered he may be sentenced to but a single game, in which case he may
come out alive; but if O-Tar wishes really to dispose of him he will be
sentenced to the entire series, and no warrior has ever survived the
full ten, or rather none who was under a sentence from O-Tar."
"What are the games? I do not understand," said Tara "I have heard them
speak of playing at jetan, but surely no one can be killed at jetan. We
play it often at home."
"But not as they play it in the arena at Manator," replied Lan-O. "Come
to the window," and together the two approached an aperture facing
toward the east.
Below her Tara of Helium saw a great field entirely surrounded by the
low building, and the lofty towers of which that in which she was
imprisoned was but a unit. About the arena were tiers of seats; but the
thing that caught her attention was a gigantic jetan board laid out
upon the floor of the arena in great squares of alternate orange and
black.
"Here they play at jetan with living pieces. They play for great stakes
and usually for a woman--some slave of exceptional beauty. O-Tar
himself might have played for you had you not angered him, but now you
will be played for in an open game by slaves and criminals, and you
will belong to the side that wins--not to a single warrior, but to all
who survive the game."
The eyes of Tara of Helium flashed, but she made no comment.
"Those who direct the play do not necessarily take part in it,"
continued the slave girl, "but sit in those two great thrones which you
see at either end of the board and direct their pieces from square to
square."
"But where lies the danger?" asked Tara of Helium. "If a piece be taken
it is merely removed from the board--this is a rule of jetan as old
almost as the civilization of Barsoom."
"But here in Manator, when they play in the great arena with living
men, that rule is altered," explained Lan-O. "When a warrior is moved
to a square occupied by an opposing piece, the two battle to the death
for possession of the square and the one that is successful advantages
by the move. Each is caparisoned to simulate the piece he represents
and in addition he wears that which indicates whether he be slave, a
warrior serving a sentence, or a volunteer. If serving a sentence the
number of games he must play is also indicated, and thus the one
directing the moves knows which pieces to risk and which to conserve,
and further than this, a man's chances are affected by the position
that is assigned him for the game. Those whom they wish to die are
always Panthans in the game, for the Panthan has the least chance of
surviving."
"Do those who direct the play ever actually take part in it?" asked
Tara.
"Oh, yes," said Lan-O. "Often when two warriors, even of the highest
class, hold a grievance against one another O-Tar compels them to
settle it upon the arena. Then it is that they take active part and
with drawn swords direct their own players from the position of Chief.
They pick their own players, usually the best of their own warriors and
slaves, if they be powerful men who possess such, or their friends may
volunteer, or they may obtain prisoners from the pits. These are games
indeed--the very best that are seen. Often the great chiefs themselves
are slain."
"It is within this amphitheater that the justice of Manator is meted,
then?" asked Tara.
"Very largely," replied Lan-O.
"How, then, through such justice, could a prisoner win his liberty?"
continued the girl from Helium.
"If a man, and he survived ten games his liberty would be his," replied
Lan-O.
"But none ever survives?" queried Tara. "And if a woman?"
"No stranger within the gates of Manator ever has survived ten games,"
replied the slave girl. "They are permitted to offer themselves into
perpetual slavery if they prefer that to fighting at jetan. Of course
they may be called upon, as any warrior, to take part in a game, but
their chances then of surviving are increased, since they may never
again have the chance of winning to liberty."
"But a woman," insisted Tara; "how may a woman win her freedom?"
Lan-O laughed. "Very simply," she cried, derisively. "She has but to
find a warrior who will fight through ten consecutive games for her and
survive."
"'Just are the laws of Manator,'" quoted Tara, scornfully.
Then it was that they heard footsteps outside their cell and a moment
later a key turned in the lock and the door opened. A warrior faced
them.
"Hast seen E-Med the dwar?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Tara, "he was here some time ago."
The man glanced quickly about the bare chamber and then searchingly
first at Tara of Helium and then at the slave girl, Lan-O. The puzzled
expression upon his face increased. He scratched his head. "It is
strange," he said. "A score of men saw him ascend into this tower; and
though there is but a single exit, and that well guarded, no man has
seen him pass out."
Tara of Helium hid a yawn with the back of a shapely hand. "The
Princess of Helium is hungry, fellow," she drawled; "tell your master
that she would eat."
It was an hour later that food was brought, an officer and several
warriors accompanying the bearer. The former examined the room
carefully, but there was no sign that aught amiss had occurred there.
The wound that had sent E-Med the dwar to his ancestors had not bled,
fortunately for Tara of Helium.
"Woman," cried the officer, turning upon Tara, "you were the last to
see E-Med the dwar. Answer me now and answer me truthfully. Did you see
him leave this room?"
"I did," answered Tara of Helium.
"Where did he go from here?"
"How should I know? Think you that I can pass through a locked door of
skeel?" the girl's tone was scornful.
"Of that we do not know," said the officer. "Strange things have
happened in the cell of your companion in the pits of Manator. Perhaps
you could pass through a locked door of skeel as easily as he performs
seemingly more impossible feats."
"Whom do you mean," she cried; "Turan the panthan? He lives, then? Tell
me, is he here in Manator unharmed?"
"I speak of that thing which calls itself Ghek the kaldane," replied
the officer.
"But Turan! Tell me, padwar, have you heard aught of him?" Tara's tone
was insistent and she leaned a little forward toward the officer, her
lips slightly parted in expectancy.
Into the eyes of the slave girl, Lan-O, who was watching her, there
crept a soft light of understanding; but the officer ignored Tara's
question--what was the fate of another slave to him? "Men do not
disappear into thin air," he growled, "and if E-Med be not found soon
O-Tar himself may take a hand in this. I warn you, woman, if you be one
of those horrid Corphals that by commanding the spirits of the wicked
dead gains evil mastery over the living, as many now believe the thing
called Ghek to be, that lest you return E-Med, O-Tar will have no mercy
on you."
"What foolishness is this?" cried the girl. "I am a princess of Helium,
as I have told you all a score of times. Even if the fabled Corphals
existed, as none but the most ignorant now believes, the lore of the
ancients tells us that they entered only into the bodies of wicked
criminals of the lowest class. Man of Manator, thou art a fool, and thy
jeddak and all his people," and she turned her royal back upon the
padwar, and gazed through the window across the Field of Jetan and the
roofs of Manator through the low hills and the rolling country and
freedom.
"And you know so much of Corphals, then," he cried, "you know that
while no common man dare harm them they may be slain by the hand of a
jeddak with impunity!"
The girl did not reply, nor would she speak again, for all his threats
and rage, for she knew now that none in all Manator dared harm her save
O-Tar, the jeddak, and after a while the padwar left, taking his men
with him. And after they had gone Tara stood for long looking out upon
the city of Manator, and wondering what more of cruel wrongs Fate held
in store for her. She was standing thus in silent meditation when there
rose to her the strains of martial music from the city below--the deep,
mellow tones of the long war trumpets of mounted troops, the clear,
ringing notes of foot-soldiers' music. The girl raised her head and
looked about, listening, and Lan-O, standing at an opposite window,
looking toward the west, motioned Tara to join her. Now they could see
across roofs and avenues to The Gate of Enemies, through which troops
were marching into the city.
"The Great Jed is coming," said Lan-O, "none other dares enter thus,
with blaring trumpets, the city of Manator. It is U-Thor, Jed of
Manatos, second city of Manator. They call him The Great Jed the length
and breadth of Manator, and because the people love him, O-Tar hates
him. They say, who know, that it would need but slight provocation to
inflame the two to war. How such a war would end no one could guess;
for the people of Manator worship the great O-Tar, though they do not
love him. U-Thor they love, but he is not the jeddak," and Tara
understood, as only a Martian may, how much that simple statement
encompassed.
The loyalty of a Martian to his jeddak is almost an instinct, and
second not even to the instinct of self-preservation at that. Nor is
this strange in a race whose religion includes ancestor worship, and
where families trace their origin back into remote ages and a jeddak
sits upon the same throne that his direct progenitors have occupied
for, perhaps, hundreds of thousands of years, and rules the descendants
of the same people that his forebears ruled. Wicked jeddaks have been
dethroned, but seldom are they replaced by other than members of the
imperial house, even though the law gives to the jeds the right to
select whom they please.
"U-Thor is a just man and good, then?" asked Tara of Helium.
"There be none nobler," replied Lan-O. "In Manatos none but wicked
criminals who deserve death are forced to play at jetan, and even then
the play is fair and they have their chance for freedom. Volunteers may
play, but the moves are not necessarily to the death--a wound, and even
sometimes points in swordplay, deciding the issue. There they look upon
jetan as a martial sport--here it is but butchery. And U-Thor is
opposed to the ancient slave raids and to the policy that keeps Manator
forever isolated from the other nations of Barsoom; but U-Thor is not
jeddak and so there is no change."
The two girls watched the column moving up the broad avenue from The
Gate of Enemies toward the palace of O-Tar. A gorgeous, barbaric
procession of painted warriors in jewel-studded harness and waving
feathers; vicious, squealing thoats caparisoned in rich trappings; far
above their heads the long lances of their riders bore fluttering
pennons; foot-soldiers swinging easily along the stone pavement, their
sandals of zitidar hide giving forth no sound; and at the rear of each
utan a train of painted chariots, drawn by mammoth zitidars, carrying
the equipment of the company to which they were attached. Utan after
utan entered through the great gate, and even when the head of the
column reached the palace of O-Tar they were not all within the city.
"I have been here many years," said the girl, Lan-O; "but never have I
seen even The Great Jed bring so many fighting men into the city of
Manator."
Through half-closed eyes Tara of Helium watched the warriors marching
up the broad avenue, trying to imagine them the fighting men of her
beloved Helium coming to the rescue of their princess. That splendid
figure upon the great thoat might be John Carter, himself, Warlord of
Barsoom, and behind him utan after utan of the veterans of the empire,
and then the girl opened her eyes again and saw the host of painted,
befeathered barbarians, and sighed. But yet she watched, fascinated by
the martial scene, and now she noted again the groups of silent figures
upon the balconies. No waving silks; no cries of welcome; no showers of
flowers and jewels such as would have marked the entry of such a
splendid, friendly pageant into the twin cities of her birth.
"The people do not seem friendly to the warriors of Manatos," she
remarked to Lan-O; "I have not seen a single welcoming sign from the
people on the balconies."
The slave girl looked at her in surprise. "It cannot be that you do not
know!" she exclaimed. "Why, they are--" but she got no further. The
door swung open and an officer stood before them.
"The slave girl, Tara, is summoned to the presence of O-Tar, the
jeddak!" he announced.