The Martian Megapack

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  “All that causes me to hesitate,” he added, “is the danger of taking you past so many banths. A single sword would scarce prevail were even a couple of them to charge simultaneously.”

  “Do not fear on that score,” replied the girl, smiling. “The banths will not harm us.”

  As she spoke she descended from the platform, and with Carthoris at her side stepped fearlessly out upon the bloody field in the direction of the walled city of mystery.

  They had advanced but a short distance when a banth, looking up from its gory feast, descried them. With an angry roar the beast walked quickly in their direction, and at the sound of its voice a score of others followed its example.

  Carthoris drew his long-sword. The girl stole a quick glance at his face. She saw the smile upon his lips, and it was as wine to sick nerves; for even upon warlike Barsoom where all men are brave, woman reacts quickly to quiet indifference to danger—to dare-deviltry that is without bombast.

  “You may return your sword,” she said. “I told you that the banths would not harm us. Look!” and as she spoke she stepped quickly toward the nearest animal.

  Carthoris would have leaped after her to protect her, but with a gesture she motioned him back. He heard her calling to the banths in a low, singsong voice that was half purr.

  Instantly the great heads went up and all the wicked eyes were riveted upon the figure of the girl. Then, stealthily, they commenced moving toward her. She had stopped now and was standing waiting them.

  One, closer to her than the others, hesitated. She spoke to him imperiously, as a master might speak to a refractory hound.

  The great carnivore let its head droop, and with tail between its legs came slinking to the girl’s feet, and after it came the others until she was entirely surrounded by the savage maneaters.

  Turning she led them to where Carthoris stood. They growled a little as they neared the man, but a few sharp words of command put them in their places.

  “How do you do it?” exclaimed Carthoris.

  “Your father once asked me that same question in the galleries of the Golden Cliffs within the Otz Mountains, beneath the temples of the therns. I could not answer him, nor can I answer you. I do not know whence comes my power over them, but ever since the day that Sator Throg threw me among them in the banth pit of the Holy Therns, and the great creatures fawned upon instead of devouring me, I ever have had the same strange power over them. They come at my call and do my bidding, even as the faithful Woola does the bidding of your mighty sire.”

  With a word the girl dispersed the fierce pack. Roaring, they returned to their interrupted feast, while Carthoris and Thuvia passed among them toward the walled city.

  As they advanced the man looked with wonder upon the dead bodies of those of the green men that had not been devoured or mauled by the banths.

  He called the girl’s attention to them. No arrows protruded from the great carcasses. Nowhere upon any of them was the sign of mortal wound, nor even slightest scratch or abrasion.

  Before the bowmen’s dead had disappeared the corpses of the Torquasians had bristled with the deadly arrows of their foes. Where had the slender messengers of death departed? What unseen hand had plucked them from the bodies of the slain?

  Despite himself Carthoris could scarce repress a shudder of apprehension as he glanced toward the silent city before them. No longer was sign of life visible upon wall or roof top. All was quiet—brooding, ominous quiet.

  Yet he was sure that eyes watched them from somewhere behind that blank wall.

  He glanced at Thuvia. She was advancing with wide eyes fixed upon the city gate. He looked in the direction of her gaze, but saw nothing.

  His gaze upon her seemed to arouse her as from a lethargy. She glanced up at him, a quick, brave smile touching her lips, and then, as though the act was involuntary, she came close to his side and placed one of her hands in his.

  He guessed that something within her that was beyond her conscious control was appealing to him for protection. He threw an arm about her, and thus they crossed the field. She did not draw away from him. It is doubtful that she realized that his arm was there, so engrossed was she in the mystery of the strange city before them.

  They stopped before the gate. It was a mighty thing. From its construction Carthoris could but dimly speculate upon its unthinkable antiquity.

  It was circular, closing a circular aperture, and the Heliumite knew from his study of ancient Barsoomian architecture that it rolled to one side, like a huge wheel, into an aperture in the wall.

  Even such world-old cities as ancient Aaanthor were as yet undreamed of when the races lived that built such gates as these.

  As he stood speculating upon the identity of this forgotten city, a voice spoke to them from above. Both looked up. There, leaning over the edge of the high wall, was a man.

  His hair was auburn, his skin fair—fairer even than that of John Carter, the Virginian. His forehead was high, his eyes large and intelligent.

  The language that he used was intelligible to the two below, yet there was a marked difference between it and their Barsoomian tongue.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “And what do you here before the gate of Lothar?”

  “We are friends,” replied Carthoris. “This be the princess, Thuvia of Ptarth, who was captured by the Torquasian horde. I am Carthoris of Helium, Prince of the house of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, and son of John Carter, Warlord of Mars, and of his wife, Dejah Thoris.”

  “‘Ptarth’?” repeated the man. “‘Helium’?” He shook his head. “I never have heard of these places, nor did I know that there dwelt upon Barsoom a race of thy strange colour. Where may these cities lie, of which you speak? From our loftiest tower we have never seen another city than Lothar.”

  Carthoris pointed toward the north-east.

  “In that direction lie Helium and Ptarth,” he said. “Helium is over eight thousand haads from Lothar, while Ptarth lies nine thousand five hundred haads north-east of Helium.”3

  Still the man shook his head.

  “I know of nothing beyond the Lotharian hills,” he said. “Naught may live there beside the hideous green hordes of Torquas. They have conquered all Barsoom except this single valley and the city of Lothar. Here we have defied them for countless ages, though periodically they renew their attempts to destroy us. From whence you come I cannot guess unless you be descended from the slaves the Torquasians captured in early times when they reduced the outer world to their vassalage; but we had heard that they destroyed all other races but their own.”

  Carthoris tried to explain that the Torquasians ruled but a relatively tiny part of the surface of Barsoom, and even this only because their domain held nothing to attract the red race; but the Lotharian could not seem to conceive of anything beyond the valley of Lothar other than a trackless waste peopled by the ferocious green hordes of Torquas.

  After considerable parleying he consented to admit them to the city, and a moment later the wheel-like gate rolled back within its niche, and Thuvia and Carthoris entered the city of Lothar.

  All about them were evidences of fabulous wealth. The facades of the buildings fronting upon the avenue within the wall were richly carven, and about the windows and doors were ofttimes set foot-wide borders of precious stones, intricate mosaics, or tablets of beaten gold bearing bas-reliefs depicting what may have been bits of the history of this forgotten people.

  He with whom they had conversed across the wall was in the avenue to receive them. About him were a hundred or more men of the same race. All were clothed in flowing robes and all were beardless.

  Their attitude was more of fearful suspicion than antagonism. They followed the new-comers with their eyes; but spoke no word to them.

  Carthoris could not but notice the fact that though the city had been but a short time before surrounded by a horde of bloodthirsty demons yet none of the citizens appeared to be armed, nor was there sign of soldiery about.

&n
bsp; He wondered if all the fighting men had sallied forth in one supreme effort to rout the foe, leaving the city all unguarded. He asked their host.

  The man smiled.

  “No creature other than a score or so of our sacred banths has left Lothar to-day,” he replied.

  “But the soldiers—the bowmen!” exclaimed Carthoris. “We saw thousands emerge from this very gate, overwhelming the hordes of Torquas and putting them to rout with their deadly arrows and their fierce banths.”

  Still the man smiled his knowing smile.

  “Look!” he cried, and pointed down a broad avenue before him.

  Carthoris and Thuvia followed the direction indicated, and there, marching bravely in the sunlight, they saw advancing toward them a great army of bowmen.

  “Ah!” exclaimed Thuvia. “They have returned through another gate, or perchance these be the troops that remained to defend the city?”

  Again the fellow smiled his uncanny smile.

  “There are no soldiers in Lothar,” he said. “Look!”

  Both Carthoris and Thuvia had turned toward him while he spoke, and now as they turned back again toward the advancing regiments their eyes went wide in astonishment, for the broad avenue before them was as deserted as the tomb.

  “And those who marched out upon the hordes to-day?” whispered Carthoris. “They, too, were unreal?”

  The man nodded.

  “But their arrows slew the green warriors,” insisted Thuvia.

  “Let us go before Tario,” replied the Lotharian. “He will tell you that which he deems it best you know. I might tell you too much.”

  “Who is Tario?” asked Carthoris.

  “Jeddak of Lothar,” replied the guide, leading them up the broad avenue down which they had but a moment since seen the phantom army marching.

  For half an hour they walked along lovely avenues between the most gorgeous buildings that the two had ever seen. Few people were in evidence. Carthoris could not but note the deserted appearance of the mighty city.

  At last they came to the royal palace. Carthoris saw it from a distance, and guessing the nature of the magnificent pile wondered that even here there should be so little sign of activity and life.

  Not even a single guard was visible before the great entrance gate, nor in the gardens beyond, into which he could see, was there sign of the myriad life that pulses within the precincts of the royal estates of the red jeddaks.

  “Here,” said their guide, “is the palace of Tario.”

  As he spoke Carthoris again let his gaze rest upon the wondrous palace. With a startled exclamation he rubbed his eyes and looked again. No! He could not be mistaken. Before the massive gate stood a score of sentries. Within, the avenue leading to the main building was lined on either side by ranks of bowmen. The gardens were dotted with officers and soldiers moving quickly to and fro, as though bent upon the duties of the minute.

  What manner of people were these who could conjure an army out of thin air? He glanced toward Thuvia. She, too, evidently had witnessed the transformation.

  With a little shudder she pressed more closely toward him.

  “What do you make of it?” she whispered. “It is most uncanny.”

  “I cannot account for it,” replied Carthoris, “unless we have gone mad.”

  Carthoris turned quickly toward the Lotharian. The fellow was smiling broadly.

  “I thought that you just said that there were no soldiers in Lothar,” said the Heliumite, with a gesture toward the guardsmen. “What are these?”

  “Ask Tario,” replied the other. “We shall soon be before him.”

  Nor was it long before they entered a lofty chamber at one end of which a man reclined upon a rich couch that stood upon a high dais.

  As the trio approached, the man turned dreamy eyes sleepily upon them. Twenty feet from the dais their conductor halted, and, whispering to Thuvia and Carthoris to follow his example, threw himself headlong to the floor. Then rising to hands and knees, he commenced crawling toward the foot of the throne, swinging his head to and fro and wiggling his body as you have seen a hound do when approaching its master.

  Thuvia glanced quickly toward Carthoris. He was standing erect, with high-held head and arms folded across his broad chest. A haughty smile curved his lips.

  The man upon the dais was eyeing him intently, and Carthoris of Helium was looking straight in the other’s face.

  “Who be these, Jav?” asked the man of him who crawled upon his belly along the floor.

  “O Tario, most glorious Jeddak,” replied Jav, “these be strangers who came with the hordes of Torquas to our gates, saying that they were prisoners of the green men. They tell strange tales of cities far beyond Lothar.”

  “Arise, Jav,” commanded Tario, “and ask these two why they show not to Tario the respect that is his due.”

  Jav arose and faced the strangers. At sight of their erect positions his face went livid. He leaped toward them.

  “Creatures!” he screamed. “Down! Down upon your bellies before the last of the jeddaks of Barsoom!”

  CHAPTER VII

  THE PHANTOM BOWMEN

  As Jav leaped toward him Carthoris laid his hand upon the hilt of his long-sword. The Lotharian halted. The great apartment was empty save for the four at the dais, yet as Jav stepped back from the menace of the Heliumite’s threatening attitude the latter found himself surrounded by a score of bowmen.

  From whence had they sprung? Both Carthoris and Thuvia looked their astonishment.

  Now the former’s sword leaped from its scabbard, and at the same instant the bowmen drew back their slim shafts.

  Tario had half raised himself upon one elbow. For the first time he saw the full figure of Thuvia, who had been concealed behind the person of Carthoris.

  “Enough!” cried the jeddak, raising a protesting hand, but at that very instant the sword of the Heliumite cut viciously at its nearest antagonist.

  As the keen edge reached its goal Carthoris let the point fall to the floor, as with wide eyes he stepped backward in consternation, throwing the back of his left hand across his brow. His steel had cut but empty air—his antagonist had vanished—there were no bowmen in the room!

  “It is evident that these are strangers,” said Tario to Jav. “Let us first determine that they knowingly affronted us before we take measures for punishment.”

  Then he turned to Carthoris, but ever his gaze wandered to the perfect lines of Thuvia’s glorious figure, which the harness of a Barsoomian princess accentuated rather than concealed.

  “Who are you,” he asked, “who knows not the etiquette of the court of the last of jeddaks?”

  “I am Carthoris, Prince of Helium,” replied the Heliumite. “And this is Thuvia, Princess of Ptarth. In the courts of our fathers men do not prostrate themselves before royalty. Not since the First Born tore their immortal goddess limb from limb have men crawled upon their bellies to any throne upon Barsoom. Now think you that the daughter of one mighty jeddak and the son of another would so humiliate themselves?”

  Tario looked at Carthoris for a long time. At last he spoke.

  “There is no other jeddak upon Barsoom than Tario,” he said. “There is no other race than that of Lothar, unless the hordes of Torquas may be dignified by such an appellation. Lotharians are white; your skins are red. There are no women left upon Barsoom. Your companion is a woman.”

  He half rose from the couch, leaning far forward and pointing an accusing finger at Carthoris.

  “You are a lie!” he shrieked. “You are both lies, and you dare to come before Tario, last and mightiest of the jeddaks of Barsoom, and assert your reality. Some one shall pay well for this, Jav, and unless I mistake it is yourself who has dared thus flippantly to trifle with the good nature of your jeddak.

  “Remove the man. Leave the woman. We shall see if both be lies. And later, Jav, you shall suffer for your temerity. There be few of us left, but—Komal must be fed. Go!”

  Car
thoris could see that Jav trembled as he prostrated himself once more before his ruler, and then, rising, turned toward the Prince of Helium.

  “Come!” he said.

  “And leave the Princess of Ptarth here alone?” cried Carthoris.

  Jav brushed closely past him, whispering:

  “Follow me—he cannot harm her, except to kill; and that he can do whether you remain or not. We had best go now—trust me.”

  Carthoris did not understand, but something in the urgency of the other’s tone assured him, and so he turned away, but not without a glance toward Thuvia in which he attempted to make her understand that it was in her own interest that he left her.

  For answer she turned her back full upon him, but not without first throwing him such a look of contempt that brought the scarlet to his cheek.

  Then he hesitated, but Jav seized him by the wrist.

  “Come!” he whispered. “Or he will have the bowmen upon you, and this time there will be no escape. Did you not see how futile is your steel against thin air!”

  Carthoris turned unwillingly to follow. As the two left the room he turned to his companion.

  “If I may not kill thin air,” he asked, “how, then, shall I fear that thin air may kill me?”

  “You saw the Torquasians fall before the bowmen?” asked Jav.

  Carthoris nodded.

  “So would you fall before them, and without one single chance for self-defence or revenge.”

  As they talked Jav led Carthoris to a small room in one of the numerous towers of the palace. Here were couches, and Jav bid the Heliumite be seated.

  For several minutes the Lotharian eyed his prisoner, for such Carthoris now realized himself to be.

  “I am half convinced that you are real,” he said at last.

  Carthoris laughed.

  “Of course I am real,” he said. “What caused you to doubt it? Can you not see me, feel me?”

  “So may I see and feel the bowmen,” replied Jav, “and yet we all know that they, at least, are not real.”

  Carthoris showed by the expression of his face his puzzlement at each new reference to the mysterious bowmen—the vanishing soldiery of Lothar.