The Collected John Carter of Mars (Volume 3)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  Some of the other guardsmen were scowling at me angrily; but many were laughing at Ul-to, who now scrambled to his feet, whipped out his long-sword, and came for me. They had not yet disarmed me; and I drew mine; but before we could engage, a couple of Ul-to’s companions seized him and held him. He was cursing and struggling to free himself and get at me, when the officer of the guard, evidently attracted by the disturbance, entered the room.

  When he heard what had happened, he turned angrily on me. “You ought to be flogged,” he said, “for insulting and attacking a Panar warrior.”

  “Perhaps you would like to try to flog me,” I said.

  At that, he turned purple and almost jumped up and down, he was so furious. “Seize him!” he shouted to the warriors, “and give him a good beating.”

  They all started toward me, and I drew my sword. I was standing with my back to a wall, and there would have been several dead Panars scattered about that room in a few minutes if the officer who had brought me there had not come in just then.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  The guard officer explained, making me appear wholly in the wrong.

  “He lies,” I said to the officer; “I was attacked without provocation.”

  He turned to the guard officer. “I don’t know who started this,” he said, “but it’s a good thing for your neck that nothing happened to this man;” then he disarmed me and told me to follow him.

  He led me out of the palace again and to the side of the building where my flier stood. I noticed that it was not moored, there being no danger of winds beneath that great dome; and I wished that it were out in the open so that I could fly it away if I were able to find Llana of Gathol; it would have been a Heaven sent opportunity for escape had it not been for that enclosing dome.

  He took me out to the center of an expanse of well kept lawn, facing a number of people who had gathered beside the building. There were both men and women, and more were coming from the palace. At last there was a fanfare of trumpets; and the Jeddak came, accompanied by courtiers and women.

  In the meantime, a large man had come out on the lawn beside me; he was a warrior wearing metal that denoted him a member of Hin Abtol’s bodyguard.

  “The Jeddak has heard tales of your great strength,” said the officer who had brought me there, “and he wishes to see a demonstration of it. Rab-zov, here, is supposed to be the strongest man in Pankor—”

  “I am the strongest man in Pankor, sir,” interrupted Rab-zov; “I am the strongest man on Barsoom.”

  “He must be pretty strong,” I said. “What is he going to do to me?”

  “You are going to wrestle to amuse the Jeddak and his court.

  Rab-zov will demonstrate how easily he can throw you to the ground and hold you there. Are you ready, Rab-zov?”

  Rab-zov said he was ready, and the officer signed us to start. Rab-zov swaggered toward me, taking occasional quick glances at the audience to see if all were looking at him. They were; looking at him and admiring his great bulk.

  “Come on, fellow!” said Rab-zov; “put up the best fight you can; I want to make it interesting for the Jeddak.”

  “I shall hope to make it interesting for you, Rab-zov,” I said.

  He laughed loudly at that. “You won’t feel so much like joking when I’m through with you,” he said.

  “Come on, wind bag!” I cried; “you talk too much.”

  He was leaning forward, reaching for a hold, when I seized one of his wrists, turned quickly and threw him over my shoulder. I purposely let him fall hard, and he was still a little groggy when he came to his feet. I was waiting, very close; and I seized him by the harness and lifted him over my head; then I commenced to whirl with him. He was absolutely helpless; and when I thought he was befuddled enough, I carried him over and threw him down heavily in front of Hin Abtol. Rab-zov was down—and out.

  “Have you no strong men in Pankor?” I asked him, and then I saw Llana of Gathol standing beside the Jeddak. Almost with the suddenness of a revelation a mad scheme came to me.

  “Perhaps I had better send two men against you,” said Hin Abtol, rather good-naturedly; he had evidently enjoyed the spectacle.

  “Why not a swordsman?” I asked. “I am quite good with a sword,” and I wanted a sword very much right then—I needed a sword to carry out my plan.

  “Do you want to be killed, slave?” demanded Hin Abtol; “I have the best swordsmen in the world in my guard.”

  “Bring out your best, then,” I said; “I may surprise him—and somebody else,” and I looked straight at Llana of Gathol, and winked. Then, for the first time, she recognized me through my disguise.

  “Who were you winking at?” demanded Hin Abtol, looking around.

  “Something got in my eye,” I said.

  Hin Abtol spoke to an officer standing near him. “Who is the best swordsman in the guard?” he asked.

  “There is none better than Ul-to,” replied the officer.

  “Fetch him!”

  So! I was to cross swords with my old friend, Ul-to. That would please him—for a few moments.

  They brought Ul-to; and when he found that he was to fight me, he beamed all over. “Now, slave,” he said, “I will teach you that lesson that I promised you.”

  “Again?” I asked.

  “It will be different this time,” he said.

  We crossed swords.

  “To the death!” I said.

  “To the death, slave!” replied Ul-to.

  I fought on the defensive mostly at first, seeking to work my man around in the position in which I wanted him; and when I had him there, I pressed him; and he fell back. I kept backing him toward the audience, and to make him more amenable to my directions, I started carving him—just a little. I wanted him to acquire respect for my point and my ability. Soon he was covered with blood, and I was forcing him to go wherever I wished him.

  I backed him into the crowd, which fell back; and then I caught Llana’s eye, and motioned her with my head to step to one side; then I pressed close to her. “At the kill,” I whispered, “run for the flier and start the engine.”

  I backed Ul-to away from the crowd then, and I saw Llana following, as though she was so much interested in the duel that she did not realize what she was doing.

  “Now! Llana!” I whispered, and I saw her walking slowly backward toward the flier.

  In order to attract the crowd’s attention from Llana, I pressed Ul-to to one side with such an exhibition of swordplay as I knew would hold every eye; then I turned him around and had him almost running backward, carrying me nearer my ship.

  Suddenly I heard Hin Abtol cry, “The girl! Get her! She’s gone aboard that flier!”

  As they started forward, I ran Ul-to through the heart and turned and ran for my ship. At my heels came a dozen warriors with drawn swords. The one who started first, and who was faster than the others, overtook me just as I had to pause a moment at the side of the flier to make assurance doubly sure that she was not moored in any way. I wheeled and parried a vicious cut; my blade moved once more with the swiftness of light, and the warrior’s head rolled from his shoulders.

  “Let her go!” I cried to Llana, as I leaped to the deck.

  As the ship rose, I hastened to the controls, and took over.

  “Where are we going, John Carter?” asked Llana.

  “To Gathol,” I replied.

  She looked up at the dome above us. “How—?” she started, but she saw that I had turned the nose of the flier upward at an angle of forty-five degrees and opened the throttle—that was her answer.

  The little ship, as sweet and fast a flier as I have ever flown, was streaking through the warm air of Pankor at tremendous speed. We both huddled close to the deck of the little cockpit—and hoped.

  The flier shuddered to the terrific impact; broken glass showered in every direction—and then we were out in the cold, clear air of the Arctic.

  I levelled of
f then, and headed for Gathol at full speed; there was danger of our freezing to death if we didn’t get into a warmer climate soon, for we had no furs.

  “What became of Pan Dan Chee and Jad-han?” I asked.

  “I haven’t seen them since we were all captured in Gathol,” replied Llana. “Poor Pan Dan Chee; he fought for me, and he was badly wounded; I am afraid that I shall never see him again,” and there were tears in her voice.

  I greatly deplored the probable fate of Pan Dan Chee and Jad-han, but at least Llana of Gathol was at last safe. Or was this a masterpiece of overstatement? She was at least safe from Hin Abtol, but what lay in the future? Immediately she was in danger of freezing to death should any mishap delay our flight before we reached a warmer latitude, and there were innumerable other hazards in the crossing of the wastelands of this dying planet.

  But, being an incorrigible optimist, I still felt that Llana was safe; and so did she. Perhaps because no conceivable danger could have been greater than that which had threatened her while she lay in the power of Hin Abtol.

  Presently I noticed that she was laughing, and I asked her what amused her. “More than any other man on Barsoom, Hin Abtol feared you,” she said, “and he had you in his power and did not know it. And he pitted against you, the greatest swordsman of two worlds, a clumsy oaf, when he might have loosed upon you a full utan and destroyed you. Though he would doubtless have lost half his utan. I only pray that some day he may know the opportunity he missed when he permitted John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom to escape him.”

  “Yes,” I said, “it is amusing. So is that hole we left in the roof of his hot-house city; but I am afraid that Hin Abtol’s sense of humor will not be equal to the task of appreciating it.”

  We sped swiftly toward the south and warmer climes, happy in our miraculous escape from the tyrant of Panar; and, fortunately, unaware of what lay in our future.

  Llana of Gathol was safe—but for how long? When would we see Gathol again, or Helium?

  Part 4

  INVISIBLE MEN OF MARS

  chapter I

  YES, LLANA OF GATHOL was safe at last. I had brought her from captivity in the Arctic city of Pankor, stolen her from under the very nose of Hin Abtol, the self-styled Jeddak of Jeddaks of the North; and we were speeding through the thin air of dying Mars in my own fast flier toward Gathol. I was very contented with what I had achieved, but I was also very cold.

  “You said that you were taking me to Gathol,” said Llana, after we had left Pankor far behind. “Nothing would make me happier than to return to my father, my mother, and my native city; but how may we hope to make a landing there while Gathol is surrounded by the warriors of Hin Abtol?”

  “The Panars are a stupid, inefficient lot,” I replied; “most of Hin Abtol’s warriors are unwilling conscripts who have no heart in waging war for their tyrannical master. These poor frozen men only endure it because they know there is no escape and prefer life and consciousness to being returned to Pankor and frozen in again until Hin Abtol needs their swords for a future war.”

  “‘Frozen men’!” ejaculated Llana; “what do you mean by that?”

  “You heard nothing of them while you were a prisoner in Pankor?” I asked, surprised.

  “Nothing,” Llana assured me; “tell me about them.”

  “Just outside the walls of the hot-house city there are rows upon rows of racks in the biting cold and bitter wind of the North Polar region. On these racks, like beef in a cold storage warehouse, thousands of warriors hang by their feet, frozen solid and in a state of suspended animation. They are captives whom he had taken on numerous raids during a period of fully a hundred years. I have talked with some who had been frozen in over fifty years.

  “I was in the resuscitating room when a number of them were thawed out; after a few minutes they don’t seem to be any worse for their experience, but the whole idea is revolting.”

  “Why does he do it?” demanded Llana. “Why thousands of them?”

  “Better say thousands upon thousands,” I said; “one slave told me that there were at least a million. Hin Abtol dreams of conquering all of Barsoom with them.”

  “How grotesque!” exclaimed Llana.

  “Were it not for the navy of Helium, he might go far along the road toward the goal of his grandiose ambition; and you may thank your revered ancestors, Llana, that there is a navy of Helium. After I return you to Gathol, I shall fly to Helium and organize an expedition to write finis to Hin Abtol’s dreams.”

  “I wish that before you do that we might try to find out what has become of Pan Dan Chee and Jad-han,” said Llana; “the Panars separated us shortly after we were captured.”

  “They may have been taken to Pankor and frozen in,” I suggested.

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Llana; “that would be too terrible.”

  “You are very fond of Pan Dan Chee, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “He has been a very good friend,” she replied, a little stiffly. The stubborn minx wouldn’t admit that she was in love with him—and possibly she wasn’t; you never can tell anything about a woman. She had treated him abominably when they were together; but when they were separated and he was in danger, she had evinced the greatest concern for his safety.

  “I don’t know how we can learn anything about his fate,” I said, “unless we can inquire directly of the Panars; and that might prove rather dangerous. I should like to know what has become of them and Tan Hadron of Hastor as well.”

  “Tan Hadron of Hastor? Where is he?”

  “The last I saw of him, he was on board the Dusar, the Panar ship I stole from their line outside Gathol; and he was the prisoner of the mutinous crew that took it from me. There were a lot of assassins among them, and these were determined to kill Tan Hadron as soon as he had taken the ship to whatever destination they had decided upon; you see, none of the crew knew anything about navigation.”

  “Tan Hadron of Hastor,” said Llana again; “his mother was a royal princess of Gathol and Tan Hadron himself one of the greatest fighting men of Barsoom.”

  “A splendid officer,” I added.

  “Steps must be taken to save him, too.”

  “If it is not too late,” I said; “and the only chance of saving any of them lies in my reaching Helium in time to bring a fleet to Gathol before Hin Abtol succeeds in reducing it, and then on to Pankor, if we do not find these three among Hin Abtol’s prisoners at Gathol.”

  “Perhaps we had better fly direct to Helium,” suggested Llana. “A fleet from Helium could accomplish something, while we two, alone, might accomplish no more than getting ourselves captured again by the Panars—and it would go hard with you, John Carter, if Hin Abtol ever got his hands on you again, after what you did in Pankor today.” She laughed. “I shall never forget what you did to Rab-zov, ‘the strongest man in Pankor.’”

  “Neither will Rab-zov,” I said.

  “Nor Hin Abtol. And the hole you made in the glass dome covering the city, when you drove the flier right through it! I’ll wager they all had chills before they got that patched up. No, Hin Abtol will never forget you.”

  “But he never knew who I really was,” I reminded Llana; “with my disguise removed, I was no longer a red man; and he might never guess that he had once had John Carter in his power.”

  “The results would be the same as far as you are concerned,” said Llana; “I think it would be death in either event.”

  Before we had come far from Pankor I decided that our wisest course would be to proceed directly to Helium and enlist the aid of Tardos Mors, the jeddak. While I hold the titles of Jeddak of Jeddaks and Warlord of Barsoom, conferred upon me by the jeddaks of five nations, I have always considered them largely honorary, and have never presumed to exercise the authority implicit in them, except in times of war when even the great Jeddak of Helium has graciously served under me.

  Having reached the decision to fly to Helium rather than Gathol, I turned toward the southeast. Before us l
ay a journey half the distance around the planet, and we were absolutely without water or provisions. Soon the towers and stately ruins of Horz were visible, reminding us both of the circumstances under which we had met Pan Dan Chee, and I thought that Llana looked down a little sadly on that long dead city from which her lost lover had been self-exiled because of us. It was here that she had escaped from Hin Abtol, and it was here that Hin Abtol had stolen this very flier of mine that I had found and recovered in his Polar capital. Yes, Horz held many memories for both of us; and I was glad when it lay behind us, this dead monument to a dead past.

  Far ahead lay Dusar where water and provisions might be obtained, but the friendliness of Dusar was open to question. It had not been so many years since Carthoris, the Prince of Helium, had almost been done to death there by Astok, son of Nutus, the jeddak of Dusar; and there had been no intercourse between Helium and Dusar since that time. Beyond Dusar was no friendly city all the way to Helium.

  I decided to give Dusar a wide berth, and in doing so we flew over country with which I was entirely unfamiliar. It was a hilly country; and in the long, deep valley I saw one of those rarest of all sights on Mars, a splendid forest. Now, to me a forest means fruits and nuts and, perhaps, game animals; and we were hungry. There would doubtless be mantilia plants too, the sap of which would quench our thirst; and so I decided to land. My best judgment told me that it was a risky thing to do, and subsequent events proved that my judgment was wholly correct.

  chapter II

  I LANDED ON LEVEL GROUND close to the forest, and telling Llana to remain aboard the flier ready to take off at a moment’s notice, I went in search of food. The forest consisted principally of skeel, sorapus, and sompus trees. The first two are hardwood trees bearing large, delicious nuts, while the sompus trees were loaded with a citrus-like fruit with a thin red rind. The pulp of this fruit, called somp, is not unlike grapefruit, though much sweeter. It is considered a great delicacy among Barsoomians, and is cultivated along many of the canals. I had never seen any, however, as large as these, growing wild; nor had I ever seen trees on Mars of the size of many of those growing in this hidden forest.