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04 - Thuvia, Maid of Mars - Edgar Rice Burroughs · Classic Science Fiction Books

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Chapter four, a green Man's captive. When the light of day broke upon
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the little craft to whose deck the Princess of Ptarth had been snatched from her
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father's garden, Thuvius saw that the night had wrought a change in her abductors.
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No longer did their trappings gleam with the metal of Dusar, but instead
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there was emblazoned there the insignia of the Prince of Helium. The girl felt
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renewed hope, for she could not believe that in the heart of Carthoris could
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lie intent to harm her. She spoke to the warrior squatting before the control
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board. Last night you wore the trappings of a Dusarian, she said,
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Now you are metal as that of Helium. What means it? The man
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looked at her with a grin. The Prince of Helium is no fool,
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he said. Just then an officer emerged from the tiny cabin. He reprimanded
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the warrior for conversing with the prisoner, nor would he himself reply to any
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of her inquiries. No harm was offered her during the journey, and so
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they came at last to their destination, with the girl no wiser as to
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her abductors or their purpose than at first. Here the flier settled slowly into
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the plaza of one of those mute monuments of Marses, dead and forgotten,
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past the deserted cities that fringe the sad oak here sea bottoms, where once
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rolled the mighty floods, upon whose bosoms moved the maritime commerce of the peoples
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that are gone forever. Thuvia of Ptarth was no stranger to such places.
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During her wanderings in search of the River Iss. That time she had set
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out upon what for countless ages had been the last long the pilgrimage of Martians
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toward the valley door where lies the lost Sea of Korus. She had encountered
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several of these sad remainders of the greatness and of the glory of ancient Barsoom.
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And again, during her flight from the temples of the Holy Ferns with
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Tars Tarkas Jeddak of Thark, she had seen them, with their weird and
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ghostly inmates, the great white apes of Barsoom. She knew too that many
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of them were now used by the nomadic tribes of green men, but that
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among them all was no city that the red men did not shun, for
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without exception, they stood amidst vast, waterless tracts, unsuited for the continued
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sustenance of the dominant race of Martians. Why then, should they bring her
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to such a place? There was but a single answer. Such was the
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nature of their work that they must needs seek the seclusion that a dead city
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afforded. The girl trembled at thought her plight. For two days, her
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captors kept her within a huge palace that, even in decay, reflected the
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splendor of the age which its youth had known. Just before dawn on the
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third day, she had been roused by the voices of two of her abductors.
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He should be here by dawn, one was saying, have her in
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readiness upon the plaza, else he will never land. The moment he finds
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that he is in a strange country, he will turn about. Methinks the
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Prince's plan is weak in this one spot. There was no other way,
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replied the other. It is wondrous work to get them both here at all,
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and even if we do not succeed in luring him to the ground,
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we shall have accomplished much. Just then the speaker caught the eyes of Uvia
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upon him, revealed by the quick moving patch of light cast by Thuria in
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her mad race through the heavens. With a quick sign to the other,
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he ceased speaking and advancing toward the girl, motioned her to eyes. Then
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he led her out into the night, toward the center of a great plaza.
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Stand here, he commanded, until we come for you, we shall
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be watching, and should you attempt to escape, it will go ill for
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you much worse than death. Such are the Prince's orders. Then he turned
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and retraced his steps towards the palace, leaving her alone in the midst of
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the unseen terrors of the haunted city. For in truth, these places are
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haunted in the belief of many Martians who still cling to an ancient superstition which
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teaches that the spirits of holy Thurns, who die before their allotted one thousand
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years, pass on occasions into the bodies of the great white Apes to Thuvia.
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However, the real danger of attack by one of these ferocious manlike beasts
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was quite sufficient. She no longer believed in the weird soul transmigration that the
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Thurns had taught her before she was rescued from their clutches by John Carter.
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But she well knew the horrid fate that awaited her should one of the terrible
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beasts chance to spy her during its nocturnal prowlings. What was that? Surely
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she could not be mistaken. Something had moved stealthily in the shadow of one
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of the great monoliths that lie in the avenue where it entered the plaza opposite
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her. Far Ban jed among the hordes of Torquas, rode swiftly across the
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ochre vegetation of the dead sea bottom, toward the ruins of ancient Anthor.
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He had ridden far that night and fast, for he had but come from
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the despoiling of the incubator of a neighboring green horde, with which the hordes
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of Torquas were perpetually warring. His giant thoat was far from jaded. Yet
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it would be well thought thar Ban to permit him to graze upon the ochre
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moss, which grows to greater height within the protected court yards of deserted cities,
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where the soil is richer than on the sea bottoms, and the plants
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partly shaded from the sun. During the cloudless Martian day. Within the tiny
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stems of this dry seeming plant is sufficient moisture for the needs of the huge
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bodies of the mighty thoats, which can exist for months without water, and
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for days without even the slight moisture which the ochre moss contains. As thar
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Ban rode noiselessly up the broad avenue which leads from the quays of Anthor to
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the great central Plaza, he and his mount might have been mistaken for specters
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from a world of dreams. So grotesque the man and beast, so soundless
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the great thoat's padded nailss feet upon the moss grown flagging of the ancient pavement.
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The man was a splendid specimen of his race, Fully fifteen feet towered,
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his great height from soul to pate. The moonlight glistened against his glossy
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green hide, sparkling the jewels of his heavy harness and the ornaments that waited
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his four muscular arms, while the upcurving tusks that protruded from his lower jaw
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gleamed white and terrible. At the side of his thoat were slung his long
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radium rifle and his great forty foot metal shod spear, while from his own
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harness defended his long sword and his short sword, as well as as lesser
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weapons. His protruding eyes and antennae like ears were turning constantly hither and thither,
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for thar Ban was yet in the country of the enemy. And two
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there was always the menace of the great white apes, which John Connor was
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wont to say, are the only creatures that can arouse in the breasts of
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these fierce denizens of the dead sea bottoms, even the remotest semblance of fear.
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As the writer neared the plaza he reined in, Suddenly his slender,
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tubular ears pointed rigidly forward. An unwonted sound had reached them voices. And
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where there were voices outside of Torcas, there too were enemies. All the
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world of wide Barsoom contained naught but enemies for the fierce Torcasians. Far Ban
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dismounted. Keeping in the shadows of the great monoliths that line the avenue of
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Quays of Sleeping Anthor, he approached the plot directly behind him as a hound
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at heel came the slate gray thoat, his white belly shadowed by his barrel,
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his vivid yellow feet merging into the yellow of the moss beneath them.
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In the center of the plaza, far Ban saw the figure of a red
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woman. A red warrior was conversing with her. Now the man turned and
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retraced his steps toward the palace at the opposite side of the plaza. Far
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Ban watched until he had disappeared within the yawning portal. Here was a captive
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worth having. Seldom did a female of their hereditary enemies fall to the lot
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of a green man. Far Ban licked his thin lips. Thuvia of Ptarth
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watched the shadow behind the monolith at the opening of the avenue opposite her.
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She hoped that it might be but the figment of an overwrought imagination. But
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no. Now, clearly and distinctly she saw it move. It came from
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behind the screening shelter of the air sight shaft. The sudden light of the
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rising sun fell upon it. The girl trembled. The thing was a huge
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green warrior. Swiftly it sprang toward her. She screamed and tried to flee,
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but she had scarce turned toward the palace when a giant hand fell upon
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her arm. She was whirled about and half dragged, half carried toward a
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huge thoat that was slowly grazing out of the avenue's mouth on the ochra moss
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of the plaza. At the same instant, she turned her face upward toward
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the whirring sound of something above her, and there she saw a swift flier
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dropping toward her, the head and shoulders of a man leaning far over the
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side, But the man's features were deeply shadowed. She did not recognize them.
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Now from behind her came the shouts of her red abductors. They were
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racing madly after him, who dared to steal what they had already stolen.
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As thar Ban reached the side of his mount, he snatched his long radium
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rifle from its boot, and, wheeling, poured three shots into the oncoming
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Red men. Such is the uncanny marksmanship of these Martian savages that three Red
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warriors dropped in their tracks as three projectiles exploded in their vitals. The others
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halted, nor did they dare return the fire for fear of wounding the girl.
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Then thar Ban vaulted to the back of his thoat, Thuvia of Ptarth
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still in his arms, and with a savage cry of triumph, disappeared down
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the black canyon of the Avenue of Quays between the sullen palaces of Forgotten an
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Thor. Carthoris's flore had not touched the ground before he had sprung from its
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deck to race after the swift thoat, whose eight long legs were sending it
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down the avenue at the rate of an express train. But the men of
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Dusar, who still remained alive, had no mind to permit so valuable a
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capture to escape them. They had lost the girl. That would be a
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difficult thing to explain to Astok, but some leniency might be expected. Could
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they carry the Prince of Helium to their master instead? So the three who
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remained set upon Carthoris with their long swords, crying to him to surrender.
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But they might as successfully have cried aloud to Thuria to cease her mad hurdling
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through the Barsoomian sky. For Carthoris of Helium was a true son of the
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warlord of Mars and his incomparable dejah Thoris. Carthoris's long sword had been already
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in his hand as he leaped from the deck of the flier, so the
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instant that he realized the men of the three Red Warriors, he wheeled to
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face them, meeting their onslaught as only John Carter himself might have done so,
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swift his sword, so mighty and agile his half earthly muscles, that
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one of his opponents was down, crimsoning the ochre moss with his life blood.
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When he had scarce made a single pass at Carthoris. Now the two
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Romanian Dusarians rushed simultaneously upon the heliumite. Three long swords clashed and sparkled in
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the moonlight, until the great white apes roused from their slumber, crept through
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the lowering windows of the dead city to view the bloody scene beneath them.
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Thrice was Carthoris touched, so that the red blood ran down his face,
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blinding him and dyeing his broad chest. With his free hand, he wiped
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the gore from his eyes, and, with the fighting smile of his father,
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touching his lips, leaped upon his antagonists with renewed fury. A single
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cut of his heavy sword severed the head of one of them, and then
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the other. Backing away clear of that point of death, turned and fled
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toward the palace at his back. Carthoris made no step to pursue. He
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had other concern than the metting of well deserved punishment to strange men who masqueraded
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in the mettle of his own house, for he had seen that these men
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were tricked out in the insignia that marked his personal followers. Turning quickly toward
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his flier, he was soon rising from the plaza in pursuit of thar Ban,
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the red warrior, whom he had put to flight. Turned in the
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entrance to the palace, and, seeing Carthoris's intent, snatched a rifle from
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those he and his fellows had left leaning against the wall, as they had
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rushed out with drawn swords to prevent the theft of their prisoner. Few red
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men are good shots, for the sword is their chosen. So now,
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as the Dusarian drew bead upon the rising flier and touched the button upon his
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rifle's stock, it was more to chance than proficiency that he owed the partial
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success of his aim. The projectile grazed the flier's side, the opaque coating
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breaking sufficiently to permit daylight to strike in upon the powder phile within the bullet's
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nose. There was a sharp explosion. Carthoris felt his craft reel drunkenly beneath
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him, and the engine stopped. The momentum the air boat had gained carried
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her on over the city toward the sea bottom beyond. The red Warrior in
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the plaza fired several more shots, none of which scored. Then a lofty
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minaret shut the drifting quarry from his view. In the distance before him,
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Carthoris could see the Green Warrior bearing Thuvia of Ptarth away upon his mighty thoat.
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The direction of his flight was toward the northwest of Anthor, where lay
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a mountainous country little known to red men. The Heliumite now gave his attention
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to his injured craft. A close examination revealed the fact that one of the
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buoyancy tanks had been punctured, but the engine itself was uninjured. A splinter
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from the projectile had damaged one of the control levers beyond the possibility of repair
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outside a machine shop. But after considerable tinkering, Carthoris was able to propel
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his wounded flier at low speed, a rate which could not approach the rapid
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gait of the thoat, whose eight long, powerful legs carried it over the
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oocre of vegetation of the dead sea bottom at terrific speed. The Prince of
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Helium chafed and fretted at the slowness of his pursuit. Yet was he thankful
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that the damage was no worse, for now he could at least move more
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rapidly than on foot. But even this meager satisfaction was soon to be denied
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him, for presently the fly commenced to sag toward the port, and by
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the bow the damage to the buoyancy tank had evidently been more grievous than he
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had at first believed. All the balance of that long day Carthoris crawled erratically
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through the still air, the bow of his flier sinking lower and lower,
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and the list to port becoming more and more alarming, until at last,
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near dark, he was floating almost bow down, his harness buckled to a
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heavy deck ring to keep him from being precipitated to the ground below. His
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forward movement was now confined to a slow drifting with the gentle breeze that blew
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out of the southeast, and when this died down with the setting of the
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sun, he let the flier sink gently to the mossy carpet. Beneath.
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Far before him loomed the mountains toward which the Green Man had been fleeing when
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last he had seen him. And, with dogged resolution the so of John
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Carter, endowed with the indomitable will of his mighty sire, took up the
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pursuit on foot. All that night he forged ahead, until with the dawning
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of a new day, he entered the low foothills that guard the approach to
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the fastness of the mountains of Torquass. Rugged granitic walls towered before him.
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Nowhere could he discern an opening through the formidable barrier. Yet somewhere into this
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inhospitable world of stone, the Green Warrior had borne the woman of the Red
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Man's heart's desire. Across the yielding moss of the sea bottom. There had
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been no spoor to follow for the soft pads of the thoat, but pressed
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down in his swift passage the resilient vegetation, which sprang back up again beneath
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his fleeting feet, leaving no sign. But here in the hills, where
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a loose rock occasionally strewed, the way, where a black lily loam and
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wild flowers partially replaced the somber monotony of the waste places of the lowlands.
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Carthoris hoped to find some sign that would lead him in the right direction.
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Yet, search as he would, the baffling mystery of the trail seemed likely
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to remain forever unsolved. It was drawing toward the day's close once more when
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the keen eyes of the Heliumite discerned the tawny yellow of a sleek hide moving
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among the boulders several hundred yards to his left. Crouching quickly behind a large
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rock, Carthoris watched the thing before him. It was a huge banth,
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one of those savage Barsoomian lions that roamed the desolate hills of the dying planet.
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The creature's nose was close to the ground. It was evident that he
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was following the spoor of meat by scent. As Carthoris watched him, a
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great hope leaped into the man's heart. He possibly might lie the solution to
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the mystery he had been endeavoring to solve. This hungry carnivore, keen always
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for the flesh of man, might even now be trailing the two whom Carthoris
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sought. Cautiously, the youth crept out upon the trail of the man eater
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along the foot of the perpendicular cliff. The creature moved, sniffing at the
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invisible spoor, and now and then emitting the low moan of the hunting banth.
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Carthoris had followed the creature for but a few minutes when it disappeared,
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as suddenly and mysteriously, as though dissolved into thin air. The man leaped
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to his feet. Not again was he to be cheated as the man had
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cheated him. He sprang forward at a reckless pace, to the spot at
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which he had last seen the great skulking brute. Before him loomed the sheer
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cliff, its face unbroken by any aperture into which the huge banth might have
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warmed its great carcass. Beside him was a small flat boulder, not larger
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than the deck of a ten man flier, nor standing to a greater height
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than twice his own stature. Perhaps the banth was in hiding behind this.
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The brute might have discovered the man upon his trail, and even now be
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lying in wait for his easy prey. Cautiously with drawn long sword, Carthoris
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crept around the corner of the rock. There was no banth there, but
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something which surprised him infinitely more than with the presence of twenty banths before him,
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yawned the mouth of a dark cave leading downward into the ground. Through
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this the banth must have disappeared. Was it his lair? Within its dark
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and forbidding interior, might there not lurk not one but many of the fearsome
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creatures. Carthoris did not know, nor with the thought that had been spurring
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him onward upon the trail of the creature uppermost in his mind, did he
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much care for Into this gloomy cavern, he was sure the band had trailed
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the green Man and his captive, and into which he too would follow,
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content to give his life in the service of the woman he loved. Not
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an instant did he hesitate, Nor yet did he advance rashly, but with
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ready sword and cautious steps, For the way was dark. He stole on.
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As he advanced, the obscurity became impenetrable darkness. End of Chapter four