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04 - The God's of Mars - Edgar Rice Burroughs · Daily Sci-Fi Books

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Chapter four Thuvia. It was the sound of conflict that aroused me once more
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to the realities of life. For a moment I could neither place my surroundings
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nor locate the sounds which had aroused me. And then from beyond the blank
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wall beside which I lay, I heard the shuffling of feet, the snarling
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of grim beasts, the clank of metal accouterment, and the heavy breathing of
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a man. As I rose to my feet, I glanced hurriedly about the
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chamber in which I had just encountered such a warm reception. The prisoners and
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the savage brutes rested in their chains by the opposite wall, eyeing me with
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varying expressions of curiosity, sullen, rage, surprise, and hope. The
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latter emotion seemed plainly evident upon the handsome and intelligent face of the young red
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Martian woman whose cry of warning had been instrumental in saving my life. She
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was the perfect type of that remarkably beautiful race whose outward appearance is identical with
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the more godlike races of earthmen, except that this higher race of Martians is
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of a light, reddish copper color. As she was entirely unadorned. I
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could not even guess her station in life, though it was evident that she
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was either a prisoner or slave in her present environment. It was several seconds
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before the sounds upon the opposite side of the partition jolted my slowly returning faculties
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into a realization of their probable import And then of a sudden I grasped the
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fact that they were caused by tars tarkas in what was evidently a desperate struggle
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with wild beasts or savage men. With a cry of encouragement, I threw
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my weight against the secret door, but as well have essayed the down hurling
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of the cliffs themselves. Then I sought furviously for the secret of the revolving
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panel. But my search was fruitless, and I was about to raise my
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long sword against the sullen gold, when the young woman prisoner called out to
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me, save thy sword, o mighty warrior, for thou shalt need it
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more where it will avail to some purpose. Shatter it, not against the
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senseless metal, which yields better to the lightest finger touch of one who knows
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its secret. Know you the secret of it? Then I asked, yes,
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release me, and I will give you entrance to the other horror chamber
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if you wish. The keys to my fetters are upon the first dead of
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thy foemen. But why would you return to face again the fierce banth,
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or whatever other form of destruction they have loosed within that awful trap, Because
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my friend fights there alone, I answered, as I hastily sought and found
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the keys upon the carcass of the dead custodian of this grim chamber of horrors.
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There were many keys upon the oval ring, but the fair martian maid
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quickly selected that which sprung the great lock at her waist and freed. She
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hurried toward the secret panel. Again, she sought out a key upon the
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ring, this time a slender needlelike affair, which he inserted in an almost
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invisible hole in the wall. Instantly, the door swung upon its pivot,
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and the contiguous section of the floor upon which I was standing carried me with
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it into the chamber where tars Tarkas fought. The great Thark stood with his
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back against an angle of the walls. While facing him in a semicircle,
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a half dozen huge monsters crouched waiting for an opening. Their blood streaked heads
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and shoulders testified to the cause of their wariness, as well as to the
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swordmanship of the green warrior, whose glossy hide bore the same mute but eloquent
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witness to the ferocity of the attacks. That he had so far withstood,
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sharp talons and cruel fangs had torn leg, arm, and breast literally to
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ribbons. So weak was he from continued exertion and loss of blood, that
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but for the supporting wall, I doubt that he even could have stood erect.
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But with the tenacity and indomitable courage of his kind, he still faced
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his cruel and relentless foes, the personification of that ancient proverb of his tribe.
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Leave to a thark his head and one hand, and he may yet
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conquer. As he saw me enter, a grim smile touched those grim lips
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of his. But whether the smile signified relief or merely amusement at the sight
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of my own bloody and deceevled condition, I do not know. As I
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was about to spring into the conflict with my sharp long sword, I felt
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a gentle hand upon my shoulder, and turning, found to my surprise that
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the young woman had followed me into the chamber. Wait, she whispered,
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leave them to me, and pushing me, advanced, all defenseless and unarmed,
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upon the snarling bands. When quite close to them, she spoke a
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single Martian word in low but peremptory tones, like lightning. The great beast
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wheeled upon her, and I looked to see her torn to pieces before I
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could reach her side, but instead the creatures slunk to her feet like puppies
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that expect the merited whipping. Again, she spoke to them, but in
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tones so low I could not catch the words, And then she started toward
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the opposite side of the chamber, with the six mighty monsters trailing at heel.
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One by one, she sent them through the secret panel into the room
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beyond, And when the last had passed from the chamber where we stood in
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wide eyed amazement, she turned and smiled at us, and then herself passed
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through, leaving us alone for a moment. Neither of us spoke. Then
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tars Tarkas said, I heard the fighting beyond the partition through which you passed,
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but I did not fear for you, John Carter, until I heard
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the report of a revolver shot. I knew that there lived no man upon
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all barsoom who could face you with naked steel and live. But the shot
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stripped that last vestige of hope from me. Since you, I knew,
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to be without firearms, tell me of it. I did as he bayed,
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And then together we sought the secret panel through which I had just entered
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the apartment, the one at the opposite end of the room from that through
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which the girl had led her savage companions. To our disappointment, the panel
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eluded our every effort to negotiate its secret lock. We felt that once beyond
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it we might look with some little hope of success for a passage to the
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outside world. The fact that the prisoners within were securely chained led us to
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believe that surely there must be an avenue of escape from the terrible creatures which
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inhabited this unspeakable place. Again and again we turned from one door to another,
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from the baffling golden panel at one end of the chamber to its mate
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at the other, equally baffling. When we had about given up all hope,
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one of the panels turned silently toward us, and the young woman who
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had led away the band stood once more beside us. Who are you,
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she asked, And what your mission? That you have the temerity to attempt
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to escape from the valley door and the death you have chosen. I have
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chosen no death, maiden, I replied. I am not of Barsoom,
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nor have I taken yet the voluntary pilgrimage upon the river? Ishe my friend?
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Here is Jeddak of all the Tharks, And though he has not yet
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expressed a desire to return to the living world, I am taking him with
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me from the living lie that hath lured him in this frightful place. I
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am of another world. I am John Carter, Prince of the House of
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Tardos Mors Jeddak of Helium. Perchance some faint rumor of me may have leaked
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within the confines of your hellish abode. She smiled. Yes, she replied,
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not that passes in the world we have left is unknown. Here I
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have heard of you many years ago. The Thurns have ofttimes wondered whether you
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had flown, since you had neither taken the pilgrimage nor could be found upon
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the face of Barsoom. Tell me, I said, and who be you?
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And why a prisoner yet with power over the ferocious beasts of the place
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that denotes familiarity and authority far beyond that which might be expected of a prisoner
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or a slave. Slave. I am, she answered, for fifteen years
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a slave in this terrible place, And now that they have tired of me
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and become fearful of the power which my knowledge of their ways has given me,
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I am, but recently condemned to die the death. She shuddered.
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What death, I asked. The Holy Thorns eat human flesh, she answered
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me, but only that which has died beneath the sucking lips of a plant
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man, flesh from which the defiling blood of life has been drawn. And
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to this cruel end I have been condemned. It was to be within a
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few hours, had your advent not caused an interruption of their plans. Was
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it then, the Holy Therns who felt the weight of John Carter's hand,
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I asked, Oh, no, those whom you laid low are lesser Therns,
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but of the same cruel and hateful race. The Holy Therns abide upon
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the outer slopes of these grim hills, facing the broad world, from which
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they harvest their victims and their spoils. Labyrinthine passages connect these caves with the
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xurious palaces of the holy Therns, and through them pass upon their many duties
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the lesser Therns, and hordes of slaves and prisoners and fierce beasts, the
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grim inhabitants of this sunless world. There be within this vast network of winding
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passages and countless chambers, men, women and beasts who born within its dim
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and gruesome underworld have never seen the light of day, Nor ever shall they
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are kept to do the bidding of the race of Therns, to furnish at
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once their sport and their sustenance. Now and again, some hapless pilgrim drifting
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out upon the silent seas from the cold ish escapes the plant men and the
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great white apes that guard the Temple of Issus, and falls into the remorseless
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clutches of the Therns. Where as was my misfortune, is coveted by the
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holy Thorns, who chances to be upon watch in the balcony above the river,
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where it issues from the bowels of the mountains through the cliffs of Gold,
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to empty into the lost Sea. Of course, all who reach the
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valley door are by custom the rightful prey of the plant man and the Apes,
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while their arms and ornaments become the portions of the Thens. But if
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one escapes the terrible denizens of the valley for even a few hours, the
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Thens may claim such a one as their own, and again the holy Therns
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on watch. Should he see a victim he covets, often tramples upon the
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rights of the unreasoning brutes of the valley, and takes his prize by foul
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means if he cannot gain it by fare. It is said that occasionally some
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deluded victim of Barsomiums superstition will so far escape the clutches of the countless enemies
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that beset his path from the moment that he emerges from the subterranean passage through
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which the Ish flows for a thousand miles before it enters the valley door,
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as to reach the very walls of the Temple Issus. But what fate awaits
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one there, not even the holy Theurns may guess, for who has passed
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within those gilded walls never has returned to unfold the mysteries they have held since
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the beginning of time. The Temple of Issus is to the Thurns what the
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valley door is imagined by the peoples of the outer world to be to them.
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It is the ultimate haven of peace, refuge, and happiness to which
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they pass after this life, and wherein an eternity of eternities is spent amidst
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the delights of the flesh, which appeal most strongly to this race of mental
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giants and moral pigmies. The temple of Issus is. I take it a
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heaven within a heaven, I said, Let us hope that there it will
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be meted to the Theurns as they have meeted it here unto others. Who
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knows? The girl murmured, The theurns, I judge from what you have
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said, are no less mortal than we. And yet have I always heard
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them spoken of with the utmost awe and reverence by the people of Barsoom,
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as one might speak of the gods themselves. The Theurns are mortal, she
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replied. They die from the same causes as you or I might those who
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do not live their allotted span of life one thousand years, when by the
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authority of custom, they may take their way in happiness through the long tunnel
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that leads to Issus. Those who die before are supposed to spend the balance
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of their allotted time in the image of a plant man. And it is
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for this reason that the plant men are held sacred by the theurns, since
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they believe that each of these hideous creatures was formerly a thurn. And should
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a plant man die, I asked, should he die before the expiration of
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the thousand years from the birth of the thurn, whose immortality abides within him,
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then the soul passes into a great white eight. But should the ape
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die short of the exact hour that terminates the thousand years, the soul is
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forever lost, and passes for all eternity into the carcass of the slimy,
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fearsome Scilian, whose wriggling thousands seeth the silent sea beneath the hurtling moons,
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when the sun has gone, and strange shapes walk through the valley door.
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We sent several holy therns to the Scillian's to day, then, said tars
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Tarkas, laughing. And so will your death be the more terrible when it
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comes, said the maiden, And come it will. You cannot escape.
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One has escaped centuries ago, I reminded her. And what has been done
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may be done again. It is useless even to try, she answered hopelessly.
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But try we shall, I cried, and you shall go with us
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if you wish to be put to death by my own people and render my
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memory a disgrace to my family and my nation. A prince of the house
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of Tardos Mors should no better than to suggest such a thing. Tars Tarkas
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listened in silence, but I could feel his eyes riveted upon me, and
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I knew that he awaited my answer as one might listen to the reading of
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a sentence by the foremant of a jury. What I advised the girl to
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do would seal our fate as well, since if I bowed to the inevitable
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decree of age old superstition, we must all remain and meet our fate in
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some horrible form within this awful abode of horror and cruelty. We have the
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right to escape if we can, I answered. Our own moral senses will
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not be offended if we succeed, for we know that the fabled life of
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love and peace in the blessed Valley of Dor is a rank and wicked deception.
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We know that the valley is not sacred. We know that the holy
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Therns are not holy, that they are a race of cruel and heartless mortals,
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knowing no more of the real life to come than we do. Not
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only is it our right to bend every effort to escape, it is the
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solemn duty from which we should not shrink, even though we know that we
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should be reviled and tortured by own peoples when we return to them. Only
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thus may we carry the truth to those without. And though the likelihood of
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our narrative being given credence is I grant you remote so wedd at our mortals
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to their stupid infatuation for impossible superstitions, we should be craven cowards. Indeed,
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were we to shirk the plain duty which confronts us again, there is
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a chance that, with the weight of the testimony of the several of us,
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the truth of our statements may be accepted, and at least a compromise
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effected, which will result in the despatching of an expedition of investigation to this
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hideous mockery of heaven. Both the girl and the Green Warrior stood silent in
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thought for some moments. The former it was who eventually broke the silence.
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Never had I considered the matter in that light before she said, indeed,
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would I give my life a thousand times if I could but save a single
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soul from the awful life that I have led in this cruel place. Yes,
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you are right, and I will go with you as far as we
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can go, But I doubt that we ever shall escape. I turned an
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inquiring glance toward the thark to the gates of Issus, or to the bottom
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of chorus, spoke the Green Warrior, to the snows to the north,
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or to the snows to the south tars tarkas follows where John Carter leads.
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I have spoken. Come, then, I we must make the start,
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for we could not be further from escape than we now are in the heart
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of this mountain and within the four walls of this chamber of death. Come,
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then, said the girl, But do not flatter yourselves that you can
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find no worse place than this within the territory of the Thurns. So saying,
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she swung the secret panel that separated us from the apartment in which I
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found her, and we stepped through once more into the presence of other prisoners.
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There were in all ten red martians, men and women, And when
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we had briefly explained our plan. They decided to join forces with us,
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though it was evident that it was with some considerable misgivings that they thus tempted
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fate by opposing an ancient superstition, even though each knew through cruel experience the
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fallacy of its entire fabric. Thuvia, the girl whom I had first freed,
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soon had the others at liberty. Tars Tarkas and I stripped the bodies
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of the two Thorns of their weapons, which included swords, daggards, and
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two revolt of the curious and deadly type manufactured by the Red Martians. We
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distributed the weapons as far as they would go among our followers, giving the
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firearms to two of the women, Thuvia being one so armed with the latter.
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As our guide, we set off rapidly but cautiously through a maze of
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passages, crossing great chambers hewn from the solid metal of the cliff, following
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the winding corridors, ascending steep inclines, and now and again concealing ourselves in
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dark recesses at the sound of approaching footsteps. Our destination, Thuvia said,
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was a distant store room where arms and ammunition in plenty might be found.
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From there she was to lead us to the summit of the cliffs, from
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where it would require both wondrous wit and mighty fighting to win our way through
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the very heart of the stronghold of the Holy Therns to the world without.
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And even then, O Prince, she cried, the arm of the Holy
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Thern is long. It reaches to every nation of barsoom his seat. Secret
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temples are hidden in the heart of every community wherever we go. Should we
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escape, we shall find that word of our coming has preceded us, and
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death awaits us before we may pollute the air with our blasphemies. We have
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proceeded for possibly an hour without serious interruption, and Thuvia had just whispered to
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me that we were approaching our first destination, when on entering a great chamber,
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we came upon a man, evidently a thurn. He wore, in
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addition to his leathern trappings and jeweled ornaments, a great circlet of gold about
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his brow, in the exact center of which was set an immense stone,
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the exact counterpart of that which I had seen upon the breast of the little
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old man at the atmosphere plant nearly twenty years before. It is the one
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priceless jewel of Barsoom. Only two are known to exist, and these were
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worn as the insignia of their rank and position by the two old men in
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whose charge was placed the operation of the great engines which pumped the artificial appas
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atmosphere to all parts of Mars from the huge atmosphere plant, the secret to
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whose mighty portals placed in my possession the ability to save from immediate extinction the
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life of a whole world. The stone worn by the thorns who confronted us
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was of about the same size as that which I had seen before, an
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inch in diameter, I should say, it scintillated nine different and distinct rays,
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the seven primary colors of our earthly prism, and the two rays which
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are unknown upon Earth, but whose wondrous beauty is indescribable. As the thorn
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saw us, his eyes narrowed to two nasty slits. Stop. He cried,
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what means this? Stuvia For answer, the girl raised her revolver and
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fired point blank at him. Without a sound. He sank to the earth,
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dead beast. She hissed, After all these years, I am at
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last revenged. Then, as she turned towards me, evidently with a word
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of explanation on her lips, her eyes suddenly widened as they rest upon me,
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and with a little exclamation she started toward me, O prince, she
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cried, fate is indeed kind to us. The way is still difficult,
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but through this vile thing upon the floor we may yet win to the outer
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world. Notice thou not the remarkable resemblance between the Holy Thorn and thyself.
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The man was indeed of my precise stature, nor were his eyes and features
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unlike mine. But his hair was a mass of flowing yellow locks, like
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those of the two I had killed, while mine is black and close cropped.
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What of the resemblance? I asked the girl, Thuvia, do you
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wish me, with my black short hair, to pose as a yellow haired
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priest of this infernal colt? She smiled, and for answer, approached the
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body of the man she had slain, and, kneeling beside it, removed
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the circlet of gold from the forehead, and then, to my utter amazement,
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lifted the entire scalp bodily from the corpse's head. Rising, she advanced
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to my side, and placing the yellow wig over my black hair, crowned
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me with the golden circlets set with the magnificent gem. Now don his harness,
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prince, she said, and you may pass where you will in the
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realms of the therns. For Sotre Throg was a holy thern of the tenth
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cycle, and mighty among his kind. As I stooped to the dead men
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to do her bidding, I noted that not a hare grew upon his head,
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which was quite as bald as an egg. They are all thus from
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birth, explained Thuvia, noting my surprise. The race from which they sprang
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were crowned with a luxuriant growth of golden hair. But for many years the
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present race has been entirely bald. The wig, however, has come to
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be a part of their apparel, and so important a part do they consider
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it that it is cause for the deepest disgrace were a thern to appear in
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public without it. In another moment, I stood garbed in the habiliments of
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a holy thern. At Thuvia's suggestion, two of the released prisoners bore the
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body of the dead thern upon their shoulders with us as we continued our journey
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towards the storeroom, which we reached without further mishap here. The keys which
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Thuvia bore from the dead thurn of the prison vault were the means of giving
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us immediate entrance to the chamber, and very quickly we were thoroughly outfitted with
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arms and ammunition. By this time I was so thoroughly fagged out that I
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could go no further. So I threw myself upon the floor, bidding Tars
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Tarkas to do likewise, and cautioning two of the released prisoners to keep careful
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watch. In an instant I was asleep. End of Chapter four