 CHAPTER XI. THE DEAD GREEN MEN AND WHITE APES. A torquasian sword smote a glancing blow across the forehead of Carthoris. He had a fleeting vision of soft arms about his neck and warm lips close to his before he lost consciousness. How long he lay there senseless he could not guess, but when he opened his eyes again he was alone, except for the bodies of the dead green men and dusarians and the carcass of a great banth that lay half across his own. Thuvia was gone, nor was the body of Carcomac among the dead. Weak from loss of blood, Carthoris made his way slowly toward Anthor reaching its outskirts at dark. He wanted water more than any other thing, and so he kept on up a broad avenue toward the great central plaza where he knew the precious fluid was to be found in a half-ruined building opposite the great palace of the ancient Jeddak who once had ruled this mighty city. Disheartened and discouraged by the strange sequence of events that seemed foreordained to thwart his every attempt to serve the Princess of Ptarth, he paid little or no attention to his surroundings, moving through the deserted city as though no great white apes lurked in the black shadows of the mystery-haunted piles that flanked the broad avenues of the great plaza. But if Carthoris was careless of his surroundings, not so other eyes that watched his entrance into the plaza and followed his slow footsteps toward the marble pile that housed the tiny, half-choked spring whose water one might gain only by scratching a deep hole in the red sand that covered it. And as the Heliumite entered the small building, a dozen mighty, grotesque figures emerged from the doorway of the palace to speed noiselessly across the plaza toward him. For half an hour Carthoris remained in the building, digging for water and gaining the few much-needed drops which were the fruits of his labour. Then he rose and slowly left the structure. First had he stepped beyond the threshold, then twelve Torquesian warriors leaped upon him. No time then to draw longsword, but swift from his harness flew his long, slim dagger, and as he went down beneath them more than a single green heart ceased beating at the bite of that keen point. Then they overpowered him and took his weapons away, but only nine of the twelve warriors who had crossed the plaza returned with their prize. They dragged their prisoner roughly to the palace pits, where in utter darkness they chained him with rusty links to the solid masonry of the wall. "'Tomorrow Tharban will speak with you,' they said. "'Now he sleeps, but great will be his pleasure when he learns who has wandered amongst us. And great will be the pleasure of Hortan Gur, when Tharban drags him the mad fool who dared prick the great jeddak with his sword.' Then they left him to the silence and the darkness. For what seemed ours Carthoris squatted upon the stone floor of his prison, his back against the wall in which was sunk the heavy eyeball that secured the chain which held him. Then from out of the mysterious blackness before him there came to his ears the sound of naked feet moving stealthily upon the stone, approaching nearer and nearer to where he lay, unarmed and defenseless. Minutes passed, minutes that seemed ours, during which time periods of sepulchral silence would be followed by a repetition of the uncanny scraping of naked feet slinking warily upon him. At last he heard a sudden rush of unshod souls across the empty blackness, and at a little distance a scuffling sound, heavy breathing, and once what he thought the muttered imprecation of a man battling against great odds, then the clanging of a chain and a noise as of the snapping back against the stone of a broken link. Again came silence. But for a moment only, now he heard once more the soft feet approaching him. He thought that he discerned wicked eyes gleaming fearfully at him through the darkness. He knew that he could hear the heavy breathing of powerful lungs. Then came the rush of many feet toward him and the things wore upon him, hands terminating in man-like fingers clutched at his throat and arms and legs. Hairy bodies strained and struggled against his own smooth hide as he battled in grim silence against these horrid foemen in the darkness of the pits of ancient Anthor. Feud like some giant god was Carthoris of Helium, yet in the clutches of these unseen creatures of the pits Stygian Knight he was helpless as a frail woman. Yet he battled on, striking futile blows against great, hispid breasts he could not see, feeling thick squat throats beneath his fingers, the drool of saliva upon his cheek and hot foul breath in his nostrils. Fangs, too, mighty fangs he knew were close, and why they did not sink into his flesh he could not guess. At last he became aware of the mighty surging of a number of his antagonists back and forth upon the great chain that held him, and presently came the same sound that he had heard at a little distance from him a short time before he had been attacked. His chain had parted and the broken end snapped back against the stone wall. Now he was seized upon either side and dragged at a rapid pace through the dark corridors toward what fate he could not even guess. At first he had thought his foes might be of the tribe of Torkas, but their hairy bodies belie to that belief. Now he was at last quite sure of their identity, though why they had not killed him and devoured him at once he could not imagine. After half an hour or more of rapid racing through the underground passages that are a distinguishing feature of all Barsoomian cities, modern as well as ancient, his captors suddenly emerged into the moonlight of a courtyard far from the central plaza. Immediately Carthoris saw that he was in the power of a tribe of the great white apes of Barsoom. All that had caused him doubt before as to the identity of his attackers was the hairiness of their breasts, for the white apes are entirely hairless, except for a great shock bristling from their heads. Now he saw the cause of that which had deceived him. Across the chests of each of them were strips of hairy hide, usually of banth, in imitation of the harness of the green warriors who so often camped at their deserted city. Carthoris had read of the existence of tribes of apes that seemed to be progressing slowly toward higher standards of intelligence. Into the hands of such he realized he had fallen, but what were their intentions toward him? As he glanced about the courtyard he saw a fully fifty of the hideous beasts squatting on their haunches, and at a little distance from him another human being closely guarded. As his eyes met those of his fellow captive, a smile at the other's face, and, "'Caor, red man!' burst from his lips. It was Carcomac, the bowman. "'Caor!' cried Carthoris in response. "'How came you here, and what befell the princess?' Red men like yourself descended in mighty ships that sailed the air. Even as the great ships of my distant days sailed the five seas,' replied Carcomac. They fought with the green men of Torkos. They slew Comal, god of Lothar. I thought they were your friends, and I was glad when finally those of them who had survived the battle carried the red girl to one of the ships and sailed away with her into the safety of the high air. Then the green men seized me and carried me to a great empty city where they chained me to a wall in a black pit. Afterward came these and dragged me hither. "'And what of you, red man?' Carthoris related all that had befallen him, and as the two men talked, the great apes squatted about them, watching them intently. "'What are we to do now?' asked the bowman. "'Our case looks rather hopeless,' replied Carthoris ruefully. "'These creatures are born man-eaters. Why, they have not already devoured us, I cannot imagine.' "'There,' he whispered, "'See, the end is coming.' Carcomac looked in the direction Carthoris indicated to see a huge ape advancing with a mighty bludgeon. "'It is thus they like best to kill their prey,' said Carthoris. "'Must we die without a struggle?' asked Carcomac. "'Not I,' replied Carthoris, though I know how futile our best defense must be against these mighty brutes. "'Oh, for a longsword! Or a good bow!' added Carcomac, and a ooton of bowmen. At the words Carthoris half sprang to his feet, only to be dragged roughly down by his guard. "'Carcomac!' he cried. "'Why cannot you do what Tario and Jav did? They had no bowmen other than those of their own creation. You must know the secret of their power. Call forth your own ooton, Carcomac!' The Lotharian looked at Carthoris in wide-eyed astonishment as the full purport of the suggestion bore in upon his understanding. "'Why not?' he murmured. The savage ape bearing the mighty bludgeon was slinking toward Carthoris. The Heliumites' fingers were working as he kept his eyes upon his executioner. Carcomac bent his gaze penetratingly upon the apes. The effort of his mind was evidenced by the sweat upon his contracted brows. The creature that was to slay the red man was almost within arms reach of his prey, when Carthoris heard a horse shout from the opposite side of the courtyard. In common with the squatting apes and the demon with the club, he turned in the direction of the sound to see a company of sturdy bowmen rushing from the doorway of a nearby building. With screams of rage the apes leaped to their feet to meet the charge. A volley of arrows met them halfway, sending a dozen rolling lifeless to the ground. Then the apes closed with their adversaries. All their attention was occupied by the attackers. Even the guard had deserted the prisoners to join the battle. Come, whispered Carcomac, now may we escape while their attention is diverted from us by my bowmen. And leave those brave fellows leaderless? cried Carthoris, whose loyal nature revolted at the merest suggestion of such a thing. Carcomac laughed. You forget, he said, that they are but thin air, figments of my brain. They will vanish, unscathed, when we have no further need for them. Praise be your first ancestor, red man, that you thought of this chance in time. It would never have occurred to me to imagine that I might wield the same power that brought me into existence. You are right, said Carthoris. Still, I hate to leave them, though there is not else to do. And so the two turned from the courtyard and making their way into one of the broad avenues, crept stealthily in the shadows of the building toward the great central plaza upon which were the buildings occupied by the green warriors when they visited the deserted city. When they had come to the plaza's edge, Carthoris halted. Wait here, he whispered. I go to fetch thoats, since on foot we may never hope to escape the clutches of these green fiends. Once the courtyard with the thoats were kept, it was necessary for Carthoris to pass through one of the buildings which surrounded the square. Which were occupied and which were not, he could not even guess, so he was compelled to take considerable chances to gain the enclosure in which he could hear the restless beasts squealing and quarreling amongst themselves. Chance carried him through a dark doorway into a large chamber in which lay a score or more green warriors wrapped in their sleeping silks and furs. Scarce had Carthoris pass through the short hallway that connected the door of the building and the great room beyond it, then he became aware of the presence of something or someone in the hallway through which he had but just passed. He heard a man yawn, and then, behind him, he saw the figure of a century rise from where the fellow had been dozing and stretching himself, resume his wakeful watchfulness. Carthoris realized that he must have passed within a foot of the warrior, doubtless rousing him from his slumber. To retreat now would be impossible. Yet to cross through that room of sleeping warriors seemed almost equally beyond the pale of possibility. Carthoris shrugged his broad shoulders and chose the lesser evil. Warily he entered the room. At his right against the wall leaned several swords and rifles and spears. There were weapons which the warriors had stacked here, ready to their hands, should there be a night alarm calling them suddenly from slumber. Beside each sleeper lay his weapon. These were never far from their owners, from childhood to death. The sight of the swords made the young man's palm itch. He stepped quickly to them, selecting two short swords, one for Carcomac, the other for himself. Also some trappings for his naked comrade. Then he started directly across the center of the apartment among the sleeping Torcasians. Not a man of them moved, until Carthoris had completed more than half of the short, though dangerous, journey. Then a fellow directly in his path turned restlessly upon his sleeping silks and furs. The Heliumite paused above him, one of the short swords in readiness should the warrior waken. For what seemed an eternity to the young prince, the green man continued to move uneasily upon his couch. Then, as though actuated by springs, he leaped to his feet and faced the red man. Instantly Carthoris struck, but not before a savage grunt escaped the other's lips. In an instant the room was in turmoil. Warriors leaped to their feet, grasping their weapons as they rose, and shouting to one another for an explanation of the disturbance. To Carthoris all within the room was plainly visible in the dim light reflected from without, for the further moons stood directly at Zenith. But to the eyes of the newly awakened green men, objects as yet had not taken on familiar forms. They but saw vaguely the figures of warriors moving about their apartment. Now one stumbled against the corpse of him whom Carthoris had slain. The fellow stooped, and his hand came in contact with the cleft skull. He saw about him the giant figures of other green men, and so he jumped to the only conclusion that was open to him. The Thirds, he cried, the Thirds are upon us! Rise, warriors of Torkas, and drive home your swords within the hearts of Torkas's ancient enemies. Instantly the green men began to fall upon one another with naked swords. But their savage lust of battle was aroused. To fight, to kill, to die with cold steel buried in their vitals. Ah, that to them was nirvana. Carthoris was quick to guess their error and take advantage of it. He knew that in the pleasure of killing they might fight on long after they had discovered their mistake, unless their attention was distracted by sight of the real cause of the altercation. And so he lost no time in continuing across the room to doorway upon the opposite side, which opened into the inner court, where the savage thoats were squealing and fighting among themselves. Once here he had no easy task before him. To catch and mount one of these habitually rageful and intractable beasts was no child's play under the best of conditions. But now, when silence and time were such important considerations, it might well have seemed quite hopeless to a less resourceful and optimistic man than the son of the great warlord. From his father he had learned much concerning the traits of these mighty beasts, and from Tars Tarkas, also, when he had visited that great green jeddak among his horde at Thark. So now he centered upon the work in hand all that he had ever learned about them from others and from his own experience, for he, too, had ridden and handled them many times. The temper of the thoats of Tarkas appeared even shorter than their vicious cousins among the tharks and war-hoons, and for a time it seemed unlikely that he should escape a savage charge on the part of a couple of old bulls that circled, squealing, about him. But at last he managed to get close enough to one of them to touch the beast. With the feel of his hand upon the sleek hide the creature quieted, and an answer to the telepathic command of the red man sank to its knees. In a moment Carthoris was upon its back, guiding it toward the great gate that leads from the courtyard through a large building at one end into an avenue beyond. The other bull, still squealing and enraged, followed after his fellow. There was no bridle upon either, for these strange creatures are controlled entirely by suggestion, when they are controlled at all. Even in the hands of the giant green men bridle-rains would be hopelessly futile against the mad savagery and mastodonic strength of the thoat, and so they are guided by that strange telepathic power with which the men of Mars have learned to communicate in a crude way with the lower orders of their planets. With difficulty Carthoris urged the two beasts to the gate, where, leaning down, he raised the latch. Even the thoat he was riding placed his great shoulder to the skeel-wood planking, pushed through, and a moment later the man and the two beasts were swinging silently down the avenue to the edge of the plaza, where Karkomak hid. Here Carthoris found considerable difficulty in subduing the second thoat, and as Karkomak had never before ridden one of the beasts it seemed a most hopeless job. At last the bowmen managed to scramble to the sleek back, and again the two beasts fled softly down the moss-grown avenues toward the open sea-bottom beyond the city. All that night in the following day, and the second night they rode toward the northeast. No indication of pursuit developed, and at dawn of the second day Carthoris saw in the distance the waving ribbon of great trees that marked one of the long Barsoomian waterways. Only they abandoned their thoats and approached the cultivated district on foot. Carthoris also discarded the metal from his harness, or such of it as might serve to identify him as a heliomite, or of royal blood, for he did not know to which nation belonged this waterway, and upon Mars it is always well to assume every man and nation your enemy until you have learned the contrary. It was mid-4 noon when the two at last entered one of the roads that cut through the cultivated districts at regular intervals, joining the arid wastes on either side with the great white central highway that follows through the center from end to end of the far-reaching, thread-like farmlands. The high walls surrounding the fields served as a protection against surprise by raiding green hordes, as well as keeping the savage banths and other carnivora from the domestic animals and the human beings upon the farms. Carthoris stopped before the first gate he came to, pounding for admission. The young man who answered his summons greeted the two hospitably, though he looked with considerable wonder upon the white skin and auburn hair of the bowman. After he had listened for a moment to a partial narration of their escape from the Torcasians, he invited them within, took them to his house, and bade the servants there prepare food for them. As they waited in the low-sealed, pleasant living-room of the farmhouse until the meal should be ready, Carthoris drew his host into conversation that he might learn his nationality, and thus the nation under whose dominion lay the waterway where circumstance had placed him. "'I am Hal Vass,' said the young man, son of Vass-Core of Dusar, a noble in the retinue of Astok, Prince of Dusar. At present I am Dwar of the road for this district.' Carthoris was very glad that he had not disclosed his identity, for though he had no idea of anything that had transpired since he left Helium, or that Astok was at the bottom of all his misfortunes, he well knew that the Dusarian had no love for him and that he could hope for no assistance within the dominions of Dusar. "'And who are you?' asked Hal Vass. "'By your appearance I take you for a fighting man, but I see no insignia upon your harness. Can it be that you are a panthan?' "'Now these wandering soldiers of fortune are common upon Barsoom, where most men love to fight. They sell their services wherever war exists, and in the occasional brief intervals, when there is no organized warfare between the Red Nations, they join one of the numerous expeditions that are constantly being dispatched against the green men in protection of the waterways that traverse the wilder portions of the globe. When their service is over, they discard the medal of the nation they have been serving until they shall have found the new master. In the intervals they wear no insignia, their war-torn harness and grim weapons being sufficient to attest to their calling. The suggestion was a happy one, and Carthoris embraced the chance it afforded to account satisfactorily for himself. There was, however, a single drawback. In times of war such panthens as happened to be within the domain of a belligerent nation were compelled to don the insignia of that nation and fight with her warriors. As far as Carthoris knew, Dusar was not at war with any other nation. But there was never any telling when one Red Nation would be flying at the throat of a neighbor, even though the great and powerful alliance, at the head of which was his father, John Carter, had managed to maintain a long peace upon the greater portion of Barsoom. A pleasant smile lighted Hal Vass's face as Carthoris admitted his vocation. It is well, exclaimed the young man, that you chance to come hither, for here you will find the means of obtaining service in short order. My father, Vass Core, is even now with me, having come hither to recruit a force for the new war against Helium. End of CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII of THUVIA MADE OF MARS. CHAPTER XII TO SAVE DUSAR. THUVIA OF PARTH, battling for more than life against the lust of Jav, cast a quick glance over her shoulder toward the forest from which had rumbled the fierce growl. Jav looked too. What they saw filled each with apprehension. It was Komal, the Banth God, rushing wide jawed upon them. Which had he chosen for his prey? Or was it to be both? They had not long to wait, for though the Lotharian attempted to hold the girl between himself and the terrible fangs, the great beast found him at last. Then shrieking he attempted to fly toward Lothar after pushing Thuvia bodily into the face of the man-eater, but his fight was of short duration. In a moment Komal was upon him, rending his throat and chest with demoniacal fury. The girl reached their side a moment later, but it was with difficulty that she tore the mad beast from its prey. Still growling and casting hungry glances back upon Jav, the Banth at last permitted itself to be led away into the wood. With her giant protector by her side, Thuvia set forth to find the passage through the cliffs that she might attempt the seemingly impossible feat of reaching far distant path across the more than seventeen thousand hads of savage Barsoom. She could not believe that Carthoris had deliberately deserted her, and so she kept a constant watch for him. But as she bore too far to the north in her search for the tunnel, she passed the Heliumite as he was returning to Lothar in search of her. Thuvia of Parth was having difficulty in determining the exact status of the Prince of Helium in her heart. She could not admit even to herself that she loved him, and yet she had permitted him to apply to her that term of endearment and possession to which a Barsoomian maid should turn deaf ears when voiced by other lips than those of her husband or fiancee. My princess! Coulon Tiff, Jeddak of Kaol, to whom she was affianced, commanded her respect and admiration. Had it been that she had surrendered to her father's wishes because of Peek that the handsome Heliumite had not taken advantage of his visits to her father's court to push the suit for her hand that she had been quite sure he had contemplated since that distant day the two had sat together upon the carved seat within the gorgeous garden of the Jeddaks that graced the inner courtyard of the palace of Silences Hall at Kadabra? Did she love Coulon Tiff? Only she tried to believe that she did. But all the while her eyes wandered through the coming darkness for the figure of a clean-limbed fighting man, black-haired and grey-eyed. Black was the hair of Coulon Tiff, but his eyes were brown. It was almost dark when she found the entrance to the tunnel. Safely she passed through to the hills beyond, and here under the bright light of Mars's two moons she halted to plan her future action. Should she wait here in the hope that Carthoris would return in search of her? Or should she continue her way northeast toward Ptarth? Where first would Carthoris have gone after leaving the valley of Lothar? Her parched throat and dry tongue gave her the answer. Toward Anthor and Water. While she, too, would go first to Anthor, where she might find more than the water she needed. With Comal by her side she felt little fear, for he would protect her from all other savage beasts. Even the great white apes would flee the mighty Banthan terror. Men only need she fear, but she must take this and many other chances before she could hope to reach her father's court again. When at last Carthoris found her, only to be struck down by the long sword of a green man, Thuvia prayed that the same fate might overtake her. The sight of the red warriors leaping from their fliers had, for a moment, filled her with renewed hope. Hope that Carthoris of Helium might be only stunned and that they would rescue him, but when she saw the Dusarian medal upon their harness, and that they saw it only to escape with her alone from the charging Torcasians, she gave up. Comal, too, was dead. Dead across the body of the Heliumite. She was, indeed, alone now. There was none to protect her. The Dusarian warriors dragged her to the deck of the nearest flier. All about them the green warriors surged in an attempt to arrest her from the red. At last those who had not died in the conflict gained the decks of the two-craft. The engines throbbed and purred, the propellers whirred. Quickly the swift boats shot heavenward. Thuvia of Parth glanced about her. A man stood near, smiling down into her face. With a gasp of recognition she looked full into his eyes, and then with a little moan of terror and understanding she buried her face in her hands and sank to the polished skeel wood deck. It was Astok, Prince of Dusar, who bent above her. Swift were the fliers of Astok of Dusar, and great the need for reaching his father's court as quickly as possible, for the fleets of war of Helium and Parth and Cowell were scattered far and wide above Barsoom. Nor would it go well with Astok or Dusar should any of them discover Thuvia of Parth, a prisoner upon his own vessel. Anthor lies in fifty south latitude, and forty east of Hors, the deserted seat of ancient Barsoomian culture and learning, while Dusar lies fifteen degrees north of the equator, and twenty degrees east of Hors. Great though the distance is, the fliers covered it without a stop. Long before they had reached their destination Thuvia of Parth had learned several things that cleared up the doubts that had assailed her mind for many days. Scarce had they risen above Anthor, then she recognized one of the crew as a member of the crew of that other flier that had borne her from her father's gardens to Anthor. The presence of Astok upon the craft settled the whole question. She had been stolen by emissaries of the Dusarian Prince. Carthoris of Helium had had nothing to do with it. Nor did Astok deny the charge when she accused him. He only smiled and pleaded his love for her. I would sooner mate with a white ape, she cried, when he would have urged his suit. Astok glowered sullenly upon her. You shall mate with me, Thuvia of Parth, he growled, or by your first ancestor you shall have your preference, and mate with a white ape. The girl made no reply, nor could he draw her into conversation during the balance of the journey. As a matter of fact Astok was a trifle odd by the proportions of the conflict which his abduction of the Parthian Princess had induced, nor was he over-comfortable with the weight of responsibility which the possession of such a prince-nur entailed. His one thought was to get her to Dusar, and there let his father assume the responsibility. In the meantime he would be as careful as possible to do nothing to affront her, lest they all might be captured, and have to account for his treatment of the girl to one of the great jet-axe whose interest centred on her. And so at last they came to Dusar, where Astok hid his prisoner in a secret room high in the east tower of his own palace. He had sworn his men to silence in the matter of the true identity of the girl, for until he had seen his father, Nudas, Jeddak of Dusar, he dared not let anyone know whom he had brought with him from the south. But when he appeared in the great audience chamber before the cruel-lipped man who was his sire, he found his courage oozing, and he dared not speak of the princess hid within his palace. It occurred to him to test his father's sentiments upon the subject, and so he told a tale of capturing one who claimed to know the whereabouts of Thuvia of Ptarth. "'And if you command it, sire,' he said, "'I will go and capture her, fetching her here to Dusar.' Nudas frowned and shook his head. "'You have done enough already to set Ptarth and Kaol and Helium all three upon us at once, should they learn your part in the theft of the Ptarth princess. That you succeeded in shifting the guilt upon the prince of Helium was fortunate, and a masterly move of strategy. But were the girl to know the truth, and ever return to her father's court, all Dusar would have to pay the penalty, and to have her here a prisoner amongst us would be an admission of guilt for the consequences of which not could save us. It would cost me my throne, Astok, and that I have no mind to lose. If we had her here,' the elder man suddenly commenced to muse, repeating the phrase again and again, "'If we had her here, Astok,' he exclaimed fiercely, "'Ah, if but we had her here, and none knew that she was here, can you not guess, man, the guilt of Dusar might be forever buried with her bones?' He concluded in a low, savage whisper. Astok, prince of Dusar, shuddered. Weak he was, yes, and wicked too, but the suggestion that his father's words implied turned him cold with horror. People to their enemies are the men of Mars. But the word enemies is commonly interpreted to mean men only. Assassination runs riot in the great Barsoomian cities. Yet to murder a woman is a crime so unthinkable that even the most hardened of the paid assassins would shrink from you in horror, should you suggest such a thing to him? Nudus was apparently oblivious to his son's all-too-patent terror at his suggestion. Finally he continued, "'You say that you know where the girl lies hid, since she was stolen from your people at Anthor? Should she be found by any one of the three powers, her unsupported story would be sufficient to turn them all against us?' "'There is but one way, Astok,' cried the older man. "'You must return at once to her hiding-place, and fetch her hither in all secrecy. And look you here! Return not to Dusar without her upon pain of death!' Astok, prince of Dusar, well knew his royal father's temper. He knew that in the tyrant's heart there pulsed no single throb of love for any creature. Astok's mother had been a slave-woman. Nudus had never loved her. He had never loved another. In youth he had tried to find a bride at the courts of several of his powerful neighbors, but their women would have none of him. After a dozen daughters of his own nobility had sought self-destruction rather than wed him, he had given up. And then it had been that he had legally wed one of his slaves, that he might have a son to stand among the Jeds when Nudus died and a new Jeddak was chosen. Slowly Astok withdrew from the presence of his father. With white face and shaking limbs he made his way to his own palace. As he crossed the courtyard his glance chanced to wander to the great east tower looming high against the azure of the sky. At sight of it beads of sweat broke out upon his brow. Isis! No other hand than his could be trusted to do the horrid thing. With his own fingers he must crush the life from that perfect throat or plunge the silent blade into the red, red heart. Her heart, the heart that he had hoped would brim with love for him. But had it done so? He recalled the haughty contempt with which his protestations of love had been received. He went cold and then hot to the memory of it. His compunctions cooled as the self-satisfaction of a near revenge crowded out the finer instincts that had for a moment asserted themselves. The good that he had inherited from the slave-woman was once again submerged in the bad blood that had come down to him from his royal sire, as in the end it always was. A cold smile supplanted the terror that had dilated his eyes. He turned his steps toward the tower. He would see her before he set out upon the journey that was to blind his father to the fact that the girl was already in Dusar. Quietly he passed in through the secret way, ascending a spiral runway to the apartment in which the Princess of Ptarth was immured. As he entered the room he saw the girl leaning upon the sill of the east casement, gazing out across the roofs of Dusar toward distant Ptarth. He hated Ptarth. The thought of it filled him with rage. Why not finish her now and have done with it? At the sound of his steps she turned quickly toward him. Ah, how beautiful she was! His sudden determination faded beneath the glorious light of her wondrous beauty. He would wait until he had returned from his little journey of deception. Maybe there might be some other way then. Some other hand to strike the blow. With that face, with those eyes before him, he could never do it. Of that he was positive. He had always gloried in the cruelty of his nature, but Isis he was not that cruel. No another must be found, one whom he could trust. He was still looking at her as she stood there before him, meeting his gaze steadily and unafraid. He felt the hot passion of his love mounting higher and higher. Why not sue once more? If she would relent all might yet be well. Even if his father could not be persuaded they could fly to Ptarth, laying all the blame of the navery and intrigue that had thrown four great nations into war upon the shoulders of Nudas. And who was there that would doubt the justice of the charge? Thuvia, he said, I come once again for the last time to lay my heart at your feet. Ptarth and Kaul and Dusar are battling with Helium because of you. Wed me, Thuvia, and all may yet be as it should be. The girl shook her head. Wait! he commanded before she could speak. Know the truth before you speak words that may seal not only your own fate, but that of thousands of warriors who battle because of you. Refuse to wed me willingly, and Dusar would be laid wastes should ever the truth be known to Ptarth and Kaul and Helium. They would raise our cities, leaving not one stone upon another. They would scatter our peoples across the face of Barsoom from the frozen north to the frozen south, hunting them down and slaying them until this great nation remained only as a hated memory in the minds of men. But while they are exterminating the Dusarians, countless thousands of their own warriors must perish, and all because of the stubbornness of a single woman who would not wed the prince who loves her. Refuse Thuvia of Ptarth, and there remains but a single alternative. No man must ever know your fate. Only a handful of loyal servitors beside my royal father and myself know that you were stolen from the gardens of Thuvan-Din by Astok, prince of Dusar, or that today you be imprisoned in my palace. Refuse Thuvia of Ptarth, and you must die to save Dusar. There is no other way. Notice the jeddak has so decreed. I have spoken. For a long moment the girl at her level gaze rests full upon the face of Astok of Dusar. Then she spoke, and though the words were few, the unimpassioned tone carried unfathomable depths of cold contempt. Better all that you have threatened, she said, than you. Then she turned her back upon him and went to stand once more before the east window, gazing with sad eyes toward distant Ptarth. Astok wheeled and left the room, returning after a short interval of time with food and drink. Here, he said, is sustenance until I return again. The next to enter this apartment will be your executioner. Commend yourself to your ancestors, Thuvia of Ptarth, for within a few days you shall be with them. Then he was gone. Half an hour later he was interviewing an officer high in the navy of Dusar. Wither went Vas Kor, he asked. He is nigh at his palace. South, to the great waterway that skirts Torkos, replied the other, his son, Hal Vas, is doir of the road there, and thither has Vas Kor gone to enlist recruits among the workers on the farms. Good, said Astok, and a half hour more found him rising above Dusar in his swiftest flier. End of CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII of Thuvia, MADE OF MARS. Thuvia, MADE OF MARS, by Edgar Rice Burroughs. CHAPTER XIII TURGEN THE PANTHON. The face of Carthoris of Helium gave no token of the emotions that convulsed him inwardly as he heard from the lips of Hal Vas that Helium was at war with Dusar, and that fate had thrown him into the service of the enemy. That he might utilize this opportunity to the good of Helium scarce suffice to outweigh the chagrin he felt that he was not fighting in the open at the head of his own loyal troops. To escape the Dusarians might prove an easy matter, and then again it might not. Should they suspect his loyalty, and the loyalty of an impressed panthan was always open to suspicion, he might not find that opportunity to elude their vigilance until after the termination of the war, which might occur within days, or again only after long and weary years of bloodshed. He recalled that history recorded wars in which actual military operations had been carried on without cessation for five or six hundred years, and even now there were nations upon Barsoom with which Helium had made no peace within the history of man. The outlook was not cheering. He could not guess that within a few hours he would be blessing the fate that had thrown him into the service of Dusar. Ah! exclaimed Hal Vass. Here is my father now, Kaur, Vascor. Here is one you will be glad to meet, a dodie panthan. He hesitated. Turjan interjected Carthoris, seizing upon the first appellation that occurred to him. As he spoke his eyes crossed quickly to the tall warrior who was entering the room. Where before had he seen that giant figure, that taciturn countenance, and the livid sword-cut from temple to mouth? Vascor, repeated Carthoris mentally, Vascor! Where had he seen the man before? And then the noble spoke, and like a flash it all came back to Carthoris. The forward servant upon the landing-stage at Parth, that time that he had been explaining the intricacies of his new compass to Thuvan Din. The lone slave that had guarded his own hangar that night he had left upon his ill-fated journey for Parth, the journey that had brought him so mysteriously to Far Anthor. Vascor, he repeated aloud, blessed be your ancestors for this meeting! Where did the Usarian guess the wealth of meaning that lay beneath that hackneyed phrase with which a Barsoomian acknowledges an introduction? And blessed be yours, Turgeon! repeated Vascor. Now came the introduction of Carcomac to Vascor, and as Carthoris went through the little ceremony there came to him the only explanation he might make to account for the white skin and auburn hair of the bowman, for he feared that the truth might not be believed, and thus suspicion be cast upon them both from the beginning. Carcomac, he explained, is, as you can see, a thern. He has wandered far from his ice-bound southern temples in search of adventure. I came upon him in the pits of Anthor, but though I have known him so short a time I can vouch for his bravery and loyalty. Since the destruction of the fabric of their false religion by John Carter the majority of the therns had glidly accepted the new order of things, so that it was now no longer uncommon to see them mingling with the multitudes of red men in any of the great cities of the outer world. So Vascor neither felt nor expressed any great astonishment. All during the interview Carthoris watched, cat-like, for some indication that Vascor recognized in the battered panthan the erstwhile gorgeous Prince of Helium. But the sleepless nights, the long days of marching and fighting, the wounds and the dried blood had evidently sufficed to obliterate the last remnant of his likeness to his former self. And then Vascor had seen him but twice in all his life. Little wonder that he did not know him. During the evening Vascor announced that on the morrow they should depart north toward Dusar, picking up recruits at various stations along the way. In a great field behind the house a flyer lay, a fair-sized cruiser transport that would accommodate many men, yet swift and well-armed also. Here Carthoris slept and Carcomac too, with the other recruits, under guard of the regular Dusarian warriors that manned the craft. Toward midnight Vascor returned to the vessel from his son's house, carrying at once to his cabin. Carthoris, with one of the Dusarians, was on watch. It was with difficulty that the Helium might repress a cold smile as the noble passed within a foot of him, within a foot of the long, slim, heliomidic blade that swung in his harness. How easy it would have been! How easy to avenge the cowardly trick that had been played upon him! To avenge Helium and Parth and Thuvia! But his hand moved not toward the dagger's hilt. For first Vascor must serve a better purpose. He might know where Thuvia of Parth lay hidden now, if it had truly been Dusarians that had spirited her away during the fight before Anthor. And then too there was the instigator of the entire foul plot. He must pay the penalty, and who better than Vascor could lead the Prince of Helium to Astok of Dusar? Immediately out of the night there came to Carthoris's ear the purring of a distant motor. He scanned the heavens. Yes, there it was, far in the north, dimly outlined against the dark void of space that stretched illimitably beyond it, the faint suggestion of a flyer passing, unlighted, through the Barsoomian night. Carthoris, knowing not whether the craft might be friend or foe of Dusar, gave no sign that he had seen, but turned his eyes in another direction, leaving the matter to the Dusarian who stood watch with him. Presently the fellow discovered the oncoming craft, and sounded the low alarm which brought the balance of the watch and an officer from their sleeping silks and furs upon the deck nearby. The cruiser transport lay without lights, and, resting as she was upon the ground, must have been entirely invisible to the oncoming flyer, which all presently recognized as a small craft. It soon became evident that the stranger intended making a landing, for she was now spiraling slowly above them, dropping lower and lower in each graceful curve. It is the Thuria! whispered one of the Dusarian warriors. I would know her in the blackness of the pits among ten thousand other craft. Right you are! exclaimed Vaskor, who had come on deck, and then he hailed, Kaur, Thuria! Kaur came presently from above after a brief silence, then what ship? Cruiser transport Calxus, Vaskor of Dusar. Good! came from above. Is there safe landing alongside? Yes! Close in to Starbird! Wait! We will show our lights! And a moment later the smaller craft settled close beside the Calxus, and the lights of the latter were immediately extinguished once more. Several figures could be seen slipping over the side of the Thuria and advancing toward the Calxus. Ever suspicious the Dusarians stood ready to receive the visitors as friends or foes as closer inspection might prove them. Carthoris stood quite near the rail, ready to take sides with the newcomers should chance have it that they were Heliumites playing a bold stroke of strategy upon the lone Dusarian ship. He had led like parties himself, and knew that such a contingency was quite possible. But the face of the first man to cross the rail undeceived him with a shock that was not at all unpleasurable. It was the face of Astok, Prince of Dusar. First noticing the others upon the deck of the Calxus, Astok strode forward to accept a vast corps' greeting. Then he summoned the noble below. The warriors and officers returned to their sleeping silks and furs, and once more the deck was deserted, except for the Dusarian warrior and Turgeon the panthan who stood guard. The latter walked quietly to and fro. The former leaned across the rail, wishing for the hour that would bring him relief. He did not see his companion approach the lights of the cabin of Vascor. He did not see him stoop with ear-close pressed to a tiny ventilator. May the white apes take us all, cried Astok ruefully, if we are not in as ugly a snarl as you have ever seen. Nudas thinks that we have her in hiding far away from Dusar. He has bitten me, bring her here. He paused. No man should have heard from his lips the thing he was trying to tell. It should have been for ever the secret of Nudas and Astok, for upon it rested the safety of a throne. With that knowledge any man could rest from the Jadak of Dusar whatever he listed. But Astok was afraid, and he wanted from this older man the suggestion of an alternative. He went on. I am to kill her! he whispered, looking fearfully around. Nudas merely wishes to see the body that he may know his commands had been executed. I am now supposed to be gone to the spot where we have her hidden that I may fetch her in secrecy to Dusar. None is to know that she has ever been in the keeping of a Dusarian. I do not need to tell you what would befall Dusar, should Parth and Helium and Cowell ever learn the truth. The jaws of the listener at the ventilator clicked together with a vicious snap. Before he had but guessed at the identity of the subject of this conversation. Now he knew. And they were to kill her. His muscular fingers clenched until the nails bit into the palms. And you wish me to go with you while you fetch her to Dusar? Vas Kor was saying. Where is she? Astok bent close and whispered into the other's ear. The suggestion of a smile crossed the cruel features of Vas Kor. He realized the power that lay within his grasp. He should be a jed at last. And how may I help you, my prince? asked the older man, suavely. I cannot kill her, said Astok. Isis, I cannot do it. When she turns those eyes upon me, my heart becomes water. Vas Kor's eyes narrowed. And you wish. He paused, the interrogation unfinished yet complete. Astok nodded. You do not love her, he said. But I love my life, though I am only a lesser noble. He concluded meaningfully. You shall be a greater noble, a noble of the first rank, exclaimed Astok. I would be a jed, said Vas Kor bluntly. Astok hesitated. A jed must die before there can be another jed, he pleaded. Jeds have died before, snapped Vas Kor. It would doubtless be not difficult for you to find a jed you do not love, Astok. There are many who do not love you. Already Vas Kor was commencing to presume upon his power over the young prince. Astok was quick to note and appreciate the subtle change in his lieutenant. A cunning scheme entered his weak and wicked brain. As you say, Vas Kor, he exclaimed, you shall be a jed when the thing is done. And then to himself, nor will it then be difficult for me to find a jed I do not love. When shall we return to Dusar? asked the noble. At once, replied Astok, let us get under way now. There is not to keep you here. I had intended sailing on the morrow, picking up such recruits as the various dwarves of the roads might have collected for me, as we returned to Dusar. Let the recruits wait, said Astok, or better still, come you to Dusar upon the Thuria, leaving the Cauxus to follow and pick up the recruits. Yes, acquiesced Vas Kor, that is the better plan. Come, I am ready. And he rose to accompany Astok to the latter's flyer. The listener at the ventilator came to his feet slowly, like an old man. His face was drawn and pinched and very white beneath the light copper of his skin. She was to die, and he helpless to avert the tragedy. He did not even know where she was imprisoned. The two men were ascending from the cabin to the deck. Turgeon, the panthan, crept close to the companion way, his sinuous fingers closing tightly upon the hilt of his dagger. Could he dispatch them both before he was overpowered? He smiled. He could slay an entire ooton of her enemies in his present state of mind. They were almost abreast of him now. Astok was speaking. Bring a couple of your men along, Vas Kor. He said, we are shorthanded upon the Thuria, so quickly did we depart. The panthan's fingers dropped from the dagger's hilt. His quick mind had grasped here a chance for suckering Thuvia of Ptarth. He might be chosen as one to accompany the assassins, and once he had learned where the captive lay he could dispatch Astok and Vas Kor as well as now. To kill them before he knew where Thuvia was hid was simply to leave her to death at the hands of others. For sooner or later Nutus would learn her whereabouts, and Nutus, Jeddak of Dusar, could not afford to let her live. Turgeon put himself in the path of Vas Kor that he might not be overlooked. The noble aroused the men sleeping upon the deck, but always before him the strange panthan whom he had recruited that same day found means for keeping himself to the fore. Vas Kor turned to his lieutenant, giving instruction for the bringing of the Calxus to Dusar and the gathering up of the recruits. Then he signed to two warriors who stood close behind the padwar. You two accompany us to the Thuria, he said, and put yourselves at the disposal of her Dwar. It was dark upon the deck of the Calxus, so Vas Kor had not a good look at the faces of the two he chose. But that was of no moment, for they were but common warriors to assist with the ordinary duties upon a flyer, and to fight if need be. One of the two was Karkomak, the bowman. The other was not Carthoris. The Heliumite was mad with disappointment. He snatched his dagger from his harness. But already Astok had left the deck of the Calxus, and he knew that before he could overtake him, should he dispatch Vas Kor, he would be killed by the Dusarian warriors, who now were thick upon the deck. With either one of the two alive, Thuria was in as great danger as though both lived. It must be both. As Vas Kor descended to the ground, Carthoris boldly followed him. Nor did any attempt to halt him, thinking, doubtless, that he was one of the party. After him came Karkomak and the Dusarian warrior who had been detailed to duty upon the Thuria. Carthoris walked close to the left side of the ladder. Now they came to the dense shadow unto the side of the Thuria. It was very dark there, so that they had to grope for the ladder. Karkomak preceded the Dusarian. The ladder reached upward for the swinging rounds, and as he did so, steel fingers closed upon his windpipe, and a steel blade pierced the very center of his heart. Turgeon, the panthan, was the last to clamber over the rail of the Thuria, drawing the rope ladder in after him. A moment later the flyer was rising rapidly, headed for the north. At the rail Karkomak turned to speak to the warrior who had been detailed to accompany him. The eyes went wide as they rested upon the face of the young man whom he had met beside the granite cliffs that guard mysterious Lothar. How had he come in place of the Dusarian? A quick sign, and Karkomak turned once more to find the Thuria's Dwar that he might report himself for duty. Behind him followed the panthan. Carthoris blessed the chance that had caused Vaskor to choose the bowman of all others. Where had it been another Dusarian there would have been questions to answer, as to the whereabouts of the warrior who lay so quietly in the field beyond the residence of Hall Vass, Dwar of the Southern Road, and Carthoris had no answer to that question other than his sword-point, which alone was scarce adequate to convince the entire crew of the Thuria. The journey into Dusar seemed interminable to the impatient Carthoris, though as a matter of fact it was quickly accomplished. Some time before they reached their destination they met and spoke with another Dusarian war-flyer. From it they learned that a great battle was soon to be fought southeast of Dusar. The combined navies of Dusar, Parth, and Kaol had been intercepted in their advance toward Helium by the mighty Heliomitic navy, the most formidable upon Barsoom. Not alone in numbers and armament, but in the training and courage of its officers and warriors and the zidadaric proportions of many of its monster battleships. Not for many a day had there been the promise of such a battle. Four Jeddaks were in direct command of their own fleets, Coulon Tith of Kaol, Thuvondin of Parth, and Nudas of Dusar upon one side, while upon the other was Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. With the latter was John Carter, warlord of Mars. From the far north another force was moving south across the barrier cliffs, the new navy of Talu, Jeddak of Okar, coming in response to the call from the warlord. Upon the decks of the sullen ships of war black-bearded yellow men looked over eagerly toward the south. Gorgeous were they in their splendid cloaks of Orluk and Apt. Fierce, formidable fighters from the hot-house cities of the frozen north. And from the distant south, from the sea of Omene and the cliffs of Gold, from the temples of the Therns and the Garden of Isis, other thousands sailed into the north at the call of the great man that they had all learned to respect, and respecting, love. Pacing the flagship of this mighty fleet, second only to the navy of Helium, was the Ebon Zodar, Jeddak of the first-born. His heart beating strong in anticipation of the coming moment when he should hurl his savage crews and the weight of his mighty ships upon the enemies of the warlord. But would these allies reach the theatre of war in time to be of avail to Helium? Or would Helium need them? Carthoris, with the other members of the crew of the Thuria, heard the gossip and the rumours. None knew of the two fleets, the one from the south and the other from the north, that were coming to support the ships of Helium, and all of Dusar were convinced that nothing now could save the ancient power of Helium from being wiped forever from the upper air of Barsoom. Carthoris, too, loyal son of Helium that he was, felt that even his beloved navy might not be able to cope successfully with the combined forces of three great powers. Now the Thuria touched the landing-stage above the palace of Astak. Hurriedly the prince and Vaskor disembarked and entered the drop that would carry them to the lower levels of the palace. Close beside it was another drop that was utilized by common warriors. Carthoris touched Karkomak upon the arm. Come, he whispered, you are my only friend among a nation of enemies. Will you stand by me? Do the death! replied Karkomak. The two approached the drop. A slave operated it. Where are your passes? he asked. Carthoris fumbled in his pocket-pallet, as though in search of them, at the same time entering the cage. Karkomak followed him, closing the door. The slave did not start the cage downward. Every second counted. They must reach the lower level as soon as possible after Astak and Vaskor if they would know wither the two went. Carthoris turned suddenly upon the slave, hurling him to the opposite side of the cage. Bind and gag him, Karkomak! he cried. Then he grasped the control ever, and as the cage shot downward at sickening speed the bowman grappled with the slave. Carthoris could not leave the control to assist his companion, for should they touch the lowest level at the speed at which they were going, all would be dashed to instant death. Below him he could see the top of Astak's cage in the parallel shaft, and he reduced the speed of his to that of the other. The slave commenced to scream. Silence him! cried Carthoris. A moment later a limp form crumpled to the floor of the cage. He is silenced! said Karkomak. Carthoris brought the cage to a sudden stop at one of the higher levels of the palace. Opening the door he grasped the still form of the slave and pushed it out upon the floor. Then he banged the gate and resumed the downward drop. Once more he sighted the top of the cage that held Astak and Vaskor. And instant later it had stopped, and as he brought his car to a halt he saw the two men disappear through one of the exits of the court or beyond. End of Chapter 13. Chapter 14 of THUVIA MADE OF MARS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Scott Merrill. THUVIA MADE OF MARS by Edgar Rice Burroughs Chapter 14. Coulon Tith's Sacrifice The morning of the second day of her incarceration in the east tower of the palace of Astak, Prince of Dusar, found Thuvia of Ptarth wading in dull apathy the coming of the assassin. She had exhausted every possibility of escape, going over and over again the door and the windows, the floor and the walls. The solid air-site slabs she could not even scratch. The tough Barsoomian glass of the windows would have shattered to nothing less than a heavy sledge in the hands of a strong man. The door and the lock were impregnable. There was no escape. And they had stripped her of her weapons so that she could not even anticipate the hour of her doom, thus robbing them of the satisfaction of witnessing her last moments. When would they come? Would Astak do the deed with his own hands? She doubted that he had the courage for it. At heart he was a coward. She had known it since first she had heard him brag, as a visitor at the court of her father, he had sought to impress her with his valour. She could not help but compare him with another. And with whom would an affianced bride compare an unsuccessful suitor? With her betrothed? And did Thuvia of Ptarth now measure Astak of Dusar by the standards of Kulan Tith, Jeddak of Cowell? She was about to die. Her thoughts were her own to do with as she pleased. But furthest from them was Kulan Tith. Instead the figure of the tall and comely Heliumite filled her mind, crowding therefrom all other images. She dreamed of his noble face, the quiet dignity of his bearing, the smile that lit his eyes as he conversed with his friends, and the smile that touched his lips as he fought with his enemies, the fighting smile of his Virginian sire. And Thuvia of Ptarth, true daughter of Barsoom, found her breath quickening and heart leaping to the memory of this other smile, the smile that she would never see again. With a little half sob the girl sank to the pile of silks and furs that were tumbled in confusion beneath the east windows, burying her face and her arms. In the corridor outside her prison room two men had paused in heated argument. I tell you again, Astok, one was saying, that I shall not do this thing unless you be present in the room. There was little of the respect due royalty in the tone of the speaker's voice. The other, noting it, flushed. Do not impose too far upon my friendship for you, Vaskor, he snapped. There is a limit to my patience. There is no question of royal prerogative here, returned Vaskor. You ask me to become an assassin in your stead, and against your jeddak's strict injunctions. You are in no position, Astok, to dictate to me. But rather should you be glad to accede to my reasonable request that you be present, thus sharing the guilt with me. Why should I bear it all? The younger man scowled, but he advanced toward the locked door, and as it swung in upon its hinges he entered the room beyond at the side of Vaskor. Across the chamber the girl, hearing them enter, rose to her feet and faced them. Under the soft copper of her skin she blanched just a trifle, but her eyes were brave and level, and the haughty tilt of her firm little chin was eloquent of loathing and contempt. You still prefer death, asked Astok? To you, yes, replied the girl coldly. The prince of Dusar turned to Vaskor and nodded. The noble drew his short sword and crossed the room toward Thuvia. Nail, he commanded. I prefer to die standing, she replied. As you will, said Vaskor, feeling the point of his blade with his left thumb. In the name of Nudas, Jeddak of Dusar, he cried and ran quickly toward her. In the name of Carthoris, Prince of Helium, came in low tones from the doorway. Vaskor turned to see the panthan he had recruited at his son's house, leaping across the floor toward him. The fellow brushed past Astok with an, after him, you, callot! Vaskor wheeled to meet the charging man. What means this treason? he cried. Astok, with barred sword, leaped to Vaskor's assistance. The panthan's sword clashed against that of the noble, and in the first encounter Vaskor knew that he faced a master swordsman. Before he half realized the stranger's purpose, he found the man between himself and Thuvia of Parth, at bay facing the two swords of the Dusarians. But he fought not like a man at bay. Ever was he the aggressor, and though always he kept his flashing blade between the girl and her enemies, yet he managed to force them hither and thither about the room, calling to the girl to follow close behind. Until it was too late, neither Astok nor Vaskor dreamed of that which lay in the panthan's mind. But at last, as the fellow stood with his back toward the door, both understood. They were penned in their own prison, and now the intruder could slay them at his will, for Thuvia of Parth was bolting the door at the man's direction, first taking the key from the opposite side, where Astok had left it when he had entered. Astok, as was his way, finding that the enemy did not fall immediately before their swords, was leaving the brunt of the fighting to Vaskor, and now as his eyes appraised the panthan carefully, they presently went wider and wider, for slowly he had come to recognize the features of the Prince of Helium. The Heliumite was pressing close to Vaskor. The noble was bleeding from a dozen wounds. Astok saw that he could not for long withstand the cunning craft of that terrible sword-hand. Courage, Vaskor! he whispered in the other's ear. I have a plan. Hold him but a moment longer, and all will be well. But the balance of the sentence, with Astok, Prince of Dusar, he did not voice aloud. Vaskor, dreaming no treachery, nodded his head, and for a moment succeeded in holding Carthoris at bay. Then the Heliumite and the girl saw the Dusarian Prince run swiftly to the opposite side of the chamber, touched something in the wall that sent a great panel swinging inward, and disappeared into the black vault beyond. It was done so quickly that by no possibility could they have intercepted him. Carthoris, fearful lest Vaskor might similarly elude him, or asked to return immediately with reinforcements, sprang viciously in upon his antagonist, and a moment later the headless body of the Dusarian noble rolled upon the air-side floor. Come! cried Carthoris, there is no time to be lost. Astok will be back in a moment with enough warriors to overpower me. But Astok had no such plan in mind, for such a move would have meant the spreading of the fact among the palace gossips that the Parthian Princess was a prisoner in the East Tower. Similarly would the word have come to his father, and no amount of falsifying could have explained away the facts that the jeddak's investigation would have brought to light. Instead Astok was racing madly through a long corridor to reach the door of the tower-room before Carthoris and Thuvia left the apartment. He had seen the girl remove the key and place it in her pocket-pouch, and he knew that a dagger-point driven into the key-hole from the opposite side would imprison them in the secret chamber till eight dead worlds circled a cold, dead sun. As fast as he could run, Astok entered the main corridor that led to the tower-chamber. Would he reach the door in time? What if the Heliumite should have already emerged, and he should run upon him in the passageway? Astok felt a cold chill run up his spine. He had no stomach to face that uncanny blade. He was almost at the door. On the next turn of the corridor it stood. No, they had not left the apartment. Evidently Vaskor was still holding the Heliumite. Astok could scarce repress a grin at the clever manner in which he had outwitted the noble and disposed of him at the same time. And then he rounded the turn and came face to face with an auburn-haired white giant. The fellow did not wait to ask the reason for his coming. Instead he leaped upon him with a long sword, so that Astok had to parry a dozen vicious cuts before he could disengage himself and flee back down the runway. A moment later Carthoris and Thuvia entered the corridor from the secret chamber. Well, Carcomac? asked the Heliumite. It is fortunate that you left me here, red man, said the bowman. I but just now intercepted one who seemed overanxious to reach this door. It was he whom they call Astok, Prince of Dusar. Arthas smiled. Where is he now? he asked. He escaped my blade and ran down this corridor, replied Carcomac. We must not lose time, then, exclaimed Carthoris. He will have the guard upon us yet. Together the three hastened along the winding passages through which Carthoris and Carcomac had tracked the Dusarians by the marks of the ladders' sandals in the thin dust that overspread the floors of these seldom used passageways. They had come to the chamber at the entrances to the lifts before they met with opposition. Here they found a handful of guardsmen and an officer who, seeing that they were strangers, questioned their presence in the palace of Astok. Once more Carthoris and Carcomac had recourse to their blades, and before they had won their way to one of the forts, the noise of the conflict must have aroused the entire palace, for they heard men shouting, and as they passed the many levels on their quick passage to the landing stage they saw armed men running hither and thither in search of the cause of the commotion. Beside the stage lay the Thuria, with three warriors on guard. Again the Heliumite and the Lotharian fought shoulder to shoulder, but the battle was soon over, for the Prince of Helium alone would have been a match for any three that Dusar could produce. Scarce had the Thuria risen from the ways, ere a hundred or more fighting men leaped to view upon the landing stage. At their head was Astok of Dusar, and as he saw the two he had thought so safely in his power slipping from his grasp he danced with rage and chagrin, shaking his fists and hurling abuse and vile insults at them. With her bow inclined upward at a dizzy angle the Thuria shot meteor-like into the sky. From a dozen points swift patrol boats darted after her, for the scene upon the landing stage above the palace of the Prince of Dusar had not gone unnoticed. A dozen times shots grazed the Thuria's side, and as Carthoris could not leave the control levers Thuvia of Parth turned the muzzles of the craft's rapid-fire guns upon the enemy as she clung to the steep and slippery surface of the deck. It was a noble race, and a noble fight. One against a score now, for other Dusarian craft had joined in the pursuit. But Astok, Prince of Dusar, had built well when he built the Thuria. None in the navy of his sire possessed a swift or flyer. No other craft so well armored, or so well armed. One by one the pursuers were distanced, and as the last of them fell out of range behind Carthoris dropped the Thuria's nose to a horizontal plane, as with lever drawn to the last notch she tore through the thin air of dying Mars toward the east and Parth. Thirteen and a half thousand hodds away lay Parth, a stiff thirty-hour journey for the swiftest of flyers, and between Dusar and Parth might lay half the navy of Dusar, for in this direction was the reported seat of the great naval battle that even now might be in progress. Could Carthoris have known precisely where the great fleets of the contending nations lay, he would have hastened to them without delay, for then the return of Thuvia to her sire lay the greatest hope of peace. Half the distance they covered without citing a single worship, and then Carcomac called Carthoris's attention to a distant craft that rested upon the ochre vegetation of the great dead sea-bottom above which the Thuria was speeding. About the vessel many figures could be seen swarming. With the aid of powerful glasses the Heliumites saw that they were green warriors, and that they were repeatedly charging down upon the crew of the stranded airship. The nationality of the latter he could not make out at so great a distance. It was not necessary to change the course of the Thuria to permit of passing directly above the scene of battle, but Carthoris dropped his craft a few hundred feet that he might have a better and closer view. If the ship was of a friendly power he could do no less than stop and direct his guns upon her enemies, though with the precious freight he carried he scarcely felt justified in landing, for he could offer but two swords in reinforcement, scarce enough to warrant jeopardizing the safety of the Princess of Parth. As they came close above the stricken ship they could see that it would be but a question of minutes before the green horde would swarm across the armored bulwarks to glut the ferocity of their bloodlust upon the defenders. It would be futile to descend, said Carthoris to Thuvia. The craft may even be of Dusar. She shows no insignia. All that we may do is fire upon the hordesmen. And as he spoke he stepped to one of the guns and deflected its muzzle toward the green warriors at the ship's side. At the first shot from the Thuria those upon the vessel below evidently discovered her for the first time. Immediately a device fluttered from the bow of the warship on the ground. Thuvia of Parth caught her breath quickly, glancing at Carthoris. The device was that of Coulon Tith, Jeddak of Cowell, the man to whom the Princess of Parth was betrothed. How easy for the Heliumite to pass on, leaving his rival to the fate that could not for long be averted. No man could accuse him of cowardice or treachery, for Coulon Tith was in arms against Helium, and, further, upon the Thuria were not enough sores to delay even temporarily the outcome that already was a foregone conclusion in the minds of the watchers. What would Carthoris, Prince of Helium, do? Scarce had the device broken to the faint breeze ere the bow of the Thuria dropped at a sharp angle toward the ground. Can you navigate her? asked Carthoris of Thuvia. The girl nodded. I am going to try to take the survivors aboard, he continued. It will need both Carcomac and myself to man the guns, while the Coulians take to the boarding tackle. Keep her bowed depressed against the rifle fire. She can bear it better in her forward armor, and at the same time the propellers will be protected. He hurried to the cabin as Thuvia took the control. A moment later the boarding tackle dropped from the keel of the Thuria, and from a dozen points along either side, stout, loaded leathered lines trailed downward. At the same time a signal broke from her bow. Prepare to board us. A shout arose from the deck of the Coulian warship. Carthoris, who by this time had returned from the cabin, smiled sadly. He was about to snatch from the jaws of death the man who stood between himself and the woman he loved. Take the port bow gun, Carcomac, he called to the bowman, and himself stepped to the gun upon the starboard bow. It was a forlorn hope at best. At any moment the repulsive ray tank might be pierced. The men upon the Coulian ship were battling with renewed hope. In the bow stood Coulon Tith, a brave figure fighting beside his brave warriors, beating back the ferocious green men. The Thuria came low above the other craft. The Coulians were forming under their officers, in readiness to board, and then a sudden fierce fusillade from the rifles of the green warriors vomited their hail of death and destruction into the side of the brave flyer. Like a wounded bird she dived suddenly Marsward, careening drunkenly. Thuria turned the bow upward in an effort to avert the imminent tragedy, but she succeeded only in lessening the shock of the flyer's impact as she struck the ground beside the Coulian ship. And the green men saw only two warriors and a woman upon the deck of the Thuria, a savage shout of triumph arose from their ranks, while an answering groan broke from the lips of the Coulians. The former now turned their attention upon the new arrival, for they saw her defenders could soon be overcome, and that from her deck they could command the deck of the better man to ship. As they charged a shout of warning came from Coulon Tith, upon the bridge of his own ship, and with it an appreciation of the valour of the act that had put the smaller vessel in these sore straits. Who is it? he cried, that offers his life in the service of Coulon Tith. Never was wrought a nobler deed of self-sacrifice upon Barsoom. The green horde was scrambling over the Thuria's side as there broke from the bow the device of Carthoris, Prince of Helium, in reply to the query of the jeddak of Caol. None upon the smaller flier had opportunity to note the effect of this announcement upon the Coulians, for their attention was claimed slowly now by that which was transpiring upon their own deck. Carcomac stood behind the gun he had been operating, staring with wide eyes at the onrushing hideous green warriors. Seeing him thus felt a pang of regret that, after all, this man that he had thought so valorous should prove, in the hour of need, as spineless as Jav or Tario. Carcomac, the man, he shouted, grip yourself! Remember the days of the glory of the seafarers of Lothar! Fight! Fight, man! Fight as man never fought before! All that remains to us is to die fighting! Carcomac turned toward the Heliumite, a grim smile upon his lips. Why should we fight? he asked, against such fearful odds. There is another way, a better way. Look! he pointed toward the companion way that led below deck. The green men, a handful of them, had already reached the Thuria's deck as Carthoris glanced in the direction the Lotharian had indicated. The sight that met his eyes set his heart to thumping and joy and relief. Thuvia of Ptarth might yet be saved? For from below there poured a stream of giant bowmen, grim and terrible, not the bowmen of Tario or Jav, but the bowmen of an odd war of bowmen, savage fighting men, eager for the fray. The green warriors paused in momentary surprise and consternation, but only for a moment. Then with horrid war cries they leaped forward to meet these strange new foemen. A volley of arrows stopped them in their tracks. In a moment the only green warriors upon the deck of the Thuria were dead warriors, and the bowmen of Carcomac were leaping over the vessel's side to charge the hordesmen upon the ground. Uton after Uton tumbled from the bows of the Thuria to launch themselves upon the unfortunate green men. Coulon Tith and his caolians stood wide-eyed and speechless with amazement as they saw thousands of these strange fierce warriors emerge from the companion way of the small craft that could not comfortably have accommodated more than fifty. At last the green men could withstand the onslaught of overwhelming numbers no longer. Slowly at first they fell back across the ochre plain. The bowmen pursued them. Carcomac, standing upon the deck of the Thuria, trembled with excitement. At the top of his lungs he voiced the savage war cry of his forgotten day. He roared encouragement and commands at his battling Utons, and then, as they charged further and further from the Thuria, he could no longer withstand the lure of battle. Moving over the ship's side to the ground, he joined the last of his bowmen as they raced over the dead sea-bottom in pursuit of the flea and green horde. Beyond a low promenatory of what once had been an island, the green men were disappearing toward the west. Close upon their heels raced the fleet bowmen of a bygone day, and forging steadily ahead among them, Carthoris and Thuria could see the mighty figure of Carcomac, branching aloft the Torkasian's short sword with which he was armed, as he urged his creatures after the retreating enemy. As the last of them disappeared behind the promenatory, Carthoris turned toward Thuria of Ptarth. "'They have taught me a lesson, these vanishing bowmen of Lothar,' he said. When they have served their purpose they remain not to embarrass their masters by their presence. Coulon Tith and his warriors are here to protect you. My acts have constituted the proof of my honesty of purpose. Goodbye!' And he knelt at her feet, raising a bit of her harness to his lips. The girl reached out a hand and laid it upon the thick black hair of the head bent before her. Softly she said, "'Where are you going, Carthoris?' "'With Carcomac, the bowmen,' he replied, "'There will be fighting and forgetfulness.' The girl put her hands before her eyes, as though to shut out some mighty temptation from her sight. "'May my ancestors have mercy upon me,' she cried, "'if I say the thing I have no right to say. But I cannot see you cast your life away, Carthoris, Prince of Helium. Stay, my chieftain, stay, I love you!' A cough behind them brought both about, and there they saw standing, not two paces from them, Coulon Tith, Jeddak of Cowell. For a long moment none spoke. Then Coulon Tith cleared his throat. "'I could not help hearing all that passed,' he said, "'I am no fool, to be blind to the love that lies between you. Or am I blind to the lofty honor that has caused you, Carthoris, to risk your life and hers to save mine, though you thought that that very act would rob you of the chance to keep her for your own? Nor can I fail to appreciate the virtue that has kept your lips sealed against words of love for this Heliumite, Thuvia, for I know that I have but just heard the first declaration of your passion for him. I do not condemn you. Rather should I have condemned you had you entered a loveless marriage with me.' "'Take back your liberty, Thuvia of Parth,' he cried, and bestow it where your heart already lies and chained. And when the golden collars are clasped about your necks, you will see that Coulon Tith's is the first sword to be raised in declaration of eternal friendship for the new Princess of Helium and her royal mate.' End of Chapter 14 End of Thuvia, made of Mars