 The Chessmen of Mars Chapter 20 This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss. The Chessmen of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs Chapter 20 The Charge of Cowardice Gahan, watching through the aperture between the hangings, saw the frantic flight of their pursuers. A grim smile rested upon his lips as he viewed the mad scramble for safety, and saw them throw away their swords and fight with one another to be pursed from the chamber of fear. And when they were all gone he turned back toward Tara, the smile still upon his lips. But the smile died the instant that he turned, for he saw that Tara had disappeared. Tara, he called in a loud voice, for he knew that there was no danger that the pursuers would return, but there was no response unless it was a faint sound as of cackling laughter from afar. Currently he searched the passageway behind the hangings finding several doors, one of which was a jar. Through this he entered the adjoining chamber, which was lighted more brilliantly for the moment by the soft rays of hurtling Thuria taking her mad way through the heavens. Here he found the dust upon the floor disturbed, and the imprint of sandals. They had come this way, Tara and whatever the creature was that had stolen her. But what could it have been? Gahan, a man of culture and high intelligence, held few if any superstitions. In common with nearly all the races of Barsoom he clung, more or less inherently, to a certain exalted form of ancestor worship, though it was rather the memory or legends of the virtues and heroic deeds of his forebears that he deified rather than themselves. He never expected any tangible evidence of their existence after death. He did not believe that they had the power either for good or for evil other than the effect that their example while living might have had upon the following generations. He did not believe, therefore, in the materialization of dead spirits. If there was a life hereafter he knew nothing of it, for he knew that science had demonstrated the existence of some material cause for every seemingly supernatural phenomenon of ancient religions and superstitions. Yet he was at a loss to know what power might have removed Tara so suddenly and mysteriously from his side in a chamber that had not known the presence of man for five thousand years. In the darkness he could not see whether there were the imprints of other sandals than Tara's, only that the dust was disturbed, and when it led him into gloomy corridors he lost the trail altogether. A perfect labyrinth of passages and apartments were now revealed to him as he hurried on through the deserted quarters of Omai. Here was an ancient bath, doubtless that of the jeddak himself, and again he passed through a room in which a meal had been laid upon the table five thousand years before. The untasted breakfast of Omai, perhaps. There passed before his eyes in the brief moments that he traversed the chambers a wealth of ornaments and jewels and precious metals that surprised even the jet of Gathol, whose harness was of diamonds and platinum and whose riches were the envy of a world. But at last his search of Omai's chambers ended in a small closet in the floor of which was the opening to a spiral runway leading straight down into the Stygian darkness. The dust at the entrance of the closet had been freshly disturbed, and as this was the only possible indication that Yehan had of the direction taken by the abductor of Tara it seemed as well to follow on as to search elsewhere. So without hesitation he descended into the utter darkness below. Feeling with a foot before taking a forward step his descent was necessarily slow, but Gahan was a barsoomian and so knew the pitfalls that might await the unwary in such dark, forbidden portions of a jeddak's palace. He had descended for what he judged might be three full levels and was pausing, as he occasionally did, to listen when he distinctly heard a peculiar shuffling, scraping sound approaching him from below. Whatever the thing was it was ascending the runway at a steady pace and would soon be near him. Gahan laid his hand upon the hill of his sword and drew it slowly from its scabbard that he might make no noise that would apprise the creature of his presence. He wished that there might be even the slightest lessening of the darkness. If he could see but the outline of the thing that approached him he would feel that he had a fairer chance in the meeting, but he could see nothing, and then, because he could see nothing, the end of his scabbard struck the stone side of the runway, giving off a sound that the stillness and the narrow confines of the passage and the darkness seemed to magnify to a terrific clatter. Instantly the shuffling sound of approach ceased. For a moment Gahan stood in silent waiting, then casting aside discretion he moved on again down the spiral. The thing, however it might be, gave forth no sound now by which Gahan might locate it. At any moment it might be upon him, and so he kept his sword in readiness. Down, ever downward, the steep spiral led. The darkness and the silence of the tomb surrounded him, yet somewhere ahead was something. He was not alone in that horrid place, another presence that he could not hear or see covered before him. Of that he was positive. Perhaps it was the thing that had stolen Tara. Perhaps Tara herself, still in the clutches of some nameless horror, was just ahead of him. He quickened his pace. It became almost a run at the thought of the danger that threatened the woman he loved, and then he collided with a wooden door that swung open to the impact. Before him was a lighted corridor. On either side were chambers. He had advanced but a short distance from the bottom of the spiral when he recognized that he was in the pits below the palace. A moment later he heard behind him the shuffling sound that had attracted his attention in the spiral runway. Wheeling about he saw the author of the sound emerging from a doorway he had just passed. It was Gek, the kaldane. Gek exclaimed Géhan. It was you in the runway? Have you seen Tara of Helium? It was I in the spiral, replied the kaldane, but I have not seen Tara of Helium. I have been searching for her. Where is she? I do not know, replied the Gatholian, but we must find her and take her from this place. We may find her, said Gek, but I doubt our ability to take her away. It is not so easy to leave Manator as it is to enter it. I may come and go at will through the ancient furrows of the Ulcios, but you are too large for that and your lungs need more air than may be found in some of the deeper runways. But Uthor, exclaimed Géhan, have you heard ought of him or his intentions? I have heard much, replied Gek. He camps at the gate of enemies. That spot he holds, and his warriors lie just beyond the gate. But he has not sufficient force to enter the city and take the palace. An hour since, and you might have made your way to him, but now every avenue is strongly guarded since Otar learned that Acor has escaped to Uthor. Acor has escaped and joined Uthor, exclaimed Géhan. But little more than an hour since, I was with him when a warrior came, a man whose name is Tesor, who brought a message from you. It was decided that Tesor should accompany Acor in an attempt to reach the camp of Uthor, the great jet of Manatos, and exact from him the assurances you required. Then Uthor was to return and take food to you and the Princess of Helium. I accompanied them. We won through easily, and found Uthor more than willing to respect your every wish. But when Tesor would have returned to you, the way was blocked by the warriors of Otar. Then it was that I volunteered to come to you, and report and find food and drink, and then go forth among the Gatholian slaves of Manator and prepare them for their part in the plan that Uthor and Tesor conceived. And what was this plan? Uthor had sent for reinforcements. To Manatos he has sent, and to all the outlying districts that are his. It will take a month to collect and bring them hither, and in the meantime the slaves within the city are to organize secretly, stealing and hiding arms against the day that the reinforcements arrive. When that day comes, the forces of Uthor will enter the gate of enemies, and as the warriors of Otar rush to repulse them, the slaves from Gathol will fall upon them from the rear with the majority of their numbers, while the balance will assault the palace. They hope thus to divert so many from the gate that Uthor will have little difficulty in forcing an entrance to the city. Perhaps they will succeed, come on it, Gahan, but the warriors of Otar are many, and those who fight in defense of their homes and their jeddak have always an advantage. Ah, Gek! Would that we had the great warships of Gathol or of Helium to pour their merciless fire into the streets of Manator, while Uthor marched to the palace over the corpses of the slain? He paused, deep in thought, and then turned his gaze again upon the kaldane. Have you ought of the party that escaped with me from the field of G'tan, of Floran, Valdor, and the others? What of them? Ten of these one through to Uthor at the gate of enemies, and were well received by him. Eight fell in the fighting upon the way. Valdor and Floran live, I believe, for I am sure that I heard Uthor addressed two warriors by these names. Good, exclaimed Gahan, go then through the burrows of the Alcios to the gate of enemies, and carry to Floran the message that I shall write in his own language. Come, while I write the message. In a nearby room they found a bench and table, and there Gahan sat and wrote in the strange stenographic characters a Martian script, a message to Floran of Gaethal. Why, he asked, when he had finished it, did you search for Tara through the spiral runway where we nearly met? Tezor told me where you were to be found, and as I have explored the greater part of the palace by means of the LCO runways and the darker and less frequented passages, I knew precisely where you were and how to reach you. This secret spiral ascends from the pits to the roof of the loftiest of the palace towers. It has secret openings at every level, but there is no living Manatorian, I believe, who knows of its existence. At least never have I met one within it, and I have used it many times. Thrice have I been in the chamber where Omi lives, though I knew nothing of his identity or the story of his death until Tezor told it to us in the camp of Uthor. You know the palace thoroughly, then, Gahan interrupted, better than Otar himself or any of his servants. Good, and you would serve the Princess Tara, Ghek you may serve her best by accompanying Floran and following his instructions. I will write them here at the close of my message to him, for the walls have ears, Ghek, while none but a Gatholian may read what I have written to Floran. He will transmit it to you. Can I trust you? I may never return to Bantu, replied Ghek. Therefore I have but two friends in all Barsoom. What better may I do than serve them faithfully? You may trust me, Gatholian, who with a woman of your kind has taught me that there be finer and nobler things than perfect mentality uninfluenced by the unreasoning tuitions of the heart. I go. As Otar pointed to the little doorway all eyes turned in the direction he indicated and surprise was writ large upon the faces of the warriors when they recognized the two who had entered the banquet hall. There was Igos, and he dragged behind him one who was gagged and whose hands were fastened behind with a ribbon of tough silk. It was the slave girl. Igos cackling laughter rose above the silence of the room. Hey, hey! he shrilled. What the young warriors of Otar cannot do? Old Igos does alone. Only a corful may capture a corful, growled one of the chiefs who had fled from the chambers of Omi. Igos laughed. Terror turned your heart to water, he replied, and shame your tongue to libel. This be no carful, but only a woman of Helium, her companion a warrior who can match blades with the best of you and cut your putrid hearts. Not so in the days of Igos, youth. Ah, then there were men in Manator. Well, do I recall the day that I peace, doddering fool, commanded Otar, where is the man? Where I found the woman in the death chamber of Omi. Let your wise and brave chieftains go thither and fetch him. I am an old man, and could bring but one. You have done well, Igos, Otar hastened to assure him. For when he learned that Gahan might still be in the haunted chambers he wished to appease the wrath of Igos, knowing well the vitriolic tongue and temper of the ancient one. You think she is no carful then, Igos, he asked, wishing to carry the subject from the man who was still at large. No more than you, replied the ancient taxidermist. Otar looked long and searchingly at terror. All the beauty that was hers seemed suddenly to be carried to every fiber of his consciousness. She was still garbed in the rich harness of a black princess of Gitan. And as Otar the jeddak gazed upon her, he realized that never before had his face rested upon a more perfect figure, a more beautiful face. She is no carful, he murmured to himself. She is no carful, and she is a princess, a princess of Helium, and by the golden hair of the holy Hecador she is beautiful. Take the gag from her mouth and release her hands, he commanded aloud. Make room for the princess Tara of Helium at the side of Otar of Manator. She shall dine as becomes a princess. Slaves did as Otar bid, and Tara of Helium stood with flashing eyes behind the chair that was offered her. Sit, commanded Otar. The girl sank into the chair. I sit as a prisoner, she said, not as a guest at the board of my enemy, Otar of Manator. Otar motioned his followers from the room. I would speak alone with the princess of Helium, he said. The company and the slaves withdrew, and once more the jeddak of Manator turned toward the girl. Otar of Manator would be your friend, he said. Tara of Helium sat with arms folded upon her small, firm dress, her eyes flashing from behind narrowed lids, nor did she deign to answer his overture. Otar leaned closer to her. He noted the hostility of her bearing, and he recalled his first encounter with her. She was a shebanth, but she was beautiful. She was by far the most desirable woman that Otar had ever looked upon, and he was determined to possess her. He told her so. I could take you as my slave, he said to her, but it pleases me to make you my wife. You shall be jeddara of Manator. You shall have seven days in which to prepare for the great honor that Otar is conferring upon you, and at this hour of the seventh day you shall become an empress and the wife of Otar in the throne room of the jeddaks of Manator. He struck a gong that stood beside him upon the table, and when a slave appeared he bade him recall the company. Slowly the chiefs filed in and took their places at the table. Their faces were grim and scolling, for there was still unanswered the question of their jeddaks courage. If Otar had hoped they would forget he had been mistaken in his men. Otar arose. In seven days, he announced, there will be a great feast in honor of the new jeddara of Manator, and he waved his hand toward Tara of Helium. The ceremony will occur at the beginning of the seventh zode in the throne room. In the meantime, the princess of Helium will be cared for in the tower of the women's quarters of the palace. Conduct her thither, ethos, with a suitable guard of honor, and see to it that slaves and inuks be placed at her disposal, who shall attend upon all her wants and guard her carefully from harm. Now ethos knew that the real meaning concealed in these fine words was that he should conduct the prisoner under a strong guard to the women's quarters and confine her there in the tower for seven days, placing about her trustworthy guards who would prevent her escape and frustrate any attempted rescue. As Tara was departing from the chamber with ethos and the guard, Otar leaned close to her ear and whispered, consider well during these seven days the high honor I have offered you, and its sole alternative. As though she had not heard him, the girl passed out of the banquet hall, her head high, and her eyes straight to the front. After Gek had left him, Gahan roamed the pits and the ancient corridors of the deserted portions of the palace, seeking some clue to the whereabouts or the fate of Tara of Helium. He utilized the spiral runway in passing from level to level until he knew every foot of it from the pits to the summit of the high tower, and into what apartments it opened at the various levels, as well as the ingenious and hidden mechanism that operated the locks of the cleverly concealed doors leading to it. For food, he drew upon the stores he found in the pits, and when he slept he lay upon the royal couch of Omi in the forbidden chamber, sharing the dais with the dead foot of the ancient jedi. In the palace about him seethed all unknown to Gahan a vast unrest. Warriors and chieftains pursued the duties of their vocations with dour faces, and little knots of them were collecting here and there, and with frowns of anger discussing some subject that was uppermost in the minds of all. It was upon the fourth day following Tara's incarceration in the tower that Aethas, the major domo of the palace and one of O'tar's creatures, came to his master upon some trivial errand. O'tar was alone in one of the smaller chambers of his personal sweep when the major domo was announced, and after the matter upon which Aethas had come was disposed of, the jedi signed him to remain. From the position of an obscure warrior I have elevated you, Aethas, to the honors of a chief, within the confines of the palace your word is second only to mine. You are not loved for this, Aethas, and should another jedi ascend the throne of Manator what would become of you whose enemies are among the most powerful of Manator. Speak not of it, O'tar, begged Aethas. These last few days I have thought upon it much, and I would forget it. But I have sought to appease the wrath of my worst enemies. I have been very kind and indulgent with them. You, too, read the voiceless message in the air, demanded the jedi. Aethas was palpably uneasy, and he did not reply. Why did you not come to me with your apprehensions, demanded O'tar? Be this loyalty? I feared, O mighty jedi, replied Aethas, I feared that you would not understand, and that you would be angry. What know you? Speak the whole truth, commanded O'tar. There is much unrest among the chieftains and the warriors, replied Aethas, even those who were your friends fear the power of those who speak against you. What say they, growled the jedi. They say that you are afraid to enter the apartments of O'Mai in search of the slave Turan. O do not be angry with me, jedi. It is but what they say that I repeat. I, your loyal Aethas, believe no such foul slander. No? No, why should I fear, demanded O'tar. We do not know that he is there. Did not my chiefs go thither and see nothing of him? But they say that you did not go, pursued Aethas, and that they will have none of a coward upon the throne of Manator. They said that treason? O'tar almost shouted. They said that, and more, great jedi, answered the major domo. They said that not only did you fear to enter the chambers of O'Mai, but that you feared the slave Turan, and they blame you for your treatment of Acor, whom they all believed to have been murdered at your command. They were fond of Acor. And there are many now who say aloud that Acor would have made a wondrous jedi. They dare, screamed O'tar. They dare suggest the name of a slave's bastard for the throne of O'tar? He is your son, O'tar, Aethas reminded him. Nor is there a more beloved man in Manator. I but speak to you of facts, which may not be ignored. And I dare do so because only when you realize the truth may you seek a cure for the ills that draw about your throne. O'tar had slumped down upon his bench. Suddenly he looked shrunken and tired and old. Cursed be the day he cried that saw those three strangers enter the city of Manator. Would that Udor had been spared to me? He was strong. My enemies feared him. But he is gone, dead at the hands of that hateful slave Turan. May the curse of Isis be upon him. My jedi, what shall we do, begged Aethas? Cursing the slave will not solve your problems. But the great feast and the marriage is but three days off, pleb O'tar. It shall be a great gala occasion. The warriors and the chief all know that. It is the custom. Upon that day gifts and honor shall be bestowed. Tell me, who are the most bitter against me? I will send you among them and let it be known that I am planning rewards for their past services to the throne. We will make jeds of the chiefs and chiefs of warriors and grant them palaces and slaves. Aethas! The other shook its head. It will not do, O'tar. They will have nothing of your gifts or honors. I have heard them say as much. What do they want? demanded O'tar. They want a jedi as brave as the bravest, replied Aethas, though his knees shook as he said it. They think I am a coward? Cried the jedi. They say you are afraid to go to the apartments of O'Mai the Cool. For a long time O'tar sat, his head sunk upon his breast, staring blankly at the floor. Tell them, he said at last, in a hollow voice that sounded not at all like the voice of a great jedi. Tell them that I will go to the chambers of O'Mai and search for Turan the slave. This is the end of the Chestmen of Mars, Chapter 20. Recording by Tom Weiss. The Chestmen of Mars, Chapter 21. 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 Tom Weiss. The Chestmen of Mars by Edgar Rice Burrows. Chapter 21. A Risk or Low. A? A? He is craven. And he called me doddering fool. The speaker was Aigas. And he addressed a knot of chieftains in one of the chambers of the palace of O'tar, Jeddak of Manator. If Aigor was alive, there were a Jeddak for us. Who says that Aigor is dead, demanded one of the chiefs? Where is he then? asked Aigas. Have not others disappeared, whom O'tar thought too well beloved for men so near the throne as they? The chief shook his head. And I thought that, or knew it, rather, I'd join O'tor at the gate of enemies. Sssss! cautioned one. Here comes the liquor of feet. And all eyes were turned upon the approaching ethos. K.R. friends, he exclaimed, as he stopped among them. But his friendly greeting elicited not but a few surly nods. Have you heard the news?" he continued, unabashed by treatment to which he was becoming accustomed. What! Has Ohtar seen an Alcio and fainted? Demanded Aigas with broad sarcasm. Men have died for less than that. Ancient one, Aethas reminded him. I am safe, retorted Aigas, for I am not a brave and popular son. Of the Jeddak of Manator. This was indeed open treason, but Aethas feigned not to hear it. He ignored Aigas and turned to the others. Ohtar goes to the chamber of Omi this night in search of Turan the slave, he said. He sorrows that his warriors have not the courage for so mean a duty and that their Jeddak is thus compelled to arrest a common slave, with which taunt Aethas passed on to spread the word in other parts of the palace. As a matter of fact, the latter part of his message was purely original with himself, and he took great delight in delivering it to the discomforture of his enemies. As he was leaving the little group of men, Aigas called after him. At what hour does Ohtar intend visiting the chambers of Omi? He asked. Toward the end of the eighth Zoge replied the major domo and went his way. We shall see, stated Aigas. What shall we see, asked the warrior? We shall see whether Ohtar visits the chamber of Omi. How? I shall be there myself. And if I see him, I will know that he has been there. If I don't see him, I will know that he is not, explained the old taxidermist. Is there anything there to fill an honest man with fear? Asked the chieftain. What had you seen? There was not so much what I saw, though that was bad enough. That's what I heard, said Aigas. Tell us what hurt and saw you. I saw the dead Omi, said Aigas. The others shuddered. And you went not mad, they asked. Am I mad? Retorted Aigas. And you will go again? Yes. Then indeed you are mad, cried one. You saw the dead Omi. But what hurt you that was worse? whispered another. I saw the dead Omi lying upon the floor of a sleeping chamber with one foot. But tangled in the sleeping silks and furs upon his couch, I heard horrid moans and frightful screams. And you are not afraid to go there again, demanded several? The dead could not harm me, said Aigas. He enslaved us for five thousand years. What could have sound harmed me? I heard it once and lived. I can hear it again. That came from almost at my side where I hid behind the hangings and watched the slave tour on before I snatched the woman away from him. Aigas, you are a very brave man, said a chieftain. Ohtar called me Donnering Fool, and I would face worse dangers than lie in the forbidden chambers of Omi. To know if he does not visit the chamber of Omi, then indeed shall Ohtar fall. The night came, and the zodes dragged, and the time approached when Ohtar, jeddak of Manator, was to visit the chamber of Omi in search of the slave Turan. To us who may doubt the existence of malignant spirits, his fear may seem unbelievable, for he was a strong man, an excellent swordsman, and a warrior of great repute. But the fact remained that Ohtar of Manator was nervous with apprehension as he strode the corridors of his palace toward the deserted halls of Omi, and when he stood at last with his hand upon the door that opened from the dusty corridor to the very apartments themselves, he was almost paralyzed with terror. He had come alone for two very excellent reasons. The first of which was that thus none might note his terror-stricken state, nor his defection should he fail at the last moment, and the other was that should he accomplish the thing alone or be able to make his chiefs believe that he had, the credit would be far greater than were he to be accompanied by warriors. But though he had started alone, he had become aware that he was being followed, and he knew that it was because his people had no faith in either his courage or his veracity. He did not believe that he would find the slave Turan. He did not very much want to find him. For though Ohtar was an excellent swordsman and a brave warrior in physical combat, he had seen how Turan had played with Udor, and he had no stomach or a passage at arms with one whom he knew outclassed him. And so Ohtar stood with his hand upon the door, afraid to enter, afraid not to. But at last his fear of his own warriors watching behind him grew greater than the fear of the unknown behind the ancient door, and he pushed the heavy skill aside and entered. Silence and gloom and the dust of centuries lay heavy upon the chamber. From his warriors he knew the route that he must take to the Harat chamber of Omi, and so he forced his unwilling feet across the room before him, across the room where the Jitan players sat at the Returnal Game, and came to the short corridor that led into the room of Omi. His naked sword trembled in his grasp. He paused after each forward step to listen, and when he was almost at the door of the Ghost Haunted Chamber his heart stood still within his breast, and the cold sweat broke from the clammy skin of his forehead. For from within there came to his affrightened ears the sound of muffled breathing. Then it was that Otar of Manator came near to fleeing from the nameless horror that he could not see, but that he knew lay waiting for him in that chamber just ahead. But again came the fear of the wrath and contempt of his warriors and his chiefs. They would degrade him, and they would slay him into the bargain. There was no doubt of what his fate would be should he flee the apartments of Omi in terror. His only hope therefore lay in daring the unknown in preference to the known. He moved forward. A few steps took him to the doorway. The chamber before him was darker than the corridor, so that he could just indistinctly make out the objects in the room. He saw a sleeping dais near the center, with a darker blotch of something lying on the marble floor beside it. He moved a step farther into the doorway, and the scabbard of his sword scraped against the stone frame. To his horror he saw the sleeping silks and furs upon the central dais move. He saw a figure slowly arising to a sitting position from the deathbed of Omi the cruel. His knees shook, but he gathered all his moral forces and gripping his sword more tightly in his trembling fingers prepared to leap across the chamber upon that horrid apparition. He hesitated just a moment. He felt eyes upon him, ghoulish eyes that bored through the darkness into his withering heart, eyes that he could not see. He gathered himself for the rush, and then there broke from the thing upon the couch an awful shriek and otar sank senseless to the floor. Gahan rose from the couch of Omi, smiling, only to swing quickly about with drawn sword as the shadow of a noise impinged upon his keen ears from the shadows behind him. Between departed hangings he saw a bent and wrinkled figure. It was Aigas. "'Sheath your sword, Turan,' said the old man. "'You have not to fear from Aigas.' "'What do you hear?' demanded Gahan. "'I came to make sure that the great coward did not cheat us, eh?' And he called me doddering fool, but look at him now, stricken, insensible by terror. But, eh, one might forgive him that who had heard your uncanny scream. It all but blasted my own courage, and it was you then who moaned and screamed when the chiefs came that day that I stole terror from you.' It was you then, old scoundrel, demanded Gahan, moving threateningly toward Aigas. "'Come, come,' expostulated the old man, it was I. But then I was your enemy. I would not do it now. Conditions have changed.' "'How have they changed? What has changed them?' asked Gahan. Then I did not fully realize the cowardice of my jeddak or the bravery of you and the girl. I am an old man from another age, and I love courage. At first I resented the girl's attack upon me, but later I came to see the bravery of it, and it won my admiration, as had all her acts. She feared not Otar. She feared not me. She feared not all the warriors of Venator, and you, blood of a million, sires, how you fight! I am sorry that I exposed you at the fields of Jitan. I am sorry that I dragged the girl terror back to Otar. I would make amends. I would be your friend. Here is my sword at your feet.' And drawing his weapon, Aigas cast it to the floor in front of Gahan. The Gatholian knew that scarce the most abandoned of nays would repudiate the solemn pledge, and so he stooped, and picking up the old man's sword returned it to him, hilt first in acceptance of his friendship. Where is the princess, Tara of Helium? asked Gahan. Is she safe? She has confined it to the tower of the women's quarters awaiting the ceremony that is to make her to Dara of Manator, replied Aigas. This thing dared think that Tara of Helium would mate with him? growled Gahan. I will make short work of him if he is not already dead from fright, and he stepped toward the fallen Otar to run his sword through the jeddak's heart. No! cried Aigas. Slay him not, and pray that he not be dead if you would save your princess. How is that? asked Gahan. If word of Otar's death reached the quarters of the women, the princess Tara would be lost. They know Otar's intention of taking her to wife, and making her jeddara of Manator. So you may rest assured that they all hate her with the hate of jealous women. Only Otar's power protects her from harm. Should Otar die, they would turn her over to the warriors and the male slaves, for there would be none to avenge her. Gahan sheathed the sword. Your point is well taken. But what shall we do with him? Leave him, where he lies, counseled Aigas. He is not dead. When he revives, he will return to his quarters with a fine tale of his bravery, and there will be none to impute his boasts. None but Aigas, come. He may revive at any moment, and he must not find us here. Aigas crossed to the body of his jeddak, knelt beside it for an instant, and then returned past the couch to Gahan. The two quit the chamber of Omi and took their way toward the spiral runway. Here Aigas led Gahan to a higher level and out upon the roof of that portion of the palace from where he pointed to a high tower quite close by. There, he said, lies the Princess of Helium, and quite safe she will be until the time of the ceremony. Safe possibly from other hands, but not from her own, said Gahan. She will never become jeddara of Manator. First she will destroy herself. She would do that, asked Aigas. She will, unless you can get word to her that I still live and that there is yet hope, replied Gahan. I cannot get word to her, said Aigas. The quarters of his women owe to our guards with jealous hand. Here are his most trusted slaves and warriors, yet even so, thick among them are countless spies, so that no man knows which be which. No shadow falls within those chambers that is not marked by a hundred eyes. Gahan stood gazing at the lighted windows of the high tower in the upper chambers of which Tara of Helium was confined. I will find a way, Aigas, he said. There is no way, replied the old man. For some time they stood upon the roof beneath the brilliant stars and hurtling moons of dying Mars, laying their plans against the time that Tara of Helium should be brought from the high tower to the throne room of Otar. It was then, and then alone, argued Aigas, that any hope of rescuing her might be entertained. Just how far he might trust the other Gahan did not know. And so he kept to himself the knowledge of the plan that he had forwarded to Floran and Valdor by Ghek. But he assured the ancient taxidermist that if he were sincere in his oft-repeated declaration that Otar should be denounced and superseded, he would have his opportunity on the night that the jeddak sought to wed the Heliumetic princess. Your time shall come then, Aigas, Gahan assured the other, and if you have any party that thinks as you do, prepare them for the eventuality that will succeed Otar's presumptuous attempt to wed the daughter of the warlord. Where shall I see you again, and when? I go now to speak with Tara, Princess of Helium. I like your boldness, said Aigas, but it will avail you not. You will not speak with Tara, Princess of Helium, though doubtless the blood of many Manitarians will drench the floors of the women's quarters before you are slain. Gahan smiled, I shall not be slain. Where and when shall we meet? But you may find me an Omi's chamber at night. That seems the safest retreat in all Manator for an enemy of the jeddak and whose palace it lies. I go. And may the spirits of your ancestors surround you, said Aigas. After the old man had left him, Gahan made his way across the roof to the high tower, which appeared to have been constructed of concrete, and afterward elaborately carved, its entire surface being covered with intricate designs cut deep into the stone-like material of which it was composed, though wrought ages since it was but little weather worn owing to the ironity of the Martian atmosphere, the infrequency of rains, and the rarity of dust storms. To scale it, though, presented difficulties and danger that might have deterred the bravest of men that would doubtless have deterred Gahan, had he not felt that the life of the woman he loved depended upon his accomplishing the hazardous feat. Clinging his sandals and laying aside all of his harness and weapons other than a single belt supporting a dagger, the Gatholian essayed the dangerous ascent. Clinging to the carvings with hands and feet, he worked himself slowly aloft, avoiding the windows and keeping upon the shadowy side of the tower, away from the light of Thurya and Kloros. The tower rose some fifty feet above the roof of the adjacent part of the palace, rising five levels or floors with windows looking in every direction. A few of the windows were balconyed, and these more than others he sought to avoid, although it being now near the close of the ninth zone, there was little likelihood that many were awake within the tower. His progress was noiseless, and he came at last undetected to the windows of the upper level. These, like several of the others he had passed at lower levels, were heavily barred, so that there was no possibility of his gaining ingress to the apartment where Tara was confined. Darkness hid the interior behind the first window that he approached. The second opened upon a lighted chamber where he could see a guard sleeping at his post outside a door. Here also was the top of the runway, leading to the next level below. Even still farther around the tower, Gahan approached another window, but now he clung to that side of the tower which ended in a courtyard a hundred feet below, and in a short time the light of Thurya would reach him. He realized that he must hasten, and he prayed that behind the window he now approached he would find Tara of Helium. Coming to the opening he looked in upon a small chamber dimly lighted. In the center was a sleeping dais upon which a human form lay beneath silks and furs. A bare arm, protruding from the coverings, lay exposed against a black and yellow-striped warlock skin. An arm of wondrous beauty about which was clasped an armlet that Gahan knew. No other creature was visible within the chamber, all of which was exposed to Gahan's view. Taking his face to the bars, the Gatholian whispered her dear name. The girl stirred, but did not awaken. Again he called, but this time louder. Tara sat up and looked about, and at the same instant a huge eunuch leaked to his feet from where he had been lying on the floor, close by that side of the dais farthest from Gahan. Simultaneously the brilliant light of Thuria flashed full upon the window where Gahan clung silhouetting him plainly to the two within. Both sprang to their feet. The eunuch drew his sword and leaped for the window where the helpless Gahan would have fallen an easy victim to a single thrust of the murderous weapon the fellow bore had not Tara of Helium leaped upon her guard dragging him back. At the same time she drew the slim dagger from its hiding place in her harness and even as the eunuch sought to hurl her aside its keen point found his heart. Without a sound he died, and lunged forward to the floor. Then Tara ran to the window. Turan, my chief, she cried, what awful risk is this you take to seek me here where even your brave heart is powerless to aid me. Be not so sure of that, heart of my heart, he replied, while I bring but words to my love they be the forerunner of deeds, I hope, that will give her back to me forever. I feared that you might destroy yourself, Tara of Helium, to escape the dishonor that Otar would do you, and so I came to give you new hope and to beg that you live for me through whatever may transpire, in the knowledge that there is yet a way, and that if all goes well we shall be freed at last. Look for me in the throne room of Otar the night that he would wed you. And now how may we dispose of this fellow? He pointed to the dead eunuch upon the floor. We need not concern ourselves about that, she replied. None dares harm me for fear of the wrath of Otar, otherwise I should have been dead so soon as ever I entered this portion of the palace, for the women hate me, Otar alone may punish me, and what cares Otar for the life of a eunuch? No, fear not upon this score. Their hands were clasped between the bars, and now Gehan drew her nearer to him. One kiss, he said, before I go, my princess, and the proud daughter of Dejah Thoris, princess of Helium, and the warlord of Barsoom whispered, my chieftain, and pressed her lips to the lips of Turan, the common panthan. This is the end of the Chessmen of Mars, Chapter 21. THE CHESSMAN OF MARS, CHAPTER XXII At the moment of marriage, the silence of the tomb lay heavy about him as Otar, Jeddak of Manator, opened his eyes in the chamber of Oma. Recollection of the frightful apparition that had confronted him swept to his consciousness. He listened, but heard not. Within the range of his vision there was nothing apparent that might cause alarm. Slowly he lifted his head and looked about. Upon the floor beside the couch lay the thing that had at first attracted his attention, and his eyes closed in terror as he recognized it for what it was. But it moved not, nor spoke. Otar opened his eyes again and rose to his feet. He was trembling in every limb. There was nothing on the dais from which he had seen the thing arise. Otar backed slowly from the room. At last he gained the outer corridor. It was empty. He did not know that it had emptied rapidly as the loud scream with which his own head mingled had broken upon the startled ears of the warriors who had been sent to spy upon him. He looked at the timepiece set in a massive bracelet upon his left forearm. The ninth zone was nearly half gone. Otar had lain for an hour unconscious. He had spent an hour in the chamber of Omae, and he was not dead. He had looked upon the face of his predecessor and was still sane. He shook himself and smiled. Rapidly he subdued his rebelliously shaking nerves so that by the time he reached the tenetate portion of the palace he had gained control of himself. He walked with chin high and something of a swagger. To the banquet hall he went, knowing that his chiefs awaited him there, and as he entered they arose and upon the faces of many were incredulity and amaze, for they had not thought to see Otar the jeddak again after what the spies had told them of the horrid sounds issuing from the chamber of Omae. Thankful was Otar that he had gone alone to that chamber of fright, for now no one could deny the tale that he should tell. Ethos rushed forward to greet him, for Ethos had seen black looks directed toward him as the towels slipped by and his benefactor failed the return. O brave and glorious jeddak cried the major domo. We rejoice at your safe return and beg of you the story of your adventure. It was not, exclaimed Otar. I searched the chambers carefully and waited in hiding for the return of the slave Turan if he were temporarily away, but he came not. He is not there, and I doubt if he ever goes there few men would choose to remain long in such a dismal place. You were not attacked, asked Ethos. You heard no screams nor moans. I heard hideous noises and saw fandom figures, but they fled before me so that never could I lay hold of one and I looked upon the face of Omae and I am not mad. I even rested in the chamber beside his corpse. In a far corner of the room a bent and wrinkled old man hit a smile behind a golden goblet of strong brew. Come, let us drink, cried Otar, and reached for the dagger, the pommel of which he was accustomed to use to strike the gong which summoned slaves, but the dagger was not in its scabbard. Otar was puzzled. He knew that it had been there just before he entered the chamber of Omae, for he had carefully felt all his weapons to make sure that none was missing. He seized instead a table-utensil and struck the gong, and when the slaves came bade them bring the strongest brew for Otar and his chiefs. Before the dawn broke many were the expressions of admiration bellowed from drunken lips, admiration for the courage their jeddak, but some there were who still looked glum. Came at last the day that Otar would take the Princess Tara of Helium to wife. For hours slaves prepared the unwilling bride. Seven perfume-bass occupied three long and weary hours. Then her whole body was anointed with the oil of pommalia blossoms and massaged by the deaf fingers of a slave from distant Dusar. Her harness, all new and wrought for the occasion, was of the white hide of the great white apes of Barsoom, hung heavily with platinum and diamonds, fairly encrusted with them. The glossy mass of her jet hair had been built into a coiffure of stately and becoming grandeur into which diamond-headed pins were stuck until the hole scintillated as the stars in heaven upon a moonless night. But it was a sullen and defiant bride that they led from the high tower toward the throne room of Otar. The corridors were filled with slaves and warriors and the women of the palace and the city who had been commanded to attend the ceremony. All the power and pride, wealth and beauty of Manator were there. Slowly Tara, surrounded by a heavy guard of honor, moved along the marble corridors filled with people. At the entrance to the hall of chiefs, Ethos, the major domo, received her. The hall was empty except for its ranks of dead chieftains upon their dead mounts. Through this long chamber, Ethos escorted her to the throne room which was also empty, the marriage ceremony in Manator differing from that of other countries of Barsoom. Here the bride would await the groom at the foot of the steps leading to the throne. The guest followed her in and took their places, leaving the central aisle from the hall of chiefs to the throne clear. For up this Otar would approach his bride alone after a short solitary communion with the dead behind closed doors in the hall of chiefs. It was the custom. The guests had all filed through the hall of chiefs. The doors at both ends had been closed. Presently those at the lower end of the hall opened and Otar entered. His black harness was ornamented with rubies and gold. His face was covered by a grotesque mass of the precious metal in which two enormous rubies were set for eyes, though below them were narrow slits through which the wearer could see. His crown was a fillet supporting carved feathers of the same metal as the mass. To the least detail his regalia was that demanded of a royal bridegroom by the customs of Manator, and now in accordance with that same custom he came alone to the hall of chiefs to receive the blessings and the counsel of the great ones of Manator who had preceded him. As the doors at the lower end of the hall closed behind him, Otar the jeddak stood alone with the great dead. By the dictates of ages no mortal eye might look upon the scene enacted within that sacred chamber. As the mighty of Manator respected the traditions of Manator let us, too, respect those traditions of a proud and sensitive people. Of what concern to us the happenings in that solemn chamber of the dead five minutes passed. The bride stood silently at the foot of the throne. The guests spoke together in low whispers until the room was filled with the hum of many voices. At length the doors leading into the hall of chiefs swung open and the resplendent bridegroom stood fraying for a moment in the massive opening. A hush fell upon the wedding-guests. With measured and impressive step the groom approached the bride. Tara felt the muscles of her heart contract with the apprehension that had been growing upon her as the coils of fate settled more closely about her and no sign came from Turan. Where was he? That indeed could he accomplish now to save her. Surrounded by the power of Otar with never a friend among them her position seemed at last without vestige of hope. I still live, she whispered inwardly, in a last brave attempt to combat the terrible hopelessness that was overwhelming her. But her fingers stole for reassurance to the slim blade that she had managed to transfer undetected from her old harness to the new. And now the groom was at her side and taking her hand was leading her up the steps to the throne before which they halted and stood facing the gathering below. Came then from the back of the room a procession headed by the high dignitary whose opposite was to make these two man and wife and directly behind him a richly clad youth bearing a silken pillow on which lay the golden handcuffs connected by a short length of chain of gold with which the ceremony would be concluded when the dignitary classed a handcuff about the wrist of each symbolizing their indissoluble union in the holy bonds of wedlock. When Turan's promised succor come too late, Tara listened to the long monotonous intonation of the wedding service. She heard the virtues of Otar extolled and the beauties of the bride. The moment was approaching and still no sign of Turan. But what could he accomplish should he succeed in reaching the throne room other than to die with her. There could be no hope of rescue. The dignitary lifted the golden handcuffs from the pillow upon which they reposed. He blessed them and reached for Tara's wrist. The time had come. The thing could go no further for alive or dead by all the laws of Barsoom she would be the wife of Otar of Manator the instant the two were locked together. She should rescue come then or later she could never dissolve those bonds and Turan would be lost to her as surely as though death separated them. Her hands stole toward the hidden blade but instantly the hand of the groom shot out and seized her wrist. He had guessed her intention. Through the slits in the grotesque mass she could see his eyes upon her and she guessed the sardonic smile that the mask hid. For a tense moment the two stood thus. The people below them kept breathless silence for the play before the throne had not passed unnoticed. Dramatic as was the moment it was suddenly rendered trebly so by the noisy opening of the doors leading to the hall of chiefs. All eyes turned in the direction of the interruption to see another figure framed in the massive opening a half-clad figure buckling the half-adjusted harness hurriedly in place. The figure of Otar, Jeddak of Manator, stopped he screamed springing forward along the aisle toward the throne seized the imposter. All eyes shot to the figure of the groom before the throne. They saw him raise his hand and snatch off the golden mask and Tara of Helium in wide-eyed incredulity looked up into the face of Turan the panthan. Turan the slave they cried then death to him, death to him. Wait! shouted Turan drawing his sword as a dozen warriors leaped forward. Wait! screamed another voice old and cracked. As eyegoss the ancient taxidermis sprang from around the guests and reached the throne steps ahead of the foremost warriors. At the sight of the old man the warriors paused her age is held in great veneration among the peoples of Arsum as is true perhaps of all peoples whose religion is based to any extent upon ancestor worship. But Otar gave no heed to him leaping instead swiftly toward the throne. Stop coward! cried eyegoss. The people looked at the little old man in amazement. Men of Manator! he cackled in his thin shrull voice. Wouldst be ruled by a coward and a liar? Down with him shouted Otar. Not until I have spoken retorted eyegoss. It is my right. If I fail my life is forfeit that you all know and I know. I demand therefore to be heard. It is my right. It is his right echoed the voices of a score of warriors in various parts of the chamber. That Otar is a coward and a liar I can prove continued eyegoss. He said that he faced bravely the horrors of the chamber of omai that saw nothing of a slave Turan. I was there hiding behind the hangings and I saw all that transpired. Turan had been hiding in the chamber and was even then lying upon the couch of omai when Otar, trembling with fear, entered the room. Turan disturbed a rose to a sitting position at the same time, voicing a piercing shriek. Otar screamed and swooned. It is a lie! cried Otar. It is not a lie and I can prove it, retorted eyegoss. It's noticed the night that he returned from the chambers of omai and was boasting of his exploit that when he would summon slaves to bring wine, he reached for his dagger to strike the gong with its pommel as is always his custom. It's not that any of you and that he had no dagger. Otar, where is the dagger that you carried into the chamber of omai? You do not know, but I know. While you lay in the swoon of terror, I took it from your harness and hid it among the sleeping silks upon the couch of omai. There it is, even now, and if any doubt it, let them go thither, and there they will find it and know the cowardice of their jeddak. But what of this imposter, demanded one, shall he stand with impunity upon the throne of Manator whilst we squabble about our ruler? It is through his bravery that you have learned the cowardice of Otar, replied eyegoss, and through him you will be given a greater jeddak. We will choose our own jeddak, seize and slay the slave. There were cries of approval from all parts of the room. Gahan was listening intently, as though for some hope-for sound. He saw the warriors approaching the dais, where he now stood with drawn sword and with one arm about Tara of Helium. He wondered if his plans had miscarried after all. If they had, it would mean death for him, and he knew that Tara would take her life if he fell. Had he then served her so futilely after all his efforts? Several warriors were urging the necessity for sending it once to the chamber of omai to search for the dagger that would prove, if found, the cowardice of Otar. At least three consented to go. You need not fear, eyegoss assured them. There is not there to harm you. I have been there often of late, and Turan the slave has slept there for these many nights. The screams and moans that frightened you and Otar were voiced by Turan to drive you away from his hiding place. Shame facetly, the three left the apartment to search for Otar's dagger. And now the others turned their attention once more to Gahan. They approached the throne with bared swords, but they came slowly, for they had seen this slave upon the field of Jitan, and they knew the prowess of his arm. They had reached the foot of the steps when from far above. There sounded a deep boom, and another, and another, and Turan smiled, and breathed a sigh of relief. Thus, after all, it had not come too late. The warriors stopped, and listened as did the others in the chamber. Now they broke upon their ears a loud rattle of musketry, and it all came from above as though men were fighting upon the roofs of the palace. Where is it they demanded one of the other? A great storm has broken over Manator, said one. Why not the storm, until you have slain the creature who dares stand upon the throne of your jeddak, demanded Otar, seize him? Even as he ceased speaking, the aris behind the throne parted, and a warrior stepped forth upon the dais. An exclamation, a surprise, and dismay broke from the lips of the warriors of Otar. Uthor, they cried, what treason is this? It is no treason, said Uthor in his deep voice. I bring you a new jeddak for all of Manator. No lying paltrum, but a courageous man whom you all love. He stepped aside, and another emerged from the corridor hidden by the aris. It was a core, and at sight of him there rose exclamations of surprise, of pleasure, and of anger, as the various factions recognized the coup d'etat that had been arranged so cunningly. Behind a core came other warriors until the dais was crowded with them, all men of Manator from the city of Manatos. Otar was exhorting his warriors to attack, when a bloody and disheveled padwar burst into the chamber through a side entrance. The city has fallen, he cried aloud. The hordes of Manatos pour through the gate of enemies. The slaves from Gaethal have arisen and destroyed the palace guards. Great ships are landing warriors upon the palace roof and in the fields of Gtan. The men of Helium and Gaethal are marching through Manator. They cry aloud for the Princess of Helium and swear to leave Manator a blazing funeral pyre consuming the bodies of all our people. The skies are black with ships. They come in great processions from the east and from the south. And then once more the doors from the Hall of Chis swung wide open, and the men of Manator turn to see another figure standing upon the threshold. A mighty figure of a man with white skin and black hair, and gray eyes that glittered now like points of steel, and behind him the Hall of Chis was filled with fighting men wearing the harness of far countries. Tara of Helium saw him and her heart leaped in exultation, for it was John Carter. Warlord Barsoom come at the head of a victorious host to the rescue of his daughter, and at his side was Dior Kantos to whom she had been betrothed. The warlord eyed the assemblage for a moment before he spoke. Lay down your arms, men of Manator, he said. I see my daughter, and that she lives, and if no harm has befallen her, no blood may be shed. Your city is filled with the fighting men of Uthor and those from Gaethal and from Helium. The palace is in the hands of the slaves from Gaethal, beside a thousand of my own warriors who fill the halls and chambers surrounding this room. The fate of your jeddak lies in your own hands. I have no wish to interfere. I come only for my daughter and to free the slaves from Gaethal. I have spoken, and without waiting for a reply, and as though the room had been filled with his own people, rather than a hostile band, he strode up the broad main aisle toward Tara of Helium. The chiefs of Manator were stunned. They looked to Otar, but he could only gaze helplessly about him as the enemy entered from the Hall of Chiefs and circled the throne room until they had surrounded the entire company, and then a dwarf of the army of Helium entered. We have captured three chiefs, he reported to the warlord, who begged that they be permitted to enter the throne room and report to their fellows some matter which they say will decide the fate of Manator. Fetch them, ordered the warlord. They came, heavily guarded, to the foot of the steps leading to the throne, and there they stopped, and the leader turned toward the others of Manator, and raising high his right hand displayed a jeweled dagger. We found it, he said, even where I, Goss, said that we would find it, and he looked menacingly upon Otar. Acor, Jeddak of Manator, cried a voice, and the cry was taken up by a hundred horse-throated warriors. There can be but one Jeddak in Manator, said the chief who held the dagger. His eyes still fixed upon the hapless Otar he crossed to where the latter stood, at holding the dagger upon an outstretched palm, proppered it to the discredited ruler. There can be but one Jeddak in Manator, he said meaningly. Otar took the proppered blade, and drawing himself to his full height, plunged it to the guard into his breast, in that single act redeeming himself in the esteem of his people, and winning an eternal place in the Hall of Chiefs. As he fell, all was silent in the great room, to be broken presently by the voice of Otar. Otar is dead, he cried, let Acor rule until the chiefs of all Manator may be summoned to choose a new Jeddak. What is your answer? Let Acor rule Acor, Jeddak of Manator. The cries filled the room, and there was no dissenting voice. Acor raised his sword for silence. It is the will of Acor, he said, and that of the great Jedd of Manatos, and the commander of the fleet from Gathal, and of the illustrious John Carter, warlord of Barsoom, that peace lie upon the city of Manator, and so I decree that the men of Manator go forth, and welcome the fighting men of these, our allies, as guests and friends, and show them the wonders of our ancient city and the hospitality of Manator. I have spoken. And Uthor and John Carter dismissed their warriors, and bade them accept the hospitality of Manator. As the room emptied, Dior Contos reached the side of Tara of Helium. The girl's happiness at rescue had been blighted by sight of this man whom her virtuous heart told her she had wronged. She dreaded the ordeal that lay before her, and the dishonor that she must admit before she could hope to be freed from the understanding that had for long existed between them. And now Dior Contos approached, and kneeling raised her fingers to his lips. Beautiful daughter of Helium, he said, how may I tell you the thing that I must tell you? Of the dishonor that I have all unwittingly done you. I can but throw myself upon your generosity for forgiveness. But if you demand it, I can receive the dagger as honorably as did Uthor. What do you mean? asked Tara of Helium. What are you talking about? Why speak thus in riddles to one whose heart is already breaking? Her heart already breaking? The outlook was anything but promising, and the young Padwar wished that he had died before ever he had had to speak the words he must now speak. Tara of Helium, he continued, we all thought you dead. For a long year have you been gone from Helium. I mourned you truly, and then, less than a moon since, I wed with Olvia Marthas. He stopped, and looked at her with eyes that might have said, now strike me dead. A foolish man, cried Tara. Nothing you could have done could have pleased me more. Dior Contos, I could kiss you. I do not think that Olvia Marthas would mind, he said, his face now wreathed with smiles. As they spoke, a body of men had entered a throne room and approached the dais. They were tall men, trapped in plain hardest, absolutely without ornamentation. Just as their leader reached the dais, Tara had turned to Gahan, motioning him to join them. Dior Contos, she said, I bring you Turan the Panthan, whose loyalty and bravery have won my love. John Carter, and the leader of the new-come warriors who were standing near, looked quickly at the little group. The former smiled an inscrutable smile. The latter addressed the princess of Helium. Turan the Panthan, he cried. Know you not, fair daughter of Helium, that this man you call Panthan is Gahan, Jed of Gathol? For just a moment Tara of Helium looked her surprise, and then she shrugged her beautiful shoulders, and she turned her head to cast her eyes over one of them at Gahan of Gathol. Jed or Panthan, she said, what difference does it make, what one slave has been? And she laughed roguishly into the smiling face of her lover. His story finished, John Carter rose from the chair opposite me, stretching his giant frame like some great forest-bred lion. You must go, I cried, for I hated to see him leave, and it seemed that he had been with me but a moment. The sky is already red beyond those beautiful hills of yours, he replied, and it will soon be day. Just one more question before you go, I begged. Well, he ascended good-naturely. How was Gahan able to enter the throne room garbed in otar's trappings, I asked. It was simple, for Gahan of Gathol, replied the warlord. With the assistance of Igos he crept into the hall of chiefs before the ceremony, while the throne room and hall of chiefs were vacated to receive the bride. He came from the pits, through the corridor that opened behind the Arras at the rear of the throne, and passing into the hall of chiefs took his place upon the back of a writerless throat, whose warrior was in Igos' repair room. When otar entered and came near him, Gahan fell upon him and struck him with the butt of a heavy spear. He thought that he had killed him and was surprised when otar appeared to denounce him. And Gek, what became of Gek, I insisted. After leading Valdor and Floran to Tara's disabled flier, which they repaired, he accompanied them to Gathol, from where a message was sent to me in Helium. He then led a large party, including Acor and Uthor, from the roof where our ships landed them, down a spiral runway into the palace, and guided them to the throne room. We took him back to Helium with us, where he still lives, with this single rykor, which we found all but starved to death in the pits of Manator. But come, no more questions now. I accompanied him to the east arcade, where the red dawn was glowing beyond the arches. Good-bye, he said. I can scarce believe that it is really you, I exclaimed. Tomorrow I will be sure that I have dreamed all this. He laughed, and drawing his sword, scratched a rude cross upon the concrete of one of the arches. If you're in doubt tomorrow, he said, come and see if you dreamed this. A moment later he was gone. This is the end of the Chessmen of Mars, recording by Tom Weiss.