 THE CHESTMEN OF MARS, CHAPTER XVI. THE CHESTMEN OF MARS, BY EDGAR RICE BURROWS CHAPTER XVI. ANOTHER CHANGE OF NAME. Turan dashed himself against the door of his prison in a vain effort to break through the solid skill to the side of Tara whom he knew to be in grave danger, but the heavy panels held and he succeeded only in bruising his shoulders and arms. At last he desisted and set about searching his prison for some other means of escape. He found no other opening in the stone walls, but his search revealed a heterogeneous collection of odds and ends of arms and apparel, of harness and ornaments and insignia, and sleeping silks and furs in great quantities. There were swords and spears and several large, two-bladed battleaxes, the heads of which bore a striking resemblance to the propeller of a small flier. Seizing one of these, he attacked the door once more with great fury. He expected to hear something from Aegos at this ruthless destruction, but no sound came to him from beyond the door, which was, he thought, too thick for the human voice to penetrate, but he would have wagered much that Aegos heard him. Bits of the hardwood splintered at each impact of the heavy axe, but it was slow work and heavy. Presently he was compelled to rest, and so it went for what seemed hours, working almost to the verge of exhaustion and then resting for a few minutes. But ever the hole grew larger, though he could see nothing of the interior of the room beyond, because of the hanging that Aegos had drawn across it after he had locked Turan within. At last, however, the panthan had hewn an opening through which his body could pass, and seizing a long sword that he had brought close to the door for the purpose, he crawled through into the next room. Flinging aside the arrows he stood ready, soared in hand to fight his way to the side of Tara of Helium, but she was not there. In the center of the room lay Aegos, dead upon the floor, but Tara of Helium was nowhere to be seen. Turan was none-plus. It must have been her hand that had struck down the old man, yet she made no effort to release Turan from his prison, and then he thought of those last words of hers, I do not want your love, I hate you, and the truth dawned upon him. She had seized upon this first opportunity to escape him. With downcast heart Turan turned away. What should he do? There could be but one answer. While he lived, and she lived, he must still leave no stone unturned to affect her escape, and safe return to the land of her people. But how? How was he even to find his way from this labyrinth? How was he to find her again? He walked to the nearest doorway. A chance to be that which led into the room containing the Mounted Dead, awaiting transportation to Balcony, or Grim Room, or whatever place was to receive them. His eyes traveled to the great painted warrior on the throat, and as they ran over the splendid trappings and the serviceable arms a new light came into the pain-dulled eyes of the panthan. With a quick step he crossed to the side of the dead warrior and dragged him from his mount. With equal celerity he stripped him of his harness and his arms, and tearing off his own, dawned the regalia of the dead man. Then he hastened back to the room in which he had been trapped, for there he had seen that which he needed to make his disguise complete. In a cabinet he found them, pots of paint that the old taxidermis had used to place the war paint in its wide bands across the cold faces of dead warriors. A few moments later, Gahan of Gathal emerged from the room a warrior of Manator in every detail of harness, equipment, and ornamentation. He had removed from the leather of the dead man the insignia of his house and rank, so that he might pass with the least danger of arousing suspicion as a common warrior. To search for Tara of Helium in the vast, dim labyrinth of the pits of Otar seemed to the Gatholian a hopeless quest for doom to failure. It would be wiser to seek the streets of Manator, for he might hope to learn first if she had been recaptured, and if not, then he could return to the pits and pursue the hunt for her. To find Egress from the maze he must perforce travel a considerable distance through the winding corridors and chambers, since he had no idea as to the location or direction of any exit. In fact, he could not have retraced his steps a hundred yards toward the point at which he and Tara had entered the gloomy caverns, and so he set out in the hope that he might find by accident either Tara of Helium or away to the street level above. For a time he passed room after room, filled with the cunningly preserved dead of Manator, many of which were piled in tears after the manner that Firewood has courted, and as he moved through corridor and chamber he noticed hieroglyphics painted upon the walls above every opening, and at each fork or crossing of corridors until by observation he reached the conclusion that these indicated the designations of passageways, so that one who understood them might travel quickly and surely through the pits. But Turan did not understand them. Even could he have read the language of Manator, they might not materially have aided one unfamiliar with the city. But he could not read them at all, since though there is but one spoken language upon Barsoom there are as many different written languages as there are nations. One thing however soon became apparent to him. The hieroglyphic of a corridor remained the same until the corridor ended. It was not long before Turan realized from the distance that he had traveled that the pits were part of a vast system undermining possibly the entire city. At least he was convinced that he had passed beyond the precincts of the palace. The corridors and chambers varied in appearance and architecture from time to time. All were lighted, though usually quite dimly, with radium bulbs. For a long time he saw no signs of life other than an occasional ulcio. Then quite suddenly he came face to face with a warrior at one of the numerous crossings. The fellow looked at him, nodded, and passed on. Turan breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that his disguise was effective. But he was caught in the middle of it by a hail from the warrior who had stopped and turned toward him. The panthan was glad that a sword hung at his side, and glad too that they were buried in the dim recesses of the pits, and that there would be but a single antagonist for time was precious. Heard you any word of the other? called the warrior to him. No, replied Turan, who had not the faintest idea to whom or what the fellow referred. He cannot escape, continued the warrior. The woman ran directly into our arms, but she swore that she knew not where her companion might be found. They took her back to Otar, as Turan, for now he knew whom the other meant, and he would know more. They took her back to the towers of Jitan, replied the warrior. Tomorrow the games commence, and doubtless she will be played for, though I doubt if any wants her, beautiful as she is. She fears not even Otar, by Chloros, but she would make a hard slave to subdue, a regular Shibanth she is, not for me, and he continued on his way, shaking his head. Turan hurried on, searching for an avenue that led to the level of the streets above, when suddenly he came to the open doorway of a small chamber, in which sat a man who was chained to the wall. Turan voiced a low exclamation of surprise and pleasure, as he recognized that the man was Acor, and that he had stumbled by accident upon the very cell in which he had been imprisoned. Acor looked at him questioningly. It was evident that he did not recognize his fellow prisoner. Turan crossed the table and, leaning close to the other, whispered to him, I am Turan the Panthan, he said, who was chained beside you. Acor looked at him closely. Your own mother would never know you, he said, but tell me what has transpired since they took you away? Turan recounted his experiences in the throne room of Otar and in the pits beneath, and now, he continued, I must find these towers of Jitan and see what may be done toward liberating the Princess of Helium. Acor shook his head. Long was I dwar of the towers, he said, and I can say to you, stranger, that you might as well attempt to reduce Manator single-handed as to rescue a prisoner from the towers of Jitan, but I must, replied Turan. Are you better than a good swordsman? asked Acor presently. I am accounted so, replied Turan. Then there is a way, and he was suddenly silent and pointing toward the base of the wall at the end of the room. Turan looked in the direction the other's forefinger indicated, to see projecting from the mouth of an Olsio's burrow, two large keely, and a pair of protruding eyes. Gek! he cried, and immediately the hideous calding crawled out upon the floor and approached the table. Acor drew back with a half-stifled ejaculation of repulsion. Do not fear, Turan reassured him. It is my friend, he whom I told you held Otar while Tara and I escaped. Gek climbed to the tabletop and squatted between the two warriors. You are safe in assuming, he said addressing Acor, that Turan the Panthan has no master in all Manator where the art of sword play is concerned. I overheard your conversation. Go on. You are his friend, continued Acor. And so I may explain safely in your presence the only plan I know whereby he may hope to rescue the Princess of Helium. She is to be the stake of one of the games, and it is Otar's desire that she be won by slaves and common warriors since she repulsed him. Thus would he punish her. Not a single man, but all who survive upon the winning side are to possess her. With money, however, one may buy off the others before the game. That you could do, and if your side won and you survived, she would become your slave. But how may a stranger and a hunted fugitive accomplish this, asked Turan? No one will recognize you. You will go tomorrow to the keeper of the towers and enlist in that game for which the girl is to be the stake, telling the keeper that you are from Manatage, the farther city of Manator. If he questions you, you may say that you saw her when she was brought into the city after her capture. If you win her, you will find thoats stabled at my palace, and you will carry from me a token that will place all that is mine at your disposal. But how can I buy off the others in the game without money, asked Turan? I have none, not even of my own country. Acor opened his pocket pouch, and drew forth a packet of Manatorian money. Here a sufficient to buy them off twice over, he said, handing a portion of it to Turan. But why do you do this for a stranger, asked the panthan? My mother was a captive princess here, replied Acor. I but do, for the Princess of Helium, what my mother would have me do. Under the circumstances then, Manatorian, replied Turan, I cannot but accept your generosity on behalf of Tara of Helium, and live in hope that someday I may do for you something in return. Now you must be gone, advised Acor. At any minute a guard may come and discover you here. Go directly to the avenue of the gates, which circles the city just within the outer wall. There you will find many places devoted to the lodging of strangers. You will know them by the thoats head carved above the doors. Say that you are here from Manatage, to witness the games. Take the name of Ukal. It will arouse no suspicion, nor will you if you can avoid conversation. Early in the morning seek the keeper of the towers of Jitan. May the strength and fortune of all your ancestors be with you. Bidding goodbye to Gek and Acor, the panthan following directions given him by Acor, set out to find his way to the avenue of the gates. Nor had he any great difficulty. On the way he met several warriors, but beyond a nod they gave him no heed. With ease he found a lodging place where there were many strangers from other cities of Manator. As he had had no sleep since the previous night, he threw himself among the silks and furs of his couch to gain the rest which he must have, was he to give the best possible account of himself in the service of Tara of Helium the following day. It was already morning when he awoke, and rising he paid for his lodgings, sought a place to eat, and a short time later was on his way toward the towers of Jitan, which he had no difficulty in finding, owing to the great crowds that were winding along the avenues toward the gates. The newkeeper of the towers who had succeeded Emen was too busy to scrutinize entries closely, for in addition to the many volunteer players, there were scores of slaves and prisoners being forced into the gates by their owners or the government. The name of each must be recorded, as well as the position he was to play, and the game or games in which he was to be entered, and then there were the substitutes for each that was entered in more than a single game, one for each additional game that an individual was entered for, that no succeeding game might be delayed by the death or disablement of a player. Your name, as the clerk as Turan presented himself, Ukal replied the panthan. Your city? Manataj. The keeper, who was standing beside the clerk, looked at Turan. You have come a great way to play at Jitan, he said. It is seldom that the men of Manataj attend other than the decennial games. Tell me of Ozar. Will he attend next year? Ah, but he was a noble fighter. If you be half the swordsman, Ukal, the fame of Manataj will increase this day, but tell me what of Ozar. He is well, replied Turan glibly, and he sent greetings to his friends in Manataj. Good, exclaimed the keeper, and now in what game would you enter? I would play for the Heliometric Princess Tara, replied Turan. But, man, she is to be the stake of a game for slaves and criminals, cried the keeper. You would not volunteer for such a game? But I would, replied Turan. I saw here when she was brought into the city, and even then I vowed to possess her. But you will have to share her with the survivors, even if your color wins, objected the other. They may be brought to reason, insisted Turan, and you will chance incurring the wrath of Otar, who has no love for this savage barbarian, exclaimed the keeper. And I win her, Otar will be rid of her, said Turan. The keeper of the towers of Jitan shook his head. You are rash, he said. I would that I might dissuade the friend of my friend, Ozar, from such madness. Would you favor the friend of Ozar, asked Turan? Gladly exclaimed the other. What may I do for him? Make me chief of the Black, and give me for my pieces all slaves from Gatall, for I understand that those be excellent warriors, replied the Panthan. It is a strange request, said the keeper, but for my friend Ozar I would do even more, though of course he hesitated. It is customary for one who would be chief to make some slight payment. Certainly Turan hastened to assure him. I had not forgotten that. I was about to ask you what the customary amount is. For the friend of my friend it shall be nominal, replied the keeper, naming a figure that Gahan accustomed to the high price of wealthy Gatall thought ridiculously low. Tell me, he said, handing the money to the keeper, when the game for the heal you might is to be played. It is the second in order of the day's games, and now if you will come with me, you may select your pieces. Turan followed the keeper to a large court, which lay between the towers in the Gitan field, where hundreds of warriors were assembled. Already chiefs for the games of the day were selecting their pieces, and assigning them to positions, though for the principal games these matters had been arranged for weeks before. The keeper led Turan to a part of the courtyard where the majority of the slaves were assembled. Take your choice of those not assigned, said the keeper, and when you have your quota conduct them to the field, your place will be assigned you by an officer there, and there you will remain with your pieces until the second game is called. I wish you luck, Bukal. Though from what I have heard you will be more lucky to lose than to win the slave from Helium. After the fellow had departed, Turan approached the slaves. I seek the best swordsman for the second game, he announced. Men from Gatall, I wish, for I have heard that these be noble fighters. A slave rose and approached him. It is all the same in which game we die, he said. I would fight for you as a panthan in the second game. Another came. I am not from Gatall, he said. I am from Helium, and I would fight for the honour of a princess of Helium. Good! exclaimed Turan. Art a swordsman or bypute in Helium? I was a dwarf under the great warlord, and I have fought at his side in a score of battles from the golden cliffs to the carrion caves. My name is Val Dor. Who knows Helium knows my prowess. The name was well known to Gahan, who had heard the man spoken of on his last visit to Helium, and his mysterious disappearance discussed as well as his renown as a fighter. How could I know art of Helium? asked Turan. But if you be such a fighter, as you say, no position could suit you better than that of Flyer. What say you? The man's eyes denoted sudden surprise. He looked keenly at Turan, his eyes running quickly over the other's harness. Then he stepped quite close, so that his words might not be overheard. Me thinks you may know more of Helium than of Manator, he whispered. What mean you, fellow, to Manatoran, seeking to cudgel his brains for the source of this man's knowledge, guess, or inspiration? I mean, replied Val Dor, that you are not of Manator, and that if you wish to hide the fact, it is well that you speak not to a Manatorian as you did just speak to me of Flyers. There be no Flyers in Manator, and no peace in their game of G-10 bearing that name. Instead, they called him who stands next to the chief, or princess, Adwar. The peace has the same moves and power that the Flyer has in the game as played outside Manator. Remember this, then, and remember, too, that if you have a secret, it be safe in the keeping of Val Dor of Helium. Turan made no reply, but turned to the task of selecting the remainder of his pieces. Val Dor, the Heliumite, and Floran, the volunteer from Gaethal, were of great assistance to him, since one or the other of them knew most of the slaves from whom his selection was to be made. The pieces all chosen, Turan led them to the place beside the playing field where they were to wait their turn, and here he passed the word around that they were to fight for more than the stake he offered for the princess should they win. This stake they accepted, so that Turan was sure of possessing Tara if his side was victorious, but he knew that these men would fight even more valorously for chivalry than for money, nor was it difficult to enlist the interest even of the Gaetholians in the service of the princess. And now he held out the possibility of a still further reward. I cannot promise you, he explained, but I may say I have heard that this day which makes it possible that should we win this game we may even win your freedom. They leap to their feet and crowded around him with many questions. It may not be spoken of aloud, he said, but Floran and Valdor know, and they assure me that you may all be trusted. Listen, what I would tell you places my life in your hands, but you must know that every man will realize that he is fighting today the greatest battle of his life for the honor and the freedom of Barsoom's most wondrous princess and for his own freedom as well, for the chance to return each to his own country and to the woman who awaits him there. First, then, is my secret. I am not of Manator. Like yourselves, I am a slave, though for the moment disguised as a Manatorian for Manatage. My country and my identity must remain undisclosed for reasons that have no bearing upon our game today. I, then, am one of you. I fight for the same things that you will fight for. And now for that which I have but just learned. Uthor, the great jed of Manatos, quarreled with Otar in the palace the day before yesterday, and their warriors set upon one another. Uthor was driven as far as the gate of enemies, where he now lies encamped. At any moment the fight may be renewed, but it is thought that Uthor has sent to Manatos for reinforcements. Now, men of Gaethal, here is the thing that interests you. Uthor has recently taken to wife the Princess Haja of Gaethal, who is slave to Otar and whose son Acor was Dwar of the towers of Jitan. Haja's heart is filled with loyalty for Gaethal and compassion for her sons who are here enslaved, and this latter sentiment she has to some extent transmitted to Uthor. Aid me, therefore, in freeing the Princess Tara of Helium, and I believe that I can aid you and her and myself to escape the city. Bend close your ears, slaves of Otar, that no cruel enemy may hear my words, and Gaethal whispered in low tones the daring plan he had conceived. And now he demanded, when he had finished, let him who does not dare speak now. None replied. Is there none? And it would not betray you, should I cast my sword at thy feet. It had been done ere this, said one in low tones, pregnant with suppressed feelings. And I, and I, and I, chorus the others in vibrant whispers. This is the end of The Chestmen of Mars, Chapter 16, Recording by Tom Weiss. The Chestmen of Mars, Chapter 17. 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 Burroughs. Chapter 17. A Play to the Death. Clear and sweet, a trumpet spoke across the fields of G-10. From the high tower, its cool voice floated across the city of Manator, and above the babble of human discords rising from the crowded mass that filled the seats of the stadium below. It called the players for the first game, and simultaneously, there fluttered to the peaks of a thousand staffs on tower embattlement and the great wall of the stadium, the rich, gay penins of the fighting chiefs of Manator. Thus was marked the opening of the Gedex Games, the most important of the year, and second only to the grand decennial games. Gahan of Gathal watched every play with eagle eye. The match was an unimportant one, being but to settle some petty dispute between two chiefs, and was played with professional G-10 players for points only. No one was killed, and there was but little blood spilled. It lasted about an hour, and was terminated by the chief of the losing side deliberately permitting himself to be out-pointed that the game might be called a draw. Again the trumpet sounded, this time announcing the second and last game of the afternoon. While this was not considered an important match, those being reserved for the fourth and fifth days of the games, it promised to afford sufficient excitement since it was a game to the death. The vital difference between the game played with living men, and that in which inanimate pieces are used, lies in the fact that while in the latter, the mere placing of a piece upon a square occupied by an opponent piece terminates the move. In the former, the two pieces thus brought together engage in a duel for possession of the square. Therefore there enters into the former game not only the strategy of G-10, but the personal prowness and bravery of each individual piece, so that a knowledge not only of one's own men, but of each player upon the opposing side is of vast value to achieve. In this respect was Gahan handicapped, though the loyalty of his players did much to offset his ignorance of them, since they aided him in arranging the board to the best advantage and told him honestly the faults and virtues of each. One thought best in a losing game, another was too slow, another too impetuous, this one had fire and a heart of steel, but lacked endurance. Of the opponents, though, they knew little or nothing. And now as the two sides took their places upon the black and orange squares of the great G-10 board Gahan obtained, for the first time a close view of those who opposed him. The orange chief had not yet entered the field, but his men were all in place. Valdor turned to Gahan. They are all criminals from the pits of Manator, he said. There is no slave among them. We shall not have to fight against a single fellow countryman, and every life we take will be the life of an enemy. It is well, replied Gahan, but where is their chief and where the two princesses? They are coming now, see, and he pointed across the field to where two women could be seen approaching under guard. As they came nearer, Gahan saw that one was indeed Tara of Helium, but the other he did not recognize, and then they were brought to the center of the field, midway between the two sides, and there waited until the orange chief arrived. Floron voiced an exclamation of surprise when he recognized him. By my ancestor, if it is not one of their great chiefs, he said, and we were told that slaves and criminals were to play for the stake of this game. His words were interrupted by the keeper of the towers, whose duty it was not only to announce the games and the stakes, but to act as referee as well. Of this, the second game of the first day of the Jeddak's games in the 433rd year of Otar, Jeddak of Manator, the princesses of each side shall be the sole stakes, and to the survivors of the winning side shall belong both the princesses to do with as they shall see fit. The orange princess is the slave woman Lano of Gaethal. The black princess is the slave woman Tara of Princess of Helium. The black chief is Ucal of Manatage, a volunteer player. The orange chief is the Duar Udor of the 8th Utan of the Jeddak of Manator, also a volunteer player. The square shall be contested to the death. Just are the laws of Manator, I have spoken. The initial move was won by Udor, following which the two chiefs escorted their respective princesses to the square each was to occupy. It was the first time Gehan had been alone with Tara since she had been brought to the field. He saw her scrutinizing him closely as he approached to lead her to her place and wondered if she recognized him. But if she did, she gave no sign of it. He could not but remember her last words, I hate you, and her desertion of him when he had been locked in the room beneath the palace by Aegos, the taxidermist, and so he did not seek to enlighten her as to his identity. He meant to fight for her, to die for her if necessary, and if he did not die to go on fighting to the end for her love. Gehan of Gaethal was not easily to be discouraged, but he was compelled to admit that his chances of winning the love of Tara of Helium were remote. Already she had repulsed him twice, once as Jed of Gaethal, and again as Turan the Panthan. Before his love, however, came her safety and the former must be relegated to the background until the latter had been achieved. Passing among the players already at their stations, the two took their places upon their respective squares. At Tara's left was the Black Chief, Gehan of Gaethal. Directly in front of her the Princess Panthan, Floran of Gaethal, and at her right the Princess Adwar, Valdor of Helium. And each of these knew the part that he was to play, win or lose, as did each of the other Black players. As Tara took her place, Valdor bowed low. My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium, he said. She turned and looked at him, an expression of surprise and incredulity upon her face. Valdor the Dwar, she explained. Valdor of Helium, one of my father's trusted captains. Can it be possible that my eye speak the truth? It is Valdor, Princess, the warrior replied, and here to die for you, if need be, as is every wearer of the Black upon this field of Jitan today. No, Princess, he whispered, that upon this side is no man of Manator, but each and every is an enemy of Manator. She cast a quick meaning glance toward Gahan, but what of him, she whispered. And then she caught her breath quickly in surprise. Shade of the first jeddak, she exclaimed. I did but just recognize him through his disguise. And you trust him? asked Valdor. I know him not, but he spoke fairly as an honorable warrior, and we have taken him at his word. You have made no mistake, replied Tara of Helium. I would trust him with my life, with my soul, and you too may trust him. Happy indeed would have been Gahan of Gaethal, could he have heard those words, but fate, who is usually unkind to the lover in such matters, ordained it otherwise, and then the game was on. Udor moved his Princess Odwar three squares diagonally to the right, which placed the peace upon the Blackchase Odwar's seventh. The move was indicative of the game that Udwar intended playing, a game of blood, rather than of science, and evidenced his contempt for his opponents. Gahan followed with his Odwar's Panthon, one square straight forward, a more scientific move, which opened up an avenue for himself through his line of Panthons, as well as announcing to the players and spectators that he intended having a hand in the fighting himself, even before the exigencies of the game forced it upon him. The move elicited a ripple of applause from those sections of seats reserved for the common warriors and their women, showing perhaps that Udwar was none too popular with these, and too it had its effect upon the morale of Gahan's pieces. A chief may, and often does, play almost an entire game without leaving his own square, where, mounted upon a thoat, he may overlook the entire field and direct each move. Nor may he be reproached for lack of courage should he elect thus to play the game since, by the rules, were he to be slain or so badly wounded as to be compelled to withdraw, a game that might otherwise have been won by the science of his play and the prowess of his men would be drawn. To invite personal combat, therefore, denotes confidence in his own swordsmanship and great courage, two attributes that were calculated to fill the black players with hope and valor when evinced by their chief thus early in the game. Udwar's next move placed Lano's Adwar upon Tara's Adwar's forth, within striking distance of the black princess. Another move, and the game would be lost to Gahan unless the orange Adwar was overthrown, or Tara moved to a position of safety, but to move his princess now would be to admit his belief in the superiority of the orange. In the three squares allowed him, he could not place himself squarely upon the square occupied by the Adwar of Udwar's princess. There was only one player upon the black side that might dispute the square with the enemy, and that was the chief's Adwar, who stood upon Gahan's left. Gahan turned upon his throat and looked at the man. He was a splendid-looking fellow, resplendent in the gorgeous trappings of an Adwar. The five brilliant feathers which denoted his position rising defiantly erect from his thick black hair. In common with every player upon the field, and every spectator in the crowded stands, he knew what was passing in his chief's mind. He dare not speak the ethics of the game forbade it, but what his lips might not voice his eyes express in martial fire and eloquently. The honor of the black, and the safety of our princess, are secure with me. Gahan hesitated no longer. Chief's Adwar to Princess Adwar's forth, he commanded. It was the courageous move of a leader who had taken up the gauntlet thrown down by his opponent. The warrior sprang forward and leaped into the square occupied by Udwar's peace. It was the first disputed square of the game. The eyes of the players were fastened upon the contestants. The spectators leaned forward in their seats after the first applause that had greeted the move, and silence fell upon the vast assemblage. If the black went down to defeat, Udwar could move his victorious peace on to the square occupied by Tara of Helium, and the game would be over, over in four moves and lost to Gahan of Gaethal. If the orange lost, Udwar would have sacrificed one of his most important pieces, and more than lost what advantage the first move might have given him. Physically, the two men appeared perfectly matched, and each was fighting for his life, but from the first it was apparent that the black Adwar was the better swordsman, and Gahan knew that he had another, and perhaps a greater advantage over his antagonist. The latter was fighting for his life only, without the spur of chevrolety or loyalty. The black Adwar had these to strengthen his arm, and besides these the knowledge of the thing that Gahan had whispered into the ears of his players before the game, and so he fought for what is more than life to the man of honor. It was a duel that held those who witnessed it in spellbound silence. The weaving blades gleamed in the brilliant sunlight, ringing to the parries of cut and thrust. The barbaric harness of the duelist lent splendid color to the savage martial scene. The orange Adwar, forced upon the defensive, was fighting madly for his life. The black, with cool and terrible efficiency, was forcing him steadily, step by step, into a corner of the square, a position from which there could be no escape. To abandon the square was to lose it to his opponent, and win for himself ignoble and immediate death before the jarring populace. Spurred on by the seeming hopelessness of his plight, the orange Adwar burst into a sudden fury of offense that forced the black back a half a dozen steps, and then the sword of Udor's peace leaked in and drew first blood from the shoulder of his merciless opponent, an ill-smothered cry of encouragement went up from Udor's men. The orange Adwar, encouraged by his single success, sought to bear down the black by the rapidity of his attack. There was a moment in which the swords moved with the rapidity that no man's eye might follow, and then the black Adwar made a lightning parody of a vicious thrust, leaned quickly forward into the opening he had affected, and drove his sword through the heart of the orange Adwar to the hilt he drove it through the body of the orange Adwar. A shout arose from the stands for wherever may have been the favor of the spectators, none there was who could say that it had not been a pretty fight, or that the better man had not won, and from the black players came a sigh of relief as they relaxed from the tension of the past moments. I shall not weary you with the details of the game. Only the high features of it are necessary to your understanding of the outcome. The fourth move after the victory of the black Adwar found Gahan upon Udor's fourth, an orange Panthan was on the adjoining square diagonally to his right, and the only opposing piece that could engage him other than Udor himself. It had been apparent to both players and spectators for the past two moves that Gahan was moving straight across the field into the enemy's country to seek personal combat with the orange chief, that he was staking all upon his belief in the superiority of his swordsmanship, since if the two chiefs engage, the outcome decides the game. Udor could move out and engage Gahan, or he could move his princess Panthan upon the square occupied by Gahan in the hope that the former would defeat the black chief, and thus draw the game, which is the outcome if any other than a chief slays the opposing chief. Or he could move away and escape, temporarily, the necessity for personal combat, or at least that is evidently what he had in mind as was obvious to all who saw him scanning the board about him, and his disappointment was apparent when he finally discovered that Gahan had so placed himself that there was no square to which Udor could move, that it was not within Gahan's power to reach at his own next move. Udor had placed his own princess four squares east of Gahan when her position had been threatened, and he had hoped to lure the black chief after her and away from Udor, but in that he had failed. He now discovered that he might play his own Oduar into personal combat with Gahan, but he had already lost one Oduar and could ill spare the other. His position was a delicate one, since he did not wish to engage Gahan personally while it appeared that there was little likelihood of his being able to escape. There was just one hope, and that lay in his princess Panthan, so without more deliberation he ordered the piece onto the square occupied by the black chief. The sympathies of the spectators were all with Gahan now. If he lost, the game would be declared a draw, nor do they think better of drawn games upon Barsoom than do earthmen. If he won, it would doubtless mean a duel between the two chiefs, a development for which they were all hoping. The game already bade fair to a short one, and it would be an angry crowd should it be decided a draw with only two men slain. There were great historic games on record, where of the forty pieces on the field when the game opened, only three survived. The two princesses and the victorious chief. They blamed Udor, though in fact he was well within his rights in directing his play as he saw fit, nor was a refusal on his part to engage the black chief, necessarily an imputation of cowardice. He was a great chief who had conceived the notion to possess the slave Tara. There was no honor that could not accrue to him from engaging combat with slaves and criminals, or an unknown warrior from Manitage, nor was a state of sufficient import to warrant the risk. But now the duel between Gahan and the Orange Panthan was on, and the decision of the next move was no longer in other hands than theirs. It was the first time that these Manatorians had seen Gahan of Gathol fight, but Tara of Helium knew that he was a master of the sword. Could he have seen the proud light in her eyes as he crossed blades with the wearer of the Orange, he might easily have wondered if they were the same eyes that had flashed fire and hatred at him that time he had covered her lips with mad kisses in the pits of the palace of Otar. As she watched him, she could not but compare his sword play with that of the greatest swordsman of two worlds, her father, John Carter of Virginia, a prince of Helium, warlord of Barsoom, and she knew that the skill of the black chief suffered little by the comparison. Short and to the point was the duel that decided possession of the Orange chief's forth. The spectators had settled themselves for an interesting engagement of at least average duration when they were brought almost standing by a brilliant flash of rabbit sword play that was over air one could catch his breath. They saw the black chief step quickly back. His point upon the ground, while his opponent, his sword slipping from his fingers, clutched his breast, sank to his knees, and then lunged forward upon his face. And then Gahan of Gathol turned his eyes directly upon Udor of Manator, three squares away. Three squares is a chief's move. Three squares in any direction or combination of directions only provided that he does not cross the same square twice in a given move. The people saw and guessed Gahan's intention. They rose and roared forth their approval as he moved deliberately across the intervening squares toward the Orange chief. Otar, in the royal enclosure, sat frowning upon the scene. Otar was angry. He was angry with Udor for having entered this game for possession of a slave, for whom it had been his wish only slaves and criminals should strive. He was angry with the warrior from Manatage for having so far out-generaled and out-quat the men from Manator. He was angry with the populace because of their open hostility toward one who had vast in the sunshine of his favor for long years. Otar, the jeddak, had not enjoyed the afternoon. Those who surrounded him were equally glum. They too scowled upon the field, the players, and the people. Among them was a bent and wrinkled old man who gazed through weak and watery eyes upon the field and the players. As Gahan entered his square, Udor leaped toward him with drawn sword with such fury as might have overborn a less skilled and powerful swordsman. For a minute the fighting was fast and furious and by comparison reducing to insignificance all that had gone before. Here indeed were two magnificent swordsmen, and here was to be a battle that bade fair to make up for whatever the people felt they had been defrauded of by the shortness of the game. Nor had it continued long before many there were, who would have prophesized that they were witnessing a duel that was to become historic in the annals of Gitan and Manator. Every trick, every subterfuge, known to the art of fence these men employ, time and again each scored a point and brought blood to his opponent's copper hide until both were read with gore, but neither seemed able to administer the coup de grace. From her position upon the opposite side of the field, Tara of Helium watched the long drawn battle. Always it seemed to her that the black chief fought upon the defensive, or when he assumed to push his opponent he neglected a thousand openings that her practice eyes beheld. Nor did he seem in real danger, nor never did he appear to exert himself to quite the pitch needful for victory. The duel already had been long contested, and the day was drawing to a close. Presently the sudden transition from daylight to darkness which, owing to the tenuity of the air upon Varsum, occurs almost without the warning twilight of earth would occur. Would the fight never end? Would the game be called a draw after all? What ailed the black chief? Tara wished that she might answer at least the last of these questions, for she was sure that Turan the panthan, as she knew him, while fighting brilliantly, was not giving of himself all that he might. She could not believe that fear was restraining his hand, but that there was something beside inability to push Udor more fiercely she was confident. What it was, however, she could not guess. Once she saw Gahan glance quickly up toward the sinking sun, in thirty minutes it would be dark, and then she saw, and all those others saw a strange transition steel over the sword play of the black chief. It was as though he had been playing with the great Dwar, Udor, all these hours, and now he still played with him, but there was a difference. He played with him terribly as a carnivore plays with its victim in the instant before the kill. The orange chief was helpless now in the hands of a swordsman so superior that there could be no comparison, and the people sat in open-mouthed wonder and awe as Gahan of Gaethal cut his toe to ribbons, and then struck him down with a blow that cleft him to the chin. In twenty minutes the sun would set. But what of that? This is the end of The Chessmen of Mars Chapter 17 Recording by Tom Weiss The Chessmen of Mars Chapter 18 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 18 A Task for Loyalty Long and loud was the applause that rose above the field of Geetan at Manitour, as the keeper of the towers summoned the two princesses and the victorious chief to the center of the field, and presented to the latter the fruits of his prowess, and then, as custom demanded, the victorious players headed by Gahan and the two princesses formed in procession behind the keeper of the towers, and were conducted to the place of victory before the royal enclosure that they might receive the commendation of the jeddak. Those who were mounted gave up their thoats to slaves as all must be on foot for this ceremony. Directly beneath the royal enclosure are the gates to one of the tunnels that, passing beneath the seats, give ingress or egress to or from the field. Before this gate, the party hauled it, while Otar looked down upon them from above. Valdor and Floran, passing quietly ahead of the others, went directly to the gates, where they were hidden from those who occupied the enclosure with Otar. The keeper of the tower may have noticed them, but so occupied was he with the formality of presenting the victorious chief to the jeddak that he paid no attention to them. I bring you, Otar, jeddak of Manitour. Ookal of Manitaj, he cried in a loud voice that might be heard by as many as possible. Victor, over the Orange, in the second of the jeddaks games of the 433rd year of Otar, and the slavewoman Tara, and the slavewoman Lano, that you may bestow these the stakes upon Ookal. As he spoke, a little wrinkled old man peered over the rail of the enclosure down upon the three who stood directly behind the keeper, and strained his weak and watery eyes in an effort to satisfy the curiosity of old age, in a matter of no particular import. For what were these two slaves and a common warrior from Manitaj to any who sat with Otar the jeddak? Ookal of Manitaj said, Otar, you have deserved the stakes. Seldom have we looked upon more noble sword play, and you tire of Manitaj, there always be here in the city of Manitour a place for you in the jeddak's guard. While the jeddak was speaking, the little old man, failing clearly to discern the features of the black chief, reached into his pocket pouch and drew forth a pair of thick-lens spectacles which he placed upon his nose. For a moment he scrutinized Gahan closely. Then he leaped to his feet, and addressing Otar, pointing a shaking finger at Gahan. As he rose, Tara of Helium clutched the black chief's arms. Turan she whispered, it is Aigas, whom I thought to have slain in the pits of Otar, it is Aigas and he recognizes you and will. But what Aigas would do was already transpiring. In his falsetto voice he fairly screamed, it is the slave Turan who sold the woman Tara from your throne room, Otar. He desecrated the dead chief Aimal and wears his headdress now. Instantly all was pandemonium. Warriors drew their swords and leaped to their feet. Gahan's victorious players rushed forward in a body, sweeping the keeper of the towers from his feet. Valdor and Floran threw open the gates beneath the royal enclosure, opening the tunnel that led to the avenue in the city beyond the towers. Gahan, surrounded by his men, drew Tara and Lano into the passageway, and at a rapid pace the party sought to reach the opposite end of the tunnel before their escape could be cut off. They were successful, and when they emerged into the city the sun had set and darkness had come, relieved only by an adequate and ineffective lighting system which cast but a pale glow over the shadowy streets. Now it was that Tara of Helium guessed why the Black Chief had drawn out his duel with Udor and realized that he might have slain his man at almost any moment he had elected. The whole plan that Gahan had whispered to his players before the game was thoroughly understood. They were to make their way to the Gate of Enemies, and there offer their services to Uthor, the Great Jed of Manitose. The fact that most of them were Gatholians and that Gahan could lead rescuers to the pit where Acor, the son of Uthor's wife, was confined, convinced the Jed of Gathol that they would meet with no rebuff at the hands of Uthor. But even should he refuse them, still were they bound together to go on toward freedom, if necessary, cutting their way through the forces of Uthor at the Gate of Enemies, twenty men against a small army. But of such stuff are the warriors of Barsoom. They had covered a considerable distance along the almost deserted avenue before signs of pursuit developed, and then there came upon them suddenly from behind a dozen warriors mounted on thoats, a detachment evidently from the jeddak's guard. Instantly the avenue was a pandemonium of clashing blades, cursing warriors, and squealing thoats. In the first onslaught, life blood was spilled upon both sides. Two of Gahan's men went down, and upon the enemy's side three riderless thoats attested at least a portion of their casualties. Gahan was engaged with a fellow who appeared to have been selected to account for him only, since he rode straight for him, and sought to cut him down without giving the slightest heed to several who slashed at him as he passed them. The Gatholian, practiced in the art of combating a mounted warrior from the ground, sought to reach the left side of the fellow's thoat a little to the rider's rear, the only position in which he would have any advantage over his antagonist, or rather the position that would most greatly reduce the advantage of the mounted man. And similarly, the Manatorian strobed to thwart his design, and so the guardsman wheeled and turned his vicious angry mount while Gahan leaped in and out in an effort to reach the coveted vantage point, but always seeking some other opening in his foe's defense. And while they jockeyed for position, a rider swept swiftly past them. As he passed behind Gahan, the latter heard a cry of alarm, Turan, they have me, came to his ears in the voice of Tara of Helium. A quick glance across his shoulder showed him the galloping thoat man in the act of dragging Tara to the withers of the beast, and then, with a fury of a demon, Gahan of Gaethal, leaped for his own man, dragged him from his mount, and as he fell, smote his head from his shoulders with a single cut of his keen sword. Scarce had the body touched the pavement when the Gatholian was upon the back of the dead warrior's mount, and galloping swiftly down the avenue after the diminishing figures of Tara and her abductor, the sounds of the fight waning in the distance as he pursued his quarry along the avenue that passes the palace of Otar, and leads to the gate of the enemies. Gahan's mount, carrying but a single rider, gained upon that of the Manatorian, so that as they neared the palace, Gahan was scarce a hundred yards behind, and now, to his consternation, he saw the fellow turn into the great entranceway. For a moment only was he hauled it by the guards, and then he disappeared within. Gahan was almost upon him then, but evidently he had warned the guards for they leaped out to intercept the Gatholian. But no, the fellow could not have known that he was pursued, since he had not seen Gahan seize a mount, nor would he have thought that pursuit would come so soon. If he had passed then, so could Gahan pass. Or did he not wear the trappings of a Manatorian? The Gatholian thought quickly, and stopping his throat, called to the guardsmen to let him pass. In the name of Otar, they hesitated a moment. Aside cried Gahan, must the Gedex messenger parley for the right to deliver his message? To whom would you deliver it? asked the Padwar of the gate. Saw you not him who just entered cry Gathon? And without waiting for a reply, urged his stoats straight past them into the palace, and while they were deliberating what was best to be done, it was too late to do anything, which is not unusual. Along the marble corridors Gahan guided his stoat, and because he had gone that way before, rather than because he knew which way Tara had been taken, he followed the runways and passed through the chambers that led to the throne room of Otar. On the second level he met a slave. Which way went he who carried the woman before him? He asked. The slave pointed toward a nearby runway that led to a third level, and Gahan dashed rapidly on in pursuit. At the same moment a throatman, riding at a furious pace, approached the palace and halted his mount at the gate. Saw you ought of a warrior pursuing one who carried a woman before him on his throat? He shouted to the guard. He but just passed in, replied the padwar. Saying that he was Otar's messenger, he lied, cried the newcomer. He was Turan, the slave who stole the woman from the throne room two days ago. Arouse the palace, he must be seized and alive if possible. It is Otar's command. Instantly warriors were dispatched to search for the Gatholian and warn the inmates of the palace to do likewise. Owing to the gains, there were comparatively few retainers in the Great Building. But those whom they found were immediately enlisted in the search, so that presently at least fifty warriors were seeking through the countless chambers and corridors of the palace of Otar. As Gahan's throat bore him to the third level, the man glimpsed the hindquarters of another throat disappearing at the turn of a corridor far ahead. Urging his own animal forward, he raced swiftly in pursuit and making the turn discovered only an empty corridor ahead. Along this he hurried to discover, near its farther end, a runway to the fourth level which he followed upward. Here he saw that he had gained upon his quarry who was just turning through a doorway fifty yards ahead. As Gahan reached the opening, he saw that the warrior had dismounted and was dragging Tara toward a small door on the opposite side of the chamber. At the same instant the clank of harness to his rear caused him to cast a glance behind, where along the corridor he had just traversed, he saw three warriors approaching on foot at a run. Leaping from his throat, Gahan sprang into the chamber where Tara was struggling to free herself from the grasp of her captor, slammed the door behind him, shot the great bolt into its seat, and drawing his sword crossed the room at a run to engage the Manatorian. The fellow, thus menaced, called aloud to Gahan to halt, at the same time thrusting Tara at arm's length and threatening her heart with the point of his short sword. Stay, he cried, or the woman dies, for such is the command of Otar, rather than that she again fall into your hands. Gahan stopped, but a few feet separated him from Tara and her captor, yet he was helpless to aid her. Slowly the warrior back toward the open doorway behind him, dragging Tara with him. The girl struggled and fought, but the warrior was a powerful man, and having seized her by the harness from behind was able to hold her in a position of helplessness. Save me, Toran, she cried. Let them not drag me to a fate worse than death, better that I die now while my eyes behold a brave friend than later, fighting alone among enemies in defense of my honor. He took a step nearer. The warrior made a threatening gesture with his sword close to the soft, smooth skin of the princess, and Gahan halted. I could not, Tara of Helium, he cried. Think not ill of me that I am weak, that I cannot see you die. Too great is my love for you, daughter of Helium. The Manatorian warrior, a derisive grin upon his lips, back steadily away, he had almost reached the doorway when Gahan saw another warrior in the chamber toward which Tara was being born, a fellow who moved silently, almost stealthily, across the marble floor as he approached Tara's captor from behind. In his right hand he grasped a long sword. Two to one thought Gahan, and a grim smile touched his lips, for he had no doubt that once they had Tara safely in the adjoining chamber the two would set upon him. If he could not save her, he could at least die for her. And then suddenly Gahan's eyes fastened with amazement upon the figure of the warrior behind the grinning fellow who held Tara, and was forcing her to the doorway. He saw the newcomer step, almost within arm's reach of the other. He saw him stop. An expression, a malevolent hatred upon his features. He saw the great sword swing through the arc of a great circle, gathering swift and terrific momentum from its own weight backed by the brawn of the steel thues that guided it. He saw it pass through the feathered skull of the Manatorian, splitting his sardonic grin in twain, and opened him to the middle of his breastbone. As the dead hand relaxed its grasp upon Tara's wrist, the girl leaped forward without a backward glance to Gahan's side. His left arm encircled her, nor did she draw away, as with ready sword the Gatholian awaited fates next to Cree. Before them Tara's deliverer was wiping the blood from his sword upon the hair of his victim. He was evidently a Manatorian, his trappings those of the jeddak's guard, and so his act was inexplicable to Gahan and to Tara. Presently, he sheathed the sword and approached them. What a man chooses to hide his identity behind an assumed name, he said, looking straight into Gahan's eyes, whatever friend pierces the deception where no friend if he divulged the other's secret. He paused, as though awaiting a reply. Your integrity has perceived and your lips voiced an unalterable truth, replied Gahan, whose mind was filled with wonder if the implication could by any possibility be true, that this Manatorian had guessed his identity. We are thus agreed, continued the other, and I may tell you that though I am here known as A Saur, my real name is Te Saur. He paused and watched Gahan's face intently for any sign of the effect of this knowledge, and was rewarded with a quick though guarded expression of recognition. Te Saur, friend of his youth, the son of that great Gatholian noble who had given his life so gloriously, however futilely in an attempt to defend Gahan's sire from the daggers of the assassins. Te Saur, an underpadwar in the guard of Otar, Jeddak of Manator. It was inconceivable, and yet it was he there could be no doubt of it. Te Saur, Gahan repeated aloud, but it is no Manatorian name. The statement was half interrogatory, for Gahan's curiosity was aroused. He would know how his friend and loyal subject had become a Manatorian. Long years had passed since Te Saur had disappeared as mysteriously as the Princess of Haja and many others of Gahan's subject. The Jedd of Gathol had long supposed him dead. No, replied Te Saur, nor is it a Manatorian name. Come, while I search for a hiding place for you in some forgotten chamber in one of the untenanted proportions of the palace. And as we go, I will tell you briefly how Te Saur the Gatholian became a Saur, the Manatorian. It befell that as I rode with a dozen of my warriors along the western border of Gaethal, searching for citatars that had strayed from my herds, we were set upon and surrounded by a great company of Manatorians. They overpowered us, though not before half our number was slain and the balance helpless from wounds. And so I was brought a prisoner to Manatage, a distant city of Manator, and there sold into slavery. A woman bought me a Princess of Manatage whose wealth and positions were unequaled in the city of her birth. She loved me, and when her husband discovered her infatuation, she beseeched me to slay him, and when I refused, she hired another to do it. Then she married me, but none would have ought to do with her in Manatage, for they suspected her guilty of knowledge of her husband's murder. And so we set out from Manatage for Manatos, accompanied by a great caravan bearing all her worldly goods and jewels and precious metals, and on the way she caused the rumor to be spread that she and I had died. Then we came to Manator instead, she taking a new name, and I the name Aesor, that we might not be traced through our names. With her great wealth she bought me a post in the Gedex Guard, and none knows that I am not a Manatorian, for she is dead. She was beautiful, but she was a devil. And you never sought to return to your native city? asked Geheng. Never has the hope been absent from my heart, or my mind empty of a plan, replied Aesor. I dream of it by day and by night, but always must I return to the same conclusion, that there can be but a single means for escape. I must wait until fortune favors me with a place in a raiding party to Gehethal. Then once, within the boundaries of my own country, they shall see me no more. Perhaps your opportunity lies already within your grasp, said Geheng. Has not your filthy to your own Jed been undermined by years of association with the men of Manator? The statement was half-challenged. And my Jed stood before me now, cried Aesor, and my avowal could be made without violating his confidence. I should cast my sword at his feet, and beg the high privilege of dying for him, as my sire died for his sire. There could be no doubt of his sincerity, nor any that he was cognizant of Geheng's identity. The Jed of Gehethal smiled. And if your Jed were here, there is little doubt, but that he would command you to devote your talents and your prowess to the rescue of the Princess Tara of Helium, he said meaningly. And he possessed the knowledge I have gained during my captivity, he would say to you, Go, Tehzor, to the pit where Acor, son of Haja of Gehethal, is confined, and set him free, and with him arouse the slaves from Gehethal, and march to the gate of enemies, and offer your services to Uthor of Manatage, who is wed to Haja of Gehethal, and ask of him in return that he attack the palace of Otar, and rescue Tara of Helium. And when that thing is accomplished, that he free the slaves of Gehethal, and furnish them with the arms and the means to return to their own country, that, Tehzor of Gehethal, is what Geheng your Jed would demand of you. And that, Turan the slave, is what I shall spend my every effort to accomplish, after I have found a safe refuge for Tara of Helium and her panthan, replied Tehzor. Geheng's glance carried to Tehzor an intimation of his Jed's gratification, and filled him with a chivalrous determination to do the thing required of him, or die, for he considered that he had received from the lips of his beloved ruler a commission that placed upon his shoulders a responsibility that encompassed not alone the life of Geheng and Tara, but the welfare perhaps the whole future of Gehethal. And so he hastened them onward through the musty corridors of the old palace, where the dust of ages lay undisturbed upon the marble tiles. Now and again he tried a door, until he found one that was unlocked. Opening it he ushered them into a chamber heavy with dust. Crumbling silks and furs adorned the walls with ancient weapons and great paintings whose colors were toned by age to wondrous softness. This be as good as any place, he said. No one comes here. Never have I been here before, so I know no more of the other chambers than you, but this one, at least, I can find again when I bring you food and drink. Oh, my, the cruel occupied this portion of the palace during his reign five thousand years before Otar. In one of these apartments he was found dead, his face contorted in an expression of fear so horrible that it drove to madness those who looked upon it, yet there was no mark of violence upon him. Since then the quarters of Omi have been shunned, for the legends have it that the ghosts of corpals pursue the spirit of the wicked jeddak nightly through these chambers, shrieking and moaning as they go. But, he added, as though to reassure himself as well as his companions, such things may not be countenance by the culture of Gaethal or Helium. Gahan laughed, and if all who looked upon him were driven mad, who then was there to perform the last rites or prepare the body of the jeddak for them? There was none, replied Tazor. Where they found him they left him, and there to this very day his mouldering bones lie hid in some forgotten chamber of this forbidden suite. Tazor left them then, assuring them that he would seek the first opportunity to speak with Acor, and upon the following day he would bring them food and drink. After Tazor had gone, Tara turned to Gahan, and approaching laid a hand upon his arm. So swiftly have events transpired since I recognized you beneath your disguise, she said, that I have had no opportunity to assure you of my gratitude, and the high esteem that your valor has won for you in my consideration. Let me now acknowledge my indebtedness, and if promises be not vain from one whose life and liberty are in grave jeopardy, accept my assurance of the great reward that awaits you at the hand of my father in Helium. I desire no reward, he replied, other than the happiness of knowing that the woman I love is happy. For an instant the eyes of Tara of Helium blazed as she drew herself heartily to her full height, and then they softened, and her attitude relaxed as she shook her head sadly. I have it not in my heart to reprimand you, Toran, she said. However great your fault, for you have been an honorable and a loyal friend to Tara of Helium, but you must not say what my ears must not hear. You mean, he asked, that the ears of a princess must not listen to the words of love from a panthan? It is not that, Toran, she replied, but rather that I may not in honor listen to words of love from another than him to whom I am betrothed a fellow countryman, Dior Kantos. You mean, Tara of Helium, he cried, that were it not for that you would stop, she commanded. You have no right to assume ought else than my lips testify. The eyes are oft times more eloquent than the lips Tara, he replied, and in yours I have read that which is neither hatred nor contempt for Toran the panthan, and my heart tells me that your lips bore false witness when they cried in anger. I hate you. I do not hate you, Toran, nor yet may I love you, said the girl simply. When I broke my way from the chamber of Aegos, I was indeed upon the verge of believing that you did hate me, he said, for only hatred it seemed to me could account for the fact that you had gone without making an effort to liberate me. But presently both my heart and my judgment told me that Tara of Helium could not have deserted a companion in distress, and though I still am in ignorance of the facts, I know that it was beyond your power to aid me. It was indeed, said the girl, scarce had Aegos fallen at the bite of my dagger, that I heard the approach of warriors. I ran then to hide until they passed, and thinking to return and liberate you, but in seeking to elude the party I had heard, I ran full into the arms of another. They questioned me as to your whereabouts, and I told them that you had gone ahead and that I was following you, and thus I led them from you. I knew was Gahan's only comment, but his heart was glad with elation, as a lover's must be who has heard from the lips of his divinity and a vowel of interest and loyalty, however little tinged by a suggestion of warmer regard it may be. To be abused, even by the mistress of one's heart, is better than to be ignored. As the two conversed in the ill-lit chamber, the dim bulbs of which were encrusted with the accumulated dust of centuries, a bent and withered figure traversed slowly the gloomy corridors without, his weak and watery eyes peering through thick lenses at the signs of passage written upon the dusty floor. This is the end of the Chessmen of Mars, Chapter 18, Recording by Tom Weiss. The Chessmen of Mars, Chapter 19 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 Chessmen of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Chapter 19, The Menace of the Dead The night was still young when there came one to the entrance of the banquet hall, where Otar of Matator dined with his chiefs, and brushing past the guards, entered the great room with the insolence of a privileged character, as in truth he was. As he approached the head of the longboard, Otar took notice of him. Well, Horeywan, he cried, what brings you out of your beloved and stinking burrow again this day? We thought that the sight of the multitude of living men at the Games would drive you back to your corpses as quickly as you could go. The cackling laugh of Igos acknowledged the royal sally. Eh, eh, Otar, squeak the ancient one. Igos goes out not upon pleasure bound, but when one does ruthlessly desecrate the dead of Igos, vengeance must be had. You referred to the act of a slave, Turan, demanded Otar. Turan, yes, and the slave Tara, who slipped beneath my hide a murderous blade, and Igos, ancient and wrinkled covering were even now in some apprentice Tanner's hands. Eh, eh. But they have again eluded us, cried Otar. Even in the palace of the great Jeddak, twice have they escaped the stupid nays I call the Jeddak's guard. Otar had risen, and was angrily emphasizing his words with heavy blows upon the table, dealt with a golden goblet. Eh, Otar, they elude thy guard, but not the wise old callate Igos. What mean you speak, commanded Otar? I know where they are hid, said the ancient taxidermists, in the dust of unused corridors their feet have betrayed them. You followed them? You have seen them, demanded the Jeddak? I followed them, and I heard them speaking beyond a closed door, replied Igos, but I did not see them. Where is that door? cried Otar. We will send it once, and fetch them. He looked about the table, as though to decide to whom he would entrust his duty. A dozen warrior chiefs arose, and laid their hands upon their swords. To the chambers of Oh my, cruel I traced them, squeaked Igos. There you will find them, where the moaning corphels pursue the shrieking ghost of Oh my, eh? And he turned his eyes from Otar toward the warriors who had arisen, only to discover that to a man they were hurriedly resuming their seats. The cackling laughter of Igos broke derisively the hush that had fallen upon the room. The warriors looked sheepishly at the food upon their plates of gold. Otar snapped his fingers impatiently. Be there only cravens among the chiefs of Manator he cried? Repeatedly have these presumptuous slaves flouted the majesty of your jeddak. Must I command one to go and fetch them? Slowly a chief arose, and two others followed his example, though with ill-concealed reluctance. All then are not cowards, commented Otar. The duty is distasteful. Therefore all three of you shall go, taking as many warriors as you wish. But do not ask for volunteers, interrupted Igos, or you will go alone. The three chiefs turned and left the banquet hall, walking slowly, like doomed men to their fate. Gahan and Tara remained in the chamber to which Tesor had led them, the man brushing away the dust from a deep and comfortable bench where they might rest in comparative comfort. He had found the ancient sleeping-silks and furs too far gone to be of any service, crumbling to powder at a touch, thus removing any chance of making a comfortable bed for the girl. And so the two sat together, talking in low tones of the adventures through which they already had passed and speculating upon the future, planning means of escape, and hoping Tesor would not be long gone. They spoke of many things, of Hastor and Helium and Tharf, and finally the conversation reminded Tara of Gathol. You have served there, she asked? Yes, replied Turan. I met Gahan the jet of Gathol at my father's palace, she said. The very day before the storm snatched me from Helium, he was a presumptuous fellow, magnificently trapped in platinum and diamonds. Never in my life saw I so gorgeous a harness as his, and you must well know, Turan, that the splendor of all Barsoom passes through the court at Helium, but in my mind I could not see so resplendent the creature drawing that jeweled sword in mortal combat. I fear me that the jet of Gathol, though a pretty picture of a man, is little else. In the dim light Tara did not perceive the rye expression upon the half averted face of her companion. You thought little, then, of the jet of Gathol, he asked. Then or now, she replied, and with a little laugh, how it would pique his vanity to know, if he might, that a poor panthan had won a higher place in the regard of Tara of Helium, and she laid her fingers gently upon his knee. He seized the fingers in his and carried them to his lips. Oh, Tara of Helium, he cried. Think you that I am a man of stone? One arm slipped about her shoulders, and drew the yielding body toward him. May my first ancestor forgive me my weakness, she cried, as her arm stole about his neck, and she raised her panting lips to his. For long they clung there in love's first kiss, and then she pushed him away gently. I love you, Turan, she hath sob. I love you so. It is my only poor excuse for having done this wrong to Dior Contos, whom now I know I never loved, who knew not the meaning of love. And if you love me as you say, Turan, your love must protect me from greater dishonor, for I am but as clay in your hands. Again he crushed her to him, and then as suddenly released her, and rising, strode rapidly to and fro across the chamber, as though he endeavored by violent exercise to master and subdue some evil spirit that had lain hold upon him. Ringing through his brain and heart and soul, like some joyous pagan, were those words that had so altered the world for Gahan of Gathol. I love you, Turan, I love you so. And it had come so suddenly. He had thought that she felt for him only gratitude for his loyalty and them. In an instant her barriers were all down. She was no longer a princess. But instead his reflections were interrupted by a sound from beyond the closed door. His sandals of zititar hide had given forth no sound upon the marble floor he strode. And as his rapid pacing carried him past the entrance to the chamber, there came faintly from the distance of the long corridor the sound of metal on metal, the unmistakable herald of the approach of armed men. For a moment Gahan listened intently, close to the door, until there could be no doubt but that a party of warriors was approaching. From what Tesor had told him he guessed correctly that they would be coming to this portion of the palace but for a single purpose, to search for Tara and himself, and it behooved him therefore to seek immediate means for eluding them. The chamber in which they were had other doorways beside that at which they had entered, and to one of these he must look for some safer hiding place. Crossing to Tara he acquainted her with his suspicion, leading her to one of the doors which they found unsecured. Beyond it lay a dimly lighted chamber at the threshold of which they hauled it in consternation, drawing back quickly into the chamber they had just quit it. For their first glance revealed four warriors seated around a g-tan board. That their entrance had not been noted was attributed by Gahan to the absorption of the two players and their friends in the game. Quietly closing the door the fugitives moved silently to the next which they found locked. There was now but another door which they had not tried. And this they approached quickly as they knew that the searching party must be close to the chamber. To their chagrin they found this avenue of escape barred. Now indeed were they in a sorry plight. For should the searchers have information leading them to this room they were lost. Again leading Tara to the door behind which were the g-tan players Gahan drew his sword and waited, listening. The sound of the party in the corridor came distinctly to their ears. They must be quite close and doubtless they were coming in force. Beyond the door were but four warriors who might be readily surprised. There could then be but one choice and acting upon it, Gahan quietly opened the door again, stepped through into the adjoining chamber, Tara's hand in his, and closed the door behind them. The four at the g-tan board evidently failed to hear them. One player had either just made or was contemplating a move, for his fingers grasped a piece that still rested upon the board. The other three were watching his move. For an instant Gahan looked at them, playing g-tan there in the dim light of this forgotten and forbidden chamber, and then a slow smile of understanding lighted his face. Come, he said to Tara, we have nothing to fear from these. For more than five thousand years they have sat thus, a monument to the handiwork of some ancient taxidermis. As they approached more closely they saw that the lifelike figures were coated with dust, but that otherwise the skin was in as fine a state of preservation as the most recent of Igaas groups, and then they heard the door of the chamber they had quitted, opened, and knew that the searchers were close upon them. Across the room they saw the opening of what appeared to be a corridor, and which investigation proved to be a short passageway, terminating in a chamber in the center of which was an ornate sleeping dais. This room, like the others, was but poorly lighted, time having dimmed the radiance of its bulbs and coated them with dust. A glance showed that it was hung with heavy goods and contained considerable massive furniture in addition to the sleeping platform, a second glance at which revealed what appeared to be the form of a man lying partially on the floor and partially on the dais. No doorways were visible other than that at which they had entered, though both knew that others might be concealed by the hangings. Gahan, his curiosity aroused by the legends surrounding this portion of the palace, crossed the dais to examine the figure that apparently had fallen from it to find the dried and shriveled corpse of a man lying upon his back on the floor, with arms outstretched and fingers stiffly outspread. One of his feet was doubled partially beneath him, while the other was still entangled in the sleeping-silks and furs upon the dais. After five thousand years, the expression of the withered face and the eyeless sockets retained the aspects of horrid fear to such an extent that Gahan knew that he was looking upon the body of Omai the Cruel. Suddenly Tara, who stood close beside him, clutched his arm and pointed to a far corner of the room. Gahan looked, and looking felt the hairs upon his neck rising. He threw his left arm about the girl, and with bared sword stood between her and the hangings that they watched, and then slowly Gahan of Gathol backed away. For in this grim and somber chamber, which no human foot had trod for five thousand years and to which no breath of wind might enter, the heavy hangings in the far corner had moved. Not gently had they moved as a draught might have moved them had there been a draught, but suddenly they had bulged out as though pushed against from behind. To the opposite corner backed Gahan until they stood with their backs against the hangings there, and then hearing the approach of their pursuers across the chamber beyond, Gahan pushed Tara through the hangings and following her kept open with his left hand, which he had disengaged from the girl's grasp, a tiny opening through which he could view the apart and the doorway upon the opposite side through which the pursuers would enter, if they came this far. Behind the hangings there was a space of about three feet in width between them and the wall, making a passageway entirely around the room, broken only by the single entrance opposite them, this being a common arrangement especially in the sleeping apartments of the rich and powerful upon Varsum. The purposes of this arrangement were several. The passageway afforded a station for guards in the same room with their master, without intruding entirely upon his privacy. It concealed secret exits from the chamber, it permitted the occupant of the room to hide eavesdroppers and assassins for use against enemies that he might lure to his chamber. The three chiefs, with a dozen warriors, had had no difficulty in following the tracks of the fugitives through the dust of the corridors and chambers they had traversed. To enter this portion of the palace at all had required all the courage they possessed, and now that they were within the very chambers of Omai their nerves were pitched to the highest key, another turn, and they would snap. For the people of Manator are filled with weird superstitions. As they entered the outer chamber they moved slowly, with drawn swords, no one seeming anxious to take the lead, and the twelve warriors hanging back in unconcealed and shameless terror, while the three chiefs, spurred on by fear of Otar and by pride, pressed together for mutual encouragement as they slowly crossed the dimly lighted room. Following the tracks of Gahan and Tara they found that though each doorway had been approached only one threshold had been crossed, and this door they gingerly opened, revealing to their astonished gaze the four warriors at the Jitan table. For a moment they were on the verge of flight. For though they knew what they were, coming as they did upon them in this mysterious and haunted suite, they were as startled as though they had beheld the very ghost of the departed. But they presently regained their courage sufficiently to cross this chamber too, and enter the short passageway that led to the ancient sleeping apartment of Omai the Cruel. They did not know that this awful chamber lay just before them, or it worked doubtful that they would have proceeded farther, but they saw that those they sought had come this way, and so they followed, but within the gloomy interior of the chamber they halted. The three chiefs urging their followers and low whispers to close in behind them, and there just within the entrance they stood until, their eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, one of them pointed suddenly to the thing lying upon the floor with one foot tangled in the coverings of the dais. Look, he gasped, it is the corpse of Omai, ancestor of ancestors, we are in the forbidden chamber. Simultaneously there came from behind the hangings beyond the gruesome dead, a hollow moan followed by a piercing scream, and the hanging shook and bellied before their eyes. With one accord, chieftains and warriors, they turned and bolded for the doorway, a narrow doorway where they jammed, fighting and screaming in an effort to escape. They threw away their swords and clawed at one another to make a passage for escape. Those behind climbed upon the shoulders of those in front, and some fell and were trampled upon, but at last they all got through, and the swiftest first they bolded across the two intervening chambers to the outer corridor beyond, nor did they halt their mad retreat before they stumbled, weak and trembling, into the banquet hall of Otar. At sight of them the warriors who had remained with the jeddak leaped to their feet with drawn swords, thinking that their fellows were pursued by many enemies, but no one followed them into the room, and the three chieftains came and stood before Otar, with bowed heads and trembling knees. Well, demanded the jeddak, what ails you? Speak! Otar cried one of them when at last he could master his voice. When have we three failed you in battle or combat? Have our swords been not always among the foremost in defense of your safety and honor? Have I denied this? demanded Otar. Listen, then, no jeddak, and judge us with leniency. We followed the two slaves to the apartments of Omai the Cruel. We entered the accursed chambers, and still we did not falter. We came at last to the horrid chamber no human eye had scanned before in fifties centuries, and we looked upon the dead face of Omai laying as he has lain for all this time. To the very death chamber of Omai the Cruel we came, and yet we were ready to go farther, when suddenly there broke upon our horrified ears the moans and the shrieking that mark these haunted chambers, and the hangings moved and rustled in the dead air. Otar, it was more than human nerves could endure. We turned and fled, we threw away our swords, and fought with one another to escape. With sorrow, but without shame, I tell it, for there be no man in all Manator that would not have done the same. If these slaves be corpals, they are safe among their fellow ghosts. If they be not corpals, then already are they dead in the chambers of Omai, and there may they rot for all of me, for I would not return to that accursed spot for the harness of a jeddak, and the half of Barsoom for an empire. I have spoken. Otar knitted his scolling brows. Are all Mike Chieftain's cowards and cravens he demanded presently in steering tones? From among those who had not been of a searching party, a chieftain arose and turned a scolling face upon Otar. The jeddak knows, he said, that in the annals of Manator her jeddaks have ever been accounted the bravest of her warriors. Where my jeddak leads, I will follow, nor may any jeddak call me a coward or a craven unless I refuse to go where he dares to go. I have spoken. After he had resumed his seat, there was a painful silence, for all knew that the speaker had challenged the courage of Otar the jeddak of Manator, and all awaited the reply of their ruler. In every mind was the same thought. Otar must lead them at once to the chamber of Omai the Cruel, or except forever the stigma of cowardice, and there could be no coward upon the throne of Manator. That they all knew, and that Otar knew as well. But Otar hesitated. He looked about upon the faces of those around him at the banquet but he saw only the grim visages of relentless warriors. There was no trace of leniency in the face of any, and then his eyes wandered to a small entrance at one side of the great chamber. An expression of relief expunged the scowl of anxiety from his features. Look, he explained. See who has come. This is the end of the Chessmen of Mars, Chapter 19, Recording by Tom Weiss