Part 2

THE BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

chapter I

IN MY FORMER LIFE on Earth I spent more time in the saddle than I did on foot, and since I have been here on the Planet of Barsoom I have spent much time in the saddle or on the swift fliers of the Navy of Helium; so naturally I did not look forward with any great amount of pleasure to walking fifteen hundred miles. However, it had to be done; and when a thing has to be done the best plan is to get at it, stick to it, and get it over with as quickly as possible.

Gathol is southwest of Horz; but, having no compass and no landmarks, I went, as I discovered later, a little too far to the west. Had I not done so we might have been saved some very harrowing experiences. Although, if my past life is any criterion, we would have found plenty of other adventures.

We had covered some two thousand five hundred haads of the four thousand we had to travel, or at least as nearly as I could compute it, with a minimum of untoward incidents. On two occasions we had been attacked by banths but had managed to kill them before they could harm us; and we had been attacked by a band of wild calots, but fortunately we had met no human beings—of all the creatures of Barsoom the most dangerous. For here, outside of your own country or the countries of your allies, every man is your enemy and bent upon destroying you; nor is it strange upon a dying world the natural resources of which have dwindled almost to the vanishing point and even air and water are only barely sufficient to meet the requirements of the present population.

The vast stretches of dead sea bottom, covered with its ocher vegetation, which we traversed were broken only occasionally by low hills. Here in shaded ravines we sometimes found edible roots and tubers. But for the most part we subsisted upon the milk-like sap of the mantalia bush, which grows on the dead sea bottom, though in no great profusion.

We had tried to keep track of the days, and it was on the thirty-seventh day that we encountered really serious trouble. It was the fourth zode, which is roughly about one p.m. Earth time, that we saw in the distance and to our left what I instantly recognized as a caravan of green Martians.

As no fate can be worse than falling into the hands of these cruel monsters, we hurried on in the hope of crossing their path before we were discovered. We took advantage of what cover the sea bottom afforded us, which was very little; oftentimes compelling us to worm our way along on our bellies, an art which I had learned from the Apaches of Arizona. I was in the lead, when I came upon a human skeleton. It was crumbling to dust, an indication that it must have lain there for many years, for so low is the humidity on Mars that disintegration of bony structures is extremely slow. Within fifty yards I came upon another skeleton and after that we saw many of them. It was a gruesome sight, and what it portended I could not guess. At first I thought that perhaps a battle had once been fought here, but when I saw that some of these skeletons were fresh and well preserved and that others had already started to disintegrate I realized that these men had died many years apart.

At last I felt that we had crossed the line of march of the caravan and that as soon as we had found a hiding place we would be comparatively safe, and just then I came to the edge of a yawning chasm.

Except for the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, I had never seen anything like it. It was a great rift valley that appeared to be about ten miles wide and perhaps two miles deep, extending for miles in either direction.

There were outcroppings of rock at the rim of the rift, and behind these we hid. Scattered about us were more human skeletons than we had seen before. Perhaps they were a warning; but at least they could not harm us, and so we turned our attention to the approaching caravan, which had now changed its direction a little and was coming straight toward us. Hoping against hope that they would again change their direction and pass us, we lay there watching them.

When I had been first miraculously transported to Mars I had been captured by a horde of green men, and I had lived with them for a long time; so that I learned to know their customs well. Therefore, I was quite positive that this caravan was making the quinquennial pilgrimage of the horde to its hidden incubator.

Each adult Martian female brings forth about thirteen eggs each year; and those which reach the correct size, weight and specific gravity are hidden in the recesses of some subterranean vault where the temperature is too low for incubation. Every year these eggs are carefully examined by a counsel of twenty chieftains, and all but about one hundred of the most perfect are destroyed out of each yearly supply. At the end of five years about five hundred almost perfect eggs have been chosen from the thousands brought forth. These are then placed in the almost air-tight incubators to be hatched by the sun’s rays after a period of another five years.

All but about one per cent of the eggs hatch, and these are left behind when the horde departs from the incubator. If these eggs hatch, the fate of those abandoned little Martians is unknown. They are not wanted, as their offspring might inherit and transmit the tendency to prolonged incubation and thus upset the system which has been maintained for ages and which permits the adult Martians to figure the proper time for return to the incubator almost to an hour.

The incubators are built in remote fastnesses where there is little or no likelihood of their being discovered by other tribes. The result of such a catastrophe would mean no children in the community for another five years.

The green Martians’ caravan is a gorgeous and barbaric thing to see. In this one were some two hundred and fifty enormous three wheeled chariots drawn by huge mastodonian animals known as zitidars, any one of which from their appearance might easily have drawn the entire train when fully loaded.

The chariots themselves were large, commodious and gorgeously decorated; in each was seated a female Martian loaded with ornaments of metal, with jewels and silks and furs; and upon the back of each of the zitidars a young Martian driver was perched on top of gorgeous trappings.

At the head of the caravan rode some two hundred warriors, five abreast; and a like number brought up the rear. About twenty-five or thirty out-riders flanked the chariots on either side.

The mounts of the warriors defy description in earthly words. They towered ten feet at the shoulder, had four legs on either side, a broad flat tail, larger at the tip than at the root, which they held straight out behind while running; a gaping mouth which splits the head from the snout to the long, massive neck.

Like their huge masters, they are entirely devoid of hair, but are a dark slate color and are exceedingly smooth and glossy. Their bellies are white and their legs shaded from the slate of the shoulders and hips to a vivid yellow at the feet. The feet themselves are heavily padded and nailless. Like the zitidars they wear neither bit nor bridle, but are guided entirely by telepathic means.

As we watched this truly magnificent and impressive cortege, it changed direction again; and I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw that they were going to pass us. Evidently, from the backs of their lofty mounts, they had seen the rift and were now moving parallel with it.

My relief was to be short-lived, for as the rear of the caravan was about to pass us one of the flankers spied us.

chapter II

INSTANTLY THE FELLOW wheeled his thoat and, shouting to his companions, came galloping toward us. We sprang to our feet with drawn swords, expecting to die; but ready to sell our lives dearly.

A moment after we had gained our feet, Llana exclaimed, “Look! Here is a trail down into the valley.”

I looked around. Sure enough, now that we were standing erect, I could see the head of a narrow, precipitous trail leading down over the edge of the cliff. If we could but reach it, we would be safe, for the great thoats and zitidars of the green men could not possibly negotiate it. It was very possible that the green men were not even aware of the presence of the rift before they had come suddenly upon it, and this is entirely possible; because they build their incubators in uninhabited and unexplored wildernesses sometimes as much as a thousand miles from their own stamping grounds.

As the three of us, Llana, Pan Dan Chee, and I, ran for the trail, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the leading warrior was almost on top of us and that we could not all reach the trail. So I called to Pan Dan Chee to hurry down it with Llana. They both stopped and turned toward me.

“It is a command,” I told them. Reluctantly they turned and continued on toward the end of the trail, while I wheeled and faced the warrior.

He had stopped his thoat and dismounted, evidently intent upon capturing me rather than killing me; but I had no mind to be captured for torture and eventual death. It was far better to die now.

He drew his long-sword as he came toward me and I did likewise. Had there not been six of his fellows galloping up on their huge thoats I should not have worried greatly, for with a sword I am a match for any green Martian that was ever hatched. Even their great size gives them no advantage. Perhaps it handicaps them, for their movements are slow and ponderous by comparison with my earthly agility; and though they are twice my size, I am fully as strong as they. The muscles of earthly man have not contended with the force of gravity since the dawn of humanity for nothing. It has developed and hardened muscles; because every move we make is contested by gravity.

My antagonist was so terribly cock-sure of himself, when facing such a seemingly puny creature as I, that he left himself wide open, as he charged down upon me like a wild bull.

I saw by the way he held his sword that he intended to strike me on the head with the flat of it, rendering me unconscious, so that he could more easily capture me; but when the sword fell I was not there; I had stepped to the right out of his way, and simultaneously I thrust for his heart. I would have punctured it, too, had not one of his four arms happened to swing against the point of my blade before it reached his body. As it was, I gave him a severe wound; and, roaring with rage, he turned and came at me again.

This time he was more careful; but it made no difference; he was doomed, for he was testing his skill against the best swordsman of two worlds.

The other six warriors were almost upon me now. This was no time for the sport of fencing. I feinted once, and ran him through the heart. Then, seeing that Llana was safe, I turned and ran along the edge of the rift; and the six green warriors did just what I had expected them to do. They had probably detached themselves from the rear guard for the sport of catching a red man for torture or for their savage games. Bunched close together they came after me, the nailless, padded feet of their ponderous mounts making no sound upon the ocher, moss-like vegetation of the dead sea bottom. Their spears couched, they came for me, each trying to make the kill or the capture. I felt much as a fox must feel at a fox hunt.

Suddenly I stopped, turned, and ran toward them. They must have thought that I had gone mad with fear, for they certainly couldn’t have known what I had in mind and that I had run from them merely to lure them away from the head of the trail leading down into the valley. They were almost upon me when I leaped high into the air and completely over them. My great strength and agility and the lesser gravity of Mars had once again come to my aid in an emergency.

When I alighted, I dashed for the head of the trail. And when the warriors could stop their mounts they turned and raced after me, but they were too late. I can out-run any thoat that was ever foaled. The only trouble with me is that I am too proud to run; but, like the fellow that was too proud to fight, I sometimes have to, as in this case where the safety of others was at stake.

I reached the head of the trail in plenty of time and hurried down after Llana and Pan Dan Chee, whom I found waiting for me when I caught up with them.

As we descended, I looked up and saw the green warriors at the edge of the rift looking at us; and, guessing what would happen, I dragged Llana into the shelter of an overhanging ledge. Pan Dan Chee followed just as radium bullets commenced to explode close to us.

The rifles with which the green men of Mars are armed are of a white metal, stocked with wood; a very light and intensely hard growth much prized on Mars and entirely unknown to us denizens of Earth. The metal of the barrel is an alloy composed principally of aluminum and steel, which they have learned to temper to a hardness far exceeding that of the steel with which we are familiar. The weight of these rifles is comparatively little; and with the small caliber, explosive radium projectiles which they use and the great length of the barrel, they are deadly in the extreme and at ranges which would be unthinkable on Earth.

The projectiles which they use explode when they strike an object, for they have an opaque outer coating which is broken by the impact, exposing a glass cylinder, almost solid, in the forward end of which is a minute particle of radium powder.

(Editor’s Note) I have used the word radium in describing this powder because in the light of recent discoveries on Earth I believe it to be a mixture of which radium is the base. In Captain Carter’s manuscripts it is mentioned always by the name used in the written language of Helium and is spelled in hieroglyphics which it would be difficult and useless to reproduce.

The moment the sunlight, even though diffused, strikes this powder it explodes with a violence which nothing can withstand. In night battles one notices the absence of these explosions, while the following morning will be filled at sunrise with the sharp detonations of exploding missiles fired the preceding night. As a rule, however, non-exploding projectiles are used after dark.

I felt it safer to remain where we were rather than to expose ourselves by attempting to descend, as I doubted very much that the huge green warriors would follow us down that steep declivity on foot, for the trail was too narrow for their great bodies and they hate going anywhere on foot.

After a few minutes I investigated and found that they apparently had departed. Then we started on down into the valley, not wishing to risk another encounter with that great horde of cruel and ruthless creatures.

chapter III

THE TRAIL WAS STEEP and oftentimes dangerous for it zigzagged down the face of an almost perpendicular cliff. Occasionally on a ledge we would have to step over the skeleton of a man, and we passed three newly dead bodies in various stages of decomposition.

“What do you make of these skeletons and bodies?” asked Pan Dan Chee.

“I am puzzled,” I replied; “there must be a great many more who died on the trail than those whose remains we have seen here. You will note that these all lie on ledges where the bodies could have lodged when they fell. Many more must have pitched to the foot of the cliff.”

“But how do you suppose they met their death?” asked Llana.

“There might have been an epidemic of disease in the valley,” suggested Pan Dan Chee, “and these poor devils died while trying to escape.”

“I am sure I haven’t the slightest idea of what the explanation can be,” I replied. “You see the remains of harness on most of them, but no weapons. I am inclined to think that Pan Dan Chee is right in assuming that they were trying to escape, but whether from an epidemic of sickness or something else we may never know.”

From our dizzy footing on that precarious trail we had an excellent view of the valley below. It was level and well watered and the monotony of the scarlet grass which grows on Mars where there is water, was broken by forests, the whole making an amazing sight for one familiar with this dying planet.

There are crops and trees and other vegetation along the canals; there are lawns and gardens in the cities where irrigation is available; but never have I seen a sight like this except in the Valley Dor at the South Pole, where lies the Lost Sea of Korus. For here there was not only a vast expanse of fertile valley but there were rivers and at least one lake which I could see in the distance; and then Llana called our attention to a city, gleaming white, with lofty towers.

“What a beautiful city,” she said. “I wonder what sort of people live there?”

“Probably somebody who would love nothing better than to slit our throats,” I said.

“We Orovars are not like that,” said Pan Dan Chee, “we hate to kill people. Why do all the other races on Mars hate each other so?”

“I don’t think that it is hate that makes them want to kill each other,” I said. “It is that it has become a custom. Since the drying up of the seas ages ago, survival has become more and more difficult; and in all those ages they have become so accustomed to battling for existence that now it has become second nature to kill all aliens.”

“I’d still like to see the inside of that city,” said Llana of Gathol.

“Your curiosity will probably never be satisfied,” I said.

We stood for some time on a ledge looking down upon that beautiful valley, probably one of the most beautiful sights on all of Mars. We saw several herds of the small thoats used by the red Martians as riding animals and for food. There is a little difference in the saddle and butchering species, but at this distance we could not tell which these were. We saw game animals down there, too, and we who had been so long without good meat were tempted.

“Let’s go down,” said Llana; “we haven’t seen any human beings and we don’t need to go near the city; it is a long way off. I should like so much to see the beauties of that valley closer.”

“And I would like to get some good red meat,” I said.

“And I, too,” said Pan Dan Chee.

“My better judgment tells me it would be a foolish thing to do,” I said, “but if I had followed my better judgment always, my life would have been a very dull one.”

“Anyway,” said Llana, “we don’t know that it is any more dangerous down on the floor of the valley than it was up on the edge of the rim. We certainly barely missed a lot of trouble up there, and it may still be hanging around.”

I didn’t think so; although I have known green Martians to hunt a couple of red men for days at a time. Anyway, the outcome of our discussion was that we continued on down to the floor of the valley.

Around the foot of the cliff, where the trail ended, there was a jumble of human bones and a couple of badly mangled bodies—poor devils who had either died on the trail above or fallen to their death here at the bottom. I wondered how and why.

Fortunately for us, the city was at such a distance that I was sure that no one could have seen us from there; and, knowing Martian customs, we had no intention of approaching it; nor would we have particularly cared to had it been safe, for the floor of the valley was so entrancingly beautiful in its natural state that the sights and sounds of a city would have proved a discordant note.

A short distance from us was a little river; and, beyond it, a forest came down to its edge. We crossed to the river on the scarlet sward, close-cropped by grazing herds and starred by many flowers of unearthly beauty.

A short distance down the river a herd of thoats was grazing. They were the beef variety, which is exceptionally good eating; and Pan Dan Chee suggested that we cross the river so that he could take advantage of the concealment of the forest to approach close enough to make a kill.

The river was simply alive with fish, and as we waded across I speared several with my long-sword.

“At least we shall have fish for dinner,” I said, “and if Pan Dan Chee is lucky, we shall have a steak.”

“And in the forest I see fruits and nuts,” said Llana. “What a banquet we shall have!”

“Wish me luck,” said Pan Dan Chee, as he entered the forest to work his way down toward the thoats.

Llana and I were watching, but we did not see the young Orovaran again until he leaped from the forest and hurled something at the nearest thoat, a young bull. The beast screamed, ran a few feet, staggered and fell, while the rest of the herd galloped off.

“How did he do that?” asked Llana.

“I don’t know,” I said, “he did it so quickly that I couldn’t see what it was he threw. It was certainly not a spear because he hasn’t one, and if it had been his sword we could have seen it.”

“It looked like a little stick,” said Llana.

We saw Pan Dan Chee cutting steaks from his kill; and presently he was back with us, carrying enough meat for a dozen men.

“How did you kill that thoat?” demanded Llana.

“With my dagger,” replied Pan Dan Chee.

“It was marvellous,” I said, “but where did you learn it?”

“Dagger throwing is a form of sport in Horz. We are all good at it, but I happen to have won the Jeddak’s trophy for the last three years; so I was pretty sure of my ground when I offered to get you a thoat, although I had never before used it to kill game. Very, very rarely is there a duel in Horz; and when there is, the contestants usually choose daggers, unless one of them is far more proficient than the other.”

While Pan Dan Chee and I were making fire and cooking the fish and steaks, Llana gathered fruits and nuts; so that we had a delicious meal, and when night came we lay down on the soft sward and slept.

chapter IV

WE SLEPT LATE, for we had been very tired the night before. I speared some fresh fish, and we had fish and steaks and fruit and nuts again for breakfast. Then we started toward the trail that leads out of the valley.

“It is going to be an awful climb,” said Pan Dan Chee.

“Oh, I wish we didn’t have to make it,” said Llana; “I hate to leave this beautiful spot.”

My attention was suddenly attracted toward the lower end of the valley.

“Maybe you won’t have to leave it, Llana,” I said. “Look!”

Both she and Pan Dan Chee turned and looked in the direction I had indicated, to see two hundred warriors mounted on thoats. The men were ebony black, and I wondered if they could be the notorious Black Pirates of Barsoom that I had first met and fought many years ago at the South Pole—the people who called themselves the First Born.

They galloped up and surrounded us; their spears couched, ready for any emergency.

“Who are you?” demanded their leader. “What are you doing in the Valley of the First Born?”

“We came down the trail to avoid a horde of green men,” I replied. “We were just leaving. We came in peace; we do not want war, but we are still three swords ready to give a good account of ourselves.”

“You will have to come to Kamtol with us,” said the leader.

“The city?” I asked. He nodded.

I whipped my sword from its scabbard.

“Stop!” he said. “We are two hundred; you are three. If you come to the city there would be at least a chance that you won’t be killed; if you stay here and fight you will be killed.”

I shrugged. “It is immaterial to me,” I said. “Llana of Gathol wishes to see the city, and I would just as leave fight. Pan Dan Chee, what do you and Llana say?”

“I would like to see the city,” said Llana, “but I will fight if you fight. Perhaps,” she added, “they will not be unkind to us.”

“You will have to give up your arms,” said the leader.

I didn’t like that and I hesitated.

“It is that or death,” said the leader. “Come! I can’t stand here all day.”

Well, resistance was futile; and it seemed foolish to sacrifice our lives if there were the remotest hope that we might be well received in Kamtol, and so we were taken on the backs of three thoats behind their riders and started for the beautiful white city.

The ride to the city was uneventful, but it gave me an excellent opportunity to examine our captors more closely. They were unquestionably of the same race as Xodar, Dator of the First Born of Barsoom, to give him his full title, who had been first my enemy and then my friend during my strange adventures among the Holy Therns. They are an exceptionally handsome race, clean-limbed and powerful, with intelligent faces and features of such exquisite chiseling that Adonis himself might have envied them. I am a Virginian; and it may seem strange for me to say so, but their black skins, resembling polished ebony, add greatly to their beauty. The harness and metal of our captors was identical with that worn by the Black Pirates whose acquaintance I had made upon the Golden Cliffs above the Valley Dor.

My admiration of these people did not blind me to the fact that they are a cruel and ruthless race and that our life expectancy was reduced to a minimum by our capture.

Kamtol did not belie its promise. It was as beautiful on closer inspection as it had been at a distance. Its pure white outer wall is elaborately carved, as are the facades on many of its buildings. Graceful towers rise above its broad avenues, which, when we entered the city, were filled with people. Among the blacks, we saw a number of red men performing menial tasks. It was evident that they were slaves, and their presence suggested the fate which might await us.

I cannot say that I looked forward with any great amount of enthusiasm to the possibility that John Carter, Prince of Helium, Warlord of Mars, might become a street cleaner or a garbage collector. One thing that I noticed particularly in Kamtol was that the residences could not be raised on cylindrical columns, as is the case in most modern Martian cities, where assassination has been developed to a fine art and where assassins’ guilds flourish openly, and their members swagger through the streets like gangsters once did in Chicago.

Heavily guarded, we were taken to a large building and there we were separated. I was taken to an apartment and seated in a chair with my back toward a strange looking machine, the face of which was covered with innumerable dials. A number of heavily insulated cables ran from various parts of the apparatus; metal bands at the ends of these cables were clamped about my wrists, my ankles, and my neck, the latter clamp pressing against the base of my skull; then something like a strait-jacket was buckled tightly around me, and I had a sensation as of countless needles touching my spine for almost its full length. I thought that I was to be electrocuted, but it seemed to me that they took a great deal of unnecessary pains to destroy me. A simple sword thrust would have done it much more quickly.

An officer, who was evidently in charge of the proceedings, came and stood in front of me. “You are about to be examined,” he said, “you will answer all questions truthfully;” then he signalled to an attendant who threw a switch on the apparatus.

So I was not to be electrocuted, but examined. For what, I could not imagine. I felt a very gentle tingling throughout my entire body, and then they commenced to hurl questions at me.

There were six men. Sometimes they questioned me singly and sometimes all at once. At such times, of course, I could not answer very intelligently because I could not hear the questions fully. Sometimes they spoke soothingly to me, and again they shouted at me angrily; often they heaped insults upon me. They let me rest for a few moments, and then a slave entered the apartment with a tray of very tempting food which he offered to me. As I was about to take it, it was snatched away; and my tormentors laughed at me. They jabbed me with sharp instruments until the blood flowed, and then they rubbed the wounds with a burning caustic, after which they applied a salve that instantly relieved the pain. Again I rested and again food was offered me. When I made no move to attempt to take it, they insisted; and, much to my surprise, let me eat it.

By this time I had come to the conclusion that we had been captured by a race of sadistic maniacs, and what happened next assured me that I was right, My torturers all left the apartment. I sat there for several minutes wondering at the whole procedure and why they couldn’t have tortured me without attaching me to that amazing contraption. I was facing a door in the opposite wall, and suddenly the door flew open and a huge banth leaped into the room with a horrid roar.

This, I thought, is the end, as the great carnivore came racing at me. As suddenly as he had entered the room, he came to a stop a few feet from me, and so instantly that he was thrown to the floor at my feet. It was then that I saw that he was secured by a chain just a little too short to permit him to reach me. I had had all the sensations of impending death—a most refined form of torture. However, if that had been their purpose they had failed, for I do not fear death.

The banth was dragged out of the apartment by his chain and the door closed; then the examining board re-entered smiling at me in the most kindly way.

“That is all,” said the officer in charge; “the examination is over.”

chapter V

AFTER THE PARAPHERNALIA had been removed from me, I was turned over to my guard and taken to the pits, such as are to be found in every Martian city, ancient or modern. These labyrinthine corridors and chambers are used for storage purposes and for the incarceration of prisoners, their only other tenants being the repulsive ulsio.

I was chained to the wall in a large cell in which there was another prisoner, a red Martian; and it was not long until Llana of Gathol and Pan Dan Chee were brought in and chained near me.

“I see you survived the examination,” I said.

“What in the world do they expect to learn from such an examination as that?” demanded Llana. “It was stupid and silly.”

“Perhaps they wanted to find out if they could scare us to death,” suggested Pan Dan Chee.

“I wonder how long they will keep us in these pits,” said Llana.

“I have been here a year,” said the red man. “Occasionally I have been taken out and put to work with other slaves belonging to the jeddak, but until someone buys me I shall remain here.”

“Buys you! What do you mean?” asked Pan Dan Chee.

“All prisoners belong to the jeddak,” replied the red man, “but his nobles or officers may buy them if they wish another slave. I think he is holding me at too high a price, for a number of nobles have looked at me and said that they would like to have me.”

He was silent for a moment and then he said, “You will pardon my curiosity, but two of you do not look like Barsoomians at all, and I am wondering from what part of the world you come. Only the woman is typical of Barsoom; both you men have white skin and one of you black hair and the other yellow.”

“You have heard of the Orovars?” I asked.

“Certainly,” he replied, “but they have been extinct for ages.”

“Nevertheless, Pan Dan Chee here is an Orovar. There is a small colony of them that has survived in a deserted Orovar city.”

“And you?” he asked; “you are no Orovar, with that black hair.”

“No,” I said, “I am from another world—Jasoom.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “can it be that you are John Carter?”

“Yes; and you?”

“My name is Jad-han. I am from Amhor.”

“Amhor?” I said. “I know a girl from Amhor. Her name is Janai.”

“What do you know of Janai?” he demanded.

“You knew her?” I asked.

“She was my sister; she has been dead for years. While I was out of the country on a long trip, Jal Had, Prince of Amhor, employed Gantum Gur, the assassin, to kill my father because he objected to Jal Had as a suitor for Janai’s hand. When I returned to Amhor, Janai had fled; and later I learned of her death. In order to escape assassination myself, I was forced to leave the city; and after wandering about for some time I was captured by the First Born. But tell me, what did you know of Janai?”

“I know that she is not dead,” I replied. “She is mated with one of my most trusted officers and is safe in Helium.”

Jad-han was overcome with happiness when he learned that his sister still lived. “Now,” he said, “if I could escape from here and return to Amhor to avenge my father, I would die happy.”

“Your father has been avenged,” I told him. “Jal Had is dead.”

“I am sorry that it was not given to me to kill him,” said Jad-han.

“You have been here a year,” I said, “and you must know something of the customs of the people. Can you tell us what fate may lie in store for us?”

“There are several possibilities,” he replied. “You may be worked as slaves, in which event you will be treated badly, but may be permitted to live for years; or you may be saved solely for the games which are held in a great stadium. There you will fight with men or beasts for the edification of the First Born. On the other hand, you may be summarily executed at any moment. All depends upon the mental vagaries of Doxus, Jeddak of The First Born, who I think is a little mad.”

“If the silly examination they gave us is any criterion,” said Llana, “they are all mad.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Jad-han advised. “If you realized the purpose of that examination, you would understand that it was never devised by any unsound mind. Did you see the dead men as you entered the valley?”

“Yes, but what have they to do with the examination?”

“They took that same examination; that is why they lie dead out there.”

“I do not understand,” I said. “Please explain.”

“The machines to which you were connected recorded hundreds of your reflexes; and automatically recorded your own individual nerve index, which is unlike that of any other creature in the world.

“The master machine, which you did not see and never will, generates short wave vibrations which can be keyed exactly to your individual nerve index. When that is done you have such a severe paralytic stroke that you die almost instantly.”

“But why all that just to destroy a few slaves?” demanded Pan Dan Chee.

“It is not for that alone,” explained Jad-han. “Perhaps that was one of the initial purposes to prevent prisoners from escaping and spreading word of this beautiful valley on a dying planet. You can imagine that almost any country would wish to possess it. But it has another purpose; it keeps Doxus supreme. Every adult in the valley has had his nerve index recorded, and is at the mercy of his jeddak. You don’t have to leave the valley to be exterminated. An enemy of the jeddak might be sitting in his own home some day, when the thing would find him out and destroy him. Doxus is the only adult in Kamtol whose index has not been recorded; and he and one other man, Myr-lo, are the only ones who know exactly where the master machine is located, or how to operate it. It is said to be very delicate and that it can be irreparably damaged in an instant—and can never be replaced.”

“Why couldn’t it be replaced?” asked Llana.

“The inventor of it is dead,” replied Jad-han. “It is said that he hated Doxus because of the purpose to which the jeddak had put his invention and that Doxus had him assassinated through fear of him. Myr-lo, who succeeded him, has not the genius to design another such machine.”

chapter VI

THAT NIGHT, after Llana had fallen asleep, Jad-han, Pan Dan Chee, and I were conversing in whispers; so as not to disturb her.

“It is too bad,” said Jad-han, who had been looking at the sleeping girl; “it is too bad that she is so beautiful.”

“What do you mean?” asked Pan Dan Chee.

“This afternoon you asked me what your fate might be; and I told you what the possibilities might be, but those were the possibilities for you two men. For the girl—” He looked sorrowfully at Llana and shook his head; he did not need to say more.

The next day a number of the First Born came down into our cell to examine us, as one might examine cattle that one purposed buying. Among them was one of the jeddak’s officers, upon whom developed the duty of selling prisoners into slavery for the highest amounts he could obtain.

One of the nobles immediately took a fancy to Llana and made an offer for her. They haggled over the price for some time, but in the end the noble got her.

Pan Dan Chee and I were grief-stricken as they led Llana of Gathol away, for we knew that we should never see her again. Although her father is Jed of Gathol, in her veins flows the blood of Helium; and the women of Helium know how to act when an unkind Providence reserves for them the fate for which we knew Llana of Gathol was intended.

“Oh! to be chained to a wall and without a sword when a thing like this happens,” exclaimed Pan Dan Chee.

“I know how you feel,” I said; “but we are not dead yet, Pan Dan Chee; and our chance may come yet.”

“If it does, we will make them pay,” he said.

Two nobles were bidding for me, and at last I was knocked down to a dator named Xaxak. My fetters were removed, and the jeddak’s agent warned me to be a good and docile slave.

Xaxak had a couple of warriors with him, and they walked on either side of me as we left the pits. I was the object of considerable curiosity, as we made our way toward Xaxak’s palace, which stood near that of the jeddak. My white skin and grey eyes always arouse comment in cities where I am not known. Of course, I am bronzed by exposure to the sun, but even so my skin is not the copper red of the red men of Barsoom.

Before I was to be taken to the slaves’ quarters of the palace, Xaxak questioned me. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Dotar Sojat,” I replied. It is the name given me by the green Martians who captured me when I first came to Mars, being the names of the first two green Martians I had killed in duels; and is in the nature of an honorable title. A man with one name, an o-mad, is not considered very highly. I was always glad that they stopped with two names, for had I had to assume the name of every green Martian warrior I had killed in a duel it would have taken an hour to pronounce them all.

“Did you say dator?” asked Xaxak. “Don’t tell me that you are a prince!”

“I said Dotar,” I replied. I hadn’t given my real name; because I had reason to believe that it was well known to the First Born, who had good reason to hate me for what I had done to them in the Valley Dor.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“I have no country,” I said; “I am a panthan.”

As these soldiers of fortune have no fixed abode, wandering about from city to city offering their services and their swords to whomever will employ them, they are the only men who can go with impunity into almost any Martian city.

“Oh, a panthan,” he said. “I suppose you think you are pretty good with a sword.”

“I have met worse,” I replied.

“If I thought you were any good, I would enter you in the lesser games,” he said; “but you cost me a lot of money, and I’d hate to take the chance of your being killed.”

“I don’t think you need worry about that,” I told him.

“You are pretty sure of yourself,” he said. “Well, let’s see what you can do. Take him out into the garden,” he directed the two warriors. Xaxak followed us out to an open patch of sand.

“Give him your sword,” he said to one of the warriors; and, to the other, “Engage him, Ptang; but not to the death;” then he turned to me. “It is not to the death, slave, you understand. I merely wish to see how good you are. Either one of you may draw blood, but don’t kill.”

Ptang, like all the other Black Pirates of Barsoom whom I have met, was an excellent swordsman—cool, quick, and deadly. He came toward me with a faint, supercilious smile on his lips.

“It is scarcely fair, my prince,” he said to Xaxak, “to pit him against one of the best swordsmen in Kamtol.”

“That is the only way in which I can tell whether he is any good at all, or not,” replied Xaxak. “If he extends you, he will certainly be good enough to enter in the Lesser Games. He might even win his price back for me.”

“We shall see,” said Ptang, crossing swords with me.

Before he realized what was happening, I had pricked him in the shoulder. He looked very much surprised, and the smile left his lips.

“An accident,” he said; “it will not occur again;” and then I pinked him in the other shoulder. Now, he made a fatal mistake; he became angry. While anger may stiffen a man’s offense, it weakens his defense. I have seen it happen a thousand times, and when I am anxious to dispatch an antagonist quickly I always try to make him angry.

“Come, come! Ptang,” said Xaxak; “can’t you make a better showing than that against a slave?”

With that, Ptang came for me with blood in his eye, and I didn’t see anything there that looked like a desire to pink—Ptang was out to kill me.

“Ptang!” snapped Xaxak; “don’t kill him.”

At that, I laughed; and drew blood from Ptang’s breast. “Have you no real swordsmen in Kamtol?” I asked, tauntingly.

Xaxak and his other warrior were very quiet. I caught glimpses of their faces occasionally, and they looked a bit glum. Ptang was furious, and now he came for me like a mad bull with a cut that would have lopped off my head had it connected. However, it didn’t connect; and I ran him through the muscles of his left arm.

“Hadn’t we better stop,” I asked Xaxak, “before your man bleeds to death?”

Xaxak did not reply; but I was getting bored with the whole affair and wanted to end it; so I drew Ptang into a lunge and sent his sword flying across the garden.

“Is that enough now?” I asked.

Xaxak nodded. “Yes,” he said, “that is enough.”

Ptang was one of the most surprised and crestfallen men I have ever seen. He just stood there staring at me, making no move to retrieve his blade. I felt very sorry for him.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Ptang,” I told him. “You are a splendid swordsman, but what I did to you I can do to any man in Kamtol.”

“I believe it,” he said. “You may be a slave, but I am proud to have crossed swords with you. The world has never seen a better swordsman.”

“I am convinced of that,” said Xaxak, “and I can see where you are going to make a lot of money for me, Dotar Sojat.”

chapter VII

XAXAK TREATED ME much as a wealthy horse owner on Earth would treat a prospective Derby winner. I was quartered in the barracks of his personal guard, where I was treated as an equal. He detailed Ptang to see that I had the proper amount of exercise and sword play; and also, I presume, to see that I did not try to escape. And now my only concern was the fate of Llana of Gathol and Pan Dan Chee, of whose whereabouts and state I was totally ignorant.

Somewhat of a friendship developed between Ptang and myself. He admired my swordsmanship, and used to brag about it to the other warriors. At first they had been inclined to criticize and ridicule him because he had been bested by a slave; so I suggested that he offer to let his critics see if they could do any better with me.

“I can’t do that,” he said, “without Xaxak’s permission; for if anything happened to you, I should be held responsible.”

“Nothing will happen to me,” I told him; “no one should know that better than you.”

He smiled a bit ruefully. “You are right,” he said, “but still I must ask Xaxak;” and this he did the next time that he saw the dator.

In order to win Ptang’s greater friendship, I had been teaching him some of the finer points of swordsmanship which I had learned in two worlds and in a thousand duels and battles; but by no means did I teach him all of my tricks, nor could I impart to him the strength and agility which my earthly muscles give me on Mars.

Xaxak was watching us at swordplay when Ptang asked him if I might take on some of his critics. Xaxak shook his head. “I am afraid that Dotar Sojat might be injured,” he said.

“I will guarantee that I shall not be,” I told him.

“Well,” he said; “then I am afraid that you may kill some of my warriors.”

“I promise not to. I will simply show them that they cannot last as long as Ptang did.”

“It might be good sport,” said Xaxak. “Who are those who criticized you, Ptang?”

Ptang gave him the names of five warriors who had been particularly venomous in their ridicule and criticism, and Xaxak immediately sent for them.

“I understand,” said Xaxak, when they had assembled, “that you have condemned Ptang because he was bested in a duel with this slave. Do any of you think that you could do better than Ptang did? If so, here is your chance.”

They assured him, almost in chorus, that they could do very much better.

“We shall see,” he said, “but you must all understand that no one is to be killed and that you are to stop when I give the word. It is an order.”

They assured him that they would not kill me, and then the first of them swaggered out to meet me. One after another, in rapid succession, I pinked each in the right shoulder and disarmed him.

I must say they took it very decently; all except one of them—a fellow named Ban-tor, who had been Ptang’s most violent critic.

“He tricked me,” he grumbled. “Let me at him again, my dator; and I will kill him.” He was so angry that his voice trembled.

“No,” said Xaxak; “he has drawn your blood and he has disarmed you, demonstrating that he is the better swordsman. If it were due to a trick, it was a trick of swordsmanship which you might do well to master before you attempt to kill Dotar Sojat.”

The fellow was still scowling and grumbling as he walked away with the other four; and I realized that while all of these First Born were my nominal enemies, this fellow, Ban-tor, was an active one. However, I gave the matter little thought as I was too valuable to Xaxak for anybody to risk his displeasure by harming me; nor could I see that there was any way in which the fellow could injure me.

“Ban-tor has always disliked me,” said Ptang, after they had all left us. “He dislikes me; because I have always bested him in swordsmanship and feats of strength; and, in addition to this, he is a natural born trouble maker. If it were not for the fact that he is related to Xaxak’s wife, the dator would not have him around.”

Since I have already compared myself to a prospective Derby winner, I might as well carry out the analogy by describing their Lesser Games as minor race meets. They are held about once a week in a stadium inside the city, and here the rich nobles pit their warriors or their slaves against those of other nobles in feats of strength, in boxing, in wrestling, and in dueling. Large sums of money are wagered, and the excitement runs high. The duels are not always to the death, the nobles deciding beforehand precisely upon what they will place their bets. Usually it is for first blood or disarming; but there is always at least one duel to the death, which might be compared to the feature race of a race meet, or the main event of a boxing tournament.

Kamtol has a population of about two hundred thousand, of which possibly five thousand are slaves. As I was allowed considerable freedom, I got around the city quite a bit; though Ptang always accompanied me, and I was so impressed with the scarcity of children that I asked Ptang what accounted for it.

“The Valley of the First Born will only comfortably support about two hundred thousand population,” he replied; “so only sufficient children are permitted to replace the death losses. As you may have guessed, by looking at our people, the old and otherwise unfit are destroyed; so that we have about sixty-five thousand fighting men and about twice as many healthy women and children. There are two factions here, one of which maintains that the number of women should be greatly decreased; so that the number of fighting men may be increased, while the other faction insists that, as we are not menaced by any powerful enemies, sixty-five thousand fighting men are sufficient.

“Strange as it may seem, most of the women belong to the first faction; notwithstanding the fact that this faction which believes in decreasing the number of females would do so by permitting a far greater number of eggs to incubate, killing all the females which hatched and as many of the adult women as there were males in the hatching. This is probably due to the fact that each woman thinks that she is too desirable to be destroyed and that that fate will fall to some other woman. Doxus believes in maintaining the status quo; but some future jeddak may believe differently; and even Doxus may change his mind, which, confidentially, is most vacillating.”

My fame as a swordsman soon spread among the sixty-five thousand fighting men of Kamtol, and opinion was most unevenly divided as to my ability. Perhaps a dozen men of Kamtol had seen my swordplay; and they were willing to back me against anyone; but all the remainder of the sixty-five thousand felt that they could best me in individual combat; for this is a race of fighting men, all extremely proud of their skill and their valor.

I was exercising in the garden with Ptang one day, when Xaxak came with another dator, whom he called Nastor. When Ptang saw them coming, he whistled. “I never saw Nastor here before,” he said in a low tone of voice. “Xaxak has no use for him, and he hates Xaxak. Wait!” he exclaimed; “I have an idea why he is here. If they ask for swordplay, let me disarm you. I will tell you why, later.”

“Very well,” I said, “and I hope it will do you some good.”

“It is not for me,” he said; “it is for Dator Xaxak.”

As the two approached us, I heard Nastor say, “So this is your great swordsman! I should like to wager that I have men who could best him any day.”

“You have excellent men,” said Xaxak; “still, I think my man would give a good account of himself. How much of a wager do you want to lay?”

“You have seen my men fight,” said Nastor, “but I have never seen this fellow at work. I would like to see him in action; then I shall know whether to ask or give odds.”

“Very well,” said Xaxak, “that is fair enough,” then he turned to us. “You will give the Dator Nastor an exhibition of your swordsmanship, Dotar Sojat; but not to the death—you understand?”

Ptang and I drew our swords and faced one another. “Don’t forget what I asked of you,” he said, and then we were at it.

I not only remembered what he had asked, but I now realized why he had asked it; and so I put up an exhibition of quite ordinary swordsmanship, just good enough to hold my own until I let Ptang disarm me.

“He is an excellent swordsman,” said Nastor, knowing that he was lying, but not knowing that we knew it; “but I will bet even money that my man can kill him.”

“You mean a duel to the death?” demanded Xaxak. “Then I shall demand odds; as I did not desire my man to fight to the death the first time he fought.”

“I will give you two to one,” said Nastor; “are those odds satisfactory?”

“Perfectly,” said Xaxak. “How much do you wish to wager?”

“A thousand tanpi to your five hundred,” replied Nastor. A tanpi is equivalent to about $1 in United States money.

“I want to make more than enough to feed my wife’s sorak,” replied Xaxak.

Now, a sorak is a little six-legged, cat-like animal, kept as a pet by many Martian women; so what Xaxak had said was equivalent to telling Nastor that we didn’t care to fight for chicken feed. I could see that Xaxak was trying to anger Nastor; so that he would bet recklessly, and I knew then that he must have guessed that Ptang and I were putting on a show when I let Ptang disarm me so easily.

Nastor was scowling angrily. “I did not wish to rob you,” he said; “but if you wish to throw your money away, you may name the amount of the wager.”

“Just to make it interesting,” said Xaxak, “I’ll bet you fifty thousand tanpi against your hundred thousand.”

This staggered Nastor for a moment; but he must have got to thinking how easily Ptang had disarmed me, for eventually he rose to the bait. “Done!” he said; “and I am sorry for both you and your man,” with which polite hypocrisy he turned on his heel and left without another word.

Xaxak looked after him with a half smile on his lips; and when he had gone, turned to us. “I hope you were just playing a little game,” he said, “for if you were not you may have lost me fifty thousand tanpi.”

“You need not worry, my prince,” said Ptang.

“I shall not worry unless Dotar Sojat worries,” replied the dator.

“There is always a gamble in such an enterprise as this,” I replied; “but I think that you got very much the best of the bargain, for the odds should have been the other way.”

“At least you have more faith than I have,” said Xaxak the dator.

chapter VIII

PTANG TOLD ME that he had never known more interest to be displayed in a duel to the death than followed the announcement of the wager between Xaxak and Nastor. “No common warrior is to represent Nastor,” he said. “He has persuaded a dator to fight for him, a man who is considered the best swordsman in Kamtol. His name is Nolat. I have never before known of a prince fighting a slave; but they say that Nolat owes Nastor a great deal of money and that Nastor will cancel the debt if Nolat wins, which Nolat is sure that he will—he is so sure that he has pledged his palace to raise money to bet upon himself.”

“Not such a stupid thing for him to do, after all,” I said; “for if he loses he won’t need a palace.”

Ptang laughed. “I hope he doesn’t need it,” he said; “but don’t be over-confident, for he is rated the best swordsman among the First Born; and there are supposed to be no better swordsmen in all Barsoom.”

Before the day arrived that I was to fight Nolat, Xaxak and Ptang grew more and more nervous; as did all of Xaxak’s warriors, who seemed to feel a personal interest in me—that is, with the exception of Ban-tor, whose enmity I had aroused by disarming him.

Ban-tor had placed a number of wagers against me; and he kept bragging about this, insisting that I was no match for Nolat and that I should be killed in short order.

I slept in a small room by myself on old, discarded furs, as befitted a slave. My room connected with that occupied by Ptang; and had only one door, which opened into Ptang’s room. It was on the second floor of the palace and overlooked the lower end of the garden.

The night before the encounter I was awakened by a noise in my room, and as I opened my eyes I saw a man leap out of the window with a sword in his hand; but, as neither of Mars’ two moons was in the sky, it was not light enough for me to be sure that I could recognize him; yet there was something very familiar about him.

The next morning I told Ptang about my nocturnal visitor. Neither of us, however, could imagine why anyone would want to enter my room in stealth, as I had nothing to steal.

“It might have been an assassin who wanted to stop the fight,” suggested Ptang.

“I doubt that,” I said; “for he had plenty of opportunity to kill me, as I didn’t awaken until he was leaping through the window.”

“You missed nothing?” asked Ptang.

“I had nothing to miss,” I replied, “except my harness and weapons, and I am wearing them now.”

Ptang finally suggested that the fellow may have thought that a female slave slept in the room; and when he found out his error, took his departure; and with that we dropped the matter from our minds.

We went to the stadium about the fourth zode, and we went in style—in fact it was a regular pageant. There were Xaxak and his wife, with her female slaves, and Xaxak’s officers and warriors. We were all mounted on gaily caparisoned thoats; pennants waved above us, and mounted trumpeters preceded us. Nastor was there with the same sort of retinue. We all paraded around the arena to the accompaniment of “Kaors!” and growls—the kaors were applause and the growls were boos. I received a great many more growls than kaors, for after all I was a slave pitted against a prince, a man of their own blood.

There were some wrestling and boxing matches and a number of duels for first blood only, but what the people were waiting for was the duel to the death. People are very much alike everywhere. On Earth, they go to boxing matches hoping for blood and a knockout; they go to the wrestling matches hoping to see someone thrown out of the ring and crippled; and when they go to automobile races they hope to see somebody killed. They will not admit these things, but without the element of danger and the risk of death these sports wouldn’t draw a hatful of people.

At last the moment came for me to enter the arena, and I did so before a most distinguished audience. Doxus, Jeddak of the First Born, was there with his Jeddara. The loges and boxes were crowded with the nobility of Kamtol. It was a gorgeous spectacle; the harnesses of the men and women were resplendent with precious metals and jewels, and from every vantage point flew pennants and banners.

Nolat was escorted to the jeddak’s box and presented; then to the box of Xaxak, where he bowed; and last of all to the box of Nastor, for whom he was fighting a stranger to the death.

I, being a slave, was not presented to the jeddak; but I was taken before Nastor; so that he could identify me as the individual against whom he had placed his wagers. It was, of course, a mere formality; but in accordance with the rules of the Games.

I had caught only a brief glimpse of Nastor’s entourage as we had paraded around the arena; as they had been behind us; but now I got a good look at them, as I stood in the arena before Nastor, and I saw Llana of Gathol sitting there beside the dator. Now, indeed, would I kill Nastor’s man!

Llana of Gathol gasped and started to speak to me; but I shook my head, for I was afraid she would call me by name, which might, here among the First Born, have been the equivalent of a death sentence. It was always a surprise to me that none of these men recognized me; for my white skin and grey eyes make me a marked man, and if any of them had been in the Valley Dor when I was there they must have remembered me. I was to learn later why none of these Black Pirates of Barsoom knew me.

“Why did you do that, slave?” demanded Nastor.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Shake your head,” he replied.

“Perhaps I am nervous,” I said.

“And well you may be, slave, for you are about to die,” he snapped, nastily.

I was taken then to a point in the arena opposite the jeddak’s box. Ptang was with me, as a sort of a second, I suppose. They let us stand there alone for several minutes, presumably to shake my nerves; then Nolat approached, accompanied by another noble dator. There was a fifth man; possibly he might have been called a referee; although he didn’t have much to do besides giving the signal for the duel to commence.

Nolat was a large, powerful man; and built like a fighter. He was a very handsome man, but with a haughty, supercilious expression. Ptang had told me that we were supposed to salute each other with our swords before we engaged; and as soon as I got in position, I saluted; but Nolat merely sneered and said, “Come, slave! You are about to die.”

“You made a mistake, Nolat,” I said, as we engaged.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, lunging at me.

“You should have saluted your better,” I said, parrying his lunge. “Now it will go harder with you—unless you would like to stop and salute me as you should have at first.”

“Insolent calot!” he growled, and thrust viciously at me.

For reply, I cut a gash in his left cheek. “I told you you should have saluted,” I mocked.

Nolat became furious then, and came at me with the evident intention of ending the encounter immediately. I sliced him along the other cheek, then; and a moment later I carved a bloody cross upon his left breast, a difficult maneuver requiring exceptional agility and skill, since his right side was always presented to me; or always should have been had he been quick enough to follow my foot work.

That audience was as silent as a tomb, except for the kaors from Xaxak’s contingent. Nolat was bleeding profusely, and he had slowed down considerably.

Suddenly somebody shouted, “Death!” Then other voices took it up. They wanted the kill; and as it was quite evident that Nolat couldn’t kill me, I assumed that they wished me to kill him. Instead, I disarmed him, sending his blade flying half way across the arena. The referee ran after it; at last I had given him something to do.

I turned to Nolat’s second. “I offer the man his life,” I said in a tone of voice loud enough to have been heard in any part of the stadium.

Immediately there were shouts of “Kaor!” and “Death!” The “Deaths” were in the majority.

“He offers you your life, Nolat,” said the second.

“But the wagers must be paid precisely as though I had killed you,” I said.

“It is to the death,” said Nolat. “I shall fight.”

Well, he was a brave man; and because of that I hated to kill him.

His sword was returned to him by now, and we fell to it again. This time Nolat did not smile nor sneer, and he had no nasty remarks to make to me. He was in deadly earnest, fighting for his life like a cornered rat. He was an excellent swordsman; but I do not think that he was the best swordsman among the First Born; for I had seen many of them fight before, and I could have named a dozen who could have killed him offhand.

I could have killed him myself any time that I had wished to, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It seemed a shame to kill such a good swordsman and such a brave man; so I pricked him a few times and disarmed him again. I did the same thing three more times; and then, while the referee was running after Nolat’s sword again, I stepped to the jeddak’s loge and saluted.

“What are you doing here, slave?” demanded an officer of the jeddak’s guard.

“I come to ask for the life of Nolat,” I replied. “He is a good swordsman and a brave man—and I am not a murderer; and it would be murder to kill him now.”

“It is a strange request,” said Doxus; “the duel was to the death; it must go on.”

“I am a stranger here,” I said, “but where I come from if a contestant can show fraud or chicanery he is awarded the decision without having to finish the contest.”

“Do you mean to imply that there has been fraud or chicanery on the part of either the Dator Nastor or the Dator Nolat?” demanded Doxus.

“I mean to say that a man entered my room last night while I slept, took my sword, and left a shorter one in the scabbard. This sword is several inches shorter than Nolat’s; I noticed it when we first engaged. It is not my sword, as Xaxak and Ptang can testify if they will examine it.”

Doxus summoned Xaxak and Ptang and asked them if they could identify the sword. Xaxak said that he could only identify it as coming from his armory; that he did not know the sword that had been issued to me, but that Ptang did; then Doxus turned to Ptang.

“Is this the sword that was issued to the slave, Dotar Sojat?” he demanded.

“No; it is not,” replied Ptang.

“Do you recognize it?”

“I do.”

“To whom did it belong?”

“It is the sword of a warrior named Ban-tor,” replied Ptang.

chapter IX

THERE WAS NOTHING for Doxus to do but award the contest to me; and he also ordered that all bets be paid, just as though I had killed Nolat. That didn’t set very well with Nastor, nor did the fact that Doxus made him pay over to Xaxak one hundred thousand tanpi in the jeddak’s presence; then he sent for Ban-tor.

Doxus was furious; for the First Born hold their honor as fighting men very high, and the thing that had been done was a blot upon the escutcheons of them all.

“Is this the man who entered your room last night?” he asked me.

“It was dark; and I only saw his back; there was something familiar about the fellow, but I couldn’t identify him positively.”

“Did you lay any wagers on this contest?” he asked Ban-tor.

“A few little ones, Jeddak,” replied the man.

“On whom?”

“On Nolat.”

Doxus turned to one of his officers. “Summon all those with whom Ban-tor wagered on this contest.”

A slave was sent around the arena, shouting out the summons; and soon there were fifty warriors gathered before Doxus’ loge. Ban-tor appeared most unhappy; as, from each of the fifty, Doxus gleaned the information that Ban-tor had wagered large sums with each, in some instances giving extremely big odds.

“You thought that you were betting on a sure thing, didn’t you?” demanded Doxus.

“I thought that Nolat would win,” replied Ban-tor; “there is no better swordsman in Kamtol.”

“And you were sure that he would win against an antagonist with a shorter sword. You are a disgrace; you have dishonored the First Born. For punishment you will fight now with Dotar Sojat;” then he turned to me. “You may kill him; and before you engage him, I, myself, will see that your sword is as long as his; although it would be only fair were he to be compelled to fight with the shorter sword he gave to you.”

“I shall not kill him,” I replied, “but I shall put a mark upon him that he will carry through life to remind all men that he is a knave.”

As we started to take our places before the loge of the jeddak, I heard bets being offered with odds as high as a hundred to one that I would win, and later I learned that even a thousand to one was offered without any takers; then, as we faced one another, I heard Nastor shout, “I will lay no wager, but I’ll give Ban-tor fifty thousand tanpi if he kills the slave.” It appeared that the noble dator was wroth at me.

Ban-tor was no mean antagonist; for he was not only a good swordsman, but he was fighting for his life and fifty thousand tanpi. He didn’t try any rushing tactics this time; but fought carefully, mostly on the defensive, waiting for me to make one little false move that would give him an opening; but I do not make false moves. It was he who made the false move; he thrust, following a feint, thinking to find me off balance.

I am never off balance. My blade moved twice with the swiftness of light, leaving an X cut deep in the center of Ban-tor’s forehead; then I disarmed him.

Without even glancing at him again, I walked to Doxus’ loge. “I am satisfied,” I said. “To bear the scar of that cross through life is punishment enough. To me, it would be worse than death.”

Doxus nodded assent; and then caused the trumpets to be blown to announce that the Games were over, after which he again turned to me.

“What country are you from?” he asked.

“I have no country; I am a panthan,” I replied; “my sword is for sale to the highest bidder.”

“I shall buy you, and thereby acquire your sword also,” said the jeddak. “What did you pay for this slave, Xaxak?”

“One hundred tanpi,” replied my owner.

“You got him too cheap,” said Doxus; “I shall give you fifty tanpi for him.” There is nothing like being a jeddak!

“It is my pleasure to present him to you,” said Xaxak, magnanimously; I had already netted him a hundred thousand tanpi, and he must have realized that it would be impossible ever to get another wager placed against me.

I welcomed this change of masters; because it would take me into the palace of the jeddak, and I had been harboring a hare-brained scheme to pave the way for our eventual escape, that could only be successful if I were to have entry to the palace—that is, if my deductions were correct.

So John Carter, Prince of Helium, Warlord of Barsoom, came into the palace of Doxus, Jeddak of the First Born, as a slave; but a slave with a reputation. The warriors of the jeddak’s guard treated me with respect; I was given a decent room; and one of Doxus’ trusted under-officers was made responsible for me, just as Ptang had been in the palace of Xaxak.

I was at something of a loss to know why Doxus had purchased me. He must have known that he couldn’t arrange a money duel for me, for who would be fool enough to place a man or a wager against one who had made several of the best swordsmen of Kamtol look like novices?

The next day I found out. Doxus sent for me. He was alone in a small room when I was escorted in, and he immediately dismissed the warrior who had accompanied me.

“When you entered the valley,” he commenced, “you saw many skeletons, did you not?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Those men died trying to escape,” he said. “It would be impossible for you to succeed any better than they. I am telling you this so that you won’t make the attempt. You might think that by killing me you might escape in the confusion which would ensue; but you could not; you can never escape from the Valley of the First Born. However, you may live on here in comfort, if you wish. All that you have to do is teach me the tricks of swordsmanship with which you bested the finest swordsman of all the First Born. I wish you to make me that, but I wish the instruction given in secret and no word of it ever to pass your lips on pain of instant death—and a most unpleasant death, I can assure you. What do you say?”

“I can promise the utmost discretion,” I said, “but I cannot promise to make you the greatest swordsman among the First Born; the achievement of that will depend somewhat upon your own native ability. I will instruct you, however.”

“You do not talk much like a poor panthan,” he said. “You speak to me much as would a man who had been accustomed to speaking with jeddaks—and as an equal.”

“You may have much to learn about being a swordsman,” I said, “but I have even more to learn about being a slave.”

He grunted at that, and then arose and told me to follow him. We passed through a little door behind the desk at which he had been sitting, and down a ramp which led to the pits below the palace. At the foot of the ramp we entered a large, well lighted room in which were filing cases, a couch, several benches, and a table strewn with writing materials and drawing instruments.

“This is a secret apartment,” said Doxus. “Only one person other than myself has access to it. We shall not be disturbed here. This other man of whom I spoke is my most trusted servant. He may come in occasionally, but he will not divulge our little secret. Let us get to work. I can scarcely wait until the day that I shall cross swords with some of those egotistical nobles who think that they are really great swordsmen. Won’t they be surprised!”

chapter X

NOW, I HAD NO INTENTION of revealing all of my tricks of swordsmanship to Doxus; although I might have as far as any danger to myself was concerned, for he could never equal me; because he could never match my strength or agility.

I had been practicing him in disarming an opponent, when a door opposite that from which we had entered the room opened; and a man came in. During the brief time that the door remained open, I saw beyond it a brilliantly lighted room; and caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an amazingly complicated machine. Its face was covered with dials, buttons, and other gadgets—all reminiscent of the machine to which I had been attached during the weird examination I had received upon entry to the city.

At sight of me, the newcomer looked surprised. Here was I, a total stranger and evidently a slave, facing the Jeddak of the First Born with a naked blade in my hand. Instantly, the fellow whipped out a radium pistol; but Doxus forestalled a tragedy.

“It is all right, Myr-lo,” he said. “I am just taking some instruction in the finer points of swordsmanship from this slave. His name is Dotar Sojat; you will see him down here with me daily. What are you doing down here now? Anything wrong?”

“A slave escaped last night,” said Myr-lo.

“You got him, of course?”

“Just now. He was about half way up the escarpment, I think.”

“Good!” said Doxus. “Resume, Dotar Sojat.”

I was so full of what I had just heard and seen and what I thought that it all connoted that I had hard work keeping my mind on my work; so that I inadvertently let Doxus prick me. He was as pleased as Punch.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “In one lesson I have been so improved that I have been able to touch you! Not even Nolat could do that. We will stop now. I give you the freedom of the city. Do not go beyond the gates.” He went to the table and wrote for a minute; then he handed me what he had written. “Take this,” he said; “it will permit you to go where you will in all public places and return to the palace.”

He had written:

Dotar Sojat, the slave, is granted the freedom of the palace and the city.

Doxus,

Jeddak.

As I returned to my quarters, I determined to let Doxus prick me every day. I found Man-lat, the under-officer who had been detailed to look after me, alone in his room, which adjoined mine.

“Your duties are going to be lessened,” I told him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I showed him the pass.

“Doxus must have taken a liking to you,” he said. “I never knew before of a slave being given that much freedom, but don’t try to escape.”

“I know better than to try that. I saw the skeletons from the top to the bottom of the escarpment.”

“We call them Myr-lo’s babies,” said Man-lat; “he’s so proud of them.”

“Who is Myr-lo?” I asked.

“Somebody you’ll probably never see,” replied Man-lat. “He sticks to his pots and his kettles, his lathes and drills and his drawing instruments.”

“Does he live in the palace?” I asked.

“Nobody knows where he lives, unless it be the jeddak. They say he has a secret apartment in the palace, but I don’t know about that. What I do know is that he’s the most powerful man in Kamtol, next to Doxus; and that he has the power of life and death over every man and woman in the Valley of the First Born. Why, he could strike either one of us dead right while we are sitting here talking; and we’d never see what killed us.”

I was even more convinced now than I had been before that I had found what I had hoped to in that secret room beneath the palace—but how to utilize the knowledge!

I immediately took advantage of my freedom to go out into the city, only a part of which I had seen during the short time that I had been out with Ptang. The guards at the palace gate were as surprised when they read my pass as Man-lat had been. Of course, pass or no pass, I was still an enemy and a slave—a person to be viewed with suspicion and contempt; but in my case the contempt was tempered by the knowledge that I had bested their best at swordsmanship. I doubt that you can realize in what high esteem a great swordsman is held everywhere on Mars. In his own country he is worshipped, as might be a Juan Belmonte in Spain or a Jack Dempsey in America.

I had not gone far from the palace, when I chanced to look up; and, to my surprise, saw a number of fliers dropping down toward the city.

The First Born I had seen in the Valley Dor had all been flying men; but I had not before seen any fliers over the valley, and I had wondered.

Martian aeroplanes, being lighter than air, or in effect so; because of the utilization of that marvellous discovery, the ray of repulsion, which tends to push them away from the planet, can land vertically in a space but little larger in area than themselves; and I saw that the planes I was watching were coming down into the city at no great distance from the palace.

Fliers! I think that my heart beat a little faster at the sight of them. Fliers! a means of escape from the Valley of the First Born. It might take a great deal of scheming; and would certainly entail enormous risks; but if all went well with the other part of my plan, I would find a way—and a flier.

I made my way toward the point at which I had seen the fliers disappear behind the roofs of the buildings near me, and at last my search was rewarded. I came to an enormous building some three stories high, on the roof of which I could just see a part of a flier. Practically all hangars to Barsoom are on the roofs of buildings, usually to conserve space in crowded, walled cities; so I was not surprised to find a hangar in Kamtol thus located.

I approached the entrance to the building, determined to inspect it and some of the ships if I could get in. As I stepped through the entrance, a warrior barred my way with drawn sword.

“Where do you think you’re going, slave?” he demanded.

I showed him my pass.

He looked equally as surprised as the others had who had read it. “This says the freedom of the palace and the city,” he said; “it doesn’t say the freedom of the hangars.”

“They’re in the city, aren’t they?” I demanded.

He shook his head. “They may be in the city, but I won’t admit you. I’ll call the officer.”

He did so, and presently the officer appeared. “So!” he exclaimed, when he saw me; “you’re the slave who could have killed Nolat, but spared his life. What do you want here?”

I handed him my pass. He read it carefully a couple of times. “It doesn’t seem possible,” he said, “but then your swordsmanship didn’t seem possible either. It is hard for me to believe it yet. Why, Nolat was considered the best swordsman in Kamtol; and you made him look like an old woman with one leg. Why do you want to come in here?”

“I want to learn to fly,” I said, naïvely.

He slapped his thighs and laughed at that. “Either you are foolish, or you think we First Born are, if you have an idea that we would teach a slave to fly.”

“Well, I’d like to come in and look at the fliers anyway,” I said. “That wouldn’t do any harm. I’ve always been interested in them.”

He thought a moment; then he said, “Nolat is my best friend; you might have killed him, but you refused. For that I am going to let you come in.”

“Thank you,” I said.

The first floor of the building was largely given over to shops where fliers were being built or repaired. The second and third floors were packed with fliers, mostly the small, swift ones for which the Black Pirates of Barsoom are noted. On the roof were four large battleships; and, parked under them, were a number of small fliers for which there was evidently no room on the floors below.

The building must have covered several acres; so there were an enormous number of planes hangared there. I could see them now, as I had seen them years before, swarming like angry mosquitoes over the Golden Cliffs of the Holy Therns; but what were they doing here? I had supposed that the First Born lived only in the Valley Dor, although the majority of Barsoomians still believe that they come from Thuria, the nearer moon. That theory I had seen refuted the time that Xodar, a Black Pirate, had nearly succumbed from lack of oxygen when I had flown too high while escaping from them, that time that Thuvia and I had escaped the Therns, during their battle with the Black Pirates. If a man can’t live without oxygen, he can’t fly back and forth between Thuria and Barsoom in an open flier.

The officer had sent a warrior along with me, as a precaution against sabotage, I suppose; and I asked this fellow why I had seen no ships in the air since I had come, except the few I had seen this day.

“We fly mostly at night,” he replied, “so that our enemies cannot see where we take off from, nor where we land. Those that you saw coming in a few minutes ago were visitors from Dor. That may mean that we are going to war, and I hope so. We haven’t raided any cities for a long time. If it’s to be a big raid, those from Dor and from Kamtol band together.”

Some Black Pirates from the Valley Dor! Now, indeed, I might be recognized.

chapter XI

AS I WALKED AWAY from the hangar building, I turned and looked back, studying every detail of the architecture; then I walked around the entire building, which covered a whole square, with avenues on all four sides. Like nearly all Martian buildings, this one was highly ornamented with deep carvings. It stood in a rather poor section of the city, although not far from the palace; and was surrounded by small and modest homes. They were probably the homes of the artisans employed around the hangar. A little farther from the hangar a section of small shops began; and as I passed along, looking at the wares displayed, I saw something which brought me to a sudden stop, for it suggested a new accessory to my rapidly formulating plans for escape from the Valley of the First Born—from which none ever escaped. It is sometimes well not to be too greatly constrained by precedent.

I entered the shop and asked the proprietor the price of the article I wished. It was only three teepi, the equivalent of about thirty cents in United States money; but with the information came the realization that I had none of the money of the First Born.

The medium of exchange upon Mars is not dissimilar to our own, except that the coins are oval; and there are only three; the pi, pronounced pī; worth about one cent; the teepi, ten cents; and the tanpi, one dollar. These coins are oval; one of bronze, one of silver, and one of gold. Paper money is issued by individuals, much as we write a check, and is redeemed by the individual twice yearly. If a man issues more than he can redeem, the government pays his creditors in full; and the debtor works out the amount upon the farms, or in the mines, which are government owned.

I had with me money of Helium to the value of some fifty tanpi, and I asked the proprietor if he would accept a larger amount than the value of the article in foreign coin. As the value of the metal is equal to the value of the coin, he gladly accepted one dollar in gold for what was worth thirty cents in silver; and I placed my purchase in my pocket pouch and departed.

As I approached the palace, I saw a white-skinned man ahead of me carrying a heavy burden on his back. Now, as far as I knew, there was only one other white-skinned man in Kamtol; and that was Pan Dan Chee; so I hastened to overtake him.

Sure enough, it was the Orovar from Horz; and when I came up behind him and called him by name, he almost dropped his burden, so surprised was he.

“John Carter!” he exclaimed.

“Hush!” I cautioned; “my name is Dotar Sojat. If the First Born knew that John Carter was in Kamtol I hate to think what would happen to him. Tell me about yourself. What has happened to you since I last saw you?”

“I was purchased by Dator Nastor, who has the reputation of being the hardest master in Kamtol. He is also the meanest; he bought me only because he could buy me cheap, and he made them throw in Jad-han for good measure. He works us day and night, and feeds us very little—and poor food at that. Since he lost a hundred thousand tanpi to Xaxak, it has been almost like working for a maniac.

“By my first ancestor!” he exclaimed suddenly; “so it was you who defeated Nolat and caused Nastor to lose all that money! I didn’t realize it until just now. They said the slave who won the contest was named Dotar Sojat, and that meant nothing to me until now—and I was a little slow in getting it, at that.”

“Have you seen Llana of Gathol?” I asked him. “She was in Nastor’s loge at the Games; so I presume she was purchased by him.”

“Yes, but I have not seen her,” replied Pan Dan Chee; “however, I have heard gossip in the slaves’ quarters; and I am much worried by what is being whispered about the palace.”

“What have you heard? I felt that she was in danger when I saw her in Nastor’s loge. She is too beautiful to be safe.”

“She was safe enough at first,” said Pan Dan Chee, “as she was originally purchased by Nastor’s principal wife. Everything was comparatively well for her until Nastor got a good look at her at the Games; then he tried to buy her from his wife. But she, Van-tija, refused to sell. Nastor was furious, and told Van-tija that he would take Llana anyway; so Van-tija has locked her in an apartment at the top of the tower of her own part of the palace, and has placed her personal guards at the only entrance. There is the tower, there,” he said, pointing; “perhaps Llana of Gathol is looking down at us now.”

As I looked up at the tower, I saw that it rose above a palace which stood directly across the large central plaza from that of the jeddak; and I saw something else—I saw the windows of Llana’s apartments were not barred.

“Do you think that Llana is in any immediate danger?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “I do. It is rumored in the palace that Nastor is going to lead warriors to Van-tija’s section of the palace and attempt to take the tower by storm.”

“Then we have no time to lose, Pan Dan Chee. We must act tonight.”

“But what can we two slaves do?” he demanded. “Even if we succeeded in getting Llana out of the tower, we could never escape from the Valley of the First Born. Do not forget the skeletons, John Carter.”

“Trust me,” I said, “and don’t call me John Carter. Can you get out of the palace of Nastor after dark?”

“I think so; they are very lax; because assassination and theft are practically unknown here, and the secret machine of the jeddak makes escape from the valley impossible. I am quite sure that I can get out. In fact, I have been sent out on errands every night since I was purchased.”

“Good!” I said. “Now listen carefully: Come out of the palace and loiter in the shadows near Nastor’s palace at about twenty-five xats after the eighth zode.* Bring Jad-han with you, if he wishes to escape. If my plan succeeds, a flier will land here in the plaza near you; run for it and climb aboard. It will be piloted by a Black Pirate, but don’t let that deter you. If you and Jad-han can arm yourselves, do so; there may be fighting. If the flier does not come, you will know that I have failed; and you can go back to your quarters and be no worse off. If I do not come, it will be because I am dead, or about to die.”

“And Llana?” he asked. “What of her?”

“My plans all center around the rescue of Llana of Gathol,” I assured him. “If I fail in that, I fail in all; for I will not leave without her.”

“I wish you could tell me how you expect to accomplish the impossible,” he said. “I should feel very much surer of the outcome, I know, if you would tell me at least something of your plans.”

“Certainly,” I said. “In the first place—”

“What are you two slaves doing loitering here?” demanded a gruff voice behind us. I turned to see a burly warrior at my shoulder. For answer, I showed him my pass from the jeddak.

Even after he read it, he looked as though he didn’t believe it; but presently he handed it back to me and said, “That’s all right for you, but how about this other one? Has he got a pass from the jeddak, too?”

“The fault is mine,” I said. “I knew him before we were captured, and I stopped him to ask how he was faring. I am sure that if the jeddak knew, he would say that it was all right for me to talk with a friend. The jeddak has been very kind to me.” I was trying to impress the fellow with the fact that his jeddak was very kindly disposed toward me. I think that I succeeded.

________

*Midnight, Earth time.

“Very well,” he said, “but get on your way now—the Great Plaza is no place for slaves to visit with one another.”

Pan Dan Chee picked up his burden and departed, and I was about to leave when the warrior detained me. “I saw you defeat Nolat and Ban-tor at the Games,” he said. “We were talking about it a little while ago with some of our friends from the Valley Dor. They said that there was once a warrior came there who was just such a marvellous swordsman. His name was John Carter, and he had a white skin and grey eyes! Could your name, by any chance, be John Carter?”

“My name is Dotar Sojat,” I replied.

“Our friends from the Valley Dor would like to get hold of John Carter,” he said; and then, with a rather nasty little smile, he turned on his heel and left me.

chapter XII

NOW INDEED was the occasion for haste increased a hundredfold. If one man in Kamtol suspected that I might be John Carter, Prince of Helium, I should be lost by the morrow at the latest—perhaps before the morrow. Even as I entered the palace I feared arrest, but I reached my room without incident. Presently Man-lat came in; and at sight of him I expected the worst, for he had never visited me before. My sword was ready to leap from its scabbard, for I had determined to die fighting rather than let them arrest and disarm me. Even now, if Man-lat made a false move, I could kill him; and there might still be a chance that my plan could move on to successful fruition.

But Man-lat was in a friendly, almost jovial mood. “It is too bad that you are a slave,” he said, “for there are going to be great doings in the palace tonight. Doxus is entertaining the visitors from Dor. There will be much to eat and much to drink, and there will be entertainment. Doxus will probably have you give an exhibition of sword play with one of our best swordsmen—not to the death, you understand, but just for first blood. Then there will be dancing by slave girls; the nobles will enter their most beautiful. Doxus has commanded Nastor to bring a new purchase of his whose beauty has been the talk of Kamtol since the last games. Yes, it is too bad that you are not a First Born; so that you might enjoy the evening to the full.”

“I am sure I shall enjoy the evening,” I said.

“How’s that?” he demanded.

“Didn’t you say that I was going to be there?”

“Oh, yes; but only as an entertainer. You will not eat nor drink with us, and you will not see the slave girls. It is really too bad that you are not a First Born; you would have been a credit to us.”

“I feel that I am quite the equal of any of the First Born,” I said, for I was pretty well fed up with their arrogance and conceit.

Man-lat looked at me in pained surprise. “You are presumptuous, slave,” he said. “Do you not know that the First Born of Barsoom, sometimes known to you lesser creatures as The Black Pirates of Barsoom, are of the oldest race on the planet. We trace our lineage, unbroken, direct to the Tree of Life which flourished in the Valley Dor twenty-three million years ago.

“For countless ages the fruit of this tree underwent the gradual changes of evolution, passing by degrees from the true plant life to a combination of plant and animal. In the first stages of this phase, the fruit of the tree possessed only the power of independent muscular action, while the stem remained attached to the parent plant; later, a brain developed in the fruit; so that, hanging there by their long stems, they thought and moved as individuals.

“Then, with the development of perceptions, came a comparison of them; judgments were reached and compared, and thus reason and the power to reason were born upon Barsoom.

“Ages passed. Many forms of life came and went upon the Tree of Life, but still all were attached to the parent plant by stems of varying lengths. In time the fruit upon the tree consisted of tiny plant men, such as we now see reproduced in such huge dimensions in the Valley Dor; but still hanging to the limbs and branches of the Tree by the stems which grew from the tops of their heads.

“The buds from which the plant men blossomed resembled large nuts about a sofad* in diameter, divided by double partition walls into four sections. In one section grew the plant man; in another a sixteen-legged worm; in the third the progenitor of the white ape; and in the fourth, the primeval black man of Barsoom.

“When the bud burst, the plant man remained dangling at the end of his stem; but the three other sections fell to the ground, where the efforts of their imprisoned occupants to escape sent them hopping about in all directions.

“Thus, as time went on, all Barsoom was covered by these imprisoned creatures. For countless ages they lived their long lives within their hard shells, hopping and skipping about the broad planet; falling into rivers, lakes, and seas to be still farther spread about the surface of the new world.

“Countless billions died before the first black man broke through his prison walls into the light of day. Prompted by curiosity, he broke open other shells; and the peopling of Barsoom commenced.

________

*11.17 Earth inches.

“The pure strain of the blood of this first black man has remained untainted by admixture with that of other creatures; but from the sixteen legged worm, the first white ape, and renegade black men has sprung every other form of life upon Barsoom.”

I hoped he was through, for I had heard all this many times before; but, of course, I didn’t dare tell him so. I wished he would go away—not that I could do anything until after dark, but I just wanted to be alone and re-plan every minutest detail of the night’s work that lay before me.

At last he went; and at long last night came, but I must still remain inactive until about two hours before the time that I had told Pan Dan Chee to be prepared to climb aboard a flier piloted by a Black Pirate. I was betting that he was still puzzling over that.

The evening wore on. I heard sounds of revelry coming from the first floor of the palace through the garden upon which my window opened—the jeddak’s banquet was in full swing. The zero hour was approaching—and then malign Fate struck. A warrior came, summoning me to the banquet hall!

I should have killed him and gone on about my business, but suddenly a spirit of bravado possessed me. I would face them all, let them see once more the greatest swordsman of two worlds, and let them realize, when I had escaped them, that I was greater in all ways than the greatest of the First Born. I knew it was foolish; but now I was following the warrior toward the banquet hall; the die was cast, and it was too late to turn back.

No one paid any attention to me as I entered the great room—I was only a slave. Four tables, forming a hollow square, were filled with men and women, gorgeously trapped. They were talking and laughing; and wine was flowing, and a small army of slaves was bearing more food and more wine. Some of the guests were already a little bit high, and it was evident that Doxus was holding his own with the best of them. He had his arm about his wife, on one side; but he was kissing another man’s wife on the other.

The warrior who had fetched me went and whispered in the jeddak’s ear, and Doxus banged a huge gong for silence. When they had quieted down, he spoke to them: “For long the First Born of the Valley Dor have boasted of their swordsmanship; and, in contests, I admit that they have proved that they possess some slight superiority over us; but I have in my palace a slave, a common slave, who can best the best swordsman from Dor. He is here now to give an exhibition of his marvellous ability in a contest with one of my nobles; not to the death, but for first blood only—unless there be one from Dor who believes that he can best this slave of mine.”

A noble arose. “It is a challenge,” he said. “Dator Zithad is the best swordsman here from Dor tonight; but if he will not meet a slave, I will for the honor of Dor. We have heard of this slave since we arrived in Kamtol, how he bested your best swordsmen; and I for one shall be glad to draw his blood.”

Then Zithad arose, haughty and arrogant. “I have never sullied my sword with the blood of a slave,” he said, “but I shall be glad to expunge the shame of Kamtol. Where is the knave?”

Zithad! He had been Dator of the Guards of Issus at the time of the revolt of the slaves and the overthrow of Issus. He had good reason to remember me and to hate me.

When we faced each other in the center of that hollow square in the banquet hall of Doxus, Jeddak of the First Born of Kamtol, he looked puzzled for a moment, and then stepped back. He opened his mouth to speak.

“So, you are afraid to meet a slave!” I taunted him. “Come! they want to see you spill my blood; let’s not disappoint them.” I touched him lightly with my point.

“Calot!” he growled, and came for me.

He was a better swordsman than Nolat, but I made a monkey of him. I backed him around the square, keeping him always on the defensive; but I drew no blood—yet. He was furious—and he was afraid. The audience sat in breathless silence.

Suddenly he screamed: “Fools! Don’t you know who this slave is? He is—” Then I ran him through the heart.

Instantly pandemonium reigned. A hundred swords sprang from their scabbards, but I waited to see no more—I’d seen plenty! With drawn sword, I ran straight for the center of one of the tables; a woman screamed. In a single bound I cleared the table and the diners, and bolted through the door behind them into the garden.

Of course, they were after me instantly; but I dodged into the shrubbery, and made my way to a point beneath my window at the lower end of the garden. It was scarcely a fifteen foot jump to the sill; and a second later I had passed through my room and down a ramp to the floor below.

It was dark, but I knew every inch of the way to my goal. I had prepared for just some such eventuality. I reached the room in which Doxus had first interviewed me, and passed through the doorway behind the desk and down the ramp to the secret chamber below.

I knew that no one would guess where I had gone; and as Myr-lo was doubtless at the banquet, I should be able to accomplish with ease that which I had come here to do.

As I opened the door into the larger room, Myr-lo arose from the couch and faced me.

“What are you doing here, slave?” he demanded.

chapter XIII

HERE WAS A PRETTY PASS! Everything seemed to be going wrong; first, the summons to the banquet hall; then Zithad; and now Myr-lo. I hated to do it, but there was no other way.

“Draw!” I said. I am no murderer; so I couldn’t kill him unless he had a sword in his hand; but Myr-lo was not so ethical—he reached for the radium pistol at his hip. Fatal error! I crossed the intervening space in a single bound; and ran Myr-lo, the inventor of Kamtol, through the heart.

Without even waiting to wipe the blood from my blade, I ran into the smaller room. There was the master mechanism that held two hundred thousand souls in thrall, the hideous invention that had strewn the rim of the great rift with mouldering skeletons.

I looked about and found a heavy piece of metal; then I went for that insensate monster with all the strength and enthusiasm that I possess. In a few minutes it was an indescribable jumble of bent and broken parts—a total wreck.

Quickly I ran back into the next room, stripped Myr-lo’s harness and weapons from his corpse and removed my own; then from my pocket pouch I took the article that I had purchased in the little shop. It was a jar of the ebony black cream with which the women of the First Born are wont to conceal the blemishes upon their glossy skins.

In ten minutes I was as black as the blackest Black Pirate that ever broke a shell. I donned Myr-lo’s harness and weapons; and, except for my grey eyes, I was a noble of the First Born. I was glad now that Myr-lo had not been at the banquet, for his harness would help to pass me through the palace and out of it, an ordeal that I had not been looking forward to with much relish; for I had been wearing the harness of the commonest of common warriors, and I very much doubted that they passed in and out of the palace late at night without being questioned—and I had no answers.

I got through the palace without encountering anyone, and when I approached the gate I commenced to stagger. I wanted them to think that a slightly inebriated guest was leaving early. I held my breath as I approached the warriors on guard; but they only saluted me respectfully, and I passed out into the avenues of Kamtol.

My plan had been to climb the façade of the hangar building, which I could have done because of the deep carving of its ornamentation; but that would probably have meant a fight with the guard on the roof as I clambered over the cornice. Now, I determined to try another, if no less hazardous, plan.

I walked straight to the entrance. There was but a single warrior on guard there. I paid no attention to him, but strode in. He hesitated; then he saluted, and I passed on and up the ramp. He had been impressed by the gorgeous trappings of Myr-lo, the noble.

My greatest obstacle to overcome now was the guard on the roof, where I had no doubt but that I should find several warriors. It might be difficult to convince them that even a noble would go flying alone at this time of night, but when I reached the roof there was not a single warrior in sight.

It took me but a moment to find the flier I had selected for the adventure when I had been there before, and but another moment to climb to its controls and start the smooth, silent motor.

The night was dark; neither moon was in the sky, and for that I was thankful. I rose in a steep spiral until I was high above the city; then I headed for the tower of Nastor’s palace where Llana of Gathol was imprisoned.

The black hull of the flier rendered me invisible, I was sure, from the avenues below on a dark night such as this; and I came to the tower with every assurance that my whole plan had worked out with amazing success, even in spite of the untoward incidents that had seemed about to wreck it in its initial stages.

As I drew slowly closer to the windows of Llana’s apartment, I heard a woman’s muffled scream and a man’s voice raised in anger. A moment later the prow of my ship touched the wall just below the window; and, seizing the bow line, I leaped across the sill into the chamber, Myr-lo’s sword in my hand.

Across the room, a man was forcing Llana of Gathol back upon a couch. She was striking at him, and he was cursing her.

“Enough!” I cried, and the man dropped Llana and turned toward me. It was Nastor, the dator.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“I am John Carter, Prince of Helium,” I replied; “and I am here to kill you.”

He had already drawn, and our swords crossed even as I spoke.

“Perhaps you will recall me better as Dotar Sojat, the slave who cost you one hundred thousand tanpi,” I said; “the prince who is going to cost you your life.”

He commenced to shout for the guard, and I heard the sound of running footsteps which seemed to be coming up a ramp outside the door. I saw that I must finish Nastor quickly; but he proved a better swordsman than I had expected, although the encounter quickly developed into a foot race about the chamber.

The guard was coming closer when Llana darted to the door and pushed a heavy bolt into place; and not a moment too soon, for almost immediately I heard pounding on the door and the shouts of the warriors outside; and then I tripped upon a fur that had fallen from the couch during the struggle between Llana and Nastor, and I went down upon my back. Instantly Nastor leaped for me to run me through the heart. My sword was pointed up toward him, but he had all the advantage. I was about to die.

Only Llana’s quick wit saved me. She leaped for Nastor from the rear and seized him about the ankles. He pitched forward on top of me, and my sword went through his heart, two feet of the blade protruding from his back. It took all my strength to wrest it free.

“Come, Llana!” I said.

“Where to?” she asked. “The corridor is full of warriors.”

“The window,” I said. “Come!”

As I turned toward the window, I saw the end of my line, that I had dropped during the fight, disappear over the edge of the sill. My ship had drifted away, and we were trapped.

I ran to the window. Twenty-five feet away, and a few feet below the level of the sill, floated escape and freedom, floated life for Llana of Gathol, for Pan Dan Chee, for Jad-han, and for me.

There was but a single hope. I stepped to the sill, measured the distance again with my eyes—and jumped. That I am narrating this adventure must assure you that I landed on the deck of that flier. A moment later it was beside the sill again, and Llana was aboard.

“Pan Dan Chee!” she said. “What has become of him? It seems cruel to abandon him to his fate.”

Pan Dan Chee would have been the happiest man in the world could he have known that her first thought was for him, but I knew that the chances were that she would snub or insult him the first opportunity she had—women are peculiar that way.

I dropped swiftly toward the plaza. “Where are you going?” demanded Llana. “Aren’t you afraid we’ll be captured down there?”

“I am going for Pan Dan Chee,” I said, and a moment later I landed close to Nastor’s palace, and two men dashed from the shadows toward the ship. They were Pan Dan Chee and Jad-han.

As soon as they were aboard, I rose swiftly; and headed for Gathol. I could feel Pan Dan Chee looking at me. Finally he could contain himself no longer. “Who are you?” he demanded; “and where is John Carter?”

“I am now Myr-lo, the inventor,” I said; “a short time ago I was Dotar Sojat the slave; but always I am John Carter.”

“We are all together again,” he said, “and alive; but for how long? Have you forgotten the skeletons on the rim of the rift?”

“You need not worry,” I assured him. “The mechanism that laid them there has been destroyed.”

He turned to Llana. “Llana of Gathol,” he said, “we have been through much together; and there is no telling what the future holds for us. Once again I lay my heart at your feet.”

“You may pick it up,” said Llana of Gathol; “I am tired and wish to sleep.”