The Chessmen of Mars (21 page)

"Where did he go from here?"

"How should I know? Think you that I can pass through a locked
door of skeel?" the girl's tone was scornful.

"Of that we do not know," said the officer. "Strange things have
happened in the cell of your companion in the pits of Manator.
Perhaps you could pass through a locked door of skeel as easily
as he performs seemingly more impossible feats."

"Whom do you mean," she cried; "Turan the panthan? He lives,
then? Tell me, is he here in Manator unharmed?"

"I speak of that thing which calls itself Ghek the kaldane,"
replied the officer.

"But Turan! Tell me, padwar, have you heard aught of him?" Tara's
tone was insistent and she leaned a little forward toward the
officer, her lips slightly parted in expectancy.

Into the eyes of the slave girl, Lan-O, who was watching her,
there crept a soft light of understanding; but the officer
ignored Tara's question—what was the fate of another slave to
him? "Men do not disappear into thin air," he growled, "and if
E-Med be not found soon O-Tar himself may take a hand in this. I
warn you, woman, if you be one of those horrid Corphals that by
commanding the spirits of the wicked dead gains evil mastery over
the living, as many now believe the thing called Ghek to be, that
lest you return E-Med, O-Tar will have no mercy on you."

"What foolishness is this?" cried the girl. "I am a princess
of Helium, as I have told you all a score of times. Even if the
fabled Corphals existed, as none but the most ignorant now
believes, the lore of the ancients tells us that they entered
only into the bodies of wicked criminals of the lowest class. Man
of Manator, thou art a fool, and thy jeddak and all his people,"
and she turned her royal back upon the padwar, and gazed through
the window across the Field of Jetan and the roofs of Manator
through the low hills and the rolling country and freedom.

"And you know so much of Corphals, then," he cried, "you know
that while no common man dare harm them they may be slain by the
hand of a jeddak with impunity!"

The girl did not reply, nor would she speak again, for all his
threats and rage, for she knew now that none in all Manator dared
harm her save O-Tar, the jeddak, and after a while the padwar
left, taking his men with him. And after they had gone Tara stood
for long looking out upon the city of Manator, and wondering what
more of cruel wrongs Fate held in store for her. She was standing
thus in silent meditation when there rose to her the strains of
martial music from the city below—the deep, mellow tones of the
long war trumpets of mounted troops, the clear, ringing notes of
foot-soldiers' music. The girl raised her head and looked about,
listening, and Lan-O, standing at an opposite window, looking
toward the west, motioned Tara to join her. Now they could see
across roofs and avenues to The Gate of Enemies, through which
troops were marching into the city.

"The Great Jed is coming," said Lan-O, "none other dares enter
thus, with blaring trumpets, the city of Manator. It is U-Thor,
Jed of Manatos, second city of Manator. They call him The Great
Jed the length and breadth of Manator, and because the people
love him, O-Tar hates him. They say, who know, that it would need
but slight provocation to inflame the two to war. How such a war
would end no one could guess; for the people of Manator worship
the great O-Tar, though they do not love him. U-Thor they love,
but he is not the jeddak," and Tara understood, as only a Martian
may, how much that simple statement encompassed.

The loyalty of a Martian to his jeddak is almost an instinct, and
second not even to the instinct of self-preservation at that. Nor
is this strange in a race whose religion includes ancestor
worship, and where families trace their origin back into remote
ages and a jeddak sits upon the same throne that his direct
progenitors have occupied for, perhaps, hundreds of thousands of
years, and rules the descendants of the same people that his
forebears ruled. Wicked jeddaks have been dethroned, but seldom
are they replaced by other than members of the imperial house,
even though the law gives to the jeds the right to select whom
they please.

"U-Thor is a just man and good, then?" asked Tara of Helium.

"There be none nobler," replied Lan-O. "In Manatos none but
wicked criminals who deserve death are forced to play at jetan,
and even then the play is fair and they have their chance for
freedom. Volunteers may play, but the moves are not necessarily
to the death—a wound, and even sometimes points in swordplay,
deciding the issue. There they look upon jetan as a martial
sport—here it is but butchery. And U-Thor is opposed to the
ancient slave raids and to the policy that keeps Manator forever
isolated from the other nations of Barsoom; but U-Thor is not
jeddak and so there is no change."

The two girls watched the column moving up the broad avenue from
The Gate of Enemies toward the palace of O-Tar. A gorgeous,
barbaric procession of painted warriors in jewel-studded harness
and waving feathers; vicious, squealing thoats caparisoned in
rich trappings; far above their heads the long lances of their
riders bore fluttering pennons; foot-soldiers swinging easily
along the stone pavement, their sandals of zitidar hide giving
forth no sound; and at the rear of each utan a train of painted
chariots, drawn by mammoth zitidars, carrying the equipment of
the company to which they were attached. Utan after utan entered
through the great gate, and even when the head of the column
reached the palace of O-Tar they were not all within the city.

"I have been here many years," said the girl, Lan-O; "but never
have I seen even The Great Jed bring so many fighting men into
the city of Manator."

Through half-closed eyes Tara of Helium watched the warriors
marching up the broad avenue, trying to imagine them the fighting
men of her beloved Helium coming to the rescue of their princess.
That splendid figure upon the great thoat might be John Carter,
himself, Warlord of Barsoom, and behind him utan after utan of
the veterans of the empire, and then the girl opened her eyes
again and saw the host of painted, befeathered barbarians, and
sighed. But yet she watched, fascinated by the martial scene, and
now she noted again the groups of silent figures upon the
balconies. No waving silks; no cries of welcome; no showers of
flowers and jewels such as would have marked the entry of such a
splendid, friendly pageant into the twin cities of her birth.

"The people do not seem friendly to the warriors of Manatos," she
remarked to Lan-O; "I have not seen a single welcoming sign from
the people on the balconies."

The slave girl looked at her in surprise. "It cannot be that you
do not know!" she exclaimed. "Why, they are—" but she got no
further. The door swung open and an officer stood before them.

"The slave girl, Tara, is summoned to the presence of O-Tar, the
jeddak!" he announced.

Turan the panthan chafed in his chains. Time dragged; silence and
monotony prolonged minutes into hours. Uncertainty of the fate of
the woman he loved turned each hour into an eternity of hell. He
listened impatiently for the sound of approaching footsteps that
he might see and speak to some living creature and learn,
perchance, some word of Tara of Helium. After torturing hours his
ears were rewarded by the rattle of harness and arms. Men were
coming! He waited breathlessly. Perhaps they were his
executioners; but he would welcome them notwithstanding. He would
question them. But if they knew naught of Tara he would not
divulge the location of the hiding place in which he had left
her.

Now they came—a half-dozen warriors and an officer, escorting an
unarmed man; a prisoner, doubtless. Of this Turan was not left
long in doubt, since they brought the newcomer and chained him to
an adjoining ring. Immediately the panthan commenced to question
the officer in charge of the guard.

"Tell me," he demanded, "why I have been made prisoner, and if
other strangers were captured since I entered your city."

"What other prisoners?" asked the officer.

"A woman, and a man with a strange head," replied Turan.

"It is possible," said the officer; "but what were their names?"

"The woman was Tara, Princess of Helium, and the man was Ghek, a
kaldane, of Bantoom."

"These were your friends?" asked the officer.

"Yes," replied Turan.

"It is what I would know," said the officer, and with a curt
command to his men to follow him he turned and left the cell.

"Tell me of them!" cried Turan after him. "Tell me of Tara of
Helium! Is she safe?" but the man did not answer and soon the
sound of their departure died in the distance.

"Tara of Helium was safe, but a short time since," said the
prisoner chained at Turan's side.

The panthan turned toward the speaker, seeing a large man,
handsome of face and with a manner both stately and dignified.
"You have seen her?" he asked. "They captured her then? She is in
danger?"

"She is being held in The Towers of Jetan as a prize for the next
games," replied the stranger.

"And who are you?" asked Turan. "And why are you here, a
prisoner?"

"I am A-Kor the dwar, keeper of The Towers of Jetan," replied the
other. "I am here because I dared speak the truth of O-Tar the
jeddak, to one of his officers."

"And your punishment?" asked Turan.

"I do not know. O-Tar has not yet spoken. Doubtless the
games—perhaps the full ten, for O-Tar does not love A-Kor, his
son."

"You are the jeddak's son?" asked Turan.

"I am the son of O-Tar and of a slave, Haja of Gathol, who was a
princess in her own land."

Turan looked searchingly at the speaker. A son of Haja of Gathol!
A son of his mother's sister, this man, then, was his own cousin.
Well did Gahan remember the mysterious disappearance of the
Princess Haja and an entire utan of her personal troops. She had
been upon a visit far from the city of Gathol and returning home
had vanished with her whole escort from the sight of man. So this
was the secret of the seeming mystery? Doubtless it explained
many other similar disappearances that extended nearly as far
back as the history of Gathol. Turan scrutinized his companion,
discovering many evidences of resemblance to his mother's people.
A-Kor might have been ten years younger than he, but such
differences in age are scarce accounted among a people who seldom
or never age outwardly after maturity and whose span of life may
be a thousand years.

"And where lies Gathol?" asked Turan.

"Almost due east of Manator," replied A-Kor.

"And how far?"

"Some twenty-one degrees it is from the city of Manator to the
city of Gathol," replied A-Kor; "but little more than ten degrees
between the boundaries of the two countries. Between them,
though, there lies a country of torn rocks and yawning chasms."

Well did Gahan know this country that bordered his upon the
west—even the ships of the air avoided it because of the
treacherous currents that rose from the deep chasms, and the
almost total absence of safe landings. He knew now where Manator
lay and for the first time in long weeks the way to his own
Gathol, and here was a man, a fellow prisoner, in whose veins
flowed the blood of his own ancestors—a man who knew Manator;
its people, its customs and the country surrounding it—one who
could aid him, with advice at least, to find a plan for the
rescue of Tara of Helium and for escape. But would A-Kor—could
he dare broach the subject? He could do no less than try.

"And O-Tar you think will sentence you to death?" he asked; "and
why?"

"He would like to," replied A-Kor, "for the people chafe beneath
his iron hand and their loyalty is but the loyalty of a people to
the long line of illustrious jeddaks from which he has sprung. He
is a jealous man and has found the means of disposing of most of
those whose blood might entitle them to a claim upon the throne,
and whose place in the affections of the people endowed them with
any political significance. The fact that I was the son of a
slave relegated me to a position of minor importance in the
consideration of O-Tar, yet I am still the son of a jeddak and
might sit upon the throne of Manator with as perfect congruity as
O-Tar himself. Combined with this is the fact that of recent
years the people, and especially many of the younger warriors,
have evinced a growing affection for me, which I attribute to
certain virtues of character and training derived from my mother,
but which O-Tar assumes to be the result of an ambition upon my
part to occupy the throne of Manator.

"And now, I am firmly convinced, he has seized upon my criticism
of his treatment of the slave girl Tara as a pretext for ridding
himself of me."

"But if you could escape and reach Gathol," suggested Turan.

"I have thought of that," mused A-Kor; "but how much better off
would I be? In the eyes of the Gatholians I would be, not a
Gatholian; but a stranger and doubtless they would accord me the
same treatment that we of Manator accord strangers."

"Could you convince them that you are the son of the Princess
Haja your welcome would be assured," said Turan; "while on the
other hand you could purchase your freedom and citizenship with a
brief period of labor in the diamond mines."

"How know you all these things?" asked A-Kor. "I thought you were
from Helium."

"I am a panthan," replied Turan, "and I have served many
countries, among them Gathol."

"It is what the slaves from Gathol have told me," said A-Kor,
thoughtfully, "and my mother, before O-Tar sent her to live at
Manatos. I think he must have feared her power and influence
among the slaves from Gathol and their descendants, who number
perhaps a million people throughout the land of Manator."