Worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs (11 page)

They had great respect for my blade, and were still moving toward me very slowly, and in that I saw my only chance for escape.

Scarcely had the plan entered my mind than I was enacting it. Rapidly I grabbed the smirking Rab-zov, and, as I had done in Pankor, I held him high above my head. Then, extending my Earthly muscles to their fullest, I hurled him into the wall of oncoming swordsmen, and in the moment of confusion that followed I made a break for the window. The success or failure of my plan depended on whether or not the new Zodanga had the same type of ornamentation on its buildings as the old city had, yet even as this doubt crossed my mind I leaped upward from the window ledge, my hands came in contact with a smooth surface and slid rapidly down until, when I had almost given myself up for lost, I came to a great carved protrusion.

With a sigh of relief I began, systematically finding handholds and toeholds, to climb toward the roof, which was about twenty feet above me. Realizing that should Rab-zov and his men gain the roof before I did I would be no better off than before, I hastened my efforts, and a few seconds later the edge of the roof was within my grasp.

Here I paused, listening for Rab-zov, but as no sound came to my ears I cautiously raised my head until I could see across to the hangar.

And then, just as I was about to pull myself up, a hand shot out of the darkness and I could see the cold light of Cluros, the farther moon, reflected off the blade of a dagger.

A Unique Discovery

As I looked up from my precarious position, I found my new antagonist to be another of Hin Abtol’s former officers. Rab-zov had evidently left him to guard the roof alone, and from my present plight it appeared that one man was quite enough.

I grabbed his wrist in an attempt to keep the dagger from reaching my breast, but that was the extent of my possibilities. I couldn’t let go of the edge of the roof with my other hand without plunging to my death; I knew it, and my opponent knew it, too, for he began pummeling my face with his free hand,

“The Warlord!” he screamed. “Come to the roof! I have the Warlord!”

As he yelled to his comrades he turned his head in the direction of the ramp upon which they must ascend, and in that instant I managed to swing my body to the roof. He immediately turned back to me, redoubling his efforts, and the ferocity of this renewed attack rolled me halfway over the side again. But now I had the use of both my hands, and, still holding his dagger arm with my left, my right grabbed for his throat. There we remained, motionless, he trying to stab me or push me off the roof and I trying to choke the life from him. It was scarce thirty seconds since I had left the sleeping chamber, but I knew Rab-zov and his men must be on their way to the roof by now and would reach it momentarily.

I closed my hand more and more securely about his throat. He was weakening, but still that blade came ever closer to my heart. Then, with a final convulsive shudder, he died. Rising, I flung his lifeless body to the street below and raced toward the hangar.

Rab-zov and his men were emerging from the ramp, but my powerful Earthly muscles carried me to the hangar in great leaps and bounds that no Martian could ever hope to match. They began firing at me with their radium pistols, but it was dark and I reached my flier unscathed.

However, once aboard it, I couldn’t make it rise, and realized that they had punctured the tanks which contained the Eighth Barsoomian Ray, the ray of repulsion. Running to another side of the roof, I saw a building some fifty feet away. Without breaking stride, I jumped the intervening space amid a barrage of fire from their pistols, and, keeping to the rooftops, I had soon covered half a mile.

Here I paused to strip all the insignia and jewels from my harness, for there were others in Zodanga besides Rab-zov who desired the demise of the Warlord. This done, I withdrew the red pigment given to me many years ago by the Ptor brothers and smeared it over every inch of my body until I appeared no different than any red man of Barsoom.

As I descended to the street, I decided to go straightaway to Ayathor. I was certain of its existence, for Rab-zov had thought I would soon be a dead man when he told me of it. There was a note of urgency attached to finding Ayathor, for if Rab-zov returned there ahead of me, I could count on a most unpleasant welcome.

Could I but gain access to a flier, I had no doubts that I could easily outdistance the Panars, for they would probably be using the slow, outmoded ships of Hin Abtol’s navy.

Then, recalling the diamonds I had in my possession, I went directly to a public hangar, where I purchased a two-man flier, for I planned on returning with Tan Hadron or not at all. The man who sold it to me examined the diamond suspiciously, but his greed was greater than his sense of duty and shortly thereafter I was skimming rapidly across the dead sea bottoms of Barsoom, bound for the frozen North.

I set the directional compass toward Pankor and settled back to relax. This compass, invented by my son, Carthoris, is a most unique mechanism, allowing the pilot to set the pointer at any location in either hemisphere, after which he is not needed at the controls until the craft reaches its destination, whereupon he will be notified by the ringing of a small alarm. There is, in addition, a device which enables the ship to avoid mountains, other ships, or any similar obstructions.

It was not without an air of sadness that I looked out over the ochre, mosslike vegetation of the dying planet. Beneath me great oceans had once brought commerce to the now-deserted cities. As I flew over one of the cities now inhabited only by the great white apes and fierce green men who roam the sea bottoms in warring tribes, I could almost visualize the sailors of those long-forgotten days returning to their women after a prosperous voyage; and hear the vendors’ calls in the crowded market places.

Traces still remain of the great coliseums where the cheering multitudes had given moral support to their favorite gladiators, and of the strongly martial architecture of the many palaces. Now the finely carved buildings are broken and crumbling, the streets are overrun with moss, and only the occasional screams of an ape permeate the cold night air.

It was a sad and lonely sight, this tribute to the youth and glory of Barsoom, but a rifle shot from the city soon awoke me from my reverie, and I quickly swerved out of range and continued on my way to Pankor. Pankor, I was sure, would be the logical place to begin my quest for the hidden city of Ayathor. Hin Abtol’s warriors came from Pankor, Tan Hadron was the prisoner of a group of Panars when last we parted, and Pankor was sufficiently close to the North Pole to afford some means of ingress to Ayathor.

I checked to make sure that the ship was going at full speed, and then, covering myself with some furs which I had found on board, I lay down to sleep, exhausted from my efforts in Zodanga.

When I awoke it was midday, and the air had become cold. Looming large in front of me were the ice caps which surround Okar and Pankor, the two countries within the circumference of the snow-capped polar circle.

I had no knowledge of the location of Ayathor other than what Rab-zov had told me, nor were there any books or maps to aid me. Before Thuvan Dihn, Jeddak of Ptarth, and I had overthrown the tyrannical Salensus Oll and placed Talu, the rebel prince of Marentina, upon the throne of Okar, the yellow men of the North and their cities were widely thought to be a myth, due to their inaccessibility by land, and the Guardian of the North, that great magnetic pole which drew all the outside world’s fliers to their destruction. Since that time, Pankor had been discovered, and the cities have been charted, but no maps of the surrounding territory have been compiled, as it is comprised entirely of fields of ice and snow.

Now, however, I wished that a more thorough survey had been made, for I was utterly at a loss as to my next move. It seemed likely that my red pigment would afford me safe entry into Pankor, but, once there, any inquiries I might make of Ayathor would probably show too great a lack of knowledge and could well result in the discovery of my identity. Nonetheless, there seemed naught else to do but take my chances in the plastic-domed hotbox city.

As I approached I became aware of a distracting patch of color—or rather an absence of it—in the distance off the starboard bow. As I was less than fifty haads from the city and well in advance of Rab-zov, I swung to starboard and curiously approached it. As I drew nearer I found the distraction to be a large black spot of circular proportions, which of course made it stand out like a sore thumb against the brilliant display of ice-covered mountains.

A sudden gust of wind came from the northeast, and, rather than try to fight onward in my light flier, I descended to the ground to wait until it had passed. To my surprise, as I descended the spot gradually disappeared.

Now indeed was my interest aroused, and I took the flier up again. Sure enough, when I was about two thousand feet up the spot reappeared.

As my elevation increased, the spot became larger and rounder. Long before I reached it, I realized that by a fluke of chance I had discovered a shaft, the exact counterpart of Omean’s shaft, and I knew that this polar opening must lead to Ayathor.

It was a beautiful job of natural camouflaging, for from the ground the shaft appeared no different from any of the myriad of glacial mountains surrounding it, and from the air it was probably unnoticeable from any great distance.

As I hovered over the mouth of the shaft, my conclusions were borne out, for it was indeed a hollow, cylindrical passage, although I could see no farther down than forty or fifty feet, so steeped in shadows was it.

I paused only long enough to direct my flier to the exact center of that yawning chasm, and then plunged into the Stygian darkness.

Ayathor

Downward, ever downward, I plummeted, until it seemed that I must each second come to the end of my descent. However, except for a slight increase in temperature, nothing happened. I must have been in the shaft for an hour before any change in my surroundings became noticeable. Then, of a sudden, I found that I could make out the walls of the shaft. The air was now warm, the light increased, and, a moment later, I arrived at the bottom of the shaft and broke out into the open.

I could perceive a light in the distance, and, looking down, I saw that I was flying but twenty ads above a dark, still body of water. As I approached the light, I found that it emanated from a fair-sized city located upon an island about two haads distant from the cylindrical passage from which I had just emerged.

I paused here to consider my situation. This forgotten world was seemingly composed of a great sea dotted by hundreds of islands. The walls exuded a soft phosphorescence which sent dull streaks of light across the placid waters.

One island appeared much larger than the rest, and it was upon this that the city was built. How far the sea extended I could only guess, for I could not see the horizon in any direction.

I drew nearer the city, and, when about a haad distant from it, I chose a deserted, rock-covered island and landed upon it. To approach the city in a strange craft would have been suicidal, and so I had no recourse but to leave the flier behind and hope it would still be there if and when I returned. Then, fixing the location of the shaft in my mind, I dove into the cold, foreboding waters.

I had determined to swim to the shore of the island which seemed farthest from the city’s main entrance, but as I headed in that direction I saw great ripples in the water, and since I possessed no knowledge concerning what types of creatures had inhabited the long-dead oceans of Barsoom, I altered my course, taking no chances.

I had covered about half the distance to the shore when, suddenly, I felt a powerful, boneless hand grab hold of me. I drew my sword and hacked away at it, but before I could disengage myself I felt another hand, and then another, and I was pulled, slowly but inexorably, beneath the surface of the sea.

The water was ink-black; I couldn’t see what manner of creature it was that had attacked me and so had no idea where a vulnerable spot might be. There was nothing I could do but slash frantically and hope that I might disable it enough to allow me to regain the surface.