Worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs (13 page)

When he heard that, Talon Gar broke into wild laughter which resounded throughout the corridor. I was fast becoming convinced that the man was absolutely mad.

“We shall soon reach the Pits of Ayathor,” remarked Bal Daxus. “It does not do justice to your rank and position, but I have my orders.”

“I thought the
sea
was called Ayathor,” I said, puzzled by his reference to the Pits.

“Both the sea and the city bear the name,” replied Bal Daxus, “although the meaning of the word has been lost since the days of antiquity.”

The corridor now branched off so often that I gave up trying to remember my way out of it. I had never seen such an intricate maze of catacombs, and I marveled at the skill of those forgotten men who had designed this immense yet detailed palace.

From time to time I heard vague shuffling sounds coming from adjoining passageways, and I noticed that many of my captors had unsheathed their swords. I soon saw the reason for this. At the next turn an ulsio leaped from the shadows and, with a horrid scream, hurled himself at one of the warriors. He was quickly dispatched, and the march recommenced.

“No one seems especially startled,” I remarked to Bal Daxus. “Is this a common occurrence?”

“Of course. Why do you think we walk the corridors with drawn swords?”

“Why don’t you make a concentrated effort to exterminate them?” I asked, mystified by the apparent lack of concern that these warriors displayed for the savage beasts which might at any moment leap upon them from some nook or shadow.

“Why should we?” he responded. “None of our warriors travels alone or unarmed in the catacombs, and the ulsios are the best sentries we have. You will notice that we occasionally pass a human skeleton. This should serve as a reminder to you, John Carter: men have escaped from their cells and their dungeons, but none has ever escaped from the Pits of Ayathor.”

I thought that this remark might tickle Talon Gar’s funnybone anew and send him off into another peal of ecstatic laughter, but he merely smiled silently, and so we forged onward.

The air had become heavy and damp, and we began passing heavily barred doors, finally halting in front of the last one in the row. This, then, was where I was to be imprisoned.

“You won’t be here too long if I know the Jeddak, for he has a score to settle with you,” announced Bal Daxus. “Nonetheless, you will be securely chained and a large guard will be placed by the door.”

He signaled the rest of the men to remain at the door, and then, unlocking it, he led me inside. He had me sit upon the moist stone floor, chained my legs to two rings in the wall, and rose to go.

“You have been very decent to me,” I said, “I shall remember that when I escape.”

He smiled, a bit sadly I thought, and said: “I entreat you to end any foolhardy hopes of escape you might hold, for even if you managed to leave the island of Ayathor, which of course you cannot do, where would you go? No, John Carter, you are doomed, and I, for one, am sorry about it.”

He turned and walked out slowly. A moment later the door was closed, and I heard the lock snap into place. Talon Gar gave me a parting look through the barred window of the door.

“We shall meet again, John Carter, and woe betide you when that time comes.” He gave me one parting laugh and turned away. Soon I heard his footsteps echoing down the long passageway.

“Cheerful sort of fellow, isn’t he?” said a voice at my side.

“Tan Hadron!” I exclaimed.

“Welcome to my luxurious living quarters,” he laughed. “It is good to see you again. But tell me what brings you to Ayathor? Has Helium fallen?”

“No,” I replied. “We defeated Hin Abtol quite easily, far more rapidly than we had expected to, in fact. I was caught while searching for you.”

“And now you have found me.”

“I wish I might accomplish all my missions so easily.” I smiled. “How came you to this forgotten world, Tan Hadron?”

“Shortly after you were put aground, I locked Fo-nar and myself in the pilot room of the
Dusar
and pulled a few stunts that would have scared our best test pilots half to death. As you know, the ship was an open flier, and fully four-fifths of the mutineers fell overboard. The remaining few proved no match for our swords, which they had left in the pilot’s room in typically careless Panar fashion, and we were soon headed toward Helium. When we had covered about half the distance, we were spotted by a number of Hin Abtol’s ships, and since I was unable to respond satisfactorily to their signals, they forced us down. Fo-nar was killed immediately, and, though I accounted for a large number of Panars, they eventually overwhelmed me. And here I am,” he concluded.

“But why are we here?” I asked. “Who is their Jeddak?”

“Their Jeddak,” said Tan Hadron, “is Hin Abtol.”

“Hin Abtol!” I exclaimed. “Why, I captured him aboard his own flagship at the beginning of the war, and later he was reported to be dead!”

“Then your reports are false,” said Tan Hadron, “for he is very much alive. And it seems that he has not yet given up his insane plan to conquer Barsoom.”

“Conquer Barsoom? With what? We destroyed his army and his navy.”

“I found out,” continued Tan Hadron, “as you must have, that the term ‘frozen in,’ when applied to Pankor, didn’t mean merely surrounded by snow and ice, but referred to the warriors whom Hin Abtol kept alive in blocks of ice, in a state of suspended animation. When they were ‘thawed out,’ they were willing to fight against their homelands rather than return to Pankor. Hin Abtol has stored almost half a million frozen warriors here, and his philosophy is pretty much the same. Most of the men who have been here as long as I have would gladly kill their mothers just to set foot upon the face of Barsoom again.”

“That answers a lot of questions,” I said, and then told him all that had transpired since last we parted.

“And Tavia?” he asked. “My mate—is she well?”

“Very,” I replied. “When almost all of Helium had given up hope of ever finding you, she had implicit faith in your ability to survive whatever hazards you encountered, and implored me not to give up the search.”

We fell silent then, each savouring the memories of his loved ones. I knew that my absence would long since have been discovered, but there was nothing Carthoris or any of the rest could do. Time and again I cursed myself for not going to Helium from Zodanga, for I knew the fears and grief my incomparable princess, Dejah Thoris, must be undergoing, and yet I knew that given the same circumstances I would do the same thing. I have always acted upon impulse where a wiser man than I might have paused for contemplation and reached a more practical decision; but then, I am a fighting man, not a philosopher, and it has ever been my way to act quickly and surely. Many people have called me courageous, but I do not think that my actions constitute bravery, for I have never thought of a single alternative to any of my so-called acts of heroism until the time to enact that alternative has long been passed.

I must have fallen asleep then, and when I awoke I felt well-rested. Tan Hadron was leaning against the wall, looking at me.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly, “if such a thing as morning exists in Ayathor. You have been asleep for a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I was completely exhausted.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Sleep is one of the rare blessings we have here. Sleep—and the Games.”

“The Games.”

“Yes. Every city has its games, and Ayathor is no exception. It is good to feel a longsword in my hands now and then, and it breaks the monotony of this dungeon. I have been very successful so far.”

“Your presence attests to that,” I remarked.

“One could expect no less from a pupil of John Carter,” he replied. “Until your arrival, I don’t think there was anyone on this island who could defeat me, although I much prefer to do battle with the targaths. The prisoners are my comrades, and although I must kill them lest they kill me, I take no pride or pleasure in so doing.”

“I have heard Talon Gar and Bal Daxus mention the targath,” I said. “What might it be?”

“A most ferocious beast. It stands about eight feet tall and has a large, muscular body which is covered by tufts of long, gray hair. Like the white ape, it has an intermediary set of limbs which can be used as either arms or legs. The targath’s face is perhaps his most awesome feature; it is so matted with hair as to appear shapeless, but it has two easily discernable eyeteeth which protrude well over the lower lip. Once, after I had killed one in the games, I examined its face closely—and by Issus, the thing has no eyes! It has eyeballs, but evidently it never had any use for them, for this world was steeped in almost total darkness until Hin Abtol took over the city. The eyeballs are in their sockets, but the skin has grown right over them.”

“They sound like blind, helpless creatures,” I offered.

He laughed. “Hardly. They have a most uncanny sense of perception, and make very formidable opponents on land or in the sea.”

“The sea?”

“Yes,” he answered. “They became amphibious millions of years ago, when the islands could no longer supply them with food.”

“Tell me, Hadron of Hastor: Have they any bones in their hands?”

“Why, no.”

“And are their bodies covered with scales beneath the hair?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “How did you know that?”

“One of them attacked me while I was swimming here from my flier,” I said, indicating my bruised leg.

“You’re very fortunate to have escaped with so little injury,” he commented.

“So that’s what Talon Gar wished upon me.”

“What do you think of Hin Abtol’s sadistic spy?”

“Spy?”

“Yes. The Jeddak fears for his life, for he is loved no better here than at Pankor, However, he has surrounded himself with a loyal core of bodyguards, and pity the man who is heard to utter any word against Hin Abtol.”

Just then a scream of horror and pain came ringing through the corridor.

“What was that?” I asked.

Tan Hadron shrugged. “It is not our lot to question,” he replied. “Perhaps an ulsio has caught a warrior unawares, or . . .” He paused.

“Yes? Or what?”

“Or perhaps Talon Gar craved amusement. You will get used to the screams in time. We all do.”

I leaned against the wall and did my best to relax as the last echoes of that blood-curdling cry faded into the distance.

The Pits of Ayathor

During the days that followed, or rather the time, for Ayathor possesses no days or nights, the tedium of my existence became almost unbearable. I am an active man by nature, and confinement of any kind galls me. Had it not been for Tan Hadron’s company, I think I should have eventually gone quite mad. I fear I bordered on the brink anyway, for I began looking forward to the occasional screams as a means of breaking my boredom.

Plans of escape were useless, for even if we were to somehow unlock or break our shackles, there was only one exit, an exit which was bolted and heavily guarded at all times.

Bal Daxus brought the first gleam of hope into our breasts. He began visiting us from time to time, and we became good friends, an unusual relationship for captor and captives. He was a frank, honest warrior who was openly displeased with Hin Abtol, but felt morally bound to do the bidding of his Jeddak. This seemed to be the general attitude of Hin Abtol’s warriors: they hated and feared him, but obeyed his orders due either to their own integrity or their fear.

“Why has he not sent for me yet?” I asked Bal Daxus during one of his visits. “I had expected to be condemned to death the moment he learned that I was in his power.”

“You
are
condemned, John Carter,” he replied. “The only reason that your death has not occurred yet is because that arch-fiend Talon Gar convinced Hin Abtol that it would be better to let you rot in the Pits for a while. Talon Gar does not like to see his enemies die too rapidly.”

“What, then, is to become of us?” asked Tan Hadron.

“When Hin Abtol tires of keeping you in chains, you will return to the arena to fight in the Games.”

“Is there a chance that I might be sent to the Games, too?” I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. If we two could but reach the arena with swords in our hands, then indeed might we have a chance to put an end to Hin Abtol and his dreams of conquest.

“No. He’d never arm you, John Carter. He is not a man who forgets easily, and when last you were in his power you managed to kill Ul-to, his finest swordsman, and break the dome of Pankor. No, John Carter, he has something else in mind for you.”

“And what might that be?” I asked.

“I know not,” replied Bal Daxus, “for it is a secret he has guarded well. However, all Ayathor is aware of the fact that he has prepared for the day you would once again fall into his clutches.”

“It bodes ill, whatever it may be,” said Tan Hadron.

“Nonetheless, I should welcome any chance to get these chains off my legs,” I said, “and to breathe fresh air again.”

“He is an evil man,” said Bal Daxus, “and were I you I would not be so anxious to greet the fate he has prepared.” He paused, clenching his fists. “Would that you had killed him when you had the chance!” he added venomously.