Worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs (14 page)

“If you hate him so,” asked Tan Hadron, “why do you not leave his service?”

“I am bound by birth to fight for the Jeddak of the Panars, regardless of his character,” explained Bal Daxus. “It is not he whose honor I defend, but the honor of my people.”

“Will you keep us informed of all further developments?” I asked as he arose.

“Of course. I must take leave of you now, for Lirai awaits me.”

“Lirai?”

“The girl I am to marry,” he replied.

“I didn’t know they had women in Ayathor,” I said. “I had assumed that they had all remained in Pankor.”

“No,” said the Panar. “They are in Ayathor. The warriors’ wives and families are here, and some others, too. Hin Abtol is shrewd enough to know that most of the men are displeased as it is; take away their women, and they would revolt. So the old devil has prevented an uprising simply by letting us bring our women along.” He went to the door. “And now I must go.”

After he had left the cell, Tan Hadron turned to me. “Well,” he said, “what do you make of it?”

“I believe that Bal Daxus will help us if the chance occurs for him to do so without repercussion. He is a most useful friend to have.”

“Yes,” responded my companion, “but even he is a prisoner of sorts, for no one can leave Ayathor without Hin Abtol’s consent.”

“Someone can,” I said quietly. He looked inquisitively at me, and I continued: “I still have my flier hidden here.”

“I fear it will be of little use to us,” he answered. “If ever we made a break for it, we’d have to swim through more than a haad of treacherous sea, and long before we reached the island upon which the flier resides we’d have fallen prey to the targaths or the bullets of Hin Abtol’s officers.”

“We’ll worry about that when we come to it,” I said. “The main thing is that the flier is there, and should we manage to extricate ourselves from this dungeon it affords us our sole means of returning to Helium.”

“Are you sure that you can find your way to the island?” asked Tan Hadron. “There are no landmarks to direct us.”

“I believe so,” I said, trying my best to recall its exact location. “At least I can come close. How many islands are there on the Sea of Ayathor?”

“Hundreds,” he replied. “Many are only a few ads in diameter, but there are a few almost as large as the one we’re on.”

“Are any of them populated?” I asked.

“Of that I have no knowledge, but before I was chained here I could sometimes hear weird moaning noises coming from across the sea.”

“Might have been the wind,” I suggested.

He shook his head. “There is no wind in Ayathor.”

“Maybe it was an air current from the shaft,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he replied dubiously, “but there is a legend in Ayathor about another island at the far end of the sea. It is called the Island of the Dead.”

“What is known of it?” I asked.

“Very little,” he admitted, “although the Okarian prisoners cringe at the very mention of the name.”

“It sounds rather like a burial ground,” I said, and then fell silent, my thoughts turning, as they always did, to Dejah Thoris. She must have given me up for dead by now, and the thought of her anguish nearly drove me to distraction. Carthoris, Kantos Kan, Hor Vastus, and all my other officers were probably conducting a worldwide search for me at this very moment, a search that would prove no more successful than the search for Tan Hadron. In fact, my son’s flier might even now be passing within twenty haads of the Shaft of Ayathor on its hopeless and futile mission. With such depressing thoughts racing through my mind, I fell into a restless sleep.

I was awakened by the sound of our heavy door swinging open. I sat up quickly, and an instant later Bal Daxus entered, looking very distraught.

“Kaor,” I said, in the traditional form of Barsoomian greeting.

“Kaor, John Carter,” he said, and hastily closed the door, remaining motionless until he heard the lock snap into place.

“You seem upset,” I said. “Is something wrong?”

“Very,” he answered. “All my life I have served that calot, Hin Abtol. I have fought unjust wars for him, I have chained the Warlord of Barsoom in his filthy dungeons, I have given up the surface of my planet to live in this sunless hole. All this I did willingly, but now . . .” He stepped, trembling with fury.

“What has happened, Bal Daxus?” I exclaimed.

“Hin Abtol saw Lirai! He demanded that she become his wife—he has nine already—and she refused, saying that she was betrothed. He then imprisoned her in the Tower of Apts and refuses to release her until she reveals the name of the man to whom she is betrothed so that he may slay me and thus clear the path for his marriage.”

“Has Lirai revealed your name yet?” asked Tan Hadron.

“No, but it is only a matter of time until Hin Abtol’s patience and temper wear thin and he resorts to torture. It is not for myself that I fear, but for Lirai. Issus! To think of her in the hands of that calot! Or at the mercy of Talon Gar!”

“Talon Gar?”

“The Jeddak’s loyal servant,” he said with a bitter smile. “The great Hin Abtol would never stoop to torturing someone himself; it upsets his digestion.”

“I wish there was something we could do to help, Bal Daxus,” I said, laying my hand on his shoulder.

“There is,” he replied. “That is why I have come. If I release you and Tan Hadron, will you aid me in effecting Lirai’s rescue and give us safe entry into Helium should our attempt to escape prove successful?”

“You have my solemn word,” I assured him.

“I have the key to your shackles with me,” he said, and with that he withdrew the key and knelt down, working on my chains,

At that instant the lock turned, the door opened, and Talon Gar, followed by a detail of warriors, entered the cell.

Hin Abtol

“What have we here, Bal Daxus?”
demanded Talon Gar.

“I was checking the prisoner’s chains,” he answered blandly.

Talon Gar stared coldly at the three of us for a few seconds, though it seemed like an eternity. Then he shrugged and ordered one of his men to unchain me.

“The great Hin Abtol,” he said, “desires to have an audience with John Carter.”

“And I?” asked Tan Hadron of Hastor.

“You, slave,” he snapped, “have too long led a life of ease. Tomorrow you return to the Games!”

If he was expecting a show of fear from Tan Hadron, he must have been greatly disappointed, for the Heliumite smiled and said, “I am well pleased. Perhaps I may even cross swords in the arena with Talon Gar, so that his countrymen may see the sadistic monster from whom they cower receive his just deserts.”

Turning almost white with rage, Talon Gar, his face contorted in a maniacal grin, kicked Tan Hadron in the groin. Tan Hadron dropped to the floor, but not a murmur of pain escaped his noble lips.

Bal Daxus reached for the hilt of his sword, but I held his arm fast. “Later,” I whispered. “He will be avenged, but now is not the time. Think of Lirai.” Reluctantly he relaxed his muscles and walked to Tan Hadron’s side.

“I should not display such sympathy toward a slave were I you,” said Talon Gar, his dark eyes glowing like hot coals.

“A slave is property,” replied Bal Daxus. “It must be kept in good condition.”

Talon Gar spat on the floor and then, grasping me roughly by the shoulder, led me out of the cell and down the corridor. We took a branch to the left and soon arrived at a massive, delicately carved portal. Talon Gar had taken the precaution of binding my hands behind me, and it was in this condition that I was ushered into the Throne Room of Hin Abtol, Jeddak of Ayathor.

My attention was immediately drawn to the great, diamond-encrusted throne. At the very apex of the golden structure was a large diadem of a color unknown to earthly eyes, and hence a description of it would be useless. Suffice it to say that it was beautiful in the extreme.

However, I had little eye for the beauty of my surroundings, and I looked about the room for Hin Abtol. He wasn’t present yet, but almost two hundred soldiers stood in formation along the walls, all of them watching me intently. I noticed that Bal Daxus was among them. Evidently he had followed us from the Pits.

Then the plush red curtains behind the throne parted and Hin Abtol stepped forth regally and seated himself. As I surveyed his face, I could see all the defeat and hatred of the past three years written large upon it.

“Calot!” he hissed, glaring at me. “For years you have persecuted me, warred with me, hindered my glorious plans! Death is far too good for you!”

“If the Jeddak of Ayathor would be so kind as to give me a sword and engage me in combat,” I replied, looking him squarely in the eye, “he might thus inflict endless pain and suffering upon me before mercifully sending me to join my ancestors.”

A look of sheer terror at the prospect of dueling with me crossed his evil face for a moment, and I observed half-concealed smiles of pleasure on many of the warriors’ countenances.

“Insolent calot!” he shrieked. “You shall learn to show respect for the Jeddak of Ayathor!”

“I have a calot in Helium who merits more respect than you, and furthermore, he is far more handsome.”

“Silence!” he roared. “John Carter, you have defiled my name for the last time! You shall die the vilest, the most horrible of deaths, a death only John Carter could merit!”

I could do naught but smile at this, for I do not fear death, and it appeared that Hin Abtol was trying to frighten me into the grave.

“So the Warlord finds his fate humorous?” he demanded.

“Not my fate, Hin Abtol,” I said calmly, “but my executioner.” I paused, and then added: “You are going to do it yourself, aren’t you? You wouldn’t allow such a feeble-minded madman as Talon Gar to have all the pleasure?”

“Someone bind the prisoner’s mouth, that he may no longer debase your Jeddak,” commanded Hin Abtol.

Bal Daxus walked over and placed a leather thong about my lips. Before he drew it tight, I whispered, “I don’t know what’s in store for me, but if you don’t hear from me soon, release Tan Hadron and Lirai and escape this place without me.”

“I shall never desert you while you live, John Carter,” he replied in a low voice, and tightened the gag.

“John Carter,” said Hin Abtol, who had recovered his composure, “when
last you foiled me I swore that should you ever again fall into my hands you would receive a punishment worthy of your ignominious offense to my person.” He was speaking slowly now, enjoying every sinister word. “I have a room waiting for you, John Carter. It has been waiting more than two years for one man, the so-called warlord of Barsoom. You have been a disgrace to your title; Hin Abtol shall teach the people of Helium what it means to be a Warlord. Guards, take him to the Chamber of Madness!”

My last memory of the Throne Room of Ayathor was the sudden swishing sound of a shortsword. Too late I tried to duck, and as the flat of Talon Gar’s blade struck the back of my head, I sank to the floor in a senseless heap.

The Chamber of Madness

I awoke to a dull throbbing at the base of my skull. Gingerly I put my hand to it; the blood wasn’t dry yet, so I evidently had not been unconscious very long.

Beside me was my beloved longsword, a fact which caused me no little amazement. Why had Hin Abtol left it with me, I who was acclaimed far and wide to be the greatest swordsman who ever breathed the thin air of this dying planet? Puzzled as I was, I lost no time in replacing the weapon in its scabbard, which hung at my side.

Looking around, I found myself to be in a circular room. There were a dozen doors spaced evenly about it, each with the carvings typical of the yellow race which had founded the city. The top of the room faded into darkness and shadows some thirty feet above the floor, and there were a few beams of sorapus wood running across the room at a height of about twenty feet.

The room was devoid of furniture, and except for a small circle which was painted in the very center of the floor, there were no decorations save for the smooth and delicately-carved doors.

I systematically tried each door and was not surprised to find that they were all bolted securely from the outside. I then tested every inch of the walls and the floor and ascertained that there were no weak stones or any other flaw which might be the means to escape and freedom.