Worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs (17 page)

We hastened to Lirai’s room and were dismayed to discover that she was gone. The pistol and dagger were on the floor, and the room showed signs of a struggle.

“The other door is open!” cried Bal Daxus, and raced into the adjoining corridor.

“Finding her will be child’s play,” I said, as Tan Hadron and I followed him out of the room.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Observe the floor of the corridor,” I said. “There are two sets of prints in the dust, one much larger than the other. Some man evidently followed our own prints in the other corridor, entered the room, and abducted Lirai.”

The dank, dust-filled corridor was unfamiliar to Bal Daxus, and, as it became lighter, we slowed our pace and proceeded with more care. There were no forks or branches, and we had no trouble following the trail Lirai and her abductor had left. Then the corridor took a sudden dip, and we descended until it seemed certain that we must soon rise again or suffocate from the lack of fresh air. Yet two people before us had followed this path, and we would do it, too. So, never faltering, we hurried onward.

At last we came to a large wooden door, which marked the corridor’s end, and, opening it, we found ourselves on the shore of the Sea of Ayathor.

Some half a mile away, lying trussed upon a raft, was Lirai. Her captor was paddling furiously, and I recognized him at once, despite the distance and the darkness; it was Talon Gar.

“Evidently he learned where Lirai was hidden,” said Tan Hadron, “and made off with her before Hin Abtol could stop him. Probably no one is yet aware of his absence.”

“Where is he going?” I asked. “I believe the shaft lies in the opposite direction.”

“It would be useless for him to try and escape through the shaft without a flier,” answered Bal Daxus, “and Hin Abtol controls all the fliers. No, John Carter, he is not headed for the shaft.”

“What, then, is his destination?” I asked, mystified.

“There is only one place he could land in the direction he is heading: the Island of the Dead.”

“What are we to do, then?” asked Tan Hadron. “We cannot follow him without some craft.”

We fell to searching the shore, but there were no more rafts. Then a wild idea occurred to me. It seemed absurd, but there was no alternative if we were to save Lirai from that sadistic maniac.

“The door!” I said, “We’ll make a raft out of the door!”

They looked skeptical, but fell to work immediately. The door was about twelve feet in height, and better than five feet across.
The three of us tore it off its hinges and, hoping against hope, set it in the water.

It floated, and, pausing only long enough to hack off part of the frame to serve as crude paddles, we soon were in full pursuit of Talon Gar, the moaning sounds from the Island of the Dead ringing louder and ever louder in our ears.

The Island of the Dead

The sea was still and placid, and only that fact kept our makeshift craft from capsizing; Talon Gar and Lirai were out of sight now, but Bal Daxus directed us accurately along our course, and soon the island loomed large before us.

We saw Talon Gar’s raft lying on the shore and landed next to it. Then, walking ashore, we again picked up his trail.

We walked by a group of deserted huts, and I was reminded of an African village, so closely did the layout resemble various native bombas I had seen during my travels on Earth. There was no sign of life, however, and we did not stop to investigate the dwellings.

“Why is this called the Island of the Dead?” I asked Bal Daxus. “I have seen no sign of anything either living or dead.”

“I know not, John Carter,” he replied. “It is a legend, and for all anyone knows it may be only a legend.”

“Look!” said Tan Hadron suddenly.

We all looked in the direction that he indicated, and there, advancing slowly toward us, was a group of small, gnarled, dwarflike men. They wore only ragged loincloths, and none of them was armed. The tallest of them stood less than five feet, and his posture, like that of his fellows, resembled the carriage of an ape. Filthy, toothless, markedly aged, and grinning, they came toward us in a pack.

“Peace!” I said, raising my hand. “We come not as enemies, but in pursuit of two of our own people.”

“We know you are not an enemy,” said one of the grinning dwarfs. “We have no enemies.”

“Have you seen the two people we seek?” I asked.

“Come feast with us in the village of I-Pak, and we shall talk,” said another.

Bal Daxus was anxious to continue our pursuit, but I convinced him that we might be able to enlist I-Pak’s help if we played our cards right. It was a large island, the Island of the Dead, and we three could spend days searching for our quarry.

The gnarled little men led us hither and thither about rocks and other natural hazards until we came to a larger group of huts: this, then, was the village of I-Pak.

The women ran out to greet us, and I saw that their physical appearances differed but little from the men’s. They surrounded us with happy, smiling faces and made us feel genuinely welcome. We were taken to a large clearing in the midst of the huts, and here we sat down amongst our hosts and prepared to eat.

I-Pak, a shriveled little man, approached and officially welcomed us to his land, telling us how honored and privileged he felt by our visit. When we questioned him about Talon Gar and Lirai, he insisted that we quell our hunger and thirst first, and then he would aid us as best he could.

“Have you had any contact with the outside world?” I asked I-Pak during the meal.

“Outside world?” he repeated incredulously. “Why, there is no other world save this one. We float upon an ocean, and the top of the Universe is directly overhead.”

I tried to explain to him that Ayathor was merely a hidden and forgotten sea, and that somewhere above him was a brightly lit world many times larger, but he only smiled condescendingly at me.

“Swim as far as you can,” he said, “and you will reach the end of the Universe, beyond which you cannot go.”

“There is an opening through which you can go to the outer world,” I said.

He laughed at that, and I really couldn’t blame him. How would
you
feel if a complete stranger told you there was a hole in the sky?

“How do you account for the race of men we belong to?” asked Tan Hadron. “We have only recently discovered your world.”

“Nonsense,” said I-Pak. “You were placed here by Zar for his amusement.”

“Who is Zar?” I asked.

Immediately the group of natives fell silent and stared at me in disbelief! I-Pak looked absolutely shocked.

“Why, Zar is Zar,” said the Jed at last, as if speaking to a small child. “How else may one describe him?”

“Is he your god?” asked Tan Hadron of Hastor.

“He is everyone’s god,” replied I-Pak. “We all exist only in his mind. Even our great treasure exists nowhere but in the infinite mind of Zar.”

“Your treasure?” I asked, wondering what kind of treasure could be possessed by these isolated people.

“Yes,” said I-Pak. “When you finish with your repast, you may see it.”

“How about Lirai and Talon Gar?” demanded Bal Daxus.

“Of course,” said I-Pak. “I have not forgotten.”

Then the Jed returned to his meal, and Tan Hadron leaned over to me.

“Have you noticed their age?” he asked. “There is not a young one among them.”

This was indeed unusual, for on Barsoom the life span is about a thousand years (although few survive the constant warring that long), and the body does not commence to show any signs of age until shortly before death.

“Living in a sunless world,” I answered, “their eggs would be unable to hatch. And even the oldest of them evidently has no memory of any home other than this island. They seem amiable enough, though,” I added.

“They’re a little too friendly, if you ask me,” said my companion.

The meal was soon concluded, and I-Pak arose and faced me. “Come,” he said, smiling curiously. “You must now see our treasure.”

Surrounded by the apelike dwarfs of I-Pak, we followed the old Jed down a winding pathway. We shortly arrived at the base of a gigantic rock, which must have stood nearly three hundred feet high. I-Pak walked directly to a large patch of moss which grew on the rock, carefully brushed it aside, and a rudely carved tunnel was revealed. Through this we went, and I noticed a strange odor filling my nostrils. When we emerged from the tunnel, we found ourselves in a small crater. Nowhere were the walls less than eighty feet in height, and the moaning noise was almost deafening now.

“There!” said I-Pak, pointing. “What do you think of our treasure?”

We looked in the direction he had indicated, There, in various poses, were lifelike figures of the yellow men of the Okarian race. Some sat astride their thoats, some were engaged in swordplay, and a few were standing at attention.

It was an impressive spectacle, a tableau of unexcelled artistry, and I turned to I-Pak.

“This is an exquisite work of craftsmanship,” I said admiringly. “Who is your sculptor?”

“Sculptor?” he repeated. “What is a sculptor?”

“Why, your artist. The man who carved and painted these statues. The fellow is a genius at realism.”

“We have no artists among our people,” he answered. “Study them more closely.”

We stepped forward and examined the figures.

“They’re men!” exclaimed Tan Hadron in amazement. “They’ve been preserved in a waxlike substance.”

And indeed they
were
men. I saw now that there was little likelihood that even the most skilled of artists could reproduce so perfectly the detailed structures and coloring of the figures before us.

The warriors of I-Pak were pushing us forward in their enthusiasm to observe their precious “treasure” more closely, and I concluded that they saw it rather infrequently.

“This must have been a religious practice of the founders of Ayathor,” I remarked to Tan Hadron, and he nodded in assent.

We walked about the display, always in the midst of the little men, examining the pieces. I was just reading the inscription on the harness of one of the Okarians when Tan Hadron grabbed my arm.

“Look, John Carter!” he exclaimed, and pointed to the figure of a red warrior wearing the insignia of Hin Abtol.

At the same instant, a woman’s voice rang out above the moaning noise. “Flee, Bal Daxus!” it cried. “Flee for your life!”

Bal Daxus turned in the direction of the voice. “Lirai!” he shouted, and now we saw her in a wooden cage which was almost hidden within the shadows of the wall.

I tried to run to her, but I discovered that the little men had crowded about me so closely that I couldn’t move. Looking around, I saw that Bal Daxus and Tan Hadron were in the same predicament. I was in such tight quarters that I couldn’t even draw my sword, and then, at a signal from I-Pak, the three of us were overpowered, disarmed, and bound. Then we were taken to a cage that adjoined Lirai’s, and we saw that Talon Gar was enclosed in a similar cage a short distance away.

“What is this?” I demanded. “We are not your enemies!”

“As you were told before,” said I-Pak, his hands resting triumphantly on his shriveled hips, “we have no enemies. You are to be sacrificed to Zar, and should consider it a great honor.”

“You mean we are to be added to your art gallery?”

“It is not ours, but belongs, as does all else, to Zar. He created it; we merely discovered it long ago. In answer to your question, the girl will be given immortality by becoming a part of our sacred treasure, and her beauty will be admired forever.”

“And what of us?” demanded Bal Daxus.

“Zar would not benefit from an inferior sacrifice,” said I-Pak. “Only one of you will be so honored. As women are judged by their beauty, so are warriors judged by their fighting ability. Two of you will duel to the death; the victor will face the third, and the victor of that the fourth. The one who emerges victorious from this combat will have proved by virtue of his courage and his skill that he is worthy of Zar.”

He signaled one of his men to unlock Talon Gar’s cage, and the Panar was dragged out into the open.

“Release the white-skinned one,” commanded I-Pak. I was led into the circle his men had formed, and faced Talon Gar, who was eyeing me hatefully.

“You have doubtless wondered what the noise coming to your ears is,” I-Pak said presently. “You should have an explanation before your deaths. Far beneath the ground is a foul-smelling liquid which has been boiling ever since our oldest man can remember. The steam escapes through the top of the tunneled rock we passed through, creating the sound you hear. Our people entrap vast amounts of the vapor, and as it cools we add ingredients which will form the final mixture which the victor will be coated with. It sounds painful, I know, but surely the pain is negated by the knowledge of the magnificent honor in store for you.”

When he ceased speaking, our bonds were cut and we were given our longswords.

“You may salute each other and commence,” said I-Pak, and his dwarfed men leaned forward in keen anticipation.

I complied with his request, and as I did so Talon Gar lunged forward and pricked my wrist. He came at me again, but I parried his blow and drew blood from his cheek.