Books: Thuvia, Maid of Mars
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Edgar Rice Burroughs >> Thuvia, Maid of Mars
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She could not believe that Carthoris had deliberately deserted her,
and so she kept a constant watch for him; but as she bore too far
to the north in her search for the tunnel she passed the Heliumite
as he was returning to Lothar in search of her.
Thuvia of Ptarth was having difficulty in determining the exact
status of the Prince of Helium in her heart. She could not admit
even to herself that she loved him, and yet she had permitted him
to apply to her that term of endearment and possession to which
a Barsoomian maid should turn deaf ears when voiced by other lips
than those of her husband or fiance--"my princess."
Kulan Tith, Jeddak of Kaol, to whom she was affianced, commanded
her respect and admiration. Had it been that she had surrendered
to her father's wishes because of pique that the handsome Heliumite
had not taken advantage of his visits to her father's court
to push the suit for her hand that she had been quite sure he had
contemplated since that distant day the two had sat together upon
the carved seat within the gorgeous Garden of the Jeddaks that
graced the inner courtyard of the palace of Salensus Oll at Kadabra?
Did she love Kulan Tith? Bravely she tried to believe that she
did; but all the while her eyes wandered through the coming darkness
for the figure of a clean-limbed fighting man--black-haired and
grey-eyed. Black was the hair of Kulan Tith; but his eyes were
brown.
It was almost dark when she found the entrance to the tunnel. Safely
she passed through to the hills beyond, and here, under the bright
light of Mars' two moons, she halted to plan her future action.
Should she wait here in the hope that Carthoris would return in
search of her? Or should she continue her way north-east toward
Ptarth? Where, first, would Carthoris have gone after leaving the
valley of Lothar?
Her parched throat and dry tongue gave her the answer--toward
Aaanthor and water. Well, she, too, would go first to Aaanthor,
where she might find more than the water she needed.
With Komal by her side she felt little fear, for he would protect
her from all other savage beasts. Even the great white apes would
flee the mighty banth in terror. Men only need she fear, but she
must take this and many other chances before she could hope to
reach her father's court again.
When at last Carthoris found her, only to be struck down by the
long-sword of a green man, Thuvia prayed that the same fate might
overtake her.
The sight of the red warriors leaping from their fliers had, for a
moment, filled her with renewed hope--hope that Carthoris of Helium
might be only stunned and that they would rescue him; but when she
saw the Dusarian metal upon their harness, and that they sought
only to escape with her alone from the charging Torquasians, she
gave up.
Komal, too, was dead--dead across the body of the Heliumite. She
was, indeed, alone now. There was none to protect her.
The Dusarian warriors dragged her to the deck of the nearest flier.
All about them the green warriors surged in an attempt to wrest
her from the red.
At last those who had not died in the conflict gained the decks
of the two craft. The engines throbbed and purred--the propellers
whirred. Quickly the swift boats shot heavenward.
Thuvia of Ptarth glanced about her. A man stood near, smiling down
into her face. With a gasp of recognition she looked full into
his eyes, and then with a little moan of terror and understanding
she buried her face in her hands and sank to the polished skeel-wood
deck. It was Astok, Prince of Dusar, who bent above her.
Swift were the fliers of Astok of Dusar, and great the need for
reaching his father's court as quickly as possible, for the fleets
of war of Helium and Ptarth and Kaol were scattered far and wide
above Barsoom. Nor would it go well with Astok or Dusar should
any one of them discover Thuvia of Ptarth a prisoner upon his own
vessel.
Aaanthor lies in fifty south latitude, and forty east of Horz, the
deserted seat of ancient Barsoomian culture and learning, while
Dusar lies fifteen degrees north of the equator and twenty degrees
east from Horz.
Great though the distance is, the fliers covered it without a stop.
Long before they had reached their destination Thuvia of Ptarth had
learned several things that cleared up the doubts that had assailed
her mind for many days. Scarce had they risen above Aaanthor than
she recognized one of the crew as a member of the crew of that other
flier that had borne her from her father's gardens to Aaanthor.
The presence of Astok upon the craft settled the whole question.
She had been stolen by emissaries of the Dusarian prince--Carthoris
of Helium had had nothing to do with it.
Nor did Astok deny the charge when she accused him. He only smiled
and pleaded his love for her.
"I would sooner mate with a white ape!" she cried, when he would
have urged his suit.
Astok glowered sullenly upon her.
"You shall mate with me, Thuvia of Ptarth," he growled, "or, by
your first ancestor, you shall have your preference--and mate with
a white ape."
The girl made no reply, nor could he draw her into conversation
during the balance of the journey.
As a matter of fact Astok was a trifle awed by the proportions
of the conflict which his abduction of the Ptarthian princess had
induced, nor was he over comfortable with the weight of responsibility
which the possession of such a prisoner entailed.
His one thought was to get her to Dusar, and there let his father
assume the responsibility. In the meantime he would be as careful
as possible to do nothing to affront her, lest they all might be
captured and he have to account for his treatment of the girl to
one of the great jeddaks whose interest centred in her.
And so at last they came to Dusar, where Astok hid his prisoner in
a secret room high in the east tower of his own palace. He had
sworn his men to silence in the matter of the identity of the girl,
for until he had seen his father, Nutus, Jeddak of Dusar, he dared
not let any one know whom he had brought with him from the south.
But when he appeared in the great audience chamber before the
cruel-lipped man who was his sire, he found his courage oozing,
and he dared not speak of the princess hid within his palace. It
occurred to him to test his father's sentiments upon the subject,
and so he told a tale of capturing one who claimed to know the
whereabouts of Thuvia of Ptarth.
"And if you command it, Sire," he said, "I will go and capture
her--fetching her here to Dusar."
Nutus frowned and shook his head.
"You have done enough already to set Ptarth and Kaol and Helium
all three upon us at once should they learn your part in the theft
of the Ptarth princess. That you succeeded in shifting the guilt
upon the Prince of Helium was fortunate, and a masterly move of
strategy; but were the girl to know the truth and ever return to
her father's court, all Dusar would have to pay the penalty, and to
have her here a prisoner amongst us would be an admission of guilt
from the consequences of which naught could save us. It would cost
me my throne, Astok, and that I have no mind to lose.
"If we had her here--" the elder man suddenly commenced to muse,
repeating the phrase again and again. "If we had her here, Astok,"
he exclaimed fiercely. "Ah, if we but had her here and none knew
that she was here! Can you not guess, man? The guilt of Dusar
might be for ever buried with her bones," he concluded in a low,
savage whisper.
Astok, Prince of Dusar, shuddered.
Weak he was; yes, and wicked, too; but the suggestion that his
father's words implied turned him cold with horror.
Cruel to their enemies are the men of Mars; but the word "enemies"
is commonly interpreted to mean men only. Assassination runs riot
in the great Barsoomian cities; yet to murder a woman is a crime
so unthinkable that even the most hardened of the paid assassins
would shrink from you in horror should you suggest such a thing to
him.
Nutus was apparently oblivious to his son's all-too-patent terror
at his suggestion. Presently he continued:
"You say that you know where the girl lies hid, since she was stolen
from your people at Aaanthor. Should she be found by any one of
the three powers, her unsupported story would be sufficient to turn
them all against us.
"There is but one way, Astok," cried the older man. "You must return
at once to her hiding-place and fetch her hither in all secrecy.
And, look you here! Return not to Dusar without her, upon pain of
death!"
Astok, Prince of Dusar, well knew his royal father's temper. He
knew that in the tyrant's heart there pulsed no single throb of
love for any creature.
Astok's mother had been a slave woman. Nutus had never loved her.
He had never loved another. In youth he had tried to find a bride
at the courts of several of his powerful neighbours, but their
women would have none of him.
After a dozen daughters of his own nobility had sought self-destruction
rather than wed him he had given up. And then it had been that
he had legally wed one of his slaves that he might have a son to
stand among the jeds when Nutus died and a new jeddak was chosen.
Slowly Astok withdrew from the presence of his father. With white
face and shaking limbs he made his way to his own palace. As he
crossed the courtyard his glance chanced to wander to the great
east tower looming high against the azure of the sky.
At sight of it beads of sweat broke out upon his brow.
Issus! No other hand than his could be trusted to do the horrid
thing. With his own fingers he must crush the life from that
perfect throat, or plunge the silent blade into the red, red heart.
Her heart! The heart that he had hoped would brim with love for
him!
But had it done so? He recalled the haughty contempt with which his
protestations of love had been received. He went cold and then hot
to the memory of it. His compunctions cooled as the self-satisfaction
of a near revenge crowded out the finer instincts that had for
a moment asserted themselves--the good that he had inherited from
the slave woman was once again submerged in the bad blood that had
come down to him from his royal sire; as, in the end, it always
was.
A cold smile supplanted the terror that had dilated his eyes. He
turned his steps toward the tower. He would see her before he set
out upon the journey that was to blind his father to the fact that
the girl was already in Dusar.
Quietly he passed in through the secret way, ascending a spiral
runway to the apartment in which the Princess of Ptarth was immured.
As he entered the room he saw the girl leaning upon the sill of
the east casement, gazing out across the roof tops of Dusar toward
distant Ptarth. He hated Ptarth. The thought of it filled him
with rage. Why not finish her now and have it done with?
At the sound of his step she turned quickly toward him. Ah, how
beautiful she was! His sudden determination faded beneath the
glorious light of her wondrous beauty. He would wait until he had
returned from his little journey of deception--maybe there might
be some other way then. Some other hand to strike the blow--with
that face, with those eyes before him, he could never do it. Of
that he was positive. He had always gloried in the cruelty of his
nature, but, Issus! he was not that cruel. No, another must be
found--one whom he could trust.
He was still looking at her as she stood there before him meeting
his gaze steadily and unafraid. He felt the hot passion of his
love mounting higher and higher.
Why not sue once more? If she would relent, all might yet be
well. Even if his father could not be persuaded, they could fly
to Ptarth, laying all the blame of the knavery and intrigue that
had thrown four great nations into war, upon the shoulders of Nutus.
And who was there that would doubt the justice of the charge?
"Thuvia," he said, "I come once again, for the last time, to lay
my heart at your feet. Ptarth and Kaol and Dusar are battling with
Helium because of you. Wed me, Thuvia, and all may yet be as it
should be."
The girl shook her head.
"Wait!" he commanded, before she could speak. "Know the truth
before you speak words that may seal, not only your own fate, but
that of the thousands of warriors who battle because of you.
"Refuse to wed me willingly, and Dusar would be laid waste should
ever the truth be known to Ptarth and Kaol and Helium. They would
raze our cities, leaving not one stone upon another. They would
scatter our peoples across the face of Barsoom from the frozen north
to the frozen south, hunting them down and slaying them, until this
great nation remained only as a hated memory in the minds of men.
"But while they are exterminating the Dusarians, countless thousands
of their own warriors must perish--and all because of the stubbornness
of a single woman who would not wed the prince who loves her.
"Refuse, Thuvia of Ptarth, and there remains but a single
alternative--no man must ever know your fate. Only a handful of
loyal servitors besides my royal father and myself know that you
were stolen from the gardens of Thuvan Dihn by Astok, Prince of
Dusar, or that to-day you be imprisoned in my palace.
"Refuse, Thuvia of Ptarth, and you must die to save Dusar--there
is no other way. Nutus, the jeddak, has so decreed. I have spoken."
For a long moment the girl let her level gaze rest full upon the
face of Astok of Dusar. Then she spoke, and though the words were
few, the unimpassioned tone carried unfathomable depths of cold
contempt.
"Better all that you have threatened," she said, "than you."
Then she turned her back upon him and went to stand once more before
the east window, gazing with sad eyes toward distant Ptarth.
Astok wheeled and left the room, returning after a short interval
of time with food and drink.
"Here," he said, "is sustenance until I return again. The next to
enter this apartment will be your executioner. Commend yourself to
your ancestors, Thuvia of Ptarth, for within a few days you shall
be with them."
Then he was gone.
Half an hour later he was interviewing an officer high in the navy
of Dusar.
"Whither went Vas Kor?" he asked. "He is not at his palace."
"South, to the great waterway that skirts Torquas," replied the
other. "His son, Hal Vas, is Dwar of the Road there, and thither
has Vas Kor gone to enlist recruits among the workers on the farms."
"Good," said Astok, and a half-hour more found him rising above
Dusar in his swiftest flier.
CHAPTER XIII
TURJUN, THE PANTHAN
The face of Carthoris of Helium gave no token of the emotions that
convulsed him inwardly as he heard from the lips of Hal Vas that
Helium was at war with Dusar, and that fate had thrown him into
the service of the enemy.
That he might utilize this opportunity to the good of Helium scarce
sufficed to outweigh the chagrin he felt that he was not fighting
in the open at the head of his own loyal troops.
To escape the Dusarians might prove an easy matter; and then again
it might not. Should they suspect his loyalty (and the loyalty
of an impressed panthan was always open to suspicion), he might
not find an opportunity to elude their vigilance until after the
termination of the war, which might occur within days, or, again,
only after long and weary years of bloodshed.
He recalled that history recorded wars in which actual military
operations had been carried on without cessation for five or six
hundred years, and even now there were nations upon Barsoom with
which Helium had made no peace within the history of man.
The outlook was not cheering. He could not guess that within a
few hours he would be blessing the fate that had thrown him into
the service of Dusar.
"Ah!" exclaimed Hal Vas. "Here is my father now. Kaor! Vas Kor.
Here is one you will be glad to meet--a doughty panthan--" He
hesitated.
"Turjun," interjected Carthoris, seizing upon the first appellation
that occurred to him.
As he spoke his eyes crossed quickly to the tall warrior who was
entering the room. Where before had he seen that giant figure,
that taciturn countenance, and the livid sword-cut from temple to
mouth?
"Vas Kor," repeated Carthoris mentally. "Vas Kor!" Where had he
seen the man before?
And then the noble spoke, and like a flash it all came back to
Carthoris--the forward servant upon the landing-stage at Ptarth
that time that he had been explaining the intricacies of his new
compass to Thuvan Dihn; the lone slave that had guarded his own hangar
that night he had left upon his ill-fated journey for Ptarth--the
journey that had brought him so mysteriously to far Aaanthor.
"Vas Kor," he repeated aloud, "blessed be your ancestors for this
meeting," nor did the Dusarian guess the wealth of meaning that lay
beneath that hackneyed phrase with which a Barsoomian acknowledges
an introduction.
"And blessed be yours, Turjun," replied Vas Kor.
Now came the introduction of Kar Komak to Vas Kor, and as Carthoris
went through the little ceremony there came to him the only
explanation he might make to account for the white skin and auburn
hair of the bowman; for he feared that the truth might not be
believed and thus suspicion be cast upon them both from the beginning.
"Kar Komak," he explained, "is, as you can see, a thern. He
has wandered far from his icebound southern temples in search of
adventure. I came upon him in the pits of Aaanthor; but though
I have known him so short a time, I can vouch for his bravery and
loyalty."
Since the destruction of the fabric of their false religion by
John Carter, the majority of the therns had gladly accepted the
new order of things, so that it was now no longer uncommon to see
them mingling with the multitudes of red men in any of the great
cities of the outer world, so Vas Kor neither felt nor expressed
any great astonishment.
All during the interview Carthoris watched, catlike, for some
indication that Vas Kor recognized in the battered panthan the
erstwhile gorgeous Prince of Helium; but the sleepless nights, the
long days of marching and fighting, the wounds and the dried blood
had evidently sufficed to obliterate the last remnant of his likeness
to his former self; and then Vas Kor had seen him but twice in all
his life. Little wonder that he did not know him.
During the evening Vas Kor announced that on the morrow they should
depart north toward Dusar, picking up recruits at various stations
along the way.
In a great field behind the house a flier lay--a fair-sized
cruiser-transport that would accommodate many men, yet swift and
well armed also. Here Carthoris slept, and Kar Komak, too, with
the other recruits, under guard of the regular Dusarian warriors
that manned the craft.
Toward midnight Vas Kor returned to the vessel from his son's
house, repairing at once to his cabin. Carthoris, with one of the
Dusarians, was on watch. It was with difficulty that the Heliumite
repressed a cold smile as the noble passed within a foot of
him--within a foot of the long, slim, Heliumitic blade that swung
in his harness.
How easy it would have been! How easy to avenge the cowardly
trick that had been played upon him--to avenge Helium and Ptarth
and Thuvia!
But his hand moved not toward the dagger's hilt, for first Vas Kor
must serve a better purpose--he might know where Thuvia of Ptarth
lay hidden now, if it had truly been Dusarians that had spirited
her away during the fight before Aaanthor.
And then, too, there was the instigator of the entire foul plot.
HE must pay the penalty; and who better than Vas Kor could lead
the Prince of Helium to Astok of Dusar?
Faintly out of the night there came to Carthoris's ears the purring
of a distant motor. He scanned the heavens.
Yes, there it was far in the north, dimly outlined against the
dark void of space that stretched illimitably beyond it, the faint
suggestion of a flier passing, unlighted, through the Barsoomian
night.
Carthoris, knowing not whether the craft might be friend or foe
of Dusar, gave no sign that he had seen, but turned his eyes in
another direction, leaving the matter to the Dusarian who stood
watch with him.
Presently the fellow discovered the oncoming craft, and sounded
the low alarm which brought the balance of the watch and an officer
from their sleeping silks and furs upon the deck near by.
The cruiser-transport lay without lights, and, resting as she was
upon the ground, must have been entirely invisible to the oncoming
flier, which all presently recognized as a small craft.
It soon became evident that the stranger intended making a landing,
for she was now spiraling slowly above them, dropping lower and
lower in each graceful curve.
"It is the Thuria," whispered one of the Dusarian warriors. "I
would know her in the blackness of the pits among ten thousand
other craft."
"Right you are!" exclaimed Vas Kor, who had come on deck. And then
he hailed:
"Kaor, Thuria!"
"Kaor!" came presently from above after a brief silence. Then:
"What ship?"
"Cruiser-transport Kalksus, Vas Kor of Dusar."
"Good!" came from above. "Is there safe landing alongside?"
"Yes, close in to starboard. Wait, we will show our lights," and
a moment later the smaller craft settled close beside the Kalksus,
and the lights of the latter were immediately extinguished once
more.
Several figures could be seen slipping over the side of the Thuria
and advancing toward the Kalksus. Ever suspicious, the Dusarians
stood ready to receive the visitors as friends or foes as closer
inspection might prove them. Carthoris stood quite near the rail,
ready to take sides with the new-comers should chance have it that
they were Heliumites playing a bold stroke of strategy upon this
lone Dusarian ship. He had led like parties himself, and knew that
such a contingency was quite possible.
But the face of the first man to cross the rail undeceived him
with a shock that was not at all unpleasurable--it was the face of
Astok, Prince of Dusar.
Scarce noticing the others upon the deck of the Kalksus, Astok
strode forward to accept Vas Kor's greeting, then he summoned the
noble below. The warriors and officers returned to their sleeping
silks and furs, and once more the deck was deserted except for the
Dusarian warrior and Turjun, the panthan, who stood guard.
The latter walked quietly to and fro. The former leaned across
the rail, wishing for the hour that would bring him relief. He
did not see his companion approach the lights of the cabin of Vas
Kor. He did not see him stoop with ear close pressed to a tiny
ventilator.
"May the white apes take us all," cried Astok ruefully, "if we are
not in as ugly a snarl as you have ever seen! Nutus thinks that
we have her in hiding far away from Dusar. He has bidden me bring
her here."
He paused. No man should have heard from his lips the thing he was
trying to tell. It should have been for ever the secret of Nutus
and Astok, for upon it rested the safety of a throne. With that
knowledge any man could wrest from the Jeddak of Dusar whatever he
listed.
But Astok was afraid, and he wanted from this older man the suggestion
of an alternative. He went on.
"I am to kill her," he whispered, looking fearfully around. "Nutus
merely wishes to see the body that he may know his commands have
been executed. I am now supposed to be gone to the spot where we
have her hidden that I may fetch her in secrecy to Dusar. None
is to know that she has ever been in the keeping of a Dusarian. I
do not need to tell you what would befall Dusar should Ptarth and
Helium and Kaol ever learn the truth."
The jaws of the listener at the ventilator clicked together with
a vicious snap. Before he had but guessed at the identity of the
subject of this conversation. Now he knew. And they were to kill
her! His muscular fingers clenched until the nails bit into the
palms.
"And you wish me to go with you while you fetch her to Dusar," Vas
Kor was saying. "Where is she?"
Astok bent close and whispered into the other's ear. The suggestion
of a smile crossed the cruel features of Vas Kor. He realized the
power that lay within his grasp. He should be a jed at least.
"And how may I help you, my Prince?" asked the older man suavely.
"I cannot kill her," said Astok. "Issus! I cannot do it! When
she turns those eyes upon me my heart becomes water."
Vas Kor's eyes narrowed.
"And you wish--" He paused, the interrogation unfinished, yet
complete.
Astok nodded.
"YOU do not love her," he said.
"But I love my life--though I am only a lesser noble," he concluded
meaningly.
"You shall be a greater noble--a noble of the first rank!" exclaimed
Astok.
"I would be a jed," said Vas Kor bluntly.
Astok hesitated.
"A jed must die before there can be another jed," he pleaded.
"Jeds have died before," snapped Vas Kor. "It would doubtless be
not difficult for you to find a jed you do not love, Astok--there
are many who do not love you."
Already Vas Kor was commencing to presume upon his power over the
young prince. Astok was quick to note and appreciate the subtle
change in his lieutenant. A cunning scheme entered his weak and
wicked brain.
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