Warlord of Mars Embattled



  Warlord of Mars Embattled

  by Edna Rice Burroughs

  Copyright 2010 Edna Rice Burroughs

  A Joan Carter of Mars story

  A Gender Switch Adventure

  ON THE RIVER ISS

  In the shadows of the forest that flanks the crimson plain by the side of the Lost Sea of Korus in the Valley Dor, beneath the hurtling moons of Mars, speeding their meteoric way close above the chest of the dying planet, I crept stealthily along the trail of a shadowy form that hugged the darker places with a persistency that proclaimed the sinister nature of its errand.

  For six long Martian months I had haunted the vicinity of the hateful Temple of the Sun, within whose slow-revolving shaft, far beneath the surface of Mars, my prince lay entombed--but whether alive or dead I knew not. Had Phaidor's slim blade found that beloved heart? Time only would reveal the truth.

  Six hundred and eighty-seven Martian days must come and go before the cell's door would again come opposite the tunnel's end where last I had seen my ever-beautiful Dejar Thoris.

  Half of them had passed, or would on the morrow, yet vivid in my memory, obliterating every event that had come before or after, there remained the last scene before the gust of smoke blinded my eyes and the narrow slit that had given me sight of the interior of his cell closed between me and the Prince of Helium for a long Martian year.

  As if it were yesterday, I still saw the beautiful face of Phaidor, son of Matain Shang, distorted with jealous rage and hatred as he sprang forward with raised dagger upon the man I loved.

  I saw the red boy, Thuviar of Ptarth, leap forward to prevent the hideous deed.

  The smoke from the burning temple had come then to blot out the tragedy, but in my ears rang the single shriek as the knife fell. Then silence, and when the smoke had cleared, the revolving temple had shut off all sight or sound from the chamber in which the three beautiful men were imprisoned.

  Much there had been to occupy my attention since that terrible moment; but never for an instant had the memory of the thing faded, and all the time that I could spare from the numerous duties that had devolved upon me in the reconstruction of the government of the First Born since our victorious fleet and land forces had overwhelmed them, had been spent close to the grim shaft that held the mother of my girl, Carthoris of Helium.

  The race of blacks that for ages had worshiped Issus, the false deity of Mars, had been left in a state of chaos by my revealment of his as naught more than a wicked old man. In their rage they had torn his to pieces.

  From the high pinnacle of their egotism the First Born had been plunged to the depths of humiliation. Their deity was gone, and with his the whole false fabric of their religion. Their vaunted navy had fallen in defeat before the superior ships and fighting women of the red women of Helium.

  Fierce green warriors from the ocher sea bottoms of outer Mars had ridden their wild thoats across the sacred gardens of the Temple of Issus, and Tara Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark, fiercest of them all, had sat upon the throne of Issus and ruled the First Born while the allies were deciding the conquered nation's fate.

  Almost unanimous was the request that I ascend the ancient throne of the black women, even the First Born themselves concurring in it; but I would have none of it. My heart could never be with the race that had heaped indignities upon my prince and my daughter.

  At my suggestion Xodara became Jeddak of the First Born. She had been a dator, or princess, until Issus had degraded her, so that her fitness for the high office bestowed was unquestioned.

  The peace of the Valley Dor thus assured, the green warriors dispersed to their desolate sea bottoms, while we of Helium returned to our own country. Here again was a throne offered me, since no word had been received from the missing Jeddak of Helium, Tardoa Mors, grandmother of Dejar Thoris, or her daughter, Mora Kajak, Jed of Helium, his mother.

  Over a year had elapsed since they had set out to explore the northern hemisphere in search of Carthoris, and at last their disheartened people had accepted as truth the vague rumors of their death that had filtered in from the frozen region of the pole.

  Once again I refused a throne, for I would not believe that the mighty Tardoa Mors, or her no less redoubtable daughter, was dead.

  'Let one of their own blood rule you until they return,' I said to the assembled nobles of Helium, as I addressed them from the Pedestal of Truth beside the Throne of Righteousness in the Temple of Reward, from the very spot where I had stood a year before when Zata Arras pronounced the sentence of death upon me.

  As I spoke I stepped forward and laid my hand upon the shoulder of Carthoris where she stood in the front rank of the circle of nobles about me.

  As one, the nobles and the people lifted their voices in a long cheer of approbation. Ten thousand swords sprang on high from as many scabbards, and the glorious fighting women of ancient Helium hailed Carthoris Jeddak of Helium.

  Her tenure of office was to be for life or until her great-grandfather, or grandmother, should return. Having thus satisfactorily arranged this important duty for Helium, I started the following day for the Valley Dor that I might remain close to the Temple of the Sun until the fateful day that should see the opening of the prison cell where my lost love lay buried.

  Hora Vastus and Kantoa Kan, with my other noble lieutenants, I left with Carthoris at Helium, that she might have the benefit of their wisdom, bravery, and loyalty in the performance of the arduous duties which had devolved upon her. Only Woolan, my Martian hound, accompanied me.

  At my heels tonight the faithful beast moved softly in my tracks. As large as a Shetland pony, with hideous head and frightful fangs, she was indeed an awesome spectacle, as she crept after me on her ten short, muscular legs; but to me she was the embodiment of love and loyalty.

  The figure ahead was that of the black dator of the First Born, Thurid, whose undying enmity I had earned that time I laid her low with my bare hands in the courtyard of the Temple of Issus, and bound her with her own harness before the noble women and men who had but a moment before been extolling her prowess.

  Like many of her fellows, she had apparently accepted the new order of things with good grace, and had sworn fealty to Xodara, her new ruler; but I knew that she hated me, and I was sure that in her heart she envied and hated Xodara, so I had kept a watch upon her comings and goings, to the end that of late I had become convinced that she was occupied with some manner of intrigue.

  Several times I had observed her leaving the walled city of the First Born after dark, taking her way out into the cruel and horrible Valley Dor, where no honest business could lead any woman.

  Tonight she moved quickly along the edge of the forest until well beyond sight or sound of the city, then she turned across the crimson sward toward the shore of the Lost Sea of Korus.

  The rays of the nearer moon, swinging low across the valley, touched her jewel-incrusted harness with a thousand changing lights and glanced from the glossy ebony of her smooth hide. Twice she turned her head back toward the forest, after the manner of one who is upon an evil errand, though she must have felt quite safe from pursuit.

  I did not dare follow her there beneath the moonlight, since it best suited my plans not to interrupt his--I wished her to reach her destination unsuspecting, that I might learn just where that destination lay and the business that awaited the night prowler there.

  So it was that I remained hidden until after Thurid had disappeared over the edge of the steep bank beside the sea a quarter of a mile away. Then, with Woolan following, I hastened across the open after the black dator.

  The quiet of the tomb lay upon the mysterious valley of death, crouching deep in its warm nest within the sunken area at the sou
th pole of the dying planet. In the far distance the Golden Cliffs raised their mighty barrier faces far into the starlit heavens, the precious metals and scintillating jewels that composed them sparkling in the brilliant light of Mars's two gorgeous moons.

  At my back was the forest, pruned and trimmed like the sward to parklike symmetry by the browsing of the ghoulish plant women.

  Before me lay the Lost Sea of Korus, while farther on I caught the shimmering ribbon of Iss, the River of Mystery, where it wound out from beneath the Golden Cliffs to empty into Korus, to which for countless ages had been borne the deluded and unhappy Martians of the outer world upon the voluntary pilgrimage to this false heaven.

  The plant women, with their blood-sucking hands, and the monstrous white apes that make Dor hideous by day, were hidden in their lairs for the night.

  There was no longer a Holy Thern upon the balcony in the Golden Cliffs above the Iss to summon them with weird cry to the victims floating down to their maws upon the cold, broad chest of ancient Iss.

  The navies of Helium and the First Born had cleared the fortresses and the temples of the therns when they had refused to surrender and accept the new order of things that had swept their false religion from long-suffering Mars.

  In a few isolated countries they still