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andersunmenschlich · 2 years

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Chapter VIII

CLOSE WORK

Ghek, in her happier days third supervisor of the fields of Luud, sat nursing her anger and her humiliation. Recently something had awakened within her the existence of which she had never before even dreamed. Had the influence of the strange captive man aught to do with this unrest and dissatisfaction? She did not know. She missed the soothing influence of the noise he called singing.

Could it be that there were other things more desirable than cold logic and undefiled brain power? Was well balanced imperfection more to be sought after then, than the high development of a single characteristic? She thought of the great, ultimate brain toward which all kaldanes were striving. It would be deaf, and dumb, and blind. A thousand beautiful strangers might sing and dance about it, but it could derive no pleasure from the singing or the dancing since it would possess no perceptive faculties. Already had the kaldanes shut themselves off from most of the gratifications of the senses. Ghek wondered if much was to be gained by denying themselves still further, and with the thought came a question as to the whole fabric of their theory. After all perhaps the boy was right; what purpose could a great brain serve sealed in the bowels of the earth?

And she, Ghek, was to die for this theory. Luud had decreed it. The injustice of it overwhelmed her with rage. But she was helpless. There was no escape. Beyond the enclosure the banths awaited her; within, her own kind, equally as merciless and ferocious. Among them there was no such thing as love, or loyalty, or friendship—they were just brains. She might kill Luud; but what would that profit her? Another queen would be loosed from her sealed chamber and Ghek would be killed. She did not know it but she would not even have the poor satisfaction of satisfied revenge, since she was not capable of feeling so abstruse a sentiment.

Ghek, mounted upon her rykor, paced the floor of the tower chamber in which she had been ordered to remain. Ordinarily she would have accepted the sentence of Luud with perfect equanimity, since it was but the logical result of reason; but now it seemed different. The stranger man had bewitched her. Life appeared a pleasant thing—there were great possibilities in it. The dream of the ultimate brain had receded into a tenuous haze far in the background of her thoughts.

At that moment there appeared in the doorway of the chamber a red warrior with naked sword. She was the female counterpart of the prisoner whose sweet voice had undermined the cold, calculating reason of the kaldane.

"Silence!" admonished the newcomer, her straight brows gathered in an ominous frown and the point of her longsword playing menacingly before the eyes of the kaldane. "I seek the man, Taran of Helium. Where is he? If you value your life, speak quickly and speak the truth.

If she valued her life! It was a truth that Ghek had but just learned. She thought quickly. After all, a great brain is not without its uses. Perhaps here lay escape from the sentence of Luud.

"You are of his kind?" she asked. "You come to rescue him?"

"Yes."

"Listen, then. I have befriended him, and because of this I am to die. If I help you to liberate him, will you take me with you?"

Gatha of Gathol eyed the weird creature from crown to foot—the perfect body, the grotesque head, the expressionless face. Among such as these had the beautiful son of Helium been held captive for days and weeks.

"If he lives and is unharmed," she said, "I will take you with us."

"When they took him from me he was alive and unharmed," replied Ghek. "I cannot say what has befallen him since. Luud sent for him."

"Who is Luud? Where is she? Lead me to her." Gatha spoke quickly in tones vibrant with authority.

"Come, then," said Ghek, leading the way from the apartment and down a stairway toward the underground burrows of the kaldanes. "Luud is my queen. I will take you to xyr chambers."

"Hasten!" urged Gatha.

"Sheathe your sword," warned Ghek, "so that should we pass others of my kind I may say to them that you are a new prisoner with some likelihood of winning their belief."

Gatha did as she was bid, but warning the kaldane that her hand was ever ready at her dagger's hilt.

"You need have no fear of treachery," said Ghek. "My only hope of life lies in you."

"And if you fail me," Gatha admonished her, "I can promise you as sure a death as even your queen might guarantee you."

Ghek made no reply, but moved rapidly through the winding subterranean corridors until Gatha began to realize how truly was she in the hands of this strange monster. If the fellow should prove false it would profit Gatha nothing to slay her, since without her guidance the red woman might never hope to retrace her way to the tower and freedom.

Twice they met and were accosted by other kaldanes; but in both instances Ghek's simple statement that she was taking a new prisoner to Luud appeared to allay all suspicion, and then at last they came to the ante-chamber of the queen.

"Here, now, red woman, thou must fight, if ever," whispered Ghek. "Enter there!" and she pointed to a doorway before them.

"And you?" asked Gatha, still fearful of treachery.

"My rykor is powerful," replied the kaldane. "I shall accompany you and fight at your side. As well die thus as in torture later at the will of Luud. Come!"

But Gatha had already crossed the room and entered the chamber beyond. Upon the opposite side of the room was a circular opening guarded by two warriors. Beyond this opening she could see two figures struggling upon the floor, and the fleeting glimpse she had of one of the faces suddenly endowed her with the strength of ten warriors and the ferocity of a wounded banth. It was Taran of Helium, fighting for his honor or his life.

The warriors, startled by the unexpected appearance of a red woman, stood for a moment in dumb amazement, and in that moment Gatha of Gathol was upon them, and one was down, a sword-thrust through its heart.

"Strike at the heads," whispered the voice of Ghek in Gatha's ear. The latter saw the head of the fallen warrior crawl quickly within the aperture leading to the chamber where she had seen Taran of Helium in the clutches of a headless body. Then the sword of Ghek struck the kaldane of the remaining warrior from its rykor and Gatha ran her sword through the repulsive head.

Instantly the red warrior leaped for the aperture, while close behind her came Ghek.

"Look not upon the eyes of Luud," warned the kaldane, "or you are lost."

Within the chamber Gatha saw Taran of Helium in the clutches of a mighty body, while close to the wall upon the opposite side of the apartment crouched the hideous, spider-like Luud. Instantly the queen realized the menace to herself and sought to fasten her eyes upon the eyes of Gatha, and in doing so she was forced to relax her concentration upon the rykor in whose embraces Taran struggled, so that almost immediately the boy found himself able to tear away from the awful, headless thing.

As he rose quickly to his feet he saw for the first time the cause of the interruption of Luud's plans. A red warrior! His heart leaped in rejoicing and thanksgiving. What miracle of fate had sent her to him? He did not recognize her, though, this travel-worn warrior in the plain harness which showed no single jewel. How could he have guessed her the same as the scintillant creature of platinum and diamonds that he had seen for a brief hour under such different circumstances at the court of his august dam?

Luud saw Ghek following the strange warrior into the chamber. "Strike them down, Ghek!" commanded the queen. "Strike down the stranger and your life shall be yours."

Gatha glanced at the hideous face of the queen.

"Seek not her eyes," screamed Taran in warning; but it was too late. Already the horrid hypnotic gaze of the queen kaldane had seized upon the eyes of Gatha. The red warrior hesitated in her stride. Her sword point drooped slowly toward the floor. Taran glanced toward Ghek. He saw the creature glaring with her expressionless eyes upon the strong back of the stranger. He saw the hand of the creature's rykor creeping stealthily toward the hilt of its dagger.

And then Taran of Helium raised his eyes aloft and poured forth the notes of Mars' most beautiful melody, The Song of Love.

Ghek drew her dagger from its sheath. Her eyes turned toward the singing boy. Luud's glance wavered from the eyes of the woman to the face of Taran, and the instant that the latter's song distracted her attention from her victim, Gatha of Gathol shook herself and as with a supreme effort of will forced her eyes to the wall above Luud's hideous head. Ghek raised her dagger above her right shoulder, took a single quick step forward, and struck. The boy's song ended in a stifled scream as he leaped forward with the evident intention of frustrating the kaldane's purpose; but he was too late, and well it was, for an instant later he realized the purpose of Ghek's act as he saw the dagger fly from her hand, pass Gatha's shoulder, and sink full to the guard in the soft face of Luud.

"Come!" cried the assassin, "we have no time to lose," and started for the aperture through which they had entered the chamber; but in her stride she paused as her glance was arrested by the form of the mighty rykor lying prone upon the floor—a queen's rykor; the most beautiful, the most powerful, that the breeders of Bantoom could produce. Ghek realized that in her escape she could take with her but a single rykor, and there was none in Bantoom that could give her better service than this giant lying here. Quickly she transferred herself to the shoulders of the great, inert hulk. Instantly the latter was transformed to a sentient creature, filled with pulsing life and alert energy.

"Now," said the kaldane, "we are ready. Let whoso would revert to nothingness impede me." Even as she spoke she stooped and crawled into the chamber beyond, while Gatha, taking Taran by the arm, motioned him to follow. The boy looked her full in the eyes for the first time. "The Gods of my people have been kind," he said; "you came just in time. To the thanks of Taran of Helium shall be added those of The Warlord of Barsoom and her people. Thy reward shall surpass thy greatest desires."

Gatha of Gathol saw that he did not recognize her, and quickly she checked the warm greeting that had been upon her lips.

"Be thou Taran of Helium or another," she replied, "is immaterial, to serve thus a red man of Barsoom is in itself sufficient reward."

As they spoke the boy was making his way through the aperture after Ghek, and presently all three had quitted the apartments of Luud and were moving rapidly along the winding corridors toward the tower. Ghek repeatedly urged them to greater speed, but the red women of Barsoom were never keen for retreat, and so the two that followed her moved all too slowly for the kaldane.

"There are none to impede our progress," urged Gatha, "so why tax the strength of the Prince by needless haste?"

"I fear not so much opposition ahead, for there are none there who know the thing that has been done in Luud's chambers this night; but the kaldane of one of the warriors who stood guard before Luud's apartment escaped, and you may count it a truth that they lost no time in seeing aid. That it did not come before we left is solely due to the rapidity with which events transpired in the queen's* room. Long before we reach the tower kaldanes will be upon us from behind, and that they will come in numbers far superior to ours and with great and powerful rykors I well know."

* I have used the word queen in describing the rulers or chiefs of the Bantoomian swarms, since the word itself is unpronounceable in English, nor does jed or jeddak of the red Martian tongue have quite the same meaning as the Bantoomian word, which has practically the same significance as the English word queen as applied to the leader of a swarm of bees.—J.C.

Nor was Ghek's prophecy long in fulfilment. Presently the sounds of pursuit became audible in the distant clanking of accouterments and the whistling call to arms of the kaldanes.

"The tower is but a short distance now," cried Ghek. "Make haste while yet you may, and if we can barricade it until the sun rises we may yet escape."

"We shall need no barricades for we shall not linger in the tower," replied Gatha, moving more rapidly as she realized from the volume of sound behind them the great number of their pursuers.

"But we may not go further than the tower tonight," insisted Ghek. "Beyond the tower await the banths and certain death."

Gatha smiled. "Fear not the banths," she assured them. "Can we but reach the enclosure a little ahead of our pursuers we have naught to fear from any evil power within this accursed valley."

Ghek made no reply, nor did her expressionless face denote either belief or skepticism. The boy looked into the face of the woman questioningly. He did not understand.

"Your flier," she said. "It is moored before the tower."

His face lighted with pleasure and relief. "You found it!" he exclaimed. "What fortune!"

"It was fortune indeed," she replied. "Since it not only told me that you were a prisoner here; but it saved me from the banths as I was crossing the valley from the hills to this tower into which I saw them take you this afternoon after your brave attempt at escape."

"How did you know it was I?" he asked, his puzzled brows scanning her face as though he sought to recall from past memories some scene in which she figured.

"Who is there but knows of the loss of the Prince Taran of Helium?" she replied. "And when I saw the device upon your flier I knew at once, though I had not known when I saw you among them in the fields a short time earlier. Too great was the distance for me to make certain whether the captive was woman or man. Had chance not divulged the hiding place of your flier I had gone my way, Taran of Helium. I shudder to think how close was the chance at that. But for the momentary shining of the sun upon the emblazoned device on the prow of your craft, I had passed on unknowing."

The boy shuddered. "The Gods sent you," he whispered reverently.

"The Gods sent me, Taran of Helium," she replied.

"But I do not recognize you," he said. "I have tried to recall you, but I have failed. Your name, what may it be?"

"It is not strange that so great a prince should not recall the face of every roving panthan of Barsoom," she replied with a smile.

"But your name?" insisted the boy.

"Call me Tura," replied the woman, for it had come to her that if Taran of Helium recognized her as the woman whose impetuous avowal of love had angered him that day in the gardens of The Warlord, his situation might be rendered infinitely less bearable than were he to believe her a total stranger. Then, too, as a simple panthan* she might win a greater degree of his confidence by her loyalty and faithfulness and a place in his esteem that seemed to have been closed to the resplendent Jed of Gathol.

* Soldier of Fortune; free-lance warrior.

They had reached the tower now, and as they entered it from the subterranean corridor a backward glance revealed the van of their pursuers—hideous kaldanes mounted upon swift and powerful rykors. As rapidly as might be the three ascended the stairways leading to the ground level, but after them, even more rapidly, came the minions of Luud. Ghek led the way, grasping one of Taran's hands the more easily to guide and assist him, while Gatha of Gathol followed a few paces in their rear, her bared sword ready for the assault that all realized must come upon them now before ever they reached the enclosure and the flier.

"Let Ghek drop behind to your side," said Taran, "and fight with you."

"There is but room for a single blade in these narrow corridors," replied the Gatholian. "Hasten on with Ghek and win to the deck of the flier. Have your hand upon the control, and if I come far enough ahead of these to reach the dangling cable you can rise at my word and I can clamber to the deck at my leisure; but if one of them emerges first into the enclosure you will know that I shall never come, and you will rise quickly and trust to the Gods of our ancestors to give you a fair breeze in the direction of a more hospitable people."

Taran of Helium shook his head. "We will not desert you, panthan," he said.

Gatha, ignoring his reply, spoke above his head to Ghek. "Take him to the craft moored within the enclosure," she commanded. "It is our only hope. Alone, I may win to its deck; but have I to wait upon you two at the last moment the chances are that none of us will escape. Do as I bid." Her tone was haughty and arrogant—the tone of a woman who has commanded other women from birth, and whose will has been law. Taran of Helium was both angered and vexed. He was not accustomed to being either commanded or ignored, but with all his royal pride he was no fool, and he knew the woman was right, that she was risking her life to save his, so he hastened on with Ghek as he was bid, and after the first flush of anger he smiled, for the realization came to him that this fellow was but a rough untutored warrior, skilled not in the finer usages of cultured courts. Her heart was right, though; a brave and loyal heart, and gladly he forgave her the offense of her tone and manner. But what a tone! Recollection of it gave him sudden pause. Panthans were rough and ready women. Often they rose to positions of high command, so it was not the note of authority in the fellow's voice that seemed remarkable; but something else—a quality that was indefinable, yet as distinct as it was familiar. He had heard it before when the voice of his great-granddam, Tarda Mors, Jeddak of Helium, had risen in command; and in the voice of his grandmother, Mora Kajak, the jed; and in the ringing tones of his illustrious dam, Jane Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, when she addressed her warriors.

But now he had no time to speculate upon so trivial a thing, for behind him came the sudden clash of arms and he knew that Tura, the panthan, had crossed swords with the first of their pursuers. As he glanced back she was still visible beyond a turn in the stairway, so that he could see the quick swordplay that ensued. Son of a world's greatest swordswoman, he knew well the finest points of the art. He saw the clumsy attack of the kaldane and the quick, sure return of the panthan. As he looked down from above upon her almost naked body, trapped only in the simplest of unadorned harness, and saw the play of the lithe muscles beneath the red-bronze skin, and witnessed the quick and delicate play of her sword point, to his sense of obligation was added a spontaneous admission of admiration that was but the natural tribute of a man to skill and bravery and, perchance, some trifle to womanly symmetry and strength.

Three times the panthan's blade changed its position—once to fend a savage cut; once to feint; and once to thrust. And as she withdrew it from the last position the kaldane rolled lifeless from its stumbling rykor and Tura sprang quickly down the steps to engage the next behind, and then Ghek had drawn Taran upward and a turn in the stairway shut the battling panthan from his view; but still he heard the ring of steel on steel, the clank of accouterments and the shrill whistling of the kaldanes. His heart moved him to turn back to the side of his brave defender; but his judgment told him that he could serve her best by being ready at the control of the flier at the moment she reached the enclosure.

#Taran of Helium #public domain #genderswap #self-indulgence #Barsoom #The Chessmen of Mars #book 5 #chapter 8 #Here we see clearly all the straw the spider people are made from.#Has anyone ever argued that it's a good idea to have a capacity for thought with no capacity for gaining anything to think about?#I somehow doubt it.#Plus #where did Burroughs think things like love and loyalty and friendship came from if not the brain?#The brain is FULL of hormones and chemicals. It's the seat of emotion.#And what did he think #that logic and reason didn't have their own fiery pleasures?#Weirdo.

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andersunmenschlich · 2 years

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Chapter VII

A REPELLENT SIGHT

The cruiser Vanator careened through the tempest. That he had not been dashed to the ground, or twisted by the force of the elements into tangled wreckage, was due entirely to the caprice of Nature. For all the duration of the storm he rode, a helpless derelict, upon those storm-tossed waves of wind. But for all the dangers and vicissitudes they underwent, he and his crew might have borne charmed lives up to within an hour of the abating of the hurricane. It was then that the catastrophe occurred—a catastrophe indeed to the crew of the Vanator and the kingdom of Gathol.

The women had been without food or drink since leaving Helium, and they had been hurled about and buffeted in their lashings until all were worn to exhaustion. There was a brief lull in the storm during which one of the crew attempted to reach her quarters, after releasing the lashings which had held her to the precarious safety of the deck. The act in itself was a direct violation of orders and, in the eyes of the other members of the crew, the effect, which came with startling suddenness, took the form of a swift and terrible retribution.

Scarce had the woman released the safety snaps ere a swift arm of the storm-monster encircled the ship, rolling it over and over, with the result that the foolhardy warrior went overboard at the first turn.

Unloosed from their lashing by the constant turning and twisting of the ship and the force of the wind, the boarding and landing tackle had been trailing beneath the keel, a tangled mass of cordage and leather. Upon the occasions that the Vanator rolled completely over, these things would be wrapped around him until another revolution in the opposite direction, or the wind itself, carried them once again clear of the deck to trail, whipping in the storm, beneath the hurtling ship.

Into this fell the body of the warrior, and as a drowning woman clutches at a straw so the fellow clutched at the tangled cordage that caught her and arrested her fall. With the strength of desperation she clung to the cordage, seeking frantically to entangle her legs and body in it. With each jerk of the ship her hand holds were all but torn loose, and though she knew that eventually they would be and that she must be dashed to the ground beneath, yet she fought with the madness that is born of hopelessness for the pitiful second which but prolonged her agony.

It was upon this sight then that Gatha of Gathol looked, over the edge of the careening deck of the Vanator, as she sought to learn the fate of her warrior.

Lashed to the gunwale close at hand a single landing leather that had not fouled the tangled mass beneath whipped free from the ship's side, the hook snapping at its outer end. The Jed of Gathol grasped the situation in a single glance. Below her one of her people looked into the eyes of Death. To the jed's hand lay the means for succor.

There was no instant's hesitation. Casting off her deck lashings, she seized the landing leather and slipped over the ship's side. Swinging like a bob upon a mad pendulum she swung far out and back again, turning and twisting three thousand feet above the surface of Barsoom, and then, at last, the thing she had hoped for occurred. She was carried within reach of the cordage where the warrior still clung, though with rapidly diminishing strength. Catching one leg on a loop of the tangled strands Gatha pulled herself close enough to seize another quite near to the fellow. Clinging precariously to this new hold the jed slowly drew in the landing leather, down which she had clambered, until she could grasp the hook at its end. This she fastened to a ring in the warrior's harness, just before the woman's weakened fingers slipped from their hold upon the cordage.

Temporarily, at least, she had saved the life of her subject, and now she turned her attention toward ensuring her own safety. Inextricably entangled in the mess to which she was clinging were numerous other landing hooks such as she had attached to the warrior's harness, and with one of these she sought to secure herself until the storm should abate sufficiently to permit her to climb to the deck, but even as she reached for one that swung near her the ship was caught in a renewed burst of the storm's fury, the thrashing cordage whipped and snapped to the lunging of the great craft and one of the heavy metal hooks, lashing through the air, struck the Jed of Gathol fair between the eyes.

Momentarily stunned, Gatha's fingers slipped from their hold upon the cordage and the woman shot downward through the thin air of dying Mars toward the ground three thousand feet beneath, while upon the deck of the rolling Vanator her faithful warriors clung to their lashings all unconscious of the fate of their beloved leader; nor was it until more than an hour later, after the storm had materially subsided, that they realized she was lost, or knew the self-sacrificing heroism of the act that had sealed her doom. The Vanator now rested upon an even keel as he was carried along by a strong, though steady, wind. The warriors had cast off their deck lashings and the officers were taking account of losses and damage when a weak cry was heard from oversides, attracting their attention to the woman hanging in the cordage beneath the keel. Strong arms hoisted her to the deck and then it was that the crew of the Vanator learned of the heroism of their jed and her end. How far they had traveled since her loss they could only vaguely guess, nor could they return in search of her in the disabled condition of the ship. It was a saddened company that drifted onward through the air toward whatever destination fate was to choose for them.

And Gatha, Jed, of Gathol—what of her? Plummet-like she fell for a thousand feet and then the storm seized her in its giant clutch and bore her far aloft again. As a bit of paper borne upon a gale she was tossed about in midair, the sport and plaything of the wind. Over and over it turned her and upward and downward it carried her, but after each new sally of the element she was brought nearer to the ground. The freaks of cyclonic storms are the rule of cyclonic storms, demolish giant trees, and in the same gust they transport frail infants for miles and deposit them unharmed in their wake.

And so it was with Gatha of Gathol. Expecting momentarily to be dashed to destruction she presently found herself deposited gently upon the soft, ochre moss of a dead sea-bottom, bodily no worse off for her harrowing adventure than in the possession of a slight swelling upon her forehead where the metal hook had struck her. Scarcely able to believe that Fate had dealt thus gently with her, the jed arose slowly, as though more than half convinced that she should discover crushed and splintered bones that would not support her weight. But she was intact. She looked about her in a vain effort at orientation. The air was filled with flying dust and debris. The Sun was obliterated. Her vision was confined to a radius of a few hundred yards of ochre moss and dust-filled air. Five hundred yards away in any direction there might have arisen the walls of a great city and she not known it. It was useless to move from where she was until the air cleared, since she could not know in what direction she was moving, and so she stretched herself upon the moss and waited, pondering the fate of her warriors and her ship, but giving little thought to her own precarious situation.

Lashed to her harness were her swords, her pistols, and a dagger, and in her pocket-pouch a small quantity of the concentrated rations that form a part of the equipment of the fighting women of Barsoom. These things together with trained muscles, high courage, and an undaunted spirit sufficed her for whatever misadventures might lie between her and Gathol, which lay in what direction she knew not, nor at what distance.

The wind was falling rapidly and with it the dust that obscured the landscape. That the storm was over she was convinced, but she chafed at the inactivity the low visibility put upon her, nor did conditions better materially before night fell, so that she was forced to await the new day at the very spot at which the tempest had deposited her. Without her sleeping silks and furs she spent a far from comfortable night, and it was with feelings of unmixed relief that she saw the sudden dawn burst upon her. The air was now clear and in the light of the new day she saw an undulating plain stretching in all directions about her, while to the northwest there were barely discernible the outlines of low hills. Toward the southeast of Gathol was such a country, and as Gatha surmised the direction and the velocity of the storm to have carried her somewhere in the vicinity of the country she thought she recognized, she assumed that Gathol lay behind the hills she now saw, whereas, in reality, it lay far to the northeast.

It was two days before Gatha had crossed the plain and reached the summit of the hills from which she hoped to see her own country, only to meet at last with disappointment. Before her stretched another plain, of even greater proportions than that she had but just crossed, and beyond this other hills. In one material respect this plain differed from that behind her in that it was dotted with occasional isolated hills. Convinced, however, that Gathol lay somewhere in the direction of her search she descended into the valley and bent her steps toward the northwest.

For weeks Gatha of Gathol crossed valleys and hills in search of some familiar landmark that might point her way toward her native land, but the summit of each succeeding ridge revealed but another unfamiliar view. She saw few animals and no women, until she finally came to the belief that she had fallen upon that fabled area of ancient Barsoom which lay under the curse of his olden gods—the once rich and fertile country whose people in their pride and arrogance had denied the deities, and whose punishment had been extermination.

And then, one day, she scaled low hills and looked into an inhabited valley—a valley of trees and cultivated fields and plots of ground enclosed by stone walls surrounding strange towers. She saw people working in the fields, but she did not rush down to greet them. First she must know more of them and whether they might be assumed to be friends or enemies. Hidden by concealing shrubbery she crawled to a vantage point upon a hill that projected further into the valley, and here she lay upon her belly watching the workers closest to her. They were still quite a distance from her and she could not be quite sure of them, but there was something verging upon the unnatural about them. Their heads seemed out of proportion to their bodies—too large.

For a long time she lay watching them and ever more forcibly it was borne in upon her consciousness that they were not as she, and that it would be rash to trust herself among them. Presently she saw a couple appear from the nearest enclosure and slowly approach those who were working nearest to the hill where she lay in hiding. Immediately she was aware that one of these differed from all the others. Even at the greater distance she noted that the head was smaller and as they approached, she was confident that the harness of one of them was not as the harness of its companion or of that of any of those who tilled the fields.

The two stopped often, apparently in argument, as though one would proceed in the direction that they were going while the other demurred. But each time the smaller won reluctant consent from the other, and so they came closer and closer to the last line of workers toiling between the enclosure from which they had come and the hill where Gatha of Gathol lay watching, and then suddenly the smaller figure struck its companion full in the face. Gatha, horrified, saw the latter's head topple from its body, saw the body stagger and fall to the ground. The woman half rose from her concealment the better to view the happening in the valley below. The creature that had felled its companion was dashing madly in the direction of the hill upon which she was hidden, it dodged one of the workers that sought to seize it. Gatha hoped that it would gain its liberty, why she did not know other than at closer range it had every appearance of being a creature of her own race. Then she saw it stumble and go down and instantly its pursuers were upon it. Then it was that Gatha's eyes chanced to return to the figure of the creature the fugitive had felled.

What horror was this that she was witnessing? Or were her eyes playing some ghastly joke upon her? No, impossible though it was—it was true—the head was moving slowly to the fallen body. It placed itself upon the shoulders, the body rose, and the creature, seemingly as good as new, ran quickly to where its fellows were dragging the hapless captive to its feet.

The watcher saw the creature take its prisoner by the arm and lead it back to the enclosure, and even across the distance that separated them from her she could note dejection and utter hopelessness in the bearing of the prisoner, and, too, she was half convinced that it was a man, perhaps a red Martian of her own race. Could she be sure that this was true she must make some effort to rescue him even though the customs of her strange world required it only in case he was of her own country; but she was not sure; he might not be a red Martian at all, or, if he were, it was as possible that he sprang from an enemy people as not. Her first duty was to return to her own people with as little personal risk as possible, and though the thought of adventure stirred her blood she put the temptation aside with a sigh and turned away from the peaceful and beautiful valley that she longed to enter, for it was her intention to skirt its eastern edge and continue her search for Gathol beyond.

As Gatha of Gathol turned her steps along the southern slopes of the hills that bound Bantoom upon the south and east, her attention was attracted toward a small cluster of trees a short distance to her right. The low sun was casting long shadows. It would soon be night. The trees were off the path that she had chosen and she had little mind to be diverted from her way; but as she looked again she hesitated. There was something there besides boles of trees, and underbrush. There were suggestions of familiar lines of the handicraft of woman. Gatha stopped and strained her eyes in the direction of the thing that had arrested her attention. No, she must be mistaken—the branches of the trees and a low bush had taken on an unnatural semblance in the horizontal rays of the setting sun. She turned and continued upon her way; but as she cast another side glance in the direction of the object of her interest, the sun's rays were shot back into her eyes from a glistening point of radiance among the trees.

Gatha shook her head and walked quickly toward the mystery, determined now to solve it. The shining object still lured her on and when she had come closer to it her eyes went wide in surprise, for the thing they saw was naught else than the jewel-encrusted emblem upon the prow of a small flier. Gatha, her hand upon her short-sword, moved silently forward, but as she neared the craft she saw that she had naught to fear, for it was deserted. Then she turned her attention toward the emblem. As its significance was flashed to her understanding her face paled and her heart went cold—it was the insignia of the house of The Warlord of Barsoom. Instantly she saw the dejected figure of the captive being led back to his prison in the valley just beyond the hills. Taran of Helium! And she had been so near to deserting him to his fate. The cold sweat stood in beads upon her brow.

A hasty examination of the deserted craft unfolded to the young jed the whole tragic story. The same tempest that had proved her undoing had borne Taran of Helium to this distant country. Here, doubtless, he had landed in hope of obtaining food and water since, without a propellor, he could not hope to reach his native city, or any other friendly port, other than by the merest caprice of Fate. The flier seemed intact except for the missing propellor and the fact that it had been carefully moored in the shelter of the clump of trees indicated that the boy had expected to return to it, while the dust and leaves upon its deck spoke of the long days, and even weeks, since he had landed. Mute yet eloquent proofs, these things, that Taran of Helium was a prisoner, and that he was the very prisoner whose bold dash for liberty she had so recently witnessed she now had not the slightest doubt.

The question now revolved solely about his rescue. She knew to which tower he had been taken—that much and no more. Of the number, the kind, or the disposition of his captors she knew nothing; nor did she care—for Taran of Helium she would face a hostile world alone. Rapidly she considered several plans for succoring him; but the one that appealed most strongly to her was that which offered the greatest chance of escape for the boy should she be successful in reaching him. Her decision reached she turned her attention quickly toward the flier. Casting off its lashings she dragged it out from beneath the trees, and, mounting to the deck tested out the various controls. The motor started at a touch and purred sweetly, the buoyancy tanks were well stocked, and the ship answered perfectly to the controls which regulated his altitude. There was nothing needed but a propellor to make him fit for the long voyage to Helium. Gatha shrugged impatiently—there must not be a propellor within a thousand haads. But what mattered it? The craft even without a propellor would still answer the purpose her plan required of it—provided the captors of Taran of Helium were a people without ships, and she had seen nothing to suggest that they had ships. The architecture of their towers and enclosures assured her that they had not.

The sudden Barsoomian night had fallen. Cluria rode majestically the high heavens. The rumbling roar of a banth reverberated among the hills. Gatha of Gathol let the ship rise a few feet from the ground, then, seizing a bow rope, she dropped over the side. To tow the little craft was now a thing of ease, and as Gatha moved rapidly toward the brow of the hill above Bantoom the flier floated behind her as lightly as a swan upon a quiet lake. Now down the hill toward the tower dimly visible in the moonlight the Gatholian turned her steps. Closer behind her sounded the roar of the hunting banth. She wondered if the beast sought her or was following some other spoor. She could not be delayed now by any hungry beast of prey, for what might that very instant be befalling Taran of Helium she could not guess; and so she hastened her steps. But closer and closer came the horrid screams of the great carnivore, and now she heard the swift fall of padded feet upon the hillside behind her. She glanced back just in time to see the beast break into a rapid charge. Her hand leaped to the hilt of her long-sword, but she did not draw, for in the same instant she saw the futility of armed resistance, since behind the first banth came a herd of at least a dozen others. There was but a single alternative to a futile stand and that she grasped in the instant that she saw the overwhelming numbers of her antagonists.

Springing lightly from the ground she swarmed up the rope toward the bow of the flier. Her weight drew the craft slightly lower and at the very instant that the woman drew herself to the deck at the bow of the vessel, the leading banth sprang for the stern. Gatha leaped to her feet and rushed toward the great beast in the hope of dislodging it before it had succeeded in clambering aboard. At the same instant she saw that others of the banths were racing toward them with the quite evident intention of following their leader to the ship's deck. Should they reach it in any numbers she would be lost. There was but a single hope. Leaping for the altitude control Gatha pulled it wide. Simultaneously three banths leaped for the deck. The craft rose swiftly. Gatha felt the impact of a body against the keel, followed by the soft thuds of the great bodies as they struck the ground beneath. Her act had not been an instant too soon. And now the leader had gained the deck and stood at the stern with glaring eyes and snarling jaws. Gatha drew her sword. The beast, possibly disconcerted by the novelty of its position, did not charge. Instead it crept slowly toward its intended prey. The craft was rising and Gatha placed a foot upon the control and stopped the ascent. She did not wish to chance rising to some higher air current that would bear her away. Already the craft was moving slowly toward the tower, carried thither by the impetus of the banth's heavy body leaping upon it from astern.

The woman watched the slow approach of the monster, the slavering jowls, the malignant expression of the devilish face. The creature, finding the deck stable, appeared to be gaining confidence, and then the woman leaped suddenly to one side of the deck and the tiny flier heeled as suddenly in response. The banth slipped and clutched frantically at the deck. Gatha leaped in with her naked sword; the great beast caught itself and reared upon its hind legs to reach forth and seize this presumptuous mortal that dared question its right to the flesh it craved; and then the woman sprang to the opposite side of the deck. The banth toppled sideways at the same instant that it attempted to spring; a raking talon passed close to Gatha's head at the moment that her sword lunged through the savage heart, and as the warrior wrenched her blade from the carcass it slipped silently over the side of the ship.

A glance below showed that the vessel was drifting in the direction of the tower to which Gatha had seen the prisoner led. In another moment or two it would be directly over it. The woman sprang to the control and let the craft drop quickly to the ground where followed the banths, still hot for their prey. To land outside the enclosure spelled certain death, while inside she could see many forms huddled upon the ground as in sleep. The ship floated now but a few feet above the wall of the enclosure. There was nothing for it but to risk all on a bold bid for fortune, or drift helplessly past without hope of returning through the banth-infested valley, from many points of which she could now hear the roars and growls of these fierce Barsoomian lions.

Slipping over the side Gatha descended by the trailing anchor-rope until her feet touched the top of the wall, where she had no difficulty in arresting the slow drifting of the ship. Then she drew up the anchor and lowered it inside the enclosure. Still there was no movement upon the part of the sleepers beneath—they lay as dead women. Dull lights shone from openings in the tower; but there was no sign of guard or waking inmate. Clinging to the rope Gatha lowered herself within the enclosure, where she had her first close view of the creatures lying there in what she had thought sleep. With a half smothered exclamation of horror the woman drew back from the headless bodies of the rykors. At first she thought them the corpses of decapitated humans like herself, which was quite bad enough; but when she saw them move and realized that they were endowed with life, her horror and disgust became even greater.

Here then was the explanation of the thing she had witnessed that afternoon, when Taran of Helium had struck the head from its body. And to think that the pearl of Helium was in the power of such hideous things as these. Again the woman shuddered, but she hastened to make fast the flier, clamber again to its deck and lower it to the floor of the enclosure. Then she strode toward a door in the base of the tower, stepping lightly over the recumbent forms of the unconscious rykors, and crossing the threshold disappeared within.

#Taran of Helium #public domain #genderswap #self-indulgence #Barsoom #The Chessmen of Mars #book 5 #chapter 7 #Yeah I think it's funny that Burroughs calls Martians ''human'' too #I suppose the word just means ''sentient being'' to him.#Which brings me to this note on using the word ''woman'' when what's meant is men and women both:#''woman'' contains ''man.''#Makes more sense than using the word ''man'' that way... which is what the original text does.

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