Like nearly all Martian

animals it is almost hairless, having only a great bristly mane

about its thick neck.

Its long, lithe body is supported by ten powerful legs, its enormous

jaws are equipped, like those of the calot, or Martian hound,

with several rows of long needle-like fangs; its mouth reaches to

a point far back of its tiny ears, while its enormous, protruding

eyes of green add the last touch of terror to its awful aspect.

As it crept toward me it lashed its powerful tail against its

yellow sides, and when it saw that it was discovered it emitted

the terrifying roar which often freezes its prey into momentary

paralysis in the instant that it makes its spring.

And so it launched its great bulk toward me, but its mighty voice

had held no paralysing terrors for me, and it met cold steel instead

of the tender flesh its cruel jaws gaped so widely to engulf.

An instant later I drew my blade from the still heart of this great

Barsoomian lion, and turning toward Tars Tarkas was surprised to

see him facing a similar monster.

No sooner had he dispatched his than I, turning, as though drawn

by the instinct of my guardian subconscious mind, beheld another

of the savage denizens of the Martian wilds leaping across the

chamber toward me.

From then on for the better part of an hour one hideous creature

after another was launched upon us, springing apparently from the

empty air about us.

Tars Tarkas was satisfied; here was something tangible that he could

cut and slash with his great blade, while I, for my part, may say

that the diversion was a marked improvement over the uncanny voices

from unseen lips.

That there was nothing supernatural about our new foes was well

evidenced by their howls of rage and pain as they felt the sharp

steel at their vitals, and the very real blood which flowed from

their severed arteries as they died the real death.

I noticed during the period of this new persecution that the beasts

appeared only when our backs were turned; we never saw one really

materialize from thin air, nor did I for an instant sufficiently

lose my excellent reasoning faculties to be once deluded into the

belief that the beasts came into the room other than through some

concealed and well-contrived doorway.

Among the ornaments of Tars Tarkas' leather harness, which is the

only manner of clothing worn by Martians other than silk capes and

robes of silk and fur for protection from the cold after dark, was

a small mirror, about the bigness of a lady's hand glass, which

hung midway between his shoulders and his waist against his broad

back.

Once as he stood looking down at a newly fallen antagonist my eyes

happened to fall upon this mirror and in its shiny surface I saw

pictured a sight that caused me to whisper:

"Move not, Tars Tarkas! Move not a muscle!"

He did not ask why, but stood like a graven image while my eyes

watched the strange thing that meant so much to us.

What I saw was the quick movement of a section of the wall behind

me. It was turning upon pivots, and with it a section of the floor

directly in front of it was turning. It was as though you placed

a visiting-card upon end on a silver dollar that you had laid flat

upon a table, so that the edge of the card perfectly bisected the

surface of the coin.

The card might represent the section of the wall that turned and

the silver dollar the section of the floor. Both were so nicely

fitted into the adjacent portions of the floor and wall that no

crack had been noticeable in the dim light of the chamber.

As the turn was half completed a great beast was revealed sitting

upon its haunches upon that part of the revolving floor that had

been on the opposite side before the wall commenced to move; when

the section stopped, the beast was facing toward me on our side of

the partition--it was very simple.

But what had interested me most was the sight that the half-turned

section had presented through the opening that it had made. A

great chamber, well lighted, in which were several men and women

chained to the wall, and in front of them, evidently directing and

operating the movement of the secret doorway, a wicked-faced man,

neither red as are the red men of Mars, nor green as are the green

men, but white, like myself, with a great mass of flowing yellow

hair.

The prisoners behind him were red Martians. Chained with them

were a number of fierce beasts, such as had been turned upon us,

and others equally as ferocious.

As I turned to meet my new foe it was with a heart considerably

lightened.

"Watch the wall at your end of the chamber, Tars Tarkas,"

I cautioned, "it is through secret doorways in the wall that the

brutes are loosed upon us." I was very close to him and spoke

in a low whisper that my knowledge of their secret might not be

disclosed to our tormentors.

As long as we remained each facing an opposite end of the apartment

no further attacks were made upon us, so it was quite clear to me

that the partitions were in some way pierced that our actions might

be observed from without.

At length a plan of action occurred to me, and backing quite close

to Tars Tarkas I unfolded my scheme in a low whisper, keeping my

eyes still glued upon my end of the room.

The great Thark grunted his assent to my proposition when I had

done, and in accordance with my plan commenced backing toward the

wall which I faced while I advanced slowly ahead of him.

When we had reached a point some ten feet from the secret doorway

I halted my companion, and cautioning him to remain absolutely

motionless until I gave the prearranged signal I quickly turned

my back to the door through which I could almost feel the burning

and baleful eyes of our would be executioner.

Instantly my own eyes sought the mirror upon Tars Tarkas' back and

in another second I was closely watching the section of the wall

which had been disgorging its savage terrors upon us.

I had not long to wait, for presently the golden surface commenced

to move rapidly. Scarcely had it started than I gave the signal

to Tars Tarkas, simultaneously springing for the receding half of

the pivoting door. In like manner the Thark wheeled and leaped

for the opening being made by the inswinging section.

A single bound carried me completely through into the adjoining

room and brought me face to face with the fellow whose cruel face

I had seen before. He was about my own height and well muscled

and in every outward detail moulded precisely as are Earth men.

At his side hung a long-sword, a short-sword, a dagger, and one of

the destructive radium revolvers that are common upon Mars.

The fact that I was armed only with a long-sword, and so according

to the laws and ethics of battle everywhere upon Barsoom should

only have been met with a similar or lesser weapon, seemed to have

no effect upon the moral sense of my enemy, for he whipped out his

revolver ere I scarce had touched the floor by his side, but an

uppercut from my long-sword sent it flying from his grasp before

he could discharge it.

Instantly he drew his long-sword, and thus evenly armed we set to

in earnest for one of the closest battles I ever have fought.

The fellow was a marvellous swordsman and evidently in practice,

while I had not gripped the hilt of a sword for ten long years

before that morning.

But it did not take me long to fall easily into my fighting stride,

so that in a few minutes the man began to realize that he had at

last met his match.

His face became livid with rage as he found my guard impregnable,

while blood flowed from a dozen minor wounds upon his face and

body.

"Who are you, white man?" he hissed. "That you are no Barsoomian

from the outer world is evident from your colour. And you are not

of us."

His last statement was almost a question.

"What if I were from the Temple of Issus?" I hazarded on a wild

guess.

"Fate forfend!" he exclaimed, his face going white under the blood

that now nearly covered it.

I did not know how to follow up my lead, but I carefully laid the

idea away for future use should circumstances require it. His

answer indicated that for all he KNEW I might be from the Temple

of Issus and in it were men like unto myself, and either this man

feared the inmates of the temple or else he held their persons or

their power in such reverence that he trembled to think of the harm

and indignities he had heaped upon one of them.

But my present business with him was of a different nature than

that which requires any considerable abstract reasoning; it was to

get my sword between his ribs, and this I succeeded in doing within

the next few seconds, nor was I an instant too soon.

The chained prisoners had been watching the combat in tense silence;

not a sound had fallen in the room other than the clashing of our

contending blades, the soft shuffling of our naked feet and the

few whispered words we had hissed at each other through clenched

teeth the while we continued our mortal duel.

But as the body of my antagonist sank an inert mass to the floor

a cry of warning broke from one of the female prisoners.

"Turn! Turn! Behind you!" she shrieked, and as I wheeled at the

first note of her shrill cry I found myself facing a second man of

the same race as he who lay at my feet.

The fellow had crept stealthily from a dark corridor and was almost

upon me with raised sword ere I saw him. Tars Tarkas was nowhere

in sight and the secret panel in the wall, through which I had

come, was closed.

How I wished that he were by my side now! I had fought almost

continuously for many hours; I had passed through such experiences

and adventures as must sap the vitality of man, and with all this

I had not eaten for nearly twenty-four hours, nor slept.

I was fagged out, and for the first time in years felt a question

as to my ability to cope with an antagonist; but there was naught

else for it than to engage my man, and that as quickly and ferociously

as lay in me, for my only salvation was to rush him off his feet by

the impetuosity of my attack--I could not hope to win a long-drawn-out

battle.

But the fellow was evidently of another mind, for he backed and

parried and parried and sidestepped until I was almost completely

fagged from the exertion of attempting to finish him.

He was a more adroit swordsman, if possible, than my previous foe,

and I must admit that he led me a pretty chase and in the end came

near to making a sorry fool of me--and a dead one into the bargain.

I could feel myself growing weaker and weaker, until at length

objects commenced to blur before my eyes and I staggered and blundered

about more asleep than awake, and then it was that he worked his

pretty little coup that came near to losing me my life.

He had backed me around so that I stood in front of the corpse of

his fellow, and then he rushed me suddenly so that I was forced back

upon it, and as my heel struck it the impetus of my body flung me

backward across the dead man.

My head struck the hard pavement with a resounding whack, and

to that alone I owe my life, for it cleared my brain and the pain

roused my temper, so that I was equal for the moment to tearing

my enemy to pieces with my bare hands, and I verily believe that

I should have attempted it had not my right hand, in the act of

raising my body from the ground, come in contact with a bit of cold

metal.

As the eyes of the layman so is the hand of the fighting man when

it comes in contact with an implement of his vocation, and thus I

did not need to look or reason to know that the dead man's revolver,

lying where it had fallen when I struck it from his grasp, was at

my disposal.

The fellow whose ruse had put me down was springing toward me,

the point of his gleaming blade directed straight at my heart, and

as he came there rang from his lips the cruel and mocking peal of

laughter that I had heard within the Chamber of Mystery.

And so he died, his thin lips curled in the snarl of his hateful

laugh, and a bullet from the revolver of his dead companion bursting

in his heart.

His body, borne by the impetus of his headlong rush, plunged upon

me. The hilt of his sword must have struck my head, for with the

impact of the corpse I lost consciousness.

CHAPTER IV

THUVIA

It was the sound of conflict that aroused me once more to the realities

of life. For a moment I could neither place my surroundings nor

locate the sounds which had aroused me. And then from beyond the

blank wall beside which I lay I heard the shuffling of feet, the

snarling of grim beasts, the clank of metal accoutrements, and the

heavy breathing of a man.

As I rose to my feet I glanced hurriedly about the chamber in which

I had just encountered such a warm reception. The prisoners and

the savage brutes rested in their chains by the opposite wall eyeing

me with varying expressions of curiosity, sullen rage, surprise,

and hope.

The latter emotion seemed plainly evident upon the handsome and

intelligent face of the young red Martian woman whose cry of warning

had been instrumental in saving my life.

She was the perfect type of that remarkably beautiful race whose

outward appearance is identical with the more god-like races of

Earth men, except that this higher race of Martians is of a light

reddish copper colour. As she was entirely unadorned I could not

even guess her station in life, though it was evident that she was

either a prisoner or slave in her present environment.

It was several seconds before the sounds upon the opposite side of

the partition jolted my slowly returning faculties into a realization

of their probable import, and then of a sudden I grasped the

fact that they were caused by Tars Tarkas in what was evidently a

desperate struggle with wild beasts or savage men.

With a cry of encouragement I threw my weight against the secret

door, but as well have assayed the down-hurling of the cliffs

themselves. Then I sought feverishly for the secret of the revolving

panel, but my search was fruitless, and I was about to raise my

longsword against the sullen gold when the young woman prisoner

called out to me.

"Save thy sword, O Mighty Warrior, for thou shalt need it more where

it will avail to some purpose--shatter it not against senseless

metal which yields better to the lightest finger touch of one who

knows its secret."

"Know you the secret of it then?" I asked.

"Yes; release me and I will give you entrance to the other horror

chamber, if you wish. The keys to my fetters are upon the first

dead of thy foemen. But why would you return to face again the

fierce banth, or whatever other form of destruction they have loosed

within that awful trap?"

"Because my friend fights there alone," I answered, as I hastily

sought and found the keys upon the carcass of the dead custodian

of this grim chamber of horrors.

There were many keys upon the oval ring, but the fair Martian maid

quickly selected that which sprung the great lock at her waist,

and freed she hurried toward the secret panel.

Again she sought out a key upon the ring. This time a slender,

needle-like affair which she inserted in an almost invisible hole

in the wall. Instantly the door swung upon its pivot, and the

contiguous section of the floor upon which I was standing carried

me with it into the chamber where Tars Tarkas fought.

The great Thark stood with his back against an angle of the walls,

while facing him in a semi-circle a half-dozen huge monsters crouched

waiting for an opening. Their blood-streaked heads and shoulders

testified to the cause of their wariness as well as to the

swordsmanship of the green warrior whose glossy hide bore the same

mute but eloquent witness to the ferocity of the attacks that he

had so far withstood.

Sharp talons and cruel fangs had torn leg, arm, and breast literally

to ribbons. So weak was he from continued exertion and loss of

blood that but for the supporting wall I doubt that he even could

have stood erect. But with the tenacity and indomitable courage

of his kind he still faced his cruel and relentless foes--the

personification of that ancient proverb of his tribe: "Leave to a

Thark his head and one hand and he may yet conquer."

As he saw me enter, a grim smile touched those grim lips of his,

but whether the smile signified relief or merely amusement at the

sight of my own bloody and dishevelled condition I do not know.

As I was about to spring into the conflict with my sharp long-sword

I felt a gentle hand upon my shoulder and turning found, to my

surprise, that the young woman had followed me into the chamber.

"Wait," she whispered, "leave them to me," and pushing me advanced,

all defenceless and unarmed, upon the snarling banths.

When quite close to them she spoke a single Martian word in low

but peremptory tones. Like lightning the great beasts wheeled upon

her, and I looked to see her torn to pieces before I could reach

her side, but instead the creatures slunk to her feet like puppies

that expect a merited whipping.

Again she spoke to them, but in tones so low I could not catch the

words, and then she started toward the opposite side of the chamber

with the six mighty monsters trailing at heel. One by one she

sent them through the secret panel into the room beyond, and when

the last had passed from the chamber where we stood in wide-eyed

amazement she turned and smiled at us and then herself passed

through, leaving us alone.

For a moment neither of us spoke. Then Tars Tarkas said:

"I heard the fighting beyond the partition through which you passed,

but I did not fear for you, John Carter, until I heard the report

of a revolver shot. I knew that there lived no man upon all Barsoom

who could face you with naked steel and live, but the shot stripped

the last vestige of hope from me, since you I knew to be without

firearms.