Warlord of Mars | Page 5

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 men of ancient Helium hailed
Carthoris Jeddak of Helium.
His tenure of office was to be for life or until his great-grandfather, or
grandfather, 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.
Hor Vastus and Kantos Kan, with my other noble lieutenants, I left
with Carthoris at Helium, that he might have the benefit of their
wisdom, bravery, and loyalty in the performance of the arduous duties
which had devolved upon him. Only Woola, 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, he was
indeed an awesome spectacle, as he crept after me on his ten short,
muscular legs; but to me he 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 him low with my
bare hands in the courtyard of the Temple of Issus, and bound him with
his own harness before the noble men and women who had but a
moment before been extolling his prowess.
Like many of his fellows, he had apparently accepted the new order of
things with good grace, and had sworn fealty to Xodar, his new ruler;
but I knew that he hated me, and I was sure that in his heart he envied
and hated Xodar, so I had kept a watch upon his comings and goings, to
the end that of late I had become convinced that he was occupied with

some manner of intrigue.
Several times I had observed him leaving the walled city of the First
Born after dark, taking his way out into the cruel and horrible Valley
Dor, where no honest business could lead any man.
Tonight he moved quickly along the edge of the forest until well
beyond sight or sound of the city, then he 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
his jewel-incrusted harness with a thousand changing lights and
glanced from the glossy ebony of his smooth hide. Twice he turned his
head back toward the forest, after the manner of one who is upon an
evil errand, though he must have felt quite safe from pursuit.
I did not dare follow him there beneath the moonlight, since it best
suited my plans not to interrupt his--I wished him to reach his
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 Woola 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 south
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 men.
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 men, 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 bosom 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