The confession of love which the girl’s
fright had wrung from her touched me deeply; but it
humiliated me as well, since I felt that in some thoughtless
word or act I had given her reason to believe that
I reciprocated her affection.
Never have I been much of a ladies’
man, being more concerned with fighting and kindred
arts which have ever seemed to me more befitting a
man than mooning over a scented glove four sizes too
small for him, or kissing a dead flower that has begun
to smell like a cabbage. So I was quite at a
loss as to what to do or say. A thousand times
rather face the wild hordes of the dead sea bottoms
than meet the eyes of this beautiful young girl and
tell her the thing that I must tell her.
But there was nothing else to be done,
and so I did it. Very clumsily too, I fear.
Gently I unclasped her hands from
about my neck, and still holding them in mine I told
her the story of my love for Dejah Thoris. That
of all the women of two worlds that I had known and
admired during my long life she alone had I loved.
The tale did not seem to please her.
Like a tigress she sprang, panting, to her feet.
Her beautiful face was distorted in an expression
of horrible malevolence. Her eyes fairly blazed
into mine.
“Dog,” she hissed.
“Dog of a blasphemer! Think you that Phaidor,
daughter of Matai Shang, supplicates? She commands.
What to her is your puny outer world passion for
the vile creature you chose in your other life?
“Phaidor has glorified you with
her love, and you have spurned her. Ten thousand
unthinkably atrocious deaths could not atone for the
affront that you have put upon me. The thing
that you call Dejah Thoris shall die the most horrible
of them all. You have sealed the warrant for
her doom.
“And you! You shall be
the meanest slave in the service of the goddess you
have attempted to humiliate. Tortures and ignominies
shall be heaped upon you until you grovel at my feet
asking the boon of death.
“In my gracious generosity I
shall at length grant your prayer, and from the high
balcony of the Golden Cliffs I shall watch the great
white apes tear you asunder.”
She had it all fixed up. The
whole lovely programme from start to finish.
It amazed me to think that one so divinely beautiful
could at the same time be so fiendishly vindictive.
It occurred to me, however, that she had overlooked
one little factor in her revenge, and so, without
any intent to add to her discomfiture, but rather to
permit her to rearrange her plans along more practical
lines, I pointed to the nearest port-hole.
Evidently she had entirely forgotten
her surroundings and her present circumstances, for
a single glance at the dark, swirling waters without
sent her crumpled upon a low bench, where with her
face buried in her arms she sobbed more like a very
unhappy little girl than a proud and all-powerful
goddess.
Down, down we continued to sink until
the heavy glass of the port-holes became noticeably
warm from the heat of the water without. Evidently
we were very far beneath the surface crust of Mars.
Presently our downward motion ceased,
and I could hear the propellers swirling through the
water at our stern and forcing us ahead at high speed.
It was very dark down there, but the light from our
port-holes, and the reflection from what must have
been a powerful searchlight on the submarine’s
nose showed that we were forging through a narrow
passage, rock-lined, and tube-like.
After a few minutes the propellers
ceased their whirring. We came to a full stop,
and then commenced to rise swiftly toward the surface.
Soon the light from without increased and we came
to a stop.
Xodar entered the cabin with his men.
“Come,” he said, and we
followed him through the hatchway which had been opened
by one of the seamen.
We found ourselves in a small subterranean
vault, in the centre of which was the pool in which
lay our submarine, floating as we had first seen her
with only her black back showing.
Around the edge of the pool was a
level platform, and then the walls of the cave rose
perpendicularly for a few feet to arch toward the centre
of the low roof. The walls about the ledge were
pierced with a number of entrances to dimly lighted
passageways.
Toward one of these our captors led
us, and after a short walk halted before a steel cage
which lay at the bottom of a shaft rising above us
as far as one could see.
The cage proved to be one of the common
types of elevator cars that I had seen in other parts
of Barsoom. They are operated by means of enormous
magnets which are suspended at the top of the shaft.
By an electrical device the volume of magnetism generated
is regulated and the speed of the car varied.
In long stretches they move at a sickening
speed, especially on the upward trip, since the small
force of gravity inherent to Mars results in very
little opposition to the powerful force above.
Scarcely had the door of the car closed
behind us than we were slowing up to stop at the landing
above, so rapid was our ascent of the long shaft.
When we emerged from the little building
which houses the upper terminus of the elevator, we
found ourselves in the midst of a veritable fairyland
of beauty. The combined languages of Earth men
hold no words to convey to the mind the gorgeous beauties
of the scene.
One may speak of scarlet sward and
ivory-stemmed trees decked with brilliant purple blooms;
of winding walks paved with crushed rubies, with emerald,
with turquoise, even with diamonds themselves; of a
magnificent temple of burnished gold, hand-wrought
with marvellous designs; but where are the words to
describe the glorious colours that are unknown to
earthly eyes? where the mind or the imagination that
can grasp the gorgeous scintillations of unheard-of
rays as they emanate from the thousand nameless jewels
of Barsoom?
Even my eyes, for long years accustomed
to the barbaric splendours of a Martian Jeddak’s
court, were amazed at the glory of the scene.
Phaidor’s eyes were wide in amazement.
“The Temple of Issus,” she whispered,
half to herself.
Xodar watched us with his grim smile,
partly of amusement and partly malicious gloating.
The gardens swarmed with brilliantly
trapped black men and women. Among them moved
red and white females serving their every want.
The places of the outer world and the temples of
the therns had been robbed of their princesses and
goddesses that the blacks might have their slaves.
Through this scene we moved toward
the temple. At the main entrance we were halted
by a cordon of armed guards. Xodar spoke a few
words to an officer who came forward to question us.
Together they entered the temple, where they remained
for some time.
When they returned it was to announce
that Issus desired to look upon the daughter of Matai
Shang, and the strange creature from another world
who had been a Prince of Helium.
Slowly we moved through endless corridors
of unthinkable beauty; through magnificent apartments,
and noble halls. At length we were halted in
a spacious chamber in the centre of the temple.
One of the officers who had accompanied us advanced
to a large door in the further end of the chamber.
Here he must have made some sort of signal for immediately
the door opened and another richly trapped courtier
emerged.
We were then led up to the door, where
we were directed to get down on our hands and knees
with our backs toward the room we were to enter.
The doors were swung open and after being cautioned
not to turn our heads under penalty of instant death
we were commanded to back into the presence of Issus.
Never have I been in so humiliating
a position in my life, and only my love for Dejah
Thoris and the hope which still clung to me that I
might again see her kept me from rising to face the
goddess of the First Born and go down to my death
like a gentleman, facing my foes and with their blood
mingling with mine.
After we had crawled in this disgusting
fashion for a matter of a couple of hundred feet we
were halted by our escort.
“Let them rise,” said
a voice behind us; a thin, wavering voice, yet one
that had evidently been accustomed to command for many
years.
“Rise,” said our escort, “but do
not face toward Issus.”
“The woman pleases me,”
said the thin, wavering voice again after a few moments
of silence. “She shall serve me the allotted
time. The man you may return to the Isle of
Shador which lies against the northern shore of the
Sea of Omean. Let the woman turn and look upon
Issus, knowing that those of the lower orders who
gaze upon the holy vision of her radiant face survive
the blinding glory but a single year.”
I watched Phaidor from the corner
of my eye. She paled to a ghastly hue.
Slowly, very slowly she turned, as though drawn by
some invisible yet irresistible force. She was
standing quite close to me, so close that her bare
arm touched mine as she finally faced Issus, Goddess
of Life Eternal.
I could not see the girl’s face
as her eyes rested for the first time on the Supreme
Deity of Mars, but felt the shudder that ran through
her in the trembling flesh of the arm that touched
mine.
“It must be dazzling loveliness
indeed,” thought I, “to cause such emotion
in the breast of so radiant a beauty as Phaidor, daughter
of Matai Shang.”
“Let the woman remain.
Remove the man. Go.” Thus spoke
Issus, and the heavy hand of the officer fell upon
my shoulder. In accordance with his instructions
I dropped to my hands and knees once more and crawled
from the Presence. It had been my first audience
with deity, but I am free to confess that I was not
greatly impressed other than with the ridiculous
figure I cut scrambling about on my marrow bones.
Once without the chamber the doors
closed behind us and I was bid to rise. Xodar
joined me and together we slowly retraced our steps
toward the gardens.
“You spared my life when you
easily might have taken it,” he said after we
had proceeded some little way in silence, “and
I would aid you if I might. I can help to make
your life here more bearable, but your fate is inevitable.
You may never hope to return to the outer world.”
“What will be my fate?” I asked.
“That will depend largely upon
Issus. So long as she does not send for you
and reveal her face to you, you may live on for years
in as mild a form of bondage as I can arrange for
you.”
“Why should she send for me?” I asked.
“The men of the lower orders
she often uses for various purposes of amusement.
Such a fighter as you, for example, would render fine
sport in the monthly rites of the temple. There
are men pitted against men, and against beasts for
the edification of Issus and the replenishment of
her larder.”
“She eats human flesh?”
I asked. Not in horror, however, for since my
recently acquired knowledge of the Holy Therns I was
prepared for anything in this still less accessible
heaven, where all was evidently dictated by a single
omnipotence; where ages of narrow fanaticism and self-worship
had eradicated all the broader humanitarian instincts
that the race might once have possessed.
They were a people drunk with power
and success, looking upon the other inhabitants of
Mars as we look upon the beasts of the field and the
forest. Why then should they not eat of the flesh
of the lower orders whose lives and characters they
no more understood than do we the inmost thoughts
and sensibilities of the cattle we slaughter for our
earthly tables.
“She eats only the flesh of
the best bred of the Holy Therns and the red Barsoomians.
The flesh of the others goes to our boards.
The animals are eaten by the slaves. She also
eats other dainties.”
I did not understand then that there
lay any special significance in his reference to other
dainties. I thought the limit of ghoulishness
already had been reached in the recitation of Issus’
menu. I still had much to learn as to the depths
of cruelty and bestiality to which omnipotence may
drag its possessor.
We had about reached the last of the
many chambers and corridors which led to the gardens
when an officer overtook us.
“Issus would look again upon
this man,” he said. “The girl has
told her that he is of wondrous beauty and of such
prowess that alone he slew seven of the First Born,
and with his bare hands took Xodar captive, binding
him with his own harness.”
Xodar looked uncomfortable.
Evidently he did not relish the thought that Issus
had learned of his inglorious defeat.
Without a word he turned and we followed
the officer once again to the closed doors before
the audience chamber of Issus, Goddess of Life Eternal.
Here the ceremony of entrance was
repeated. Again Issus bid me rise. For
several minutes all was silent as the tomb. The
eyes of deity were appraising me.
Presently the thin wavering voice
broke the stillness, repeating in a singsong drone
the words which for countless ages had sealed the doom
of numberless victims.
“Let the man turn and look upon
Issus, knowing that those of the lower orders who
gaze upon the holy vision of her radiant face survive
the blinding glory but a single year.”
I turned as I had been bid, expecting
such a treat as only the revealment of divine glory
to mortal eyes might produce. What I saw was
a solid phalanx of armed men between myself and a dais
supporting a great bench of carved sorapus wood.
On this bench, or throne, squatted a female black.
She was evidently very old. Not a hair remained
upon her wrinkled skull. With the exception
of two yellow fangs she was entirely toothless.
On either side of her thin, hawk-like nose her eyes
burned from the depths of horribly sunken sockets.
The skin of her face was seamed and creased with
a million deepcut furrows. Her body was as wrinkled
as her face, and as repulsive.
Emaciated arms and legs attached to
a torso which seemed to be mostly distorted abdomen
completed the “holy vision of her radiant beauty.”
Surrounding her were a number of female
slaves, among them Phaidor, white and trembling.
“This is the man who slew seven
of the First Born and, bare-handed, bound Dator Xodar
with his own harness?” asked Issus.
“Most glorious vision of divine
loveliness, it is,” replied the officer who
stood at my side.
“Produce Dator Xodar,” she commanded.
Xodar was brought from the adjoining room.
Issus glared at him, a baleful light in her hideous
eyes.
“And such as you are a Dator
of the First Born?” she squealed. “For
the disgrace you have brought upon the Immortal Race
you shall be degraded to a rank below the lowest.
No longer be you a Dator, but for evermore a slave
of slaves, to fetch and carry for the lower orders
that serve in the gardens of Issus. Remove his
harness. Cowards and slaves wear no trappings.”
Xodar stood stiffly erect. Not
a muscle twitched, nor a tremor shook his giant frame
as a soldier of the guard roughly stripped his gorgeous
trappings from him.
“Begone,” screamed the
infuriated little old woman. “Begone, but
instead of the light of the gardens of Issus let you
serve as a slave of this slave who conquered you in
the prison on the Isle of Shador in the Sea of Omean.
Take him away out of the sight of my divine eyes.”
Slowly and with high held head the
proud Xodar turned and stalked from the chamber.
Issus rose and turned to leave the room by another
exit.
Turning to me, she said: “You
shall be returned to Shador for the present.
Later Issus will see the manner of your fighting.
Go.” Then she disappeared, followed by
her retinue. Only Phaidor lagged behind, and
as I started to follow my guard toward the gardens,
the girl came running after me.
“Oh, do not leave me in this
terrible place,” she begged. “Forgive
the things I said to you, my Prince. I did not
mean them. Only take me away with you.
Let me share your imprisonment on Shador.”
Her words were an almost incoherent volley of thoughts,
so rapidly she spoke. “You did not understand
the honour that I did you. Among the therns
there is no marriage or giving in marriage, as among
the lower orders of the outer world. We might
have lived together for ever in love and happiness.
We have both looked upon Issus and in a year we die.
Let us live that year at least together in what measure
of joy remains for the doomed.”
“If it was difficult for me
to understand you, Phaidor,” I replied, “can
you not understand that possibly it is equally difficult
for you to understand the motives, the customs and
the social laws that guide me? I do not wish
to hurt you, nor to seem to undervalue the honour
which you have done me, but the thing you desire may
not be. Regardless of the foolish belief of the
peoples of the outer world, or of Holy Thern, or ebon
First Born, I am not dead. While I live my heart
beats for but one woman the incomparable
Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium. When death
overtakes me my heart shall have ceased to beat; but
what comes after that I know not. And in that
I am as wise as Matai Shang, Master of Life and Death
upon Barsoom; or Issus, Goddess of Life Eternal.”
Phaidor stood looking at me intently
for a moment. No anger showed in her eyes this
time, only a pathetic expression of hopeless sorrow.
“I do not understand,”
she said, and turning walked slowly in the direction
of the door through which Issus and her retinue had
passed. A moment later she had passed from my
sight.