to
believe that surely there must be an avenue of escape from the terrible
creatures which inhabited this unspeakable place.
Again and again we turned from one door to another, from the baffling
golden panel at one end of the chamber to its mate at the
other—equally baffling.
When we had about given up all hope one of the panels turned silently
toward us, and the young woman who had led away the banths stood once
more beside us.
“Who are you?” she asked, “and what your mission, that you have the
temerity to attempt to escape from the Valley Dor and the death you
have chosen?”
“I have chosen no death, maiden,” I replied. “I am not of Barsoom, nor
have I taken yet the voluntary pilgrimage upon the River Iss. My
friend here is Jeddak of all the Tharks, and though he has not yet
expressed a desire to return to the living world, I am taking him with
me from the living lie that hath lured him to this frightful place.
“I am of another world. I am John Carter, Prince of the House of
Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. Perchance some faint rumour of me may
have leaked within the confines of your hellish abode.”
She smiled.
“Yes,” she replied, “naught that passes in the world we have left is
unknown here. I have heard of you, many years ago. The therns have
ofttimes wondered whither you had flown, since you had neither taken
the pilgrimage, nor could be found upon the face of Barsoom.”
“Tell me,” I said, “and who be you, and why a prisoner, yet with power
over the ferocious beasts of the place that denotes familiarity and
authority far beyond that which might be expected of a prisoner or a
slave?”
“Slave I am,” she answered. “For fifteen years a slave in this
terrible place, and now that they have tired of me and become fearful
of the power which my knowledge of their ways has given me I am but
recently condemned to die the death.”
She shuddered.
“What death?” I asked.
“The Holy Therns eat human flesh,” she answered me; “but only that
which has died beneath the sucking lips of a plant man—flesh from
which the defiling blood of life has been drawn. And to this cruel end
I have been condemned. It was to be within a few hours, had your
advent not caused an interruption of their plans.”
“Was it then Holy Therns who felt the weight of John Carter’s hand?” I
asked.
“Oh, no; those whom you laid low are lesser therns; but of the same
cruel and hateful race. The Holy Therns abide upon the outer slopes of
these grim hills, facing the broad world from which they harvest their
victims and their spoils.
“Labyrinthine passages connect these caves with the luxurious palaces
of the Holy Therns, and through them pass upon their many duties the
lesser therns, and hordes of slaves, and prisoners, and fierce beasts;
the grim inhabitants of this sunless world.
“There be within this vast network of winding passages and countless
chambers men, women, and beasts who, born within its dim and gruesome
underworld, have never seen the light of day—nor ever shall.
“They are kept to do the bidding of the race of therns; to furnish at
once their sport and their sustenance.
“Now and again some hapless pilgrim, drifting out upon the silent sea
from the cold Iss, escapes the plant men and the great white apes that
guard the Temple of Issus and falls into the remorseless clutches of
the therns; or, as was my misfortune, is coveted by the Holy Thern who
chances to be upon watch in the balcony above the river where it issues
from the bowels of the mountains through the cliffs of gold to empty
into the Lost Sea of Korus.
“All who reach the Valley Dor are, by custom, the rightful prey of the
plant men and the apes, while their arms and ornaments become the
portion of the therns; but if one escapes the terrible denizens of the
valley for even a few hours the therns may claim such a one as their
own. And again the Holy Thern on watch, should he see a victim he
covets, often tramples
believe that surely there must be an avenue of escape from the terrible
creatures which inhabited this unspeakable place.
Again and again we turned from one door to another, from the baffling
golden panel at one end of the chamber to its mate at the
other—equally baffling.
When we had about given up all hope one of the panels turned silently
toward us, and the young woman who had led away the banths stood once
more beside us.
“Who are you?” she asked, “and what your mission, that you have the
temerity to attempt to escape from the Valley Dor and the death you
have chosen?”
“I have chosen no death, maiden,” I replied. “I am not of Barsoom, nor
have I taken yet the voluntary pilgrimage upon the River Iss. My
friend here is Jeddak of all the Tharks, and though he has not yet
expressed a desire to return to the living world, I am taking him with
me from the living lie that hath lured him to this frightful place.
“I am of another world. I am John Carter, Prince of the House of
Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. Perchance some faint rumour of me may
have leaked within the confines of your hellish abode.”
She smiled.
“Yes,” she replied, “naught that passes in the world we have left is
unknown here. I have heard of you, many years ago. The therns have
ofttimes wondered whither you had flown, since you had neither taken
the pilgrimage, nor could be found upon the face of Barsoom.”
“Tell me,” I said, “and who be you, and why a prisoner, yet with power
over the ferocious beasts of the place that denotes familiarity and
authority far beyond that which might be expected of a prisoner or a
slave?”
“Slave I am,” she answered. “For fifteen years a slave in this
terrible place, and now that they have tired of me and become fearful
of the power which my knowledge of their ways has given me I am but
recently condemned to die the death.”
She shuddered.
“What death?” I asked.
“The Holy Therns eat human flesh,” she answered me; “but only that
which has died beneath the sucking lips of a plant man—flesh from
which the defiling blood of life has been drawn. And to this cruel end
I have been condemned. It was to be within a few hours, had your
advent not caused an interruption of their plans.”
“Was it then Holy Therns who felt the weight of John Carter’s hand?” I
asked.
“Oh, no; those whom you laid low are lesser therns; but of the same
cruel and hateful race. The Holy Therns abide upon the outer slopes of
these grim hills, facing the broad world from which they harvest their
victims and their spoils.
“Labyrinthine passages connect these caves with the luxurious palaces
of the Holy Therns, and through them pass upon their many duties the
lesser therns, and hordes of slaves, and prisoners, and fierce beasts;
the grim inhabitants of this sunless world.
“There be within this vast network of winding passages and countless
chambers men, women, and beasts who, born within its dim and gruesome
underworld, have never seen the light of day—nor ever shall.
“They are kept to do the bidding of the race of therns; to furnish at
once their sport and their sustenance.
“Now and again some hapless pilgrim, drifting out upon the silent sea
from the cold Iss, escapes the plant men and the great white apes that
guard the Temple of Issus and falls into the remorseless clutches of
the therns; or, as was my misfortune, is coveted by the Holy Thern who
chances to be upon watch in the balcony above the river where it issues
from the bowels of the mountains through the cliffs of gold to empty
into the Lost Sea of Korus.
“All who reach the Valley Dor are, by custom, the rightful prey of the
plant men and the apes, while their arms and ornaments become the
portion of the therns; but if one escapes the terrible denizens of the
valley for even a few hours the therns may claim such a one as their
own. And again the Holy Thern on watch, should he see a victim he
covets, often tramples
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