CHAPTER VII

A REPELLENT SIGHT

The cruiser Vanator careened through the tempest. That she 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 she rode, a helpless derelict, upon those

storm-tossed waves of wind. But for all the dangers and vicissitudes

they underwent, she and her 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 men 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 his quarters, after releasing the

lashings which had held him 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 man 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 her 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 man clutches

at a straw so the fellow clutched at the tangled cordage that caught

him and arrested his fall. With the strength of desperation he clung to

the cordage, seeking frantically to entangle his legs and body in it.

With each jerk of the ship his hand holds were all but torn loose, and

though he knew that eventually they would be and that he must be dashed

to the ground beneath, yet he fought with the madness that is born of

hopelessness for the pitiful second which but prolonged his agony.

It was upon this sight then that Gahan of Gathol looked, over the edge

of the careening deck of the Vanator, as he sought to learn the fate of

his 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 him one of his 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 his deck lashings, he

seized the landing leather and slipped over the ship's side. Swinging

like a bob upon a mad pendulum he swung far out and back again, turning

and twisting three thousand feet above the surface of Barsoom, and

then, at last, the thing he had hoped for occurred. He 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 Gahan pulled himself 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 he had clambered until he could

grasp the hook at its end. This he fastened to a ring in the warrior's

harness, just before the man's weakened fingers slipped from their hold

upon the cordage.

Temporarily, at least, he had saved the life of his subject, and now he

turned his attention toward insuring his own safety. Inextricably

entangled in the mess to which he was clinging were numerous other

landing hooks such as he had attached to the warrior's harness, and

with one of these he sought to secure himself until the storm should

abate sufficiently to permit him to climb to the deck, but even as he

reached for one that swung near him 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, Gahan's fingers slipped from their hold upon the

cordage and the man shot downward through the thin air of dying Mars

toward the ground three thousand feet beneath, while upon the deck of

the rolling Vanator his 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 he was lost, or knew the self-sacrificing heroism of the act

that had sealed his doom. The Vanator now rested upon an even keel as

she 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 man hanging in the cordage beneath

the keel. Strong arms hoisted him to the deck and then it was that the

crew of the Vanator learned of the heroism of their jed and his end.

How far they had traveled since his loss they could only vaguely guess,

nor could they return in search of him 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 Gahan, Jed of Gathol--what of him? Plummet-like he fell for a

thousand feet and then the storm seized him in its giant clutch and

bore him far aloft again. As a bit of paper borne upon a gale he was

tossed about in mid-air, the sport and plaything of the wind. Over and

over it turned him and upward and downward it carried him, but after

each new sally of the element he was brought nearer to the ground. The

freaks of cyclonic storms are the rule of cyclonic storms, since

such storms are in themselves freaks. They uproot and 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 Gahan of Gathol. Expecting momentarily to be dashed

to destruction he presently found himself deposited gently upon the

soft, ochre moss of a dead sea-bottom, bodily no worse off for his

harrowing adventure than in the possession of a slight swelling upon

his forehead where the metal hook had struck him. Scarcely able to

believe that Fate had dealt thus gently with him, the jed arose slowly,

as though more than half convinced that he should discover crushed and

splintered bones that would not support his weight. But he was intact.

He looked about him in a vain effort at orientation. The air was filled

with flying dust and debris. The Sun was obliterated. His 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 he not known it. It was

useless to move from where he was until the air cleared, since he could

not know in what direction he was moving, and so he stretched himself

upon the moss and waited, pondering the fate of his warriors and his

ship, but giving little thought to his own precarious situation.

Lashed to his harness were his swords, his pistols, and a dagger, and

in his pocket-pouch a small quantity of the concentrated rations that

form a part of the equipment of the fighting men of Barsoom. These

things together with trained muscles, high courage, and an undaunted

spirit sufficed him for whatever misadventures might lie between him

and Gathol, which lay in what direction he 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 he was convinced, but he chafed at

the inactivity the low visibility put upon him, nor did conditions

better materially before night fell, so that he was forced to await the

new day at the very spot at which the tempest had deposited him.

Without his sleeping silks and furs he spent a far from comfortable

night, and it was with feelings of unmixed relief that he saw the

sudden dawn burst upon him. The air was now clear and in the light of

the new day he saw an undulating plain stretching in all directions

about him, while to the northwest there were barely discernible the

outlines of low hills. Toward the southeast of Gathol was such a

country, and as Gahan surmised the direction and the velocity of the

storm to have carried him somewhere in the vicinity of the country he

thought he recognized, he assumed that Gathol lay behind the hills he

now saw, whereas, in reality, it lay far to the northeast.

It was two days before Gahan had crossed the plain and reached the

summit of the hills from which he hoped to see his own country, only to

meet at last with disappointment. Before him stretched another plain,

of even greater proportions than that he had but just crossed, and

beyond this other hills. In one material respect this plain differed

from that behind him in that it was dotted with occasional isolated

hills. Convinced, however, that Gathol lay somewhere in the direction

of his search he descended into the valley and bent his steps toward

the northwest.

For weeks Gahan of Gathol crossed valleys and hills in search of some

familiar landmark that might point his way toward his native land, but

the summit of each succeeding ridge revealed but another unfamiliar

view. He saw few animals and no men, until he finally came to the

belief that he had fallen upon that fabled area of ancient Barsoom

which lay under the curse of her 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, he 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. He saw people

working in the fields, but he did not rush down to greet them. First he

must know more of them and whether they might be assumed to be friends

or enemies. Hidden by concealing shrubbery he crawled to a vantage

point upon a hill that projected further into the valley, and here he

lay upon his belly watching the workers closest to him. They were still

quite a distance from him and he 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 he lay watching them and ever more forcibly it was

borne in upon his consciousness that they were not as he, and that it

would be rash to trust himself among them. Presently he saw a couple

appear from the nearest enclosure and slowly approach those who were

working nearest to the hill where he lay in hiding. Immediately he was

aware that one of these differed from all the others. Even at the

greater distance he noted that the head was smaller and as they

approached, he 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 Gahan of

Gathol lay watching, and then suddenly the smaller figure struck its

companion full in the face. Gahan, horrified, saw the latter's head

topple from its body, saw the body stagger and fall to the ground. The

man half rose from his 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 he was hidden, it

dodged one of the workers that sought to seize it. Gahan hoped that it

would gain its liberty, why he did not know other than at closer range

it had every appearance of being a creature of his own race. Then he

saw it stumble and go down and instantly its pursuers were upon it.

Then it was that Gahan's eyes chanced to return to the figure of the

creature the fugitive had felled.

What horror was this that he was witnessing? Or were his eyes playing

some ghastly joke upon him? 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 him he could note dejection and utter hopelessness in the bearing

of the prisoner, and, too, he was half convinced that it was a woman,

perhaps a red Martian of his own race. Could he be sure that this was

true he must make some effort to rescue her even though the customs of

his strange world required it only in case she was of his own country;

but he was not sure; she might not be a red Martian at all, or, if she

were, it was as possible that she sprang from an enemy people as not.

His first duty was to return to his own people with as little personal

risk as possible, and though the thought of adventure stirred his blood

he put the temptation aside with a sigh and turned away from the

peaceful and beautiful valley that he longed to enter, for it was his

intention to skirt its eastern edge and continue his search for Gathol

beyond.

As Gahan of Gathol turned his steps along the southern slopes of the

hills that bound Bantoom upon the south and east, his attention was

attracted toward a small cluster of trees a short distance to his

right. The low sun was casting long shadows. It would soon be night.

The trees were off the path that he had chosen and he had little mind

to be diverted from his way; but as he looked again he hesitated. There

was something there besides boles of trees, and underbrush. There were

suggestions of familiar lines of the handicraft of man. Gahan stopped

and strained his eyes in the direction of the thing that had arrested

his attention. No, he 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. He turned and continued upon his way; but as he cast

another side glance in the direction of the object of his interest, the

sun's rays were shot back into his eyes from a glistening point of

radiance among the trees.

Gahan shook his head and walked quickly toward the mystery, determined

now to solve it. The shining object still lured him on and when he had

come closer to it his 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. Gahan, his hand upon his short-sword, moved silently

forward, but as he neared the craft he saw that he had naught to fear,

for it was deserted. Then he turned his attention toward the emblem. As

its significance was flashed to his understanding his face paled and

his heart went cold--it was the insignia of the house of The Warlord of

Barsoom. Instantly he saw the dejected figure of the captive being led

back to her prison in the valley just beyond the hills. Tara of Helium!

And he had been so near to deserting her to her fate. The cold sweat

stood in beads upon his brow.

A hasty examination of the deserted craft unfolded to the young jed the

whole tragic story. The same tempest that had proved his undoing had

borne Tara of Helium to this distant country. Here, doubtless, she had

landed in hope of obtaining food and water since, without a propellor,

she could not hope to reach her 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 girl had expected to return to it, while the dust and leaves upon

its deck spoke of the long days, and even weeks, since she had landed.

Mute yet eloquent proofs, these things, that Tara of Helium was a

prisoner, and that she was the very prisoner whose bold dash for

liberty he had so recently witnessed he now had not the slightest doubt.

The question now revolved solely about her rescue. He knew to which

tower she had been taken--that much and no more. Of the number, the

kind, or the disposition of her captors he knew nothing; nor did he

care--for Tara of Helium he would face a hostile world alone. Rapidly

he considered several plans for succoring her; but the one that

appealed most strongly to him was that which offered the greatest

chance of escape for the girl should he be successful in reaching her.

His decision reached he turned his attention quickly toward the flier.

Casting off its lashings he 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 her

altitude. There was nothing needed but a propellor to make her fit for

the long voyage to Helium. Gahan 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 his plan

required of it--provided the captors of Tara of Helium were a people

without ships, and he had seen nothing to suggest that they had ships.

The architecture of their towers and enclosures assured him that they

had not.

The sudden Barsoomian night had fallen. Cluros rode majestically the

high heavens. The rumbling roar of a banth reverberated among the

hills. Gahan of Gathol let the ship rise a few feet from the ground,

then, seizing a bow rope, he dropped over the side. To tow the little

craft was now a thing of ease, and as Gahan moved rapidly toward the

brow of the hill above Bantoom the flier floated behind him as lightly

as a swan upon a quiet lake. Now down the hill toward the tower dimly

visible in the moonlight the Gatholian turned his steps. Closer behind

him sounded the roar of the hunting banth. He wondered if the beast

sought him or was following some other spoor. He could not be delayed

now by any hungry beast of prey, for what might that very instant be

befalling Tara of Helium he could not guess; and so he hastened his

steps. But closer and closer came the horrid screams of the great

carnivore, and now he heard the swift fall of padded feet upon the

hillside behind him. He glanced back just in time to see the beast

break into a rapid charge. His hand leaped to the hilt of his

long-sword, but he did not draw, for in the same instant he 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 he grasped in the instant that he saw the

overwhelming numbers of his antagonists.

Springing lightly from the ground he swarmed up the rope toward the bow

of the flier. His weight drew the craft slightly lower and at the very

instant that the man drew himself to the deck at the bow of the vessel,

the leading banth sprang for the stern. Gahan leaped to his feet and

rushed toward the great beast in the hope of dislodging it before it

had succeeded in clambering aboard. At the same instant he 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 he would be lost. There was but a single hope.

Leaping for the altitude control Gahan pulled it wide. Simultaneously

three banths leaped for the deck. The craft rose swiftly. Gahan felt

the impact of a body against the keel, followed by the soft thuds of

the great bodies as they struck the ground beneath. His 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. Gahan drew his

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 Gahan placed a foot upon the control and stopped

the ascent. He did not wish to chance rising to some higher air current

that would bear him 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 man 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 man

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. Gahan leaped in with his 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 man 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 Gahan's head at the moment that his

sword lunged through the savage heart, and as the warrior wrenched his

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 Gahan had seen the prisoner led. In another moment

or two it would be directly over it. The man sprang to the control and

let the craft drop quickly toward the ground where followed the banths,

still hot for their prey. To land outside the enclosure spelled certain

death, while inside he 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 he could now hear the

roars and growls of these fierce Barsoomian lions.

Slipping over the side Gahan descended by the trailing anchor-rope

until his feet touched the top of the wall, where he had no difficulty

in arresting the slow drifting of the ship. Then he 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 men. Dull lights

shone from openings in the tower; but there was no sign of guard or

waking inmate. Clinging to the rope Gahan lowered himself within the

enclosure, where he had his first close view of the creatures lying

there in what he had thought sleep. With a half smothered exclamation

of horror the man drew back from the headless bodies of the rykors. At

first he thought them the corpses of decapitated humans like himself,

which was quite bad enough; but when he saw them move and realized that

they were endowed with life, his horror and disgust became even greater.

Here then was the explanation of the thing he had witnessed that

afternoon, when Tara of Helium had struck the head from her captor and

Gahan had seen the head crawl back to its body. And to think that the

pearl of Helium was in the power of such hideous things as these. Again

the man shuddered, but he hastened to make fast the flier, clamber

again to its deck and lower it to the floor of the enclosure. Then

he 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.