CHAPTER XI.

GREEN MEN AND WHITE APES

A Torquasian sword smote a glancing blow across the forehead of

Carthoris. He had a fleeting vision of soft arms about his neck, and

warm lips close to his before he lost consciousness.

How long he lay there senseless he could not guess; but when he opened

his eyes again he was alone, except for the bodies of the dead green

men and Dusarians, and the carcass of a great banth that lay half

across his own.

Thuvia was gone, nor was the body of Kar Komak among the dead.

Weak from loss of blood, Carthoris made his way slowly toward Aaanthor,

reaching its outskirts at dark.

He wanted water more than any other thing, and so he kept on up a broad

avenue toward the great central plaza, where he knew the precious fluid

was to be found in a half-ruined building opposite the great palace of

the ancient jeddak, who once had ruled this mighty city.

Disheartened and discouraged by the strange sequence of events that

seemed fore-ordained to thwart his every attempt to serve the Princess

of Ptarth, he paid little or no attention to his surroundings, moving

through the deserted city as though no great white apes lurked in the

black shadows of the mystery-haunted piles that flanked the broad

avenues and the great plaza.

But if Carthoris was careless of his surroundings, not so other eyes

that watched his entrance into the plaza, and followed his slow

footsteps toward the marble pile that housed the tiny, half-choked

spring whose water one might gain only by scratching a deep hole in the

red sand that covered it.

And as the Heliumite entered the small building a dozen mighty,

grotesque figures emerged from the doorway of the palace to speed

noiselessly across the plaza toward him.

For half an hour Carthoris remained in the building, digging for water

and gaining the few much-needed drops which were the fruits of his

labour. Then he rose and slowly left the structure. Scarce had he

stepped beyond the threshold than twelve Torquasian warriors leaped

upon him.

No time then to draw long-sword; but swift from his harness flew his

long, slim dagger, and as he went down beneath them more than a single

green heart ceased beating at the bite of that keen point.

Then they overpowered him and took his weapons away; but only nine of

the twelve warriors who had crossed the plaza returned with their

prize.

They dragged their prisoner roughly to the palace pits, where in utter

darkness they chained him with rusty links to the solid masonry of the

wall.

“To-morrow Thar Ban will speak with you,” they said. “Now he sleeps.

But great will be his pleasure when he learns who has wandered amongst

us—and great will be the pleasure of Hortan Gur when Thar Ban drags

before him the mad fool who dared prick the great jeddak with his

sword.”

Then they left him to the silence and the darkness.

For what seemed hours Carthoris squatted upon the stone floor of his

prison, his back against the wall in which was sunk the heavy eye-bolt

that secured the chain which held him.

Then, from out of the mysterious blackness before him, there came to

his ears the sound of naked feet moving stealthily upon

stone—approaching nearer and nearer to where he lay, unarmed and

defenceless.

Minutes passed—minutes that seemed hours—during which time periods of

sepulchral silence would be followed by a repetition of the uncanny

scraping of naked feet slinking warily upon him.

At last he heard a sudden rush of unshod soles across the empty

blackness, and at a little distance a scuffling sound, heavy breathing,

and once what he thought the muttered imprecation of a man battling

against great odds. Then the clanging of a chain, and a noise as of the

snapping back against stone of a broken link.

Again came silence. But for a moment only. Now he heard once more the

soft feet approaching him. He thought that he discerned wicked eyes

gleaming fearfully at him through the darkness. He knew that he could

hear the heavy breathing of powerful lungs.

Then came the rush of many feet toward him, and the _things_ were upon

him.

Hands terminating in manlike fingers clutched at his throat and arms

and legs. Hairy bodies strained and struggled against his own smooth

hide as he battled in grim silence against these horrid foemen in the

darkness of the pits of ancient Aaanthor.

Thewed like some giant god was Carthoris of Helium, yet in the clutches

of these unseen creatures of the pit’s Stygian night he was helpless as

a frail woman.

Yet he battled on, striking futile blows against great, hispid breasts

he could not see; feeling thick, squat throats beneath his fingers; the

drool of saliva upon his cheek, and hot, foul breath in his nostrils.

Fangs, too, mighty fangs, he knew were close, and why they did not sink

into his flesh he could not guess.

At last he became aware of the mighty surging of a number of his

antagonists back and forth upon the great chain that held him, and

presently came the same sound that he had heard at a little distance

from him a short time before he had been attacked—his chain had parted

and the broken end snapped back against the stone wall.

Now he was seized upon either side and dragged at a rapid pace through

the dark corridors—toward what fate he could not even guess.

At first he had thought his foes might be of the tribe of Torquas, but

their hairy bodies belied that belief. Now he was at last quite sure of

their identity, though why they had not killed and devoured him at once

he could not imagine.

After half an hour or more of rapid racing through the underground

passages that are a distinguishing feature of all Barsoomian cities,

modern as well as ancient, his captors suddenly emerged into the

moonlight of a courtyard, far from the central plaza.

Immediately Carthoris saw that he was in the power of a tribe of the

great white apes of Barsoom. All that had caused him doubt before as to

the identity of his attackers was the hairiness of their breasts, for

the white apes are entirely hairless except for a great shock bristling

from their heads.

Now he saw the cause of that which had deceived him—across the chest of

each of them were strips of hairy hide, usually of banth, in imitation

of the harness of the green warriors who so often camped at their

deserted city.

Carthoris had read of the existence of tribes of apes that seemed to be

progressing slowly toward higher standards of intelligence. Into the

hands of such, he realized, he had fallen; but—what were their

intentions toward him?

As he glanced about the courtyard, he saw fully fifty of the hideous

beasts, squatting on their haunches, and at a little distance from him

another human being, closely guarded.

As his eyes met those of his fellow-captive a smile lit the other’s

face, and: “Kaor, red man!” burst from his lips. It was Kar Komak, the

bowman.

“Kaor!” cried Carthoris, in response. “How came you here, and what

befell the princess?”

“Red men like yourself descended in mighty ships that sailed the air,

even as the great ships of my distant day sailed the five seas,”

replied Kar Komak. “They fought with the green men of Torquas. They

slew Komal, god of Lothar. I thought they were your friends, and I was

glad when finally those of them who survived the battle carried the red

girl to one of the ships and sailed away with her into the safety of

the high air.

“Then the green men seized me, and carried me to a great, empty city,

where they chained me to a wall in a black pit. Afterward came these

and dragged me hither. And what of you, red man?”

Carthoris related all that had befallen him, and as the two men talked

the great apes squatted about them watching them intently.

“What are we to do now?” asked the bowman.

“Our case looks rather hopeless,” replied Carthoris ruefully. “These

creatures are born man-eaters. Why they have not already devoured us I

cannot imagine—there!” he whispered. “See? The end is coming.”

Kar Komak looked in the direction Carthoris indicated to see a huge ape

advancing with a mighty bludgeon.

“It is thus they like best to kill their prey,” said Carthoris.

“Must we die without a struggle?” asked Kar Komak.

“Not I,” replied Carthoris, “though I know how futile our best defence

must be against these mighty brutes! Oh, for a long-sword!”

“Or a good bow,” added Kar Komak, “and a utan of bowmen.”

At the words Carthoris half sprang to his feet, only to be dragged

roughly down by his guard.

“Kar Komak!” he cried. “Why cannot you do what Tario and Jav did? They

had no bowmen other than those of their own creation. You must know the

secret of their power. Call forth your own utan, Kar Komak!”

The Lotharian looked at Carthoris in wide-eyed astonishment as the full

purport of the suggestion bore in upon his understanding.

“Why not?” he murmured.

The savage ape bearing the mighty bludgeon was slinking toward

Carthoris. The Heliumite’s fingers were working as he kept his eyes

upon his executioner. Kar Komak bent his gaze penetratingly upon the

apes. The effort of his mind was evidenced in the sweat upon his

contracted brows.

The creature that was to slay the red man was almost within arm’s reach

of his prey when Carthoris heard a hoarse shout from the opposite side

of the courtyard. In common with the squatting apes and the demon with

the club he turned in the direction of the sound, to see a company of

sturdy bowmen rushing from the doorway of a near-by building.

With screams of rage the apes leaped to their feet to meet the charge.

A volley of arrows met them half-way, sending a dozen rolling lifeless

to the ground. Then the apes closed with their adversaries. All their

attention was occupied by the attackers—even the guard had deserted the

prisoners to join in the battle.

“Come!” whispered Kar Komak. “Now may we escape while their attention

is diverted from us by my bowmen.”

“And leave those brave fellows leaderless?” cried Carthoris, whose

loyal nature revolted at the merest suggestion of such a thing.

Kar Komak laughed.

“You forget,” he said, “that they are but thin air—figments of my

brain. They will vanish, unscathed, when we have no further need for

them. Praised be your first ancestor, redman, that you thought of this

chance in time! It would never have occurred to me to imagine that I

might wield the same power that brought me into existence.”

“You are right,” said Carthoris. “Still, I hate to leave them, though

there is naught else to do,” and so the two turned from the courtyard,

and making their way into one of the broad avenues, crept stealthily in

the shadows of the building toward the great central plaza upon which

were the buildings occupied by the green warriors when they visited the

deserted city.

When they had come to the plaza’s edge Carthoris halted.

“Wait here,” he whispered. “I go to fetch thoats, since on foot we may

never hope to escape the clutches of these green fiends.”

To reach the courtyard where the thoats were kept it was necessary for

Carthoris to pass through one of the buildings which surrounded the

square. Which were occupied and which not he could not even guess, so

he was compelled to take considerable chances to gain the enclosure in

which he could hear the restless beasts squealing and quarrelling among

themselves.

Chance carried him through a dark doorway into a large chamber in which

lay a score or more green warriors wrapped in their sleeping silks and

furs. Scarce had Carthoris passed through the short hallway that

connected the door of the building and the great room beyond it than he

became aware of the presence of something or some one in the hallway

through which he had but just passed.

He heard a man yawn, and then, behind him, he saw the figure of a

sentry rise from where the fellow had been dozing, and stretching

himself resume his wakeful watchfulness.

Carthoris realized that he must have passed within a foot of the

warrior, doubtless rousing him from his slumber. To retreat now would

be impossible. Yet to cross through that roomful of sleeping warriors

seemed almost equally beyond the pale of possibility.

Carthoris shrugged his broad shoulders and chose the lesser evil.

Warily he entered the room. At his right, against the wall, leaned

several swords and rifles and spears—extra weapons which the warriors

had stacked here ready to their hands should there be a night alarm

calling them suddenly from slumber. Beside each sleeper lay his

weapon—these were never far from their owners from childhood to death.

The sight of the swords made the young man’s palm itch. He stepped

quickly to them, selecting two short-swords—one for Kar Komak, the

other for himself; also some trappings for his naked comrade.

Then he started directly across the centre of the apartment among the

sleeping Torquasians.

Not a man of them moved until Carthoris had completed more than half of

the short though dangerous journey. Then a fellow directly in his path

turned restlessly upon his sleeping silks and furs.

The Heliumite paused above him, one of the short-swords in readiness

should the warrior awaken. For what seemed an eternity to the young

prince the green man continued to move uneasily upon his couch, then,

as though actuated by springs, he leaped to his feet and faced the red

man.

Instantly Carthoris struck, but not before a savage grunt escaped the

other’s lips. In an instant the room was in turmoil. Warriors leaped to

their feet, grasping their weapons as they rose, and shouting to one

another for an explanation of the disturbance.

To Carthoris all within the room was plainly visible in the dim light

reflected from without, for the further moon stood directly at zenith;

but to the eyes of the newly-awakened green men objects as yet had not

taken on familiar forms—they but saw vaguely the figures of warriors

moving about their apartment.

Now one stumbled against the corpse of him whom Carthoris had slain.

The fellow stooped and his hand came in contact with the cleft skull.

He saw about him the giant figures of other green men, and so he jumped

to the only conclusion that was open to him.

“The Thurds!” he cried. “The Thurds are upon us! Rise, warriors of

Torquas, and drive home your swords within the hearts of Torquas’

ancient enemies!”

Instantly the green men began to fall upon one another with naked

swords. Their savage lust of battle was aroused. To fight, to kill, to

die with cold steel buried in their vitals! Ah, that to them was

Nirvana.

Carthoris was quick to guess their error and take advantage of it. He

knew that in the pleasure of killing they might fight on long after

they had discovered their mistake, unless their attention was

distracted by sight of the real cause of the altercation, and so he

lost no time in continuing across the room to the doorway upon the

opposite side, which opened into the inner court, where the savage

thoats were squealing and fighting among themselves.

Once here he had no easy task before him. To catch and mount one of

these habitually rageful and intractable beasts was no child’s play

under the best of conditions; but now, when silence and time were such

important considerations, it might well have seemed quite hopeless to a

less resourceful and optimistic man than the son of the great warlord.

From his father he had learned much concerning the traits of these

mighty beasts, and from Tars Tarkas, also, when he had visited that

great green jeddak among his horde at Thark. So now he centred upon the

work in hand all that he had ever learned about them from others and

from his own experience, for he, too, had ridden and handled them many

times.

The temper of the thoats of Torquas appeared even shorter than their

vicious cousins among the Tharks and Warhoons, and for a time it seemed

unlikely that he should escape a savage charge on the part of a couple

of old bulls that circled, squealing, about him; but at last he managed

to get close enough to one of them to touch the beast. With the feel of

his hand upon the sleek hide the creature quieted, and in answer to the

telepathic command of the red man sank to its knees.

In a moment Carthoris was upon its back, guiding it toward the great

gate that leads from the courtyard through a large building at one end

into an avenue beyond.

The other bull, still squealing and enraged, followed after his fellow.

There was no bridle upon either, for these strange creatures are

controlled entirely by suggestion—when they are controlled at all.

Even in the hands of the giant green men bridle reins would be

hopelessly futile against the mad savagery and mastodonic strength of

the thoat, and so they are guided by that strange telepathic power with

which the men of Mars have learned to communicate in a crude way with

the lower orders of their planet.

With difficulty Carthoris urged the two beasts to the gate, where,

leaning down, he raised the latch. Then the thoat that he was riding

placed his great shoulder to the skeel-wood planking, pushed through,

and a moment later the man and the two beasts were swinging silently

down the avenue to the edge of the plaza, where Kar Komak hid.

Here Carthoris found considerable difficulty in subduing the second

thoat, and as Kar Komak had never before ridden one of the beasts, it

seemed a most hopeless job; but at last the bowman managed to scramble

to the sleek back, and again the two beasts fled softly down the

moss-grown avenues toward the open sea-bottom beyond the city.

All that night and the following day and the second night they rode

toward the north-east. No indication of pursuit developed, and at dawn

of the second day Carthoris saw in the distance the waving ribbon of

great trees that marked one of the long Barsoomian water-ways.

Immediately they abandoned their thoats and approached the cultivated

district on foot. Carthoris also discarded the metal from his harness,

or such of it as might serve to identify him as a Heliumite, or of

royal blood, for he did not know to what nation belonged this waterway,

and upon Mars it is always well to assume every man and nation your

enemy until you have learned the contrary.

It was mid-forenoon when the two at last entered one of the roads that

cut through the cultivated districts at regular intervals, joining the

arid wastes on either side with the great, white, central highway that

follows through the centre from end to end of the far-reaching,

threadlike farm lands.

The high wall surrounding the fields served as a protection against

surprise by raiding green hordes, as well as keeping the savage banths

and other carnivora from the domestic animals and the human beings upon

the farms.

Carthoris stopped before the first gate he came to, pounding for

admission. The young man who answered his summons greeted the two

hospitably, though he looked with considerable wonder upon the white

skin and auburn hair of the bowman.

After he had listened for a moment to a partial narration of their

escape from the Torquasians, he invited them within, took them to his

house and bade the servants there prepare food for them.

As they waited in the low-ceiled, pleasant living room of the farmhouse

until the meal should be ready, Carthoris drew his host into

conversation that he might learn his nationality, and thus the nation

under whose dominion lay the waterway where circumstance had placed

him.

“I am Hal Vas,” said the young man, “son of Vas Kor, of Dusar, a noble

in the retinue of Astok, Prince of Dusar. At present I am Dwar of the

Road for this district.”

Carthoris was very glad that he had not disclosed his identity, for

though he had no idea of anything that had transpired since he had left

Helium, or that Astok was at the bottom of all his misfortunes, he well

knew that the Dusarian had no love for him, and that he could hope for

no assistance within the dominions of Dusar.

“And who are you?” asked Hal Vas. “By your appearance I take you for a

fighting man, but I see no insignia upon your harness. Can it be that

you are a panthan?”

Now, these wandering soldiers of fortune are common upon Barsoom, where

most men love to fight. They sell their services wherever war exists,

and in the occasional brief intervals when there is no organized

warfare between the red nations, they join one of the numerous

expeditions that are constantly being dispatched against the green men

in protection of the waterways that traverse the wilder portions of the

globe.

When their service is over they discard the metal of the nation they

have been serving until they shall have found a new master. In the

intervals they wear no insignia, their war-worn harness and grim

weapons being sufficient to attest their calling.

The suggestion was a happy one, and Carthoris embraced the chance it

afforded to account satisfactorily for himself. There was, however, a

single drawback. In times of war such panthans as happened to be within

the domain of a belligerent nation were compelled to don the insignia

of that nation and fight with her warriors.

As far as Carthoris knew Dusar was not at war with any other nation,

but there was never any telling when one red nation would be flying at

the throat of a neighbour, even though the great and powerful alliance

at the head of which was his father, John Carter, had managed to

maintain a long peace upon the greater portion of Barsoom.

A pleasant smile lighted Hal Vas’ face as Carthoris admitted his

vocation.

“It is well,” exclaimed the young man, “that you chanced to come

hither, for here you will find the means of obtaining service in short

order. My father, Vas Kor, is even now with me, having come hither to

recruit a force for the new war against Helium.”