CHAPTER VII.

THE PHANTOM BOWMEN

As Jav leaped toward him Carthoris laid his hand upon the hilt of his

long-sword. The Lotharian halted. The great apartment was empty save

for the four at the dais, yet as Jav stepped back from the menace of

the Heliumite’s threatening attitude the latter found himself

surrounded by a score of bowmen.

From whence had they sprung? Both Carthoris and Thuvia looked their

astonishment.

Now the former’s sword leaped from its scabbard, and at the same

instant the bowmen drew back their slim shafts.

Tario had half raised himself upon one elbow. For the first time he saw

the full figure of Thuvia, who had been concealed behind the person of

Carthoris.

“Enough!” cried the jeddak, raising a protesting hand, but at that very

instant the sword of the Heliumite cut viciously at its nearest

antagonist.

As the keen edge reached its goal Carthoris let the point fall to the

floor, as with wide eyes he stepped backward in consternation, throwing

the back of his left hand across his brow. His steel had cut but empty

air—his antagonist had vanished—there were no bowmen in the room!

“It is evident that these are strangers,” said Tario to Jav. “Let us

first determine that they knowingly affronted us before we take

measures for punishment.”

Then he turned to Carthoris, but ever his gaze wandered to the perfect

lines of Thuvia’s glorious figure, which the harness of a Barsoomian

princess accentuated rather than concealed.

“Who are you,” he asked, “who knows not the etiquette of the court of

the last of jeddaks?”

“I am Carthoris, Prince of Helium,” replied the Heliumite. “And this is

Thuvia, Princess of Ptarth. In the courts of our fathers men do not

prostrate themselves before royalty. Not since the First Born tore

their immortal goddess limb from limb have men crawled upon their

bellies to any throne upon Barsoom. Now think you that the daughter of

one mighty jeddak and the son of another would so humiliate

themselves?”

Tario looked at Carthoris for a long time. At last he spoke.

“There is no other jeddak upon Barsoom than Tario,” he said. “There is

no other race than that of Lothar, unless the hordes of Torquas may be

dignified by such an appellation. Lotharians are white; your skins are

red. There are no women left upon Barsoom. Your companion is a woman.”

He half rose from the couch, leaning far forward and pointing an

accusing finger at Carthoris.

“You are a lie!” he shrieked. “You are both lies, and you dare to come

before Tario, last and mightiest of the jeddaks of Barsoom, and assert

your reality. Some one shall pay well for this, Jav, and unless I

mistake it is yourself who has dared thus flippantly to trifle with the

good nature of your jeddak.

“Remove the man. Leave the woman. We shall see if both be lies. And

later, Jav, you shall suffer for your temerity. There be few of us

left, but—Komal must be fed. Go!”

Carthoris could see that Jav trembled as he prostrated himself once

more before his ruler, and then, rising, turned toward the Prince of

Helium.

“Come!” he said.

“And leave the Princess of Ptarth here alone?” cried Carthoris.

Jav brushed closely past him, whispering:

“Follow me—he cannot harm her, except to kill; and that he can do

whether you remain or not. We had best go now—trust me.”

Carthoris did not understand, but something in the urgency of the

other’s tone assured him, and so he turned away, but not without a

glance toward Thuvia in which he attempted to make her understand that

it was in her own interest that he left her.

For answer she turned her back full upon him, but not without first

throwing him such a look of contempt that brought the scarlet to his

cheek.

Then he hesitated, but Jav seized him by the wrist.

“Come!” he whispered. “Or he will have the bowmen upon you, and this

time there will be no escape. Did you not see how futile is your steel

against thin air!”

Carthoris turned unwillingly to follow. As the two left the room he

turned to his companion.

“If I may not kill thin air,” he asked, “how, then, shall I fear that

thin air may kill me?”

“You saw the Torquasians fall before the bowmen?” asked Jav.

Carthoris nodded.

“So would you fall before them, and without one single chance for

self-defence or revenge.”

As they talked Jav led Carthoris to a small room in one of the numerous

towers of the palace. Here were couches, and Jav bid the Heliumite be

seated.

For several minutes the Lotharian eyed his prisoner, for such Carthoris

now realized himself to be.

“I am half convinced that you are real,” he said at last.

Carthoris laughed.

“Of course I am real,” he said. “What caused you to doubt it? Can you

not see me, feel me?”

“So may I see and feel the bowmen,” replied Jav, “and yet we all know

that they, at least, are not real.”

Carthoris showed by the expression of his face his puzzlement at each

new reference to the mysterious bowmen—the vanishing soldiery of

Lothar.

“What, then, may they be?” he asked.

“You really do not know?” asked Jav.

Carthoris shook his head negatively.

“I can almost believe that you have told us the truth and that you are

really from another part of Barsoom, or from another world. But tell

me, in your own country have you no bowmen to strike terror to the

hearts of the green hordesmen as they slay in company with the fierce

banths of war?”

“We have soldiers,” replied Carthoris. “We of the red race are all

soldiers, but we have no bowmen to defend us, such as yours. We defend

ourselves.”

“You go out and get killed by your enemies!” cried Jav incredulously.

“Certainly,” replied Carthoris. “How do the Lotharians?”

“You have seen,” replied the other. “We send out our deathless

archers—deathless because they are lifeless, existing only in the

imaginations of our enemies. It is really our giant minds that defend

us, sending out legions of imaginary warriors to materialize before the

mind’s eye of the foe.

“They see them—they see their bows drawn back—they see their slender

arrows speed with unerring precision toward their hearts. And they

die—killed by the power of suggestion.”

“But the archers that are slain?” exclaimed Carthoris. “You call them

deathless, and yet I saw their dead bodies piled high upon the

battlefield. How may that be?”

“It is but to lend reality to the scene,” replied Jav. “We picture many

of our own defenders killed that the Torquasians may not guess that

there are really no flesh and blood creatures opposing them.

“Once that truth became implanted in their minds, it is the theory of

many of us, no longer would they fall prey to the suggestion of the

deadly arrows, for greater would be the suggestion of the truth, and

the more powerful suggestion would prevail—it is law.”

“And the banths?” questioned Carthoris. “They, too, were but creatures

of suggestion?”

“Some of them were real,” replied Jav. “Those that accompanied the

archers in pursuit of the Torquasians were unreal. Like the archers,

they never returned, but, having served their purpose, vanished with

the bowmen when the rout of the enemy was assured.

“Those that remained about the field were real. Those we loosed as

scavengers to devour the bodies of the dead of Torquas. This thing is

demanded by the realists among us. I am a realist. Tario is an

etherealist.

“The etherealists maintain that there is no such thing as matter—that

all is mind. They say that none of us exists, except in the imagination

of his fellows, other than as an intangible, invisible mentality.

“According to Tario, it is but necessary that we all unite in imagining

that there are no dead Torquasians beneath our walls, and there will be

none, nor any need of scavenging banths.”

“You, then, do not hold Tario’s beliefs?” asked Carthoris.

“In part only,” replied the Lotharian. “I believe, in fact I know, that

there are some truly ethereal creatures. Tario is one, I am convinced.

He has no existence except in the imaginations of his people.

“Of course, it is the contention of all us realists that all

etherealists are but figments of the imagination. They contend that no

food is necessary, nor do they eat; but any one of the most rudimentary

intelligence must realize that food is a necessity to creatures having

actual existence.”

“Yes,” agreed Carthoris, “not having eaten to-day I can readily agree

with you.”

“Ah, pardon me,” exclaimed Jav. “Pray be seated and satisfy your

hunger,” and with a wave of his hand he indicated a bountifully laden

table that had not been there an instant before he spoke. Of that

Carthoris was positive, for he had searched the room diligently with

his eyes several times.

“It is well,” continued Jav, “that you did not fall into the hands of

an etherealist. Then, indeed, would you have gone hungry.”

“But,” exclaimed Carthoris, “this is not real food—it was not here an

instant since, and real food does not materialize out of thin air.”

Jav looked hurt.

“There is no real food or water in Lothar,” he said; “nor has there

been for countless ages. Upon such as you now see before you have we

existed since the dawn of history. Upon such, then, may you exist.”

“But I thought you were a realist,” exclaimed Carthoris.

“Indeed,” cried Jav, “what more realistic than this bounteous feast? It

is just here that we differ most from the etherealists. They claim that

it is unnecessary to imagine food; but we have found that for the

maintenance of life we must thrice daily sit down to hearty meals.

“The food that one eats is supposed to undergo certain chemical changes

during the process of digestion and assimilation, the result, of

course, being the rebuilding of wasted tissue.

“Now we all know that mind is all, though we may differ in the

interpretation of its various manifestations. Tario maintains that

there is no such thing as substance, all being created from the

substanceless matter of the brain.

“We realists, however, know better. We know that mind has the power to

maintain substance even though it may not be able to create

substance—the latter is still an open question. And so we know that in

order to maintain our physical bodies we must cause all our organs

properly to function.

“This we accomplish by materializing food-thoughts, and by partaking of

the food thus created. We chew, we swallow, we digest. All our organs

function precisely as if we had partaken of material food. And what is

the result? What must be the result? The chemical changes take place

through both direct and indirect suggestion, and we live and thrive.”

Carthoris eyed the food before him. It seemed real enough. He lifted a

morsel to his lips. There was substance indeed. And flavour as well.

Yes, even his palate was deceived.

Jav watched him, smiling, as he ate.

“Is it not entirely satisfying?” he asked.

“I must admit that it is,” replied Carthoris. “But tell me, how does

Tario live, and the other etherealists who maintain that food is

unnecessary?”

Jav scratched his head.

“That is a question we often discuss,” he replied. “It is the strongest

evidence we have of the non-existence of the etherealists; but who may

know other than Komal?”

“Who is Komal?” asked Carthoris. “I heard your jeddak speak of him.”

Jav bent low toward the ear of the Heliumite, looking fearfully about

before he spoke.

“Komal is the essence,” he whispered. “Even the etherealists admit that

mind itself must have substance in order to transmit to imaginings the

appearance of substance. For if there really was no such thing as

substance it could not be suggested—what never has been cannot be

imagined. Do you follow me?”

“I am groping,” replied Carthoris dryly.

“So the essence must be substance,” continued Jav. “Komal is the

essence of the All, as it were. He is maintained by substance. He eats.

He eats the real. To be explicit, he eats the realists. That is Tario’s

work.

“He says that inasmuch as we maintain that we alone are real we should,

to be consistent, admit that we alone are proper food for Komal.

Sometimes, as to-day, we find other food for him. He is very fond of

Torquasians.”

“And Komal is a man?” asked Carthoris.

“He is All, I told you,” replied Jav. “I know not how to explain him in

words that you will understand. He is the beginning and the end. All

life emanates from Komal, since the substance which feeds the brain

with imaginings radiates from the body of Komal.

“Should Komal cease to eat, all life upon Barsoom would cease to be. He

cannot die, but he might cease to eat, and, thus, to radiate.”

“And he feeds upon the men and women of your belief?” cried Carthoris.

“Women!” exclaimed Jav. “There are no women in Lothar. The last of the

Lotharian females perished ages since, upon that cruel and terrible

journey across the muddy plains that fringed the half-dried seas, when

the green hordes scourged us across the world to this our last

hiding-place—our impregnable fortress of Lothar.

“Scarce twenty thousand men of all the countless millions of our race

lived to reach Lothar. Among us were no women and no children. All

these had perished by the way.

“As time went on, we, too, were dying and the race fast approaching

extinction, when the Great Truth was revealed to us, that mind is all.

Many more died before we perfected our powers, but at last we were able

to defy death when we fully understood that death was merely a state of

mind.

“Then came the creation of mind-people, or rather the materialization

of imaginings. We first put these to practical use when the Torquasians

discovered our retreat, and fortunate for us it was that it required

ages of search upon their part before they found the single tiny

entrance to the valley of Lothar.

“That day we threw our first bowmen against them. The intention was

purely to frighten them away by the vast numbers of bowmen which we

could muster upon our walls. All Lothar bristled with the bows and

arrows of our ethereal host.

“But the Torquasians did not frighten. They are lower than the

beasts—they know no fear. They rushed upon our walls, and standing upon

the shoulders of others they built human approaches to the wall tops,

and were on the very point of surging in upon us and overwhelming us.

“Not an arrow had been discharged by our bowmen—we did but cause them

to run to and fro along the wall top, screaming taunts and threats at

the enemy.

“Presently I thought to attempt the thing—_the great thing_. I centred

all my mighty intellect upon the bowmen of my own creation—each of us

produces and directs as many bowmen as his mentality and imagination is

capable of.

“I caused them to fit arrows to their bows for the first time. I made

them take aim at the hearts of the green men. I made the green men see

all this, and then I made them see the arrows fly, and I made them

think that the points pierced their hearts.

“It was all that was necessary. By hundreds they toppled from our

walls, and when my fellows saw what I had done they were quick to

follow my example, so that presently the hordes of Torquas had

retreated beyond the range of our arrows.

“We might have killed them at any distance, but one rule of war we have

maintained from the first—the rule of realism. We do nothing, or rather

we cause our bowmen to do nothing within sight of the enemy that is

beyond the understanding of the foe. Otherwise they might guess the

truth, and that would be the end of us.

“But after the Torquasians had retreated beyond bowshot, they turned

upon us with their terrible rifles, and by constant popping at us made

life miserable within our walls.

“So then I bethought the scheme to hurl our bowmen through the gates

upon them. You have seen this day how well it works. For ages they have

come down upon us at intervals, but always with the same results.”

“And all this is due to your intellect, Jav?” asked Carthoris. “I

should think that you would be high in the councils of your people.”

“I am,” replied Jav, proudly. “I am next to Tario.”

“But why, then, your cringing manner of approaching the throne?”

“Tario demands it. He is jealous of me. He only awaits the slightest

excuse to feed me to Komal. He fears that I may some day usurp his

power.”

Carthoris suddenly sprang from the table.

“Jav!” he exclaimed. “I am a beast! Here I have been eating my fill,

while the Princess of Ptarth may perchance be still without food. Let

us return and find some means of furnishing her with nourishment.”

The Lotharian shook his head.

“Tario would not permit it,” he said. “He will, doubtless, make an

etherealist of her.”

“But I must go to her,” insisted Carthoris. “You say that there are no

women in Lothar. Then she must be among men, and if this be so I intend

to be near where I may defend her if the need arises.”

“Tario will have his way,” insisted Jav. “He sent you away and you may

not return until he sends for you.”

“Then I shall go without waiting to be sent for.”

“Do not forget the bowmen,” cautioned Jav.

“I do not forget them,” replied Carthoris, but he did not tell Jav that

he remembered something else that the Lotharian had let drop—something

that was but a conjecture, possibly, and yet one well worth pinning a

forlorn hope to, should necessity arise.

Carthoris started to leave the room. Jav stepped before him, barring

his way.

“I have learned to like you, red man,” he said; “but do not forget that

Tario is still my jeddak, and that Tario has commanded that you remain

here.”

Carthoris was about to reply, when there came faintly to the ears of

both a woman’s cry for help.

With a sweep of his arm the Prince of Helium brushed the Lotharian

aside, and with drawn sword sprang into the corridor without.