THE SECRET TOWER
I have no stomach to narrate the monotonous events of the
tedious days that Woola and I spent ferreting our way across the
labyrinth of glass, through the dark and devious ways beyond that
led beneath the Valley Dor and Golden Cliffs to emerge at last upon
the flank of the Otz Mountains just above the Valley of Lost Souls--
that pitiful purgatory peopled by the poor unfortunates who dare
not continue their abandoned pilgrimage to Dor, or return to the
various lands of the outer world from whence they came.
Here the trail of Dejah Thoris' abductors led along the mountains' base,
across steep and rugged ravines, by the side of appalling precipices,
and sometimes out into the valley, where we found fighting aplenty
with the members of the various tribes that make up the population
of this vale of hopelessness.
But through it all we came at last to where the way led up a
narrow gorge that grew steeper and more impracticable at every step
until before us loomed a mighty fortress buried beneath the side of
an overhanging cliff.
Here was the secret hiding place of Matai Shang, Father of Therns.
Here, surrounded by a handful of the faithful, the hekkador of the
ancient faith, who had once been served by millions of vassals
and dependents, dispensed the spiritual words among the half dozen
nations of Barsoom that still clung tenaciously to their false
and discredited religion.
Darkness was just falling as we came in sight of the seemingly
impregnable walls of this mountain stronghold, and lest we be
seen I drew back with Woola behind a jutting granite promontory,
into a clump of the hardy, purple scrub that thrives upon the
barren sides of Otz.
Here we lay until the quick transition from daylight to darkness
had passed. Then I crept out to approach the fortress walls
in search of a way within.
Either through carelessness or over-confidence in the supposed
inaccessibility of their hiding place, the triple-barred gate
stood ajar. Beyond were a handful of guards, laughing and
talking over one of their incomprehensible Barsoomian games.
I saw that none of the guardsmen had been of the party that
accompanied Thurid and Matai Shang; and so, relying entirely upon
my disguise, I walked boldly through the gateway and up to the
The men stopped their game and looked up at me, but there was no
sign of suspicion. Similarly they looked at Woola, growling at
"Kaor!" I said in true Martian greeting, and the warriors
arose and saluted me. "I have but just found my way hither from
the Golden Cliffs," I continued, "and seek audience with the
hekkador, Matai Shang, Father of Therns. Where may he be found?"
"Follow me," said one of the guard, and, turning, led me
across the outer courtyard toward a second buttressed wall.
Why the apparent ease with which I seemingly deceived them did not
rouse my suspicions I know not, unless it was that my mind was still
so full of that fleeting glimpse of my beloved princess that there
was room in it for naught else. Be that as it may, the fact is that
I marched buoyantly behind my guide straight into the jaws of death.
Afterward I learned that Thern spies had been aware of my
coming for hours before I reached the hidden fortress.
The gate had been purposely left ajar to tempt me on. The guards had
been schooled well in their part of the conspiracy; and I, more like
a schoolboy than a seasoned warrior, ran headlong into the trap.
At the far side of the outer court a narrow door let into the
angle made by one of the buttresses with the wall. Here my guide
produced a key and opened the way within; then, stepping back, he
motioned me to enter.
"Matai Shang is in the Temple court beyond," he said; and as Woola
and I passed through, the fellow closed the door quickly upon us.
The nasty laugh that came to my ears through the heavy
planking of the door after the lock clicked was my first intimation
that all was not as it should be.
I found myself in a small, circular chamber within the buttress.
Before me a door opened, presumably, upon the inner court beyond.
For a moment I hesitated, all my suspicions now suddenly,
though tardily, aroused; then, with a shrug of my shoulders,
I opened the door and stepped out into the glare of torches
that lighted the inner court.
Directly opposite me a massive tower rose to a height of three
hundred feet. It was of the strangely beautiful modern Barsoomian
style of architecture, its entire surface hand carved in bold
relief with intricate and fanciful designs. Thirty feet above the
courtyard and overlooking it was a broad balcony, and there,
indeed, was Matai Shang, and with him were Thurid and Phaidor,
Thuvia, and Dejah Thoris--the last two heavily ironed. A handful
of Thern warriors stood just behind the little party.
As I entered the enclosure the eyes of those in the balcony
were full upon me.
An ugly smile distorted the cruel lips of Matai Shang. Thurid
hurled a taunt at me and placed a familiar hand upon the shoulder
of my princess. Like a tigress she turned upon him, striking the
beast a heavy blow with the manacles upon her wrist.
He would have struck back had not Matai Shang interfered, and then
I saw that the two men were not over-friendly; for the manner
of the Thern was arrogant and domineering as he made it plain to
the First Born that the Princess of Helium was the personal
property of the Father of Therns. And Thurid's bearing toward
the ancient hekkador savored not at all of liking or respect.
When the altercation in the balcony had subsided Matai Shang
turned again to me.
"Earth man," he cried, "you have earned a more ignoble death
than now lies within our weakened power to inflict upon you;
but that the death you die tonight may be doubly bitter, know
you that when you have passed, your widow becomes the wife of
Matai Shang, Hekkador of the Holy Therns, for a Martian year.
"At the end of that time, as you know, she shall be discarded,
as is the law among us, but not, as is usual, to lead a quiet and
honored life as high priestess of some hallowed shrine. Instead,
Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, shall become the plaything of my
lieutenants--perhaps of thy most hated enemy, Thurid, the black dator."
As he ceased speaking he awaited in silence evidently for some
outbreak of rage upon my part--something that would have
added to the spice of his revenge. But I did not give him the
satisfaction that he craved.
Instead, I did the one thing of all others that might rouse his
anger and increase his hatred of me; for I knew that if I died
Dejah Thoris, too, would find a way to die before they could
heap further tortures or indignities upon her.
Of all the holy of holies which the Thern venerates and worships none
is more revered than the yellow wig which covers his bald pate,
and next thereto comes the circlet of gold and the great diadem,
whose scintillant rays mark the attainment of the Tenth Cycle.
And, knowing this, I removed the wig and circlet from my head,
tossing them carelessly upon the flagging of the court. Then I
wiped my feet upon the yellow tresses; and as a groan of rage arose
from the balcony I spat full upon the holy diadem.
Matai Shang went livid with anger, but upon the lips of Thurid
I could see a grim smile of amusement, for to him these things were
not holy; so, lest he should derive too much amusement from my act,
I cried: "And thus did I with the holies of Issus, Goddess of life
Eternal, ere I threw Issus herself to the mob that once had
worshiped her, to be torn to pieces in her own Temple."
That put an end to Thurid's grinning, for he had been high in
the favor of Issus.
"Let us have an end to this blaspheming!" he cried, turning to
the Father of Therns.
Matai Shang rose and, leaning over the edge of the balcony,
gave voice to the weird call that I had heard from the lips of the
priests upon the tiny balcony upon the face of the Golden Cliffs
overlooking the Valley Dor, when, in times past, they called the
fearsome white apes and the hideous plant men to the feast of
victims floating down the broad bosom of the mysterious Iss toward
the silian-infested waters of the Lost Sea of Korus.
"Let loose the death!" he cried, and immediately a dozen
doors in the base of the tower swung open, and a dozen grim
and terrible banths sprang into the arena.
This was not the first time that I had faced the ferocious
Barsoomian lion, but never had I been pitted, single-handed,
against a full dozen of them. Even with the assistance of
the fierce Woola, there could be but a single outcome to so
unequal a struggle.
For a moment the beasts hesitated beneath the brilliant glare
of the torches; but presently their eyes, becoming accustomed to
the light, fell upon Woola and me, and with bristling manes and
deep-throated roars they advanced, lashing their tawny sides with
their powerful tails.
In the brief interval of life that was left me I shot a last,
parting glance toward my Dejah Thoris. Her beautiful face was set
in an expression of horror; and as my eyes met hers she extended
both arms toward me as, struggling with the guards who now held her,
she endeavored to cast herself from the balcony into the pit beneath,
that she might share my death with me. Then, as the banths were about
to close upon me, she turned and buried her dear face in her arms.
Suddenly my attention was drawn toward Thuvia of Ptarth.
The beautiful girl was leaning far over the edge of the balcony,
her eyes bright with excitement.
In another instant the banths would be upon me, but I could
not force my gaze from the features of the red girl, for I knew
that her expression meant anything but the enjoyment of the grim
tragedy that would so soon be enacted below her; there was some
deeper, hidden meaning which I sought to solve.
For an instant I thought of relying on my earthly muscles and
agility to escape the banths and reach the balcony, which I could
easily have done, but I could not bring myself to desert the
faithful Woola and leave him to die alone beneath the cruel fangs
of the hungry banths; that is not the way upon Barsoom, nor was it
ever the way of John Carter.
Then the secret of Thuvia's excitement became apparent as from
her lips there issued the purring sound I had heard once before;
that time that, within the Golden Cliffs, she called the fierce
banths about her and led them as a shepherdess might lead her flock
of meek and harmless sheep.
At the first note of that soothing sound the banths halted in
their tracks, and every fierce head went high as the beasts sought
the origin of the familiar call. Presently they discovered the red
girl in the balcony above them, and, turning, roared out their
recognition and their greeting.
Guards sprang to drag Thuvia away, but ere they had succeeded
she had hurled a volley of commands at the listening brutes,
and as one they turned and marched back into their dens.
"You need not fear them now, John Carter!" cried Thuvia,
before they could silence her. "Those banths will never harm
you now, nor Woola, either."
It was all I cared to know. There was naught to keep me from
that balcony now, and with a long, running leap I sprang far aloft
until my hands grasped its lowest sill.
In an instant all was wild confusion. Matai Shang shrank back.
Thurid sprang forward with drawn sword to cut me down.
Again Dejah Thoris wielded her heavy irons and fought him back.
Then Matai Shang grasped her about the waist and dragged her
away through a door leading within the tower.
For an instant Thurid hesitated, and then, as though fearing
that the Father of Therns would escape him with the Princess of
Helium, he, too, dashed from the balcony in their wake.
Phaidor alone retained her presence of mind. Two of the guards
she ordered to bear away Thuvia of Ptarth; the others she commanded
to remain and prevent me from following. Then she turned toward me.
"John Carter," she cried, "for the last time I offer you the
love of Phaidor, daughter of the Holy Hekkador. Accept and your
princess shall be returned to the court of her grandfather, and you
shall live in peace and happiness. Refuse and the fate that my
father has threatened shall fall upon Dejah Thoris.
"You cannot save her now, for by this time they have reached a place
where even you may not follow. Refuse and naught can save you;
for, though the way to the last stronghold of the Holy Therns
was made easy for you, the way hence hath been made impossible.
What say you?"
"You knew my answer, Phaidor," I replied, "before ever you spoke.
Make way," I cried to the guards, "for John Carter, Prince of
Helium, would pass!"
With that I leaped over the low baluster that surrounded the
balcony, and with drawn long-sword faced my enemies.
There were three of them; but Phaidor must have guessed what the
outcome of the battle would be, for she turned and fled from the
balcony the moment she saw that I would have none of her proposition.
The three guardsmen did not wait for my attack. Instead, they
rushed me--the three of them simultaneously; and it was that which
gave me an advantage, for they fouled one another in the narrow
precincts of the balcony, so that the foremost of them stumbled
full upon my blade at the first onslaught.
The red stain upon my point roused to its full the old blood-lust
of the fighting man that has ever been so strong within my breast,
so that my blade flew through the air with a swiftness and deadly
accuracy that threw the two remaining therns into wild despair.
When at last the sharp steel found the heart of one of them
the other turned to flee, and, guessing that his steps would lead
him along the way taken by those I sought, I let him keep ever far
enough ahead to think that he was safely escaping my sword.
Through several inner chambers he raced until he came to a
spiral runway. Up this he dashed, I in close pursuit. At the
upper end we came out into a small chamber, the walls of which were
plank except for a single window overlooking the slopes of Otz and
the Valley of Lost Souls beyond.
Here the fellow tore frantically at what appeared to be but a
piece of the blank wall opposite the single window. In an instant
I guessed that it was a secret exit from the room, and so I paused
that he might have an opportunity to negotiate it, for I cared
nothing to take the life of this poor servitor--all I craved was a
clear road in pursuit of Dejah Thoris, my long-lost princess.
But, try as he would, the panel would yield neither to cunning
nor force, so that eventually he gave it up and turned to face me.
"Go thy way, Thern," I said to him, pointing toward the entrance
to the runway up which we had but just come. "I have no quarrel
with you, nor do I crave your life. Go!"
For answer he sprang upon me with his sword, and so suddenly,
at that, that I was like to have gone down before his first rush.
So there was nothing for it but to give him what he sought, and
that as quickly as might be, that I might not be delayed too long
in this chamber while Matai Shang and Thurid made way with Dejah
Thoris and Thuvia of Ptarth.
The fellow was a clever swordsman--resourceful and extremely tricky.
In fact, he seemed never to have heard that there existed such a thing
as a code of honor, for he repeatedly outraged a dozen Barsoomian
fighting customs that an honorable man would rather die than ignore.
He even went so far as to snatch his holy wig from his head
and throw it in my face, so as to blind me for a moment while he
thrust at my unprotected breast.
When he thrust, however, I was not there, for I had fought with
therns before; and while none had ever resorted to precisely that
same expedient, I knew them to be the least honorable and most
treacherous fighters upon Mars, and so was ever on the alert for some
new and devilish subterfuge when I was engaged with one of their race.
But at length he overdid the thing; for, drawing his
shortsword, he hurled it, javelinwise, at my body, at the same
instant rushing upon me with his long-sword. A single sweeping
circle of my own blade caught the flying weapon and hurled it
clattering against the far wall, and then, as I sidestepped my
antagonist's impetuous rush, I let him have my point full in the
stomach as he hurtled by.
Clear to the hilt my weapon passed through his body, and with
a frightful shriek he sank to the floor, dead.
Halting only for the brief instant that was required to wrench
my sword from the carcass of my late antagonist, I sprang across
the chamber to the blank wall beyond, through which the Thern had
attempted to pass. Here I sought for the secret of its lock,
but all to no avail.
In despair I tried to force the thing, but the cold, unyielding
stone might well have laughed at my futile, puny endeavors.
In fact, I could have sworn that I caught the faint suggestion
of taunting laughter from beyond the baffling panel.
In disgust I desisted from my useless efforts and stepped to
the chamber's single window.
The slopes of Otz and the distant Valley of Lost Souls held
nothing to compel my interest then; but, towering far above me,
the tower's carved wall riveted my keenest attention.
Somewhere within that massive pile was Dejah Thoris. Above me
I could see windows. There, possibly, lay the only way by which
I could reach her. The risk was great, but not too great when
the fate of a world's most wondrous woman was at stake.
I glanced below. A hundred feet beneath lay jagged granite
boulders at the brink of a frightful chasm upon which the tower
abutted; and if not upon the boulders, then at the chasm's bottom,
lay death, should a foot slip but once, or clutching fingers loose
their hold for the fraction of an instant.
But there was no other way and with a shrug, which I must
admit was half shudder, I stepped to the window's outer sill
and began my perilous ascent.
To my dismay I found that, unlike the ornamentation upon most
Heliumetic structures, the edges of the carvings were quite
generally rounded, so that at best my every hold was most
Fifty feet above me commenced a series of projecting cylindrical
stones some six inches in diameter. These apparently circled
the tower at six-foot intervals, in bands six feet apart;
and as each stone cylinder protruded some four or five inches
beyond the surface of the other ornamentation, they presented a
comparatively easy mode of ascent could I but reach them.
Laboriously I climbed toward them by way of some windows which
lay below them, for I hoped that I might find ingress to the tower
through one of these, and thence an easier avenue along which to
prosecute my search.
At times so slight was my hold upon the rounded surfaces of the
carving's edges that a sneeze, a cough, or even a slight gust of
wind would have dislodged me and sent me hurtling to the depths below.
But finally I reached a point where my fingers could just clutch
the sill of the lowest window, and I was on the point of breathing
a sigh of relief when the sound of voices came to me from above
through the open window.
"He can never solve the secret of that lock." The voice was
Matai Shang's. "Let us proceed to the hangar above that we may be
far to the south before he finds another way--should that be possible."
"All things seem possible to that vile calot," replied another voice,
which I recognized as Thurid's.
"Then let us haste," said Matai Shang. "But to be doubly sure,
I will leave two who shall patrol this runway. Later they
may follow us upon another flier--overtaking us at Kaol."
My upstretched fingers never reached the window's sill. At
the first sound of the voices I drew back my hand and clung there
to my perilous perch, flattened against the perpendicular wall,
scarce daring to breathe.
What a horrible position, indeed, in which to be discovered by
Thurid! He had but to lean from the window to push me with his
sword's point into eternity.
Presently the sound of the voices became fainter, and once
again I took up my hazardous ascent, now more difficult, since more
circuitous, for I must climb so as to avoid the windows.
Matai Shang's reference to the hangar and the fliers indicated
that my destination lay nothing short of the roof of the tower, and
toward this seemingly distant goal I set my face.
The most difficult and dangerous part of the journey was accomplished
at last, and it was with relief that I felt my fingers close about
the lowest of the stone cylinders.
It is true that these projections were too far apart to make
the balance of the ascent anything of a sinecure, but I at least
had always within my reach a point of safety to which I might cling
in case of accident.
Some ten feet below the roof, the wall inclined slightly inward
possibly a foot in the last ten feet, and here the climbing was
indeed immeasurably easier, so that my fingers soon clutched the eaves.
As I drew my eyes above the level of the tower's top I saw a
flier all but ready to rise.
Upon her deck were Matai Shang, Phaidor, Dejah Thoris, Thuvia
of Ptarth, and a few Thern warriors, while near her was Thurid in
the act of clambering aboard.
He was not ten paces from me, facing in the opposite direction;
and what cruel freak of fate should have caused him to turn about
just as my eyes topped the roof's edge I may not even guess.
But turn he did; and when his eyes met mine his wicked face
lighted with a malignant smile as he leaped toward me, where I
was hastening to scramble to the secure footing of the roof.
Dejah Thoris must have seen me at the same instant, for she
screamed a useless warning just as Thurid's foot, swinging in
a mighty kick, landed full in my face.
Like a felled ox, I reeled and tumbled backward over the
Warlord of Mars Chapter 3
... Warlord of Mars Chapter 5