The Chessmen of Mars (16 page)

And then Turan came to a point where the avenue turned to the
right, to skirt a building that jutted from the inside of the
city wall, and as he rounded the corner he came full upon two
warriors standing upon either side of the entrance to a building
upon his right. It was impossible for them not to be aware of his
presence, yet neither moved, nor gave other evidence that they
had seen him. He stood there waiting, his hand upon the hilt of
his long-sword, but they neither challenged nor halted him. Could
it be that these also thought him one of their own kind? Indeed
upon no other grounds could he explain their inaction.

As Turan had passed through the gateway into the city and taken
his unhindered way along the avenue, twenty warriors had entered
the city and closed the gate behind them, and then one had taken
to the wall and followed along its summit in the rear of Turan,
and another had followed him along the avenue, while a third had
crossed the street and entered one of the buildings upon the
opposite side.

The balance of them, with the exception of a single sentinel
beside the gate, had re-entered the building from which they had
been summoned. They were well built, strapping, painted fellows,
their naked figures covered now by gorgeous robes against the
chill of night. As they spoke of the stranger they laughed at the
ease with which they had tricked him, and were still laughing as
they threw themselves upon their sleeping silks and furs to
resume their broken slumber. It was evident that they constituted
a guard detailed for the gate beside which they slept, and it was
equally evident that the gates were guarded and the city watched
much more carefully than Turan had believed. Chagrined indeed had
been the Jed of Gathol had he dreamed that he was being so neatly
tricked.

As Turan proceeded along the avenue he passed other sentries
beside other doors but now he gave them small heed, since they
neither challenged nor otherwise outwardly noted his passing; but
while at nearly every turn of the erratic avenue he passed one or
more of these silent sentinels he could not guess that he had
passed one of them many times and that his every move was watched
by silent, clever stalkers. Scarce had he passed a certain one of
these rigid guardsmen before the fellow awoke to sudden life,
bounded across the avenue, entered a narrow opening in the outer
wall where he swiftly followed a corridor built within the wall
itself until presently he emerged a little distance ahead of
Turan, where he assumed the stiff and silent attitude of a
soldier upon guard. Nor did Turan know that a second followed in
the shadows of the buildings behind him, nor of the third who
hastened ahead of him upon some urgent mission.

And so the panthan moved through the silent streets of the
strange city in search of food and drink for the woman he loved.
Men and women looked down upon him from shadowy balconies, but
spoke not; and sentinels saw him pass and did not challenge.
Presently from along the avenue before him came the familiar
sound of clanking accouterments, the herald of marching warriors,
and almost simultaneously he saw upon his right an open doorway
dimly lighted from within. It was the only available place where
he might seek to hide from the approaching company, and while he
had passed several sentries unquestioned he could scarce hope to
escape scrutiny and questioning from a patrol, as he naturally
assumed this body of men to be.

Inside the doorway he discovered a passage turning abruptly to
the right and almost immediately thereafter to the left. There
was none in sight within and so he stepped cautiously around the
second turn the more effectually to be hidden from the street.
Before him stretched a long corridor, dimly lighted like the
entrance. Waiting there he heard the party approach the building,
he heard someone at the entrance to his hiding place, and then he
heard the door past which he had come slam to. He laid his hand
upon his sword, expecting momentarily to hear footsteps
approaching along the corridor; but none came. He approached the
turn and looked around it; the corridor was empty to the closed
door. Whoever had closed it had remained upon the outside.

Turan waited, listening. He heard no sound. Then he advanced to
the door and placed an ear against it. All was silence in the
street beyond. A sudden draft must have closed the door, or
perhaps it was the duty of the patrol to see to such things. It
was immaterial. They had evidently passed on and now he would
return to the street and continue upon his way. Somewhere there
would be a public fountain where he could obtain water, and the
chance of food lay in the strings of dried vegetables and meat
which hung before the doorways of nearly every Barsoomian home of
the poorer classes that he had ever seen. It was this district he
was seeking, and it was for this reason his search had led him
away from the main gate of the city which he knew would not be
located in a poor district.

He attempted to open the door only to find that it resisted his
every effort—it was locked upon the outside. Here indeed was a
sorry contretemps. Turan the panthan scratched his head. "Fortune
frowns upon me," he murmured; but beyond the door, Fate, in the
form of a painted warrior, stood smiling. Neatly had he tricked
the unwary stranger. The lighted doorway, the marching
patrol—these had been planned and timed to a nicety by the third
warrior who had sped ahead of Turan along another avenue, and the
stranger had done precisely what the fellow had thought he would
do—no wonder, then, that he smiled.

This exit barred to him Turan turned back into the corridor. He
followed it cautiously and silently. Occasionally there was a
door on one side or the other. These he tried only to find each
securely locked. The corridor wound more erratically the farther
he advanced. A locked door barred his way at its end, but a door
upon his right opened and he stepped into a dimly-lighted
chamber, about the walls of which were three other doors, each of
which he tried in turn. Two were locked; the other opened upon a
runway leading downward. It was spiral and he could see no
farther than the first turn. A door in the corridor he had
quitted opened after he had passed, and the third warrior stepped
out and followed after him. A faint smile still lingered upon the
fellow's grim lips.

Turan drew his short-sword and cautiously descended. At the
bottom was a short corridor with a closed door at the end. He
approached the single heavy panel and listened. No sound came to
him from beyond the mysterious portal. Gently he tried the door,
which swung easily toward him at his touch. Before him was a
low-ceiled chamber with a dirt floor. Set in its walls were
several other doors and all were closed. As Turan stepped
cautiously within, the third warrior descended the spiral runway
behind him. The panthan crossed the room quickly and tried a
door. It was locked. He heard a muffled click behind him and
turned about with ready sword. He was alone; but the door through
which he had entered was closed—it was the click of its lock
that he had heard.

With a bound he crossed the room and attempted to open it; but to
no avail. No longer did he seek silence, for he knew now that the
thing had gone beyond the sphere of chance. He threw his weight
against the wooden panel; but the thick skeel of which it was
constructed would have withstood a battering ram. From beyond
came a low laugh.

Rapidly Turan examined each of the other doors. They were all
locked. A glance about the chamber revealed a wooden table and a
bench. Set in the walls were several heavy rings to which rusty
chains were attached—all too significant of the purpose to which
the room was dedicated. In the dirt floor near the wall were two
or three holes resembling the mouths of burrows—doubtless the
habitat of the giant Martian rat. He had observed this much when
suddenly the dim light was extinguished, leaving him in darkness
utter and complete. Turan, groping about, sought the table and
the bench. Placing the latter against the wall he drew the table
in front of him and sat down upon the bench, his long-sword
gripped in readiness before him. At least they should fight
before they took him.

For some time he sat there waiting for he knew not what. No sound
penetrated to his subterranean dungeon. He slowly revolved in his
mind the incidents of the evening—the open, unguarded gate; the
lighted doorway—the only one he had seen thus open and lighted
along the avenue he had followed; the advance of the warriors at
precisely the moment that he could find no other avenue of escape
or concealment; the corridors and chambers that led past many
locked doors to this underground prison leaving no other path for
him to pursue.

"By my first ancestor!" he swore; "but it was simple and I a
simpleton. They tricked me neatly and have taken me without
exposing themselves to a scratch; but for what purpose?"

He wished that he might answer that question and then his
thoughts turned to the girl waiting there on the hill beyond the
city for him—and he would never come. He knew the ways of the
more savage peoples of Barsoom. No, he would never come, now. He
had disobeyed her. He smiled at the sweet recollection of those
words of command that had fallen from her dear lips. He had
disobeyed her and now he had lost the reward.

But what of her? What now would be her fate—starving before a
hostile city with only an inhuman kaldane for company? Another
thought—a horrid thought—obtruded itself upon him. She had told
him of the hideous sights she had witnessed in the burrows of the
kaldanes and he knew that they ate human flesh. Ghek was
starving. Should he eat his rykor he would be helpless;
but—there was sustenance there for them both, for the rykor and
the kaldane. Turan cursed himself for a fool. Why had he left
her? Far better to have remained and died with her, ready always
to protect her, than to have left her at the mercy of the hideous
Bantoomian.

Now Turan detected a heavy odor in the air. It oppressed him with
a feeling of drowsiness. He would have risen to fight off the
creeping lethargy, but his legs seemed weak, so that he sank
again to the bench. Presently his sword slipped from his fingers
and he sprawled forward upon the table his head resting upon his
arms.

Tara of Helium, as the night wore on and Turan did not return,
became more and more uneasy, and when dawn broke with no sign of
him she guessed that he had failed. Something more than her own
unhappy predicament brought a feeling of sorrow to her heart—of
sorrow and loneliness. She realized now how she had come to
depend upon this panthan not only for protection but for
companionship as well. She missed him, and in missing him
realized suddenly that he had meant more to her than a mere hired
warrior. It was as though a friend had been taken from her—an
old and valued friend. She rose from her place of concealment
that she might have a better view of the city.

U-Dor, dwar of the 8th Utan of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, rode
back in the early dawn toward Manator from a brief excursion to a
neighboring village. As he was rounding the hills south of the
city, his keen eyes were attracted by a slight movement among the
shrubbery close to the summit of the nearest hill. He halted his
vicious mount and watched more closely. He saw a figure rise
facing away from him and peer down toward Manator beyond the
hill.

"Come!" he signalled to his followers, and with a word to this
thoat turned the beast at a rapid gallop up the hillside. In his
wake swept his twenty savage warriors, the padded feet of their
mounts soundless upon the soft turf. It was the rattle of
sidearms and harness that brought Tara of Helium suddenly about,
facing them. She saw a score of warriors with couched lances
bearing down upon her.

She glanced at Ghek. What would the spiderman do in this
emergency? She saw him crawl to his rykor and attach himself.
Then he arose, the beautiful body once again animated and alert.
She thought that the creature was preparing for flight. Well, it
made little difference to her. Against such as were streaming up
the hill toward them a single mediocre swordsman such as Ghek was
worse than no defense at all.

"Hurry, Ghek!" she admonished him. "Back into the hills! You may
find there a hiding-place;" but the creature only stepped between
her and the oncoming riders, drawing his long-sword.

"It is useless, Ghek," she said, when she saw that he intended to
defend her. "What can a single sword accomplish against such
odds?"

"I can die but once," replied the kaldane. "You and your panthan
saved me from Luud and I but do what your panthan would do were
he here to protect you."

"It is brave, but it is useless," she replied. "Sheathe your
sword. They may not intend us harm."

Ghek let the point of his weapon drop to the ground, but he did
not sheathe it, and thus the two stood waiting as U-Dor the dwar
stopped his thoat before them while his twenty warriors formed a
rough circle about. For a long minute U-Dor sat his mount in
silence, looking searchingly first at Tara of Helium and then at
her hideous companion.

"What manner of creature are you?" he asked presently. "And what
do you before the gates of Manator?"

"We are from far countries," replied the girl, "and we are lost
and starving. We ask only food and rest and the privilege to go
our way seeking our own homes."

U-Dor smiled a grim smile. "Manator and the hills which guard it
alone know the age of Manator," he said; "yet in all the ages
that have rolled by since Manator first was, there be no record
in the annals of Manator of a stranger departing from Manator."

"But I am a princess," cried the girl haughtily, "and my country
is not at war with yours. You must give me and my companions aid
and assist us to return to our own land. It is the law of
Barsoom."