by Mike Resnick
“Why is this called the Island of the Dead?” I asked Bal Daxus. “I have seen no sign of anything either living or dead.”
“I know not, John Carter,” he replied. “It is a legend, and for all anyone knows it may be only a legend.”
“Look!” said Tan Hadron suddenly.
We all looked in the direction that he indicated, and there, advancing slowly toward us, was a group of small, gnarled, dwarflike men. They wore only ragged loincloths, and none of them was armed. The tallest of them stood less than five feet, and his posture, like that of his fellows, resembled the carriage of an ape. Filthy, toothless, markedly aged, and grinning, they came toward us in a pack.
“Peace!” I said, raising my hand. “We come not as enemies, but in pursuit of two of our own people.”
“We know you are not an enemy,” said one of the grinning dwarfs. “We have no enemies.”
“Have you seen the two people we seek?” I asked.
“Come feast with us in the village of I-Pak, and we shall talk,” said another.
Bal Daxus was anxious to continue our pursuit, but I convinced him that we might be able to enlist I-Pak’s help if we played our cards right. It was a large island, the Island of the Dead, and we three could spend days searching for our quarry.
The gnarled little men led us hither and thither about rocks and other natural hazards until we came to a larger group of huts: this, then, was the village of I-Pak.
The women ran out to greet us, and I saw that their physical appearances differed but little from the men’s. They surrounded us with happy, smiling faces and made us feel genuinely welcome. We were taken to a large clearing in the midst of the huts, and here we sat down amongst our hosts and prepared to eat.
I-Pak, a shriveled little man, approached and officially welcomed us to his land, telling us how honored and privileged he felt by our visit. When we questioned him about Talon Gar and Lirai, he insisted that we quell our hunger and thirst first, and then he would aid us as best he could.
“Have you had any contact with the outside world?” I asked I-Pak during the meal.
“Outside world?” he repeated incredulously. “Why, there is no other world save this one. We float upon an ocean, and the top of the Universe is directly overhead.”
I tried to explain to him that Ayathor was merely a hidden and forgotten sea, and that somewhere above him was a brightly lit world many times larger, but he only smiled condescendingly at me.
“Swim as far as you can,” he said, “and you will reach the end of the Universe, beyond which you cannot go.”
“There is an opening through which you can go to the outer world,” I said.
He laughed at that, and I really couldn’t blame him. How would you feel if a complete stranger told you there was a hole in the sky?
“How do you account for the race of men we belong to?” asked Tan Hadron. “We have only recently discovered your world.”
“Nonsense,” said I-Pak. “You were placed here by Zar for his amusement.”
“Who is Zar?” I asked.
Immediately the group of natives fell silent and stared at me in disbelief! I-Pak looked absolutely shocked.
“Why, Zar is Zar,” said the Jed at last, as if speaking to a small child. “How else may one describe him?”
“Is he your god?” asked Tan Hadron of Hastor.
“He is everyone’s god,” replied I-Pak. “We all exist only in his mind. Even our great treasure exists nowhere but in the infinite mind of Zar.”
“Your treasure?” I asked, wondering what kind of treasure could be possessed by these isolated people.
“Yes,” said I-Pak. “When you finish with your repast, you may see it.”
“How about Lirai and Talon Gar?” demanded Bal Daxus.
“Of course,” said I-Pak. “I have not forgotten.”
Then the Jed returned to his meal, and Tan Hadron leaned over to me.
“Have you noticed their age?” he asked. “There is not a young one among them.”
This was indeed unusual, for on Barsoom the life span is about a thousand years (although few survive the constant warring that long), and the body does not commence to show any signs of age until shortly before death.
“Living in a sunless world,” I answered, “their eggs would be unable to hatch. And even the oldest of them evidently has no memory of any home other than this island. They seem amiable enough, though,” I added.
“They’re a little too friendly, if you ask me,” said my companion.
The meal was soon concluded, and I-Pak arose and faced me. “Come,” he said, smiling curiously. “You must now see our treasure.”
Surrounded by the apelike dwarfs of I-Pak, we followed the old Jed down a winding pathway. We shortly arrived at the base of a gigantic rock, which must have stood nearly three hundred feet high. I-Pak walked directly to a large patch of moss which grew on the rock, carefully brushed it aside, and a rudely carved tunnel was revealed. Through this we went, and I noticed a strange odor filling my nostrils. When we emerged from the tunnel, we found ourselves in a small crater. Nowhere were the walls less than eighty feet in height, and the moaning noise was almost deafening now.
“There!” said I-Pak, pointing. “What do you think of our treasure?”
We looked in the direction he had indicated, There, in various poses, were lifelike figures of the yellow men of the Okarian race. Some sat astride their thoats, some were engaged in swordplay, and a few were standing at attention.
It was an impressive spectacle, a tableau of unexcelled artistry, and I turned to I-Pak.
“This is an exquisite work of craftsmanship,” I said admiringly. “Who is your sculptor?”
“Sculptor?” he repeated. “What is a sculptor?”
“Why, your artist. The man who carved and painted these statues. The fellow is a genius at realism.”
“We have no artists among our people,” he answered. “Study them more closely.”
We stepped forward and examined the figures.
“They’re men!” exclaimed Tan Hadron in amazement. “They’ve been preserved in a waxlike substance.”
And indeed they were men. I saw now that there was little likelihood that even the most skilled of artists could reproduce so perfectly the detailed structures and coloring of the figures before us.
The warriors of I-Pak were pushing us forward in their enthusiasm to observe their precious “treasure” more closely, and I concluded that they saw it rather infrequently.
“This must have been a religious practice of the founders of Ayathor,” I remarked to Tan Hadron, and he nodded in assent.
We walked about the display, always in the midst of the little men, examining the pieces. I was just reading the inscription on the harness of one of the Okarians when Tan Hadron grabbed my arm.
“Look, John Carter!” he exclaimed, and pointed to the figure of a red warrior wearing the insignia of Hin Abtol.
At the same instant, a woman’s voice rang out above the moaning noise. “Flee, Bal Daxus!” it cried. “Flee for your life!”
Bal Daxus turned in the direction of the voice. “Lirai!” he shouted, and now we saw her in a wooden cage which was almost hidden within the shadows of the wall.
I tried to run to her, but I discovered that the little men had crowded about me so closely that I couldn’t move. Looking around, I saw that Bal Daxus and Tan Hadron were in the same predicament. I was in such tight quarters that I couldn’t even draw my sword, and then, at a signal from I-Pak, the three of us were overpowered, disarmed, and bound. Then we were taken to a cage that adjoined Lirai’s, and we saw that Talon Gar was enclosed in a similar cage a short distance away.
“What is this?” I demanded. “We are not your enemies!”
“As you were told before,” said I-Pak, his hands resting triumphantly on his shriveled hips, “we have no enemies. You are to be sacrificed to Zar, and should consider it a great honor.”
“You mean we
are to be added to your art gallery?”
“It is not ours, but belongs, as does all else, to Zar. He created it; we merely discovered it long ago. In answer to your question, the girl will be given immortality by becoming a part of our sacred treasure, and her beauty will be admired forever.”
“And what of us?” demanded Bal Daxus.
“Zar would not benefit from an inferior sacrifice,” said I-Pak. “Only one of you will be so honored. As women are judged by their beauty, so are warriors judged by their fighting ability. Two of you will duel to the death; the victor will face the third, and the victor of that the fourth. The one who emerges victorious from this combat will have proved by virtue of his courage and his skill that he is worthy of Zar.”
He signaled one of his men to unlock Talon Gar’s cage, and the Panar was dragged out into the open.
“Release the white-skinned one,” commanded I-Pak. I was led into the circle his men had formed, and faced Talon Gar, who was eyeing me hatefully.
“You have doubtless wondered what the noise coming to your ears is,” I-Pak said presently. “You should have an explanation before your deaths. Far beneath the ground is a foul-smelling liquid which has been boiling ever since our oldest man can remember. The steam escapes through the top of the tunneled rock we passed through, creating the sound you hear. Our people entrap vast amounts of the vapor, and as it cools we add ingredients which will form the final mixture which the victor will be coated with. It sounds painful, I know, but surely the pain is negated by the knowledge of the magnificent honor in store for you.”
When he ceased speaking, our bonds were cut and we were given our longswords.
“You may salute each other and commence,” said I-Pak, and his dwarfed men leaned forward in keen anticipation.
I complied with his request, and as I did so Talon Gar lunged forward and pricked my wrist. He came at me again, but I parried his blow and drew blood from his cheek.
“You shall regret that, Talon Gar,” I said, pricking his other cheek. “It is a shame that you will not live long enough to learn to properly acknowledge your superiors.”
I commenced to take Talon Gar to pieces. Always he was the aggressor, and always I would inflict wound after wound upon him while stepping nimbly out of his reach. He was a good swordsman, but he had not mastered the one essential of his art: a cool head. With death staring me in the face, I would never have followed Talon Gar’s rushing tactics, but would have retreated and waited for an opening; but the Panar, blood streaming down his body from a hundred cuts and slashes, kept trying to reach me, all the while cursing and grinning like the madman he was. I disarmed him and sent his sword flying some fifty feet away.
“Give him another sword, I-Pak,” I said, putting the point of my blade to the ground. “John Carter does not murder defenseless men, no matter how much they may deserve it.”
“We have no weapons here,” replied the Jed patiently, “for as you have been told repeatedly, we have no enemies. You must wait while he retrieves his sword.”
This put an entirely different complexion on our situation; if they had no weapons, they had no means of defense!
I had little time to mull over the possibilities that I-Pak’s revelation had presented, for Talon Gar was soon upon me again, attacking with renewed fury. My blade moved with the swiftness of light, weaving a web of steel about me and taking its toll upon Talon Gar’s tattered flesh. I wondered why he had not grasped the opportunity to turn on I-Pak’s unarmed men, but one look at his face and I knew the answer: he had the same mad grin I had seen when he had kicked Tan Hadron in the dungeon. He cared nothing for escape; only blood would satisfy him.
As I sidestepped his next thrust, I lopped off one of his ears, yet he seemed as oblivious to pain as a hormad, and, realizing that I could punish him no further, I moved in for the kill. It came quickly, for I bound his blade up when next he lunged and slid my point along it until I had pierced his heart.
I was greeted with cheers and applause from the warriors, and Tan Hadron was led into the circle. He, too, had understood the import behind I-Pak’s words, and the instant he was given Talon Gar’s sword he turned on the Jed, and I quickly leaped to his aide.
“What!” shrieked I-Pak, infuriated. “You would attack the chosen one of Zar? For this you shall both die!”
“By whose hand, I-Pak?” I demanded. “You have already admitted you have no weapons.”
“My warriors will slay you with their bare hands!” he screamed, his eyes burning with a fanatical light. “We are the Chosen People and can do no wrong!”
“Who among you,” said Hadron to the stunned warriors, “will be the first to face the sword of John Carter, Prince of Helium and Warlord of Barsoom?”
Not one of them moved, although I-Pak ran among them, alternately demanding and pleading for a hero.
“Zar!” he screamed at last. “Zar, descend from the roof of the Universe and strike down the infidels who threaten your chosen son!”
I grabbed the little Jed and held him firmly.
“Listen to me,” I said sharply. “Your men will not attack us, and your god, like most gods, favors the side with the best weapons. If you attempt to keep us here, we will kill anyone who stands in our way. We would go now: What is your answer?”
Sullenly, with the air of a spoiled child, he directed his men to release Lirai and Bal Daxus and escort us back to the village. From there we had no trouble finding our way back to the rafts. We took the one Talon Gar had used and set the door adrift, just in case I-Pak had a change of heart.
“Where to now?” asked Tan Hadron.
“The flier,” I said, “and then on to Helium, where I’ll gather our forces and lead them against Ayathor.”
“It could be a disastrous war, John Carter,” said Bal Daxus, “for one ship may guard the bottom of the shaft from which you must emerge and hold off an entire navy indefinitely.”
“We could guard the outer end of the shaft,” suggested Tan Hadron, “and starve them out.”
“No,” said Bal Daxus. “The fish are plentiful here. The Panars can thrive for years without leaving Ayathor.”
“True,” I mused. “We’ll have to map out our strategy once we are safely within my palace. At present, getting there is our main concern.”
When at last we came to the island where I had hidden the flier, we found that it had been discovered and destroyed. The tanks containing the ray of repulsion were punctured, and the control panel and compass were damaged beyond repair.
Dejected, I looked into the distance and saw the dark outline of the great, yawning mouth of the shaft beckoning to me. So I was to be frustrated in my escape after all! I had lived through the Pits. the Chamber of Madness, and the Island of the Dead, and yet I was no closer to freedom than I had been at any moment since I had arrived in this forgotten world.
I kicked the hull of the ship in disgust, and Tan Hadron laid an understanding hand upon my shoulder. I looked up at him, and though he tried to smile confidently at me, I could see defeat written large across his countenance.
The Frozen Army
“What next shall we try?” asked Bal Daxus presently. “We cannot long remain here, for we would soon be spotted by the next flier that comes to or leaves the city.”
“If only Carthoris knew of our whereabouts,” I said. “If he could but gain the city . . .”
“It would do no good,” said Bal Daxus, “for even if he managed to traverse the shaft, he would be met by almost half a million warriors at the city’s gates.”
It seemed pointless to argue with that, and I fell into silence. Not so Tan Hadron, however.
“Impossible,” he said. “I was told by the crew of the Dusar, all Panars or men who had been to Pankor, that it takes hours to bring one of the frozen warriors back, and it takes two or three men to hold each of them until their senses return.”
“That is no longer so,” corrected Bal Daxus. “Hin Abtol believes that the reason he lost so
badly to Helium and Gathol was because he formulated his frozen army so slowly. For many months thereafter he and his greatest scientists labored over a new method of revival, and in the end they discovered an entirely new concept, one which has proved effective in small trials. In theory, Hin Abtol can now revive, arm, and mobilize his army in less than a zode.”
“Where are they kept?” asked Tan Hadron. “I have seen naught of them since I have been here.”
“They are in a single immense chamber,” replied Bal Daxus. “It is not far from where John Carter met us after I released you from the Pits.”
“Do you know how to revive them?” I demanded.
“Yes,” he answered. “I helped install the apparatus.”
“Then we shall return to the city at once!” I exclaimed, and hastened toward the raft.
“What for?” asked the Panar. “Surely you don’t intend to revive Hin Abtol’s army for him!”
“That, Bal Daxus, is precisely what I intend to do,” I told him.
“They will fall upon us and kill us!” he said.
“I think not,” I replied. “Have some faith in the man at whose feet you placed your sword.”
“I shall willingly follow you to my grave,” he replied with a smile, “but only if I can’t convince you not to lead me there.”
“It is the only way by which we may ever overthrow Hin Abtol. Are you with me?”
He nodded.
“And you, Hadron of Hastor?”
“The Warlord should know better than to ask,” he replied.
“Lirai,” I said, turning to the girl, “I am afraid you must return with us to the city. We shall see to it that you are well-protected.”
“Where Bal Daxus leads, I shall follow,” she said simply.
We pushed off and approached the city from the rear. When I thought we were comparatively free from detection, I drew near the shoreline, where it was an easy matter to find the doorway we had passed through when we set out for the Island of the Dead.
We carried the raft inside with us and leaned it against a wall. Then, with drawn swords, we advanced up the inclining corridor, Tan Hadron and I in front and Bal Daxus in the rear, thus protecting Lirai from any ulsios that might be lurking in the shadows.
