The Collected John Carter of Mars (Volume 3)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  XAXAK TREATED ME much as a wealthy horse owner on Earth would treat a prospective Derby winner. I was quartered in the barracks of his personal guard, where I was treated as an equal. He detailed Ptang to see that I had the proper amount of exercise and sword play; and also, I presume, to see that I did not try to escape. And now my only concern was the fate of Llana of Gathol and Pan Dan Chee, of whose whereabouts and state I was totally ignorant.

  Somewhat of a friendship developed between Ptang and myself. He admired my swordsmanship, and used to brag about it to the other warriors. At first they had been inclined to criticize and ridicule him because he had been bested by a slave; so I suggested that he offer to let his critics see if they could do any better with me.

  “I can’t do that,” he said, “without Xaxak’s permission; for if anything happened to you, I should be held responsible.”

  “Nothing will happen to me,” I told him; “no one should know that better than you.”

  He smiled a bit ruefully. “You are right,” he said, “but still I must ask Xaxak;” and this he did the next time that he saw the dator.

  In order to win Ptang’s greater friendship, I had been teaching him some of the finer points of swordsmanship which I had learned in two worlds and in a thousand duels and battles; but by no means did I teach him all of my tricks, nor could I impart to him the strength and agility which my earthly muscles give me on Mars.

  Xaxak was watching us at swordplay when Ptang asked him if I might take on some of his critics. Xaxak shook his head. “I am afraid that Dotar Sojat might be injured,” he said.

  “I will guarantee that I shall not be,” I told him.

  “Well,” he said; “then I am afraid that you may kill some of my warriors.”

  “I promise not to. I will simply show them that they cannot last as long as Ptang did.”

  “It might be good sport,” said Xaxak. “Who are those who criticized you, Ptang?”

  Ptang gave him the names of five warriors who had been particularly venomous in their ridicule and criticism, and Xaxak immediately sent for them.

  “I understand,” said Xaxak, when they had assembled, “that you have condemned Ptang because he was bested in a duel with this slave. Do any of you think that you could do better than Ptang did? If so, here is your chance.”

  They assured him, almost in chorus, that they could do very much better.

  “We shall see,” he said, “but you must all understand that no one is to be killed and that you are to stop when I give the word. It is an order.”

  They assured him that they would not kill me, and then the first of them swaggered out to meet me. One after another, in rapid succession, I pinked each in the right shoulder and disarmed him.

  I must say they took it very decently; all except one of them—a fellow named Ban-tor, who had been Ptang’s most violent critic.

  “He tricked me,” he grumbled. “Let me at him again, my dator; and I will kill him.” He was so angry that his voice trembled.

  “No,” said Xaxak; “he has drawn your blood and he has disarmed you, demonstrating that he is the better swordsman. If it were due to a trick, it was a trick of swordsmanship which you might do well to master before you attempt to kill Dotar Sojat.”

  The fellow was still scowling and grumbling as he walked away with the other four; and I realized that while all of these First Born were my nominal enemies, this fellow, Ban-tor, was an active one. However, I gave the matter little thought as I was too valuable to Xaxak for anybody to risk his displeasure by harming me; nor could I see that there was any way in which the fellow could injure me.

  “Ban-tor has always disliked me,” said Ptang, after they had all left us. “He dislikes me; because I have always bested him in swordsmanship and feats of strength; and, in addition to this, he is a natural born trouble maker. If it were not for the fact that he is related to Xaxak’s wife, the dator would not have him around.”

  Since I have already compared myself to a prospective Derby winner, I might as well carry out the analogy by describing their Lesser Games as minor race meets. They are held about once a week in a stadium inside the city, and here the rich nobles pit their warriors or their slaves against those of other nobles in feats of strength, in boxing, in wrestling, and in dueling. Large sums of money are wagered, and the excitement runs high. The duels are not always to the death, the nobles deciding beforehand precisely upon what they will place their bets. Usually it is for first blood or disarming; but there is always at least one duel to the death, which might be compared to the feature race of a race meet, or the main event of a boxing tournament.

  Kamtol has a population of about two hundred thousand, of which possibly five thousand are slaves. As I was allowed considerable freedom, I got around the city quite a bit; though Ptang always accompanied me, and I was so impressed with the scarcity of children that I asked Ptang what accounted for it.

  “The Valley of the First Born will only comfortably support about two hundred thousand population,” he replied; “so only sufficient children are permitted to replace the death losses. As you may have guessed, by looking at our people, the old and otherwise unfit are destroyed; so that we have about sixty-five thousand fighting men and about twice as many healthy women and children. There are two factions here, one of which maintains that the number of women should be greatly decreased; so that the number of fighting men may be increased, while the other faction insists that, as we are not menaced by any powerful enemies, sixty-five thousand fighting men are sufficient.

  “Strange as it may seem, most of the women belong to the first faction; notwithstanding the fact that this faction which believes in decreasing the number of females would do so by permitting a far greater number of eggs to incubate, killing all the females which hatched and as many of the adult women as there were males in the hatching. This is probably due to the fact that each woman thinks that she is too desirable to be destroyed and that that fate will fall to some other woman. Doxus believes in maintaining the status quo; but some future jeddak may believe differently; and even Doxus may change his mind, which, confidentially, is most vacillating.”

  My fame as a swordsman soon spread among the sixty-five thousand fighting men of Kamtol, and opinion was most unevenly divided as to my ability. Perhaps a dozen men of Kamtol had seen my swordplay; and they were willing to back me against anyone; but all the remainder of the sixty-five thousand felt that they could best me in individual combat; for this is a race of fighting men, all extremely proud of their skill and their valor.

  I was exercising in the garden with Ptang one day, when Xaxak came with another dator, whom he called Nastor. When Ptang saw them coming, he whistled. “I never saw Nastor here before,” he said in a low tone of voice. “Xaxak has no use for him, and he hates Xaxak. Wait!” he exclaimed; “I have an idea why he is here. If they ask for swordplay, let me disarm you. I will tell you why, later.”

  “Very well,” I said, “and I hope it will do you some good.”

  “It is not for me,” he said; “it is for Dator Xaxak.”

  As the two approached us, I heard Nastor say, “So this is your great swordsman! I should like to wager that I have men who could best him any day.”

  “You have excellent men,” said Xaxak; “still, I think my man would give a good account of himself. How much of a wager do you want to lay?”

  “You have seen my men fight,” said Nastor, “but I have never seen this fellow at work. I would like to see him in action; then I shall know whether to ask or give odds.”

  “Very well,” said Xaxak, “that is fair enough,” then he turned to us. “You will give the Dator Nastor an exhibition of your swordsmanship, Dotar Sojat; but not to the death—you understand?”

  Ptang and I drew our swords and faced one another. “Don’t forget what I asked of you,” he said, and then we were at it.

  I not only remembered what he had asked, but I now realized why he had asked it; and so I put up an exhibition of q
uite ordinary swordsmanship, just good enough to hold my own until I let Ptang disarm me.

  “He is an excellent swordsman,” said Nastor, knowing that he was lying, but not knowing that we knew it; “but I will bet even money that my man can kill him.”

  “You mean a duel to the death?” demanded Xaxak. “Then I shall demand odds; as I did not desire my man to fight to the death the first time he fought.”

  “I will give you two to one,” said Nastor; “are those odds satisfactory?”

  “Perfectly,” said Xaxak. “How much do you wish to wager?”

  “A thousand tanpi to your five hundred,” replied Nastor. A tanpi is equivalent to about $1 in United States money.

  “I want to make more than enough to feed my wife’s sorak,” replied Xaxak.

  Now, a sorak is a little six-legged, cat-like animal, kept as a pet by many Martian women; so what Xaxak had said was equivalent to telling Nastor that we didn’t care to fight for chicken feed. I could see that Xaxak was trying to anger Nastor; so that he would bet recklessly, and I knew then that he must have guessed that Ptang and I were putting on a show when I let Ptang disarm me so easily.

  Nastor was scowling angrily. “I did not wish to rob you,” he said; “but if you wish to throw your money away, you may name the amount of the wager.”

  “Just to make it interesting,” said Xaxak, “I’ll bet you fifty thousand tanpi against your hundred thousand.”

  This staggered Nastor for a moment; but he must have got to thinking how easily Ptang had disarmed me, for eventually he rose to the bait. “Done!” he said; “and I am sorry for both you and your man,” with which polite hypocrisy he turned on his heel and left without another word.

  Xaxak looked after him with a half smile on his lips; and when he had gone, turned to us. “I hope you were just playing a little game,” he said, “for if you were not you may have lost me fifty thousand tanpi.”

  “You need not worry, my prince,” said Ptang.

  “I shall not worry unless Dotar Sojat worries,” replied the dator.

  “There is always a gamble in such an enterprise as this,” I replied; “but I think that you got very much the best of the bargain, for the odds should have been the other way.”

  “At least you have more faith than I have,” said Xaxak the dator.

  chapter VIII

  PTANG TOLD ME that he had never known more interest to be displayed in a duel to the death than followed the announcement of the wager between Xaxak and Nastor. “No common warrior is to represent Nastor,” he said. “He has persuaded a dator to fight for him, a man who is considered the best swordsman in Kamtol. His name is Nolat. I have never before known of a prince fighting a slave; but they say that Nolat owes Nastor a great deal of money and that Nastor will cancel the debt if Nolat wins, which Nolat is sure that he will—he is so sure that he has pledged his palace to raise money to bet upon himself.”

  “Not such a stupid thing for him to do, after all,” I said; “for if he loses he won’t need a palace.”

  Ptang laughed. “I hope he doesn’t need it,” he said; “but don’t be over-confident, for he is rated the best swordsman among the First Born; and there are supposed to be no better swordsmen in all Barsoom.”

  Before the day arrived that I was to fight Nolat, Xaxak and Ptang grew more and more nervous; as did all of Xaxak’s warriors, who seemed to feel a personal interest in me—that is, with the exception of Ban-tor, whose enmity I had aroused by disarming him.

  Ban-tor had placed a number of wagers against me; and he kept bragging about this, insisting that I was no match for Nolat and that I should be killed in short order.

  I slept in a small room by myself on old, discarded furs, as befitted a slave. My room connected with that occupied by Ptang; and had only one door, which opened into Ptang’s room. It was on the second floor of the palace and overlooked the lower end of the garden.

  The night before the encounter I was awakened by a noise in my room, and as I opened my eyes I saw a man leap out of the window with a sword in his hand; but, as neither of Mars’ two moons was in the sky, it was not light enough for me to be sure that I could recognize him; yet there was something very familiar about him.

  The next morning I told Ptang about my nocturnal visitor. Neither of us, however, could imagine why anyone would want to enter my room in stealth, as I had nothing to steal.

  “It might have been an assassin who wanted to stop the fight,” suggested Ptang.

  “I doubt that,” I said; “for he had plenty of opportunity to kill me, as I didn’t awaken until he was leaping through the window.”

  “You missed nothing?” asked Ptang.

  “I had nothing to miss,” I replied, “except my harness and weapons, and I am wearing them now.”

  Ptang finally suggested that the fellow may have thought that a female slave slept in the room; and when he found out his error, took his departure; and with that we dropped the matter from our minds.

  We went to the stadium about the fourth zode, and we went in style—in fact it was a regular pageant. There were Xaxak and his wife, with her female slaves, and Xaxak’s officers and warriors. We were all mounted on gaily caparisoned thoats; pennants waved above us, and mounted trumpeters preceded us. Nastor was there with the same sort of retinue. We all paraded around the arena to the accompaniment of “Kaors!” and growls—the kaors were applause and the growls were boos. I received a great many more growls than kaors, for after all I was a slave pitted against a prince, a man of their own blood.

  There were some wrestling and boxing matches and a number of duels for first blood only, but what the people were waiting for was the duel to the death. People are very much alike everywhere. On Earth, they go to boxing matches hoping for blood and a knockout; they go to the wrestling matches hoping to see someone thrown out of the ring and crippled; and when they go to automobile races they hope to see somebody killed. They will not admit these things, but without the element of danger and the risk of death these sports wouldn’t draw a hatful of people.

  At last the moment came for me to enter the arena, and I did so before a most distinguished audience. Doxus, Jeddak of the First Born, was there with his Jeddara. The loges and boxes were crowded with the nobility of Kamtol. It was a gorgeous spectacle; the harnesses of the men and women were resplendent with precious metals and jewels, and from every vantage point flew pennants and banners.

  Nolat was escorted to the jeddak’s box and presented; then to the box of Xaxak, where he bowed; and last of all to the box of Nastor, for whom he was fighting a stranger to the death.

  I, being a slave, was not presented to the jeddak; but I was taken before Nastor; so that he could identify me as the individual against whom he had placed his wagers. It was, of course, a mere formality; but in accordance with the rules of the Games.

  I had caught only a brief glimpse of Nastor’s entourage as we had paraded around the arena; as they had been behind us; but now I got a good look at them, as I stood in the arena before Nastor, and I saw Llana of Gathol sitting there beside the dator. Now, indeed, would I kill Nastor’s man!

  Llana of Gathol gasped and started to speak to me; but I shook my head, for I was afraid she would call me by name, which might, here among the First Born, have been the equivalent of a death sentence. It was always a surprise to me that none of these men recognized me; for my white skin and grey eyes make me a marked man, and if any of them had been in the Valley Dor when I was there they must have remembered me. I was to learn later why none of these Black Pirates of Barsoom knew me.

  “Why did you do that, slave?” demanded Nastor.

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “Shake your head,” he replied.

  “Perhaps I am nervous,” I said.

  “And well you may be, slave, for you are about to die,” he snapped, nastily.

  I was taken then to a point in the arena opposite the jeddak’s box. Ptang was with me, as a sort of a second, I suppose. They le
t us stand there alone for several minutes, presumably to shake my nerves; then Nolat approached, accompanied by another noble dator. There was a fifth man; possibly he might have been called a referee; although he didn’t have much to do besides giving the signal for the duel to commence.

  Nolat was a large, powerful man; and built like a fighter. He was a very handsome man, but with a haughty, supercilious expression. Ptang had told me that we were supposed to salute each other with our swords before we engaged; and as soon as I got in position, I saluted; but Nolat merely sneered and said, “Come, slave! You are about to die.”

  “You made a mistake, Nolat,” I said, as we engaged.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded, lunging at me.

  “You should have saluted your better,” I said, parrying his lunge. “Now it will go harder with you—unless you would like to stop and salute me as you should have at first.”

  “Insolent calot!” he growled, and thrust viciously at me.

  For reply, I cut a gash in his left cheek. “I told you you should have saluted,” I mocked.

  Nolat became furious then, and came at me with the evident intention of ending the encounter immediately. I sliced him along the other cheek, then; and a moment later I carved a bloody cross upon his left breast, a difficult maneuver requiring exceptional agility and skill, since his right side was always presented to me; or always should have been had he been quick enough to follow my foot work.

  That audience was as silent as a tomb, except for the kaors from Xaxak’s contingent. Nolat was bleeding profusely, and he had slowed down considerably.

  Suddenly somebody shouted, “Death!” Then other voices took it up. They wanted the kill; and as it was quite evident that Nolat couldn’t kill me, I assumed that they wished me to kill him. Instead, I disarmed him, sending his blade flying half way across the arena. The referee ran after it; at last I had given him something to do.

  I turned to Nolat’s second. “I offer the man his life,” I said in a tone of voice loud enough to have been heard in any part of the stadium.

  Immediately there were shouts of “Kaor!” and “Death!” The “Deaths” were in the majority.