The Collected John Carter of Mars (Volume 3)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  “Oh, he does does he?” I said. “Well, he shall have it.” That fitted in perfectly with my plans. I had swallowed one of the invisibility spheres just before the warrior unshackled me, and I knew that it would take about an hour for it to effect perfect invisibility. It might be difficult to drag the duel out for an hour, but I hoped to gain a little time by stalling up to the moment that we crossed swords. And I accomplished it now by walking slowly to kill as much time as possible, and twice I stopped to tighten the fastenings of my sandals.

  “What’s the matter?” demanded the warrior. “Why do you walk so slow? Are you afraid?”

  “Terrified,” I replied. “Everyone has told me how easily Motus is going to kill me. Do you think that a man wants to run to his death?”

  “Well, I don’t blame you much,” said the warrior, “and I won’t hurry you.”

  “A lot of you Invaks are pretty good fellows,” I remarked.

  “Of course we are,” he said. “What made you think anything different?”

  “Pnoxus, Motus, and Ptantus,” I replied.

  The warrior grinned. “I guess you are a pretty shrewd fellow,” he said, “to have sized them up this quickly.”

  “Everybody seems to hate them,” I said; “why don’t you get rid of them? I’ll start you off by getting rid of Motus tonight.”

  “You may be a good swordsman,” said the warrior, “but you are bragging too much; I never knew a braggart yet who could ‘take the princess.’”

  “I am not bragging,” I said; “I only state facts.” As a matter of fact, I often realize that in speaking of my swordsmanship, it may sound to others as though I were bragging but really I do not feel that I am bragging. I know that I am the greatest swordsman of two worlds. It would be foolish for me to simper, and suck my finger, and say that I was not. I am, and everyone who has seen me fight knows that I am. Is it braggadocio to state a simple fact? It has saved a number of lives, for it has kept no end of brash young men from challenging me. Fighting has been, you might say, my life’s work. There is not a lethal weapon in the use of which I do not excel, but the sword is my favorite. I love a good blade and I love a good fight and I hoped that tonight I should have them both. I hoped that Motus was all that they thought him. The thought might have obtruded on the consciousness of some men that perhaps he was, but no such idea ever entered my head. They say that overconfidence often leads to defeat, but I do not think that I am ever overconfident. I am merely wholly confident, and I maintain that there is all the difference in the world there.

  At last we came to the throne room. It was not the same room in which I had first seen Ptantus; it was a much larger room, a more ornate room; and at one side of it was a raised dais on which were two thrones. They were empty now, for the jeddak and the jeddara had not yet appeared. The floor of the room was crowded with nobles and their women. Along three sides of the room were several tiers of benches, temporary affairs, which had evidently been brought in for the occasion. They were covered with gay cloths and cushions; but they were still empty, for, of course, no one could sit until the jeddak came and was seated.

  As I was brought into the room, a number of people called attention to me and soon many eyes were upon me.

  In my well-worn fighting harness, I looked rather drab in the midst of this brilliant company with their carved leather harness studded with jewels. The Invaks, like most of the red nations of Barsoom, are a handsome people and those in the throne room of this tiny nation, hidden away in the Forest of Lost Men, made a brave appearance beneath the strange and beautiful lights which gave them visibility.

  I heard many comments concerning me. One woman said, “He does not look like a Barsoomian at all.”

  “He is very handsome,” said a sweet voice, which I immediately recognized; and for the second time I looked Rojas in the face. As our eyes met I could see her tremble. She was a beautiful girl, by far the most beautiful of all the women in the room, I am sure.

  “Let’s talk with him,” she said to a woman and two men standing with her.

  “That would be interesting,” said the woman, and the four of them walked toward me.

  Rojas looked me square in the eye. “What is your name?” she asked, without a flicker of recognition.

  “Dotar Sojat,” I replied.

  “The Sultan of Swat,” said one of the men, “whatever a sultan is and wherever Swat may be.” I could scarcely repress a smile.

  “Where is Swat?” inquired the woman.

  “In India,” I replied.

  “I think the fellow is trying to make fools of us,” snapped one of the men. “He is just making up those names. There are no such places on Barsoom.”

  “I didn’t say they were on Barsoom,” I retorted. “They are forty-three million miles from Barsoom.”

  “If they’re not on Barsoom, where are they?” demanded the man.

  “On Jasoom,” I replied.

  “Come,” said the man, “I have had enough of this slave’s insolence.”

  “I find him very interesting,” said the woman.

  “So do I,” said Rojas.

  “Well, enjoy it while you may,” said the man, “for in a few minutes he will be dead.”

  “Have you laid a wager on that?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t find anyone to bet against Motus,” he growled. “Kandus was the only fool to do that and the jeddak covered his entire wager.”

  “That is too bad,” I said; “someone is losing an opportunity to make some money.”

  “Do you think you will win?” asked Rojas, trying to conceal the eagerness in her voice.

  “Of course I shall win,” I replied. “I always do. You look like a very intelligent girl,” I said, “if I may speak to you alone I will tell you a little secret.”

  She saw that I had something that I wished to say to her in private, but I will admit that I had put her in rather an embarrassing position. However, the other woman helped me out.”

  “Go ahead, Rojas,” she urged. “I think it would be fun to hear what he has to say.”

  Thus encouraged Rojas took me to one side. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Llana of Gathol,” I said. “How are we to get her?”

  She caught her breath. “I never thought of that,” she said.

  “Could you get one of those invisibility spheres to her right away?” I asked.

  “For you, yes,” she said. “For you I would do anything.”

  “Good; and tell her to come out into the courtyard by the quarters of the slave women. A little after midnight she will hear me whistle. She will recognize the air. She must answer and then wait for me. Will you do that for me, Rojas?”

  “Yes, but what excuse am I to make for leaving my friends?”

  “Tell them you are going to get some money to wager on me,” I said.

  Rojas smiled. “That is a splendid idea,” she said. And a moment later she had made her explanations to her friends and I saw her leave the throne room.

  chapter X

  THE CROWD WAS growing restless waiting for the jeddak, but I was more than pleased by this delay as it would shorten the time that I should have to wait before I could achieve invisibility.

  It seemed now that everything had been nicely arranged; and when I saw Rojas return to the throne room and she gave me a quick fleeting smile, I was convinced that almost the last of my worries were over. There was really only one doubt remaining in my mind, and that was as to what might happen to me after I had killed Motus. I had no doubt but that Ptantus would be furious; and being a tyrant with the reactions of a tyrant, he might order my immediate death. Anticipating this, however, I had decided to make a run for the nearest courtyard; and if sufficient time had elapsed since I had taken the invisibility sphere, I would only have to step out into the open to elude them. And, once in one of the courtyards, and invisible, I knew that I could escape.

  Suddenly trumpets blared and the people fell back to each side of the throne room. The
n, preceded by the trumpeters, Ptantus and his jeddara entered the throne room accompanied by a band of gorgeously trapped courtiers.

  I glanced at the great clock on the wall. It was exactly the 8th zode which is the equivalent of 10:48 p.m. Earth time. By midnight Llana of Gathol would have achieved invisibility—if Rojas had given her the sphere. That was the question. Yet I felt that Rojas had not failed me. I firmly believed that she had done her part.

  The royal pair made their way slowly across the room to the dais and seated themselves upon their thrones, whereat the nobles and their women found their places on the benches.

  From somewhere Motus had appeared; and he, and a noble who accompanied him, and I, and my warrior guard, were alone upon the floor. A fifth man then appeared who I later discovered was what you might call a referee, or umpire. He summoned me forward, and the five of us advanced and stopped before the throne.

  “I bring you the noble Motus,” he said addressing Ptantus, “and Dotar Sojat, the Sultan of Swat, who are to duel to the death with long-swords.”

  The jeddak nodded. “Let them fight,” he said, “and see that you fight fair,” he added, glaring directly at me.

  “And, I suppose that Motus does not have to fight fair,” I said; “but that is immaterial to me. I shall kill him however he fights.”

  The referee was almost beside himself with embarrassment. “Silence, slave!” he whispered. He carried an extra sword which he handed to me and then motioned us to cross swords.

  Instead of adhering to this honorable custom, Motus lunged for my heart.

  “That was unwise, Motus,” I said, as I parried the thrust; “I am going to make you suffer a little more for that.”

  “Silence, slave,” demanded the referee.

  “Silence yourself, calot,” I replied, “and get out of my way. I am not supposed to be fighting two men,” I pricked Motus on the right breast and brought blood, “but I shall be glad too if you will draw.”

  Motus came at me again, but he was wary and he was a good swordsman.

  “Your face is all black and swollen, Motus,” I said; “it looks as if someone had hit you, for that is what a son-of-a-calot is apt to get when he kicks a blind man.”

  “Silence,” screamed the referee.

  I fought on the defensive at first with one eye on the great clock. It had been over half an hour since I had taken the invisibility sphere, and I planned on letting Motus live another half hour so as to be quite sure that I had gained potential invisibility before I finished him off.

  By fighting on the defensive, I compelled Motus to do all the work; and by repeatedly side-stepping his most vicious lunges, letting them slip off my blade so that he had to leap quickly back, I subjected him to considerable nervous as well as physical strain, so that presently the sweat was streaming down his body. And, now I commenced to touch him here and there; and blood mixed with the sweat until he was a sorry looking spectacle, although nowhere had he received a severe wound.

  The crowd was all on Motus’s side; that is, all who were vocal. I knew of two at least who hoped that I would win, and I guess that there were many others who disliked Motus but who dared not cheer on an alien and a slave.

  “You are tiring, Motus,” I said to him; “hadn’t you better finish me off now before you become wholly exhausted?”

  “I’ll finish you off all right, slave,” he came back, “if you’ll stand still and fight.”

  “It is not time to kill you yet, Motus,” I said, glancing up at the clock, “when the hand points to eleven xats past the 8th zode, I shall kill you.”

  “Silence,” screeched the referee.

  “What is the slave saying?” demanded Ptantus in stentorian tones.

  “I said,” I shouted back at him, “that I should kill Motus at exactly 8 zodes, 11 xats. Watch the clock, Ptantus, for at that instant you are going to lose your wager, and Motus his life.”

  “Silence,” commanded the jeddak.

  “Now, Motus,” I whispered, “I am going to show you how easily I can kill you when the time comes,” and with that I disarmed him and sent his sword clattering across the floor.

  A mighty gasp arose from the audience, for now under the rules of a duel of this nature, I was at liberty to run Motus through the heart; but instead I rested my point upon the floor and turned to the referee.

  “Go and fetch Motus’s sword,” I said, “and return it to him.”

  Motus was trembling a little. I could see his knees shake though almost imperceptibly. I knew then what I had suspected before—Motus was yellow.

  While the referee was retrieving Motus’ sword, a little ripple of applause ran through the stands. But Ptantus only sat and scowled more fiercely; I fear that Ptantus did not like me.

  When Motus’ sword was returned to him, he came for me furiously; and I knew perfectly well what was in his mind; he was going to finish me off immediately. I disarmed him again; and again I lowered my point, while the referee without waiting to be told ran after the blade.

  Now Motus was more wary. I could see that he was trying to work me around to some position in which he wished to have me. I noticed presently that the referee was not within my range of vision, and a quick glance told me he was standing directly behind me; it was not intuition that told me why, for I had seen that trick played before by crooked swordsmen with an accomplice. I heard a few groans from the stands; and then I knew that I was right, for no honorable person could witness such a thing without voicing his disapproval.

  When Motus next lunged, hoping to force me back, the referee would “accidentally” be close behind me; I would bump into him, and Motus would have me at his mercy. It is a despicable trick; and Ptantus must have seen it coming, but he made no move to prevent it.

  I watched Motus’ eyes and they telegraphed his intention to me an instant before he lunged, throwing all his weight behind it. I had slightly crouched in anticipation of this and my earthly muscles carried me to one side, and Motus’s sword drove to the hilt through the body of the referee.

  For a moment pandemonium reigned in the throne room. The entire audience stood up in the stands and there were cheers and groans, and something told me that the cheers were for me and the groans for Motus and the referee.

  Motus was a terribly unstrung and rattled man as he jerked his blade from the body of the dead man, but now I gave him no respite. I went after him in earnest, though not yet for the kill. I cut a deep gash across his swollen jaw. “You will not make a good looking corpse now, Motus,” I said, “and before I am through with you, you are going to look a great deal worse.”

  “Calot!” he snapped, and then he rushed me, cutting and thrusting violently. I parried every cut and thrust and wove a net of steel around him, and every time he missed I brought blood from some new spot on his body.

  “You have three xats to live, Motus,” I said; “you had better make the best of them.”

  He rushed at me like a madman; but I sidestepped him and as he turned I took off one of his ears as neatly as a surgeon could have done it—I thought he was going to faint, for his knees seemed to give beneath him and he staggered about for a moment.

  I waited for him to recover control of himself, and then I went to work on him again. I tried to carve my initials on his breast, but by this time there was not a whole place large enough; from the waist up he looked like a plate of raw hamburger.

  The floor was covered with his blood by now; and as he rushed me again furiously, he slipped and fell. He lay there for a moment glaring at me, for I am sure he expected that I would finish him off then; but instead I said, “You have a xat and a half to live yet, Motus.”

  He staggered to his feet and tried to throw himself upon me, screaming imprecations as he came. I think that by this time Motus had gone quite mad from pain and terror. I felt no sympathy for him—he was a rat; and now he was fighting like a cornered rat.

  “The floor is too slippery here,” I said to him; “let’s go over by the jed
dak’s throne—I am sure that he would like to see the finish.”

  I maneuvered him around into position and backed him across the floor until we stood directly in front of Ptantus.

  It is seldom that I have ever punished a man as I punished Motus; but I felt that he deserved it, and I was the plaintiff, prosecuting attorney, jury, and judge; I was also the executioner.

  Motus was gibbering now and making futile passes at me with his blade. Ptantus was glaring at me, and the audience was tense with breathless expectancy. I saw many an eye glance quickly at the clock.

  “One more tal, Motus,” I said. A tal is about eight tenths of an earthly second.

  At that Motus turned suddenly and ran screaming toward the great doorway that led from the throne room; and again the audience rose to its feet, and there were groans and cries of “Coward!”

  The fight was to have been to the death and Ptantus had wagered that I would not kill Motus. If I did not kill him, I feared that Ptantus would then claim the money; so I risked everything on an art I had often practiced for my own amusement. I carried my sword hand far behind my right shoulder and then brought it forward with all my strength, releasing the blade point first. It flew like a sped arrow and drove through Motus’ body below the left shoulder blade at exactly 11 xats past the 8th zode.

  chapter XI

  I TURNED AND BOWED to Ptantus, now having no sword with which to salute him. He should have acknowledged this customary courtesy but he did nothing of the sort, he merely glared at me and stood up. The jeddara arose too; and, with the trumpeters before them and the courtiers behind, the two stalked out of the throne room, making a wide detour to avoid the blood and the two corpses.

  After they had left, the warrior who had brought me from the courtyard came and touched me on the arm. “Come,” he said. “All you get out of this is to be chained to your tree again.”

  “I got a great deal more than that out of it,” I replied, as I accompanied him across the throne room; “I had the satisfaction of avenging a cowardly kick.”