The Collected John Carter of Mars (Volume 3)

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  I countered merely with another slap in the face. He came back with a haymaker that I ducked; then I slapped him again—a little harder this time.

  “Good work!” exclaimed one of the prisoners.

  “Go to it, red man!” cried another.

  “Kill him!” shouted a third.

  Pho Lar tried to clinch; but I caught one of his wrists, wheeled around, bent over, and threw him over my shoulder. He lit heavily on the lava flooring. He lay there for a moment, and as he scrambled to his feet I put a headlock on him and threw him again. This time he did not get up; so I picked him up and hit him on the chin. He went down for a long count. I was through with him, and went and sat down.

  The prisoners gathered around me. I could see that they were pleased with the outcome of the fight. “Pho Lar’s had this coming to him for a long time,” said one.

  “He sure got it at last!”

  “Who are you, anyway?”

  “My name is John Carter. I am from Garobus.”

  “I have heard of you,” said one. I think we all have. The Morgors are furious at you because you tricked them so easily. I suppose they have sent you here to die with us. My name is Han Du.” He held out a hand to me. It was the first time that I had seen this friendly gesture since leaving the earth. The Martians place a hand upon your shoulder. I took his hand.

  “I am glad to know you, Han Du,” I said. “If there are many more here like Pho Lar, I shall probably need a friend.”

  “There are no more like him,” said Han Du, “and he is finished.”

  “You intimated that you are all doomed to die,” I said. “Do you know when or how?”

  “When the next class graduates, we shall be pitted against twice our number of Morgors. It will be soon, now.”

  chapter VIII

  IN THE ARENA

  PHO LAR was unconscious for a long time. For a while, I thought that I might have killed him; but finally he opened his eyes and looked about. Then he sat up, felt of his head, and rubbed his jaw. When his eyes found me, he dropped them to the floor. Slowly and painfully he got to his feet and started for the far side of the room. Four or five of the prisoners immediately surrounded him.

  “Who’s top man now?” demanded one of them and slapped his face. Two more struck him. They were pushing him around and buffeting him when I walked among them and pushed them away.

  “Leave him alone,” I said. “He has had enough punishment for a while. When he has recovered, if one of you wishes to take him on, that will be all right; but you can’t gang up on him.”

  The biggest of them turned and faced me. “What have you got to say about it?” he demanded.

  “This,” I replied and knocked him down.

  He sat up and looked at me. “I was just asking,” he said, and grinned a sickly grin; then everybody laughed and the tension was over. After this, we got along famously—all of us, even Pho Lar; and I found them all rather decent men. Long imprisonment and the knowledge that they were facing death had frayed their nerves; but what had followed my advent had cleared the air, much as a violent electrical storm does. After that there was a lot of laughing and talking.

  I inquired if any of them were from Zan Dar’s country—Zanor; but none of them was. Several of them knew where it was, and one scratched a rough map of part of Jupiter on the wall of our cell to show me where Zanor was located. “But much good it will do you to know,”

  he said.

  “One never can tell,” I replied.

  They had told me what I was to expect at the graduating exercises, and I gave the subject considerable thought. I did not purpose attending a Morgor commencement in the role of a willing sacrifice.

  “How many of you men are expert swordsmen?” I asked.

  About half of them claimed to be, but it is a failing of fighting men to boast of their prowess. Not of all fighting men, but of many—usually those with the least to boast of. I wished that I had some means of determining which were really good.

  “Of course we can’t get hold of any swords,” I said, “but if we had some sticks about the length of swords, we could soon find out who were the best swordsmen among us.”

  “What good would that do us?” asked one.

  “We could give those Morgors a run for their money,” I said, “and make them pay for their own graduation.”

  “The slave who brings our food is from my country,” said Han Du. “I think he might smuggle a couple of sticks in to us. He is a good fellow. I’ll ask him when he comes.”

  Pho Lar had said nothing about his swordsmanship; so, as he had proved himself a great boaster, I felt that he was not a swordsman at all. I was sorry, as he was by far the most powerful of all the Savator prisoners; and he was tall, too. With a little skill, he should have proved a most formidable swordsman. Han Du never boasted about anything; but he said that in his country, the men were much given to sword play; so I was counting on him.

  Finally, Han Du’s compatriot smuggled in a couple of wooden rods about the length of a long-sword; and I went to work to ascertain how my fellow prisoners stacked up as swordsmen. Most of them were good; a few were excellent; Han Du was magnificent; and, much to everyone’s surprise, Pho Lar was superb. He gave me one of the most strenuous workouts I have ever had before I could touch him. It must have taken me nearly an hour to disarm him. He was one of the greatest swordsmen I had ever faced.

  Since our altercation upon my induction to their company, Pho Lar had kept much to himself. He seldom spoke, and I thought he might be brooding and planning on revenge. I had to find out just where he stood, as I could not take any chances on treachery or even half-hearted co-operation.

  I took Pho Lar aside after the passage with the wooden sticks. I put my cards squarely on the table. “My plan,” I said, “requires as many good swordsmen as I can get. You are one of the finest I have ever met, but you may think that you have reason to dislike me and therefore be unwilling to give me your full support. I cannot use any man who will not follow me and obey me even to death. How about it?”

  “I will follow wherever you lead,” he said. “Here is my hand on it—if you will take my hand in friendship.”

  “I am glad to do it.”

  As we grasped hands, he said, “If I had known a man like you years ago, I should not have been the fool that I have been. You may count on me to my last drop of blood, and before you and I die we shall have shown the Morgors something that they will never forget. They think that they are great swordsmen, but after they have seen you in action they will have their doubts. I can scarcely wait for the time.”

  I was impressed by Pho Lar’s protestations. I felt that he was sincere, but I could not disabuse my mind of my first impression of him that he was at heart an arrant coward. But perhaps, facing death, he would fight as a cornered rat fights. If he did, and didn’t lose his head, he would wreak havoc on the Morgors.

  There were twenty of us in that cell. No longer did time drag heavily. It passed quickly in practice with our two wooden rods. Han Du, Pho Lar, and I, acting as instructors, taught the others what tricks of swordsmanship we knew until we were twenty excellent swordsmen. Several were outstanding.

  We discussed several plans of action. We knew that, if custom prevailed, we should be pitted against forty young Morgor cadets striving to win to the warrior caste. We decided to fight in pairs, each of our ten best swordsmen being paired with one of the ten less proficient; but this pairing was to follow an initial charge by the first ten, with our team mates close behind us. We hoped thus to eliminate many of the Morgors in the first few moments of the encounter, thus greatly reducing the odds against us. Perhaps we of the first ten overestimated our prowess. Only time would tell.

  There was some nervousness among the prisoners, due, I think, to the uncertainty as to when we should be called upon to face those unequal odds. Each knew that some of us would die. If any survived, we had only rumor to substantiate our hope that they would be set free; and no man ther
e trusted the Morgors. Every footfall in the corridor brought silence to the cell, with every eye fixed upon the door.

  At long last our anxiety was relieved: a full company of warriors came to escort us to the field where we were to fight. I glanced quickly around at the prisoners’ faces. Many were smiling and there were sighs of relief. I felt greatly encouraged.

  We were taken to a rectangular field with tiers of seats on each of its four sides. The stands were crowded. Thousands of eyes stared from the hollow sockets of grinning skulls. It might have been a field day in Hell. There was no sound. There were no bands. There were no flying flags—no color. We were given swords and herded together at one end of the field. An official gave us our instructions.

  “When the cadets come on the field at the far end, you will advance and engage them.” That was all.

  “And what of those of us who survive?” I asked.

  “None of you will survive, creature,” he replied.

  “We understand that those who survive would be given their freedom,” I insisted.

  “None of you will survive,” he repeated.

  “Would you like to place a little bet on that?”

  “None of your impudence, creature!” The fellow was getting angry.

  “But suppose one of us should survive?” I demanded.

  “In that case his life would be spared and he would be allowed to continue in slavery, but none has ever survived these exercises. The cadets are on the field!” he cried. “Go to your deaths, worms!”

  “To your stations, worms!” I commanded. The prisoners laughed as they took their allotted positions: the first ten in the front line, each with his partner behind him. I was near the center of the line. Han Du and Pho Lar were on the flanks. We marched forward as we had practiced it in our cell, all in step, the men in the rear rank giving the cadence by chanting, “Death to the Morgors!” over and over. We kept intervals and distance a little greater than the length of an extended sword arm and sword.

  It was evident that the Morgors had never seen anything like that at a commencement exercise, for I could hear the hollow sound of their exclamations of surprise arising from the stands; and the cadets advancing to meet us were seemingly thrown into confusion. They were spread out in pairs in a line that extended almost all the way across the field, and it suddenly became a very ragged line. When we were about twenty-five feet from this line, I gave the command, “Charge!”

  We ten, hitting the center of their line, had no odds against us: the Morgors had spread their line too thin. They saw swordsmanship in those first few seconds such as I’ll warrant no Morgor ever saw before. Ten Morgors lay dead or dying on the field, as five of our first ten wheeled toward the right, followed by our partners; and our remaining ten men wheeled to the left.

  As we had not lost a man in the first onslaught, each ten was now pitted against fifteen of the enemy. The odds were not so heavily against us. Taking each half of the Morgor line on its flank, as we now were, gave us a great advantage; and we took heavy toll of them before those on the far flanks could get into action, with the result that we were presently fighting on an almost even footing, our partners having now come into action.

  The Morgors fought with fanatic determination. Many of them were splendid swordsmen, but none of them was a match for any of our first ten. I caught an occasional glimpse of Pho Lar. He was magnificent. I doubt that any swordsman of any of the three worlds upon which I had fought could have touched Pho Lar, Han Du, or me with his point; and there were seven more of us here almost as good.

  Within fifteen minutes of the start of the engagement, all that remained was the mopping up of the surviving Morgors. We had lost ten men, all of the first ten swordsmen having survived. As the last of the Morgors fell, one could almost feel the deathly silence that had settled upon the audience.

  The nine gathered around me. “What now?” asked Pho Lar.

  “How many of you want to go back to slavery?” I asked.

  “No!” shouted nine voices.

  “We are the ten best swords on Eurobus,” I said. “We could fight our way out of the city. You men know the country beyond. What chance would we have to escape capture?”

  “There would be a chance,” said Han Du. “Beyond the city, the jungle comes close. If we could make that, they might never find us.”

  “Good!” I said, and started at a trot toward a gate at one end of the field, the nine at my heels.

  At the gateway, a handful of foolish guardsmen tried to stop us. We left them behind us, dead. Now we heard angry shouts arising from the field we had left, and we guessed that soon we should have hundreds of Morgors in pursuit.

  “Who knows the way to the nearest gate?” I demanded.

  “I do,” said one of my companions. “Follow me!” and he set off at a run.

  As we raced through the avenues of the drear city, the angry shouts of our pursuers followed us; but we held our distance and at last arrived at one of the city gates. Here again we were confronted by armed warriors who compelled us to put up a stiff battle. The cries of the pursuing Morgors grew louder and louder. Soon all that we had gained would be lost. This must not be! I called Pho Lar and Han Du to my side and ordered the remaining seven to give us room, for the gateway was too narrow for ten men to wield their blades within it advantageously.

  “This time we go through!” I shouted to my two companions as we rushed the surviving guardsmen. And we went through. They hadn’t a chance against the three best swordsmen of three worlds.

  Miraculous as it may seem, all ten of us won to freedom with nothing more than a few superficial scratches to indicate that we had been in a fight; but the howling Morgors were now close on our heels.

  If there is anything in three worlds that I hate, it is to run from a foe; but it would have been utterly stupid to have permitted several hundred angry Morgors to have overtaken me. I ran.

  The Morgors gave up the chase before we reached the jungle. Evidently they had other plans for capturing us. We did not stop until we were far into the tropical verdure of a great forest; then we paused to discuss the future and to rest, and we needed rest.

  That forest! I almost hesitate to describe it, so weird, so unearthly was it. Almost wholly deprived of sunlight, the foliage was pale, pale with a deathlike pallor, tinged with rose where the reflected light of the fiery volcanoes filtered through. But this was by far its least uncanny aspect: the limbs of the trees moved like living things. They writhed and twined—myriad, snakelike things. I had scarcely noticed them until we halted. Suddenly one dropped down and wrapped itself about me. Smiling, I sought to disentwine it. I stopped smiling: I was as helpless as a babe encircled by the trunk of an elephant. The thing started to lift me from the ground, and just then Han Du saw and leaped forward with drawn sword. He grasped one of my legs, and at the same time sprang upward and struck with the keen edge of his blade, severing the limb that had seized me. We dropped to the ground together.

  “What the devil!” I exclaimed. “What is it? and why did it do that?”

  Han Du pointed up. I looked. Above me, at the end of a strong stem, was a huge blossom—a horrible thing! In its center was a large mouth armed with many teeth, and above the mouth were two staring, lidless eyes.

  “I had forgotten,” said Han Du, “that you are not of Eurobus. Perhaps you have no such trees as these in your world.”

  “We certainly have not,” I assured him. “A few that eat insects, perhaps, like Venus’s-flytrap; but no maneaters.”

  “You must always be on your guard when in one of our forests,” he warned me. “These trees are living, carnivorous animals. They have a nervous system and a brain, and it is generally believed that they have a language and talk with one another.”

  Just then a hideous scream broke from above us. I looked up, expecting to see some strange, Jupiterian beast above me, but there was nothing but the writhing limbs and the staring eyes of the great blossoms of the mantrees.

 
; Han Du laughed. “Their nervous systems are of a low order,” he said, “and their reactions correspondingly slow and sluggish. It took all this time for the pain of my sword cut to reach the brain of the blossom to which that limb belongs.”

  “A man’s life would never be safe for a moment in such a forest,” I commented.

  “One has to be constantly on guard,” admitted Han Du. “If you ever have to sleep out in the woods, build a smudge. The blossoms don’t like smoke. They close up, and then they cannot see to attack you. But be sure that you don’t oversleep your smudge.”

  Vegetable life on Jupiter, practically devoid of sunlight, has developed along entirely different lines from that on Earth. Nearly all of it has some animal attributes and nearly all of it is carnivorous, the smaller plants devouring insects, the larger, in turn, depending upon the larger animals for sustenance on up to the maneaters such as I had encountered and those which Han Du said caught and devoured even the hugest animals that exist upon this strange planet.

  We posted a couple of guards, who also kept smudges burning; and the rest of us lay down to sleep. One of the men had a chronometer, and this was used to inform the men on guard when to awaken their reliefs. In this way, we all took turns watching and sleeping.

  When all had slept, the smudges were allowed to burn more brightly, the men cut limbs from the living trees, sliced them and roasted them. They tasted much like veal. Then we talked over our plans for the future. It was decided that we should split up into parties of two or three and scatter; so that some of us at least might have a chance to escape recapture. They said that the Morgors would hunt us down for a long time. I felt that we would be much safer remaining together as we were ten undefeatable sword-arms; but as the countries from which my companions came were widely scattered; and, as naturally, each wished if possible to return to his own home, it was necessary that we separate.