“My father, the Fire God, wishes to know who these enemies are,” he said.
“One of them,” replied the old man who had spoken before, and whom I took to be a priest, “is a Masena that your warriors captured while he was hunting outside our walls. The other six are strange creatures. We know not from whence they came. They arrived in two unheard-of contraptions that moved through the air like birds, though they had no wings. In each of these were two men and a woman.
“They alighted inside our walls; but from whence they came or why, we do not know, though doubtless it was their intention to do us harm, as is the intention of all men who come to the castle of the Tarids. As you will note, All-highest, five of these six have red skins, while the sixth has a skin only a little darker than our own. He seems to be of a different race, with his white skin, his black hair, and his grey eyes. These things we know and nothing more. We await the wishes of the Fire God from the lips of his son, Ul Vas.”
The man on the throne pursed his lips, as though in thought, while his eyes travelled again along the line of prisoners facing him, lingering long upon Dejah Thoris and Zanda. Presently, he spoke.
“My father, the Fire God, demands that the Masena and the four strange men be destroyed in his honor at this same hour, after he has encircled Ladan seven times.”
There were a few moments of expectant silence after he had ceased speaking—a silence that was finally broken by the old priest.
“And the women, All-highest?” he asked; “what are the wishes of the Fire God, your father, in relation to them?”
“The Fire God, to show his great love,” replied the jeddak, “has presented the two women to his son, Ul Vas to do with as he chooses.”
XIX. Ozara
Life is sweet; and when I heard the words of doom fall from the lips of the jeddak, Ul Vas, the words that condemned five of us to die on the seventh day, I must naturally have experienced some depressing reaction; but I was not conscious of it, in view of the far greater mental perturbation induced by the knowledge that Dejah Thoris’s fate was to be worse than death.
I was glad that she was mercifully deaf to what I had heard. It could not help her to know the fate that was being reserved for her, and it could only cause her needless anguish had she heard the death sentence pronounced upon me.
All my companions, having seen nothing and heard nothing, stood like dumb cattle before the throne of their cruel judge. To them it was only an empty chair; for me it held a creature of flesh and blood—a mortal whose vitals the point of a keen blade might reach.
Again Ul Vas was speaking. “Remove them now,” he commanded. “Confine the men in the Turquoise Tower, and take the women to the Tower of Diamonds.”
I thought then to leap upon him and strangle him with my bare hands, but my better judgment told me that that would not save Dejah Thoris from the fate for which she was being reserved. It could only result in my own death, and thus would be removed her greatest, perhaps her only, hope of eventual succor; and so I went quietly, as they led me away with my fellow-prisoners, my last memory of the audience chamber being the veiled gaze of Ozara, Jeddara of the Tarids.
Umka and I were not returned to the cell in which we had previously been incarcerated; but were taken with Jat Or, Gar Nal, and Ur Jan to a large room in the Turquoise Tower.
We did not speak until the door had closed behind the escort that had been invisible to all but Umka and myself. The others seemed mystified; I could read it in the puzzled expressions upon their faces.
“What was it all about, Vandor?” demanded Jat Or. “Why did we stand there in silence in that empty chamber before those vacant thrones?”
“There was no silence,” I replied; “and the room was crowded with people. The Jeddak and his Jeddara sat upon the thrones that seemed vacant to you, and the Jeddak passed the sentence of death upon all of us—we are to die on the seventh day.”
“And the princess and Zanda, too?” he demanded.
I shook my head. “No, unfortunately, no.”
“Why do you say unfortunately?” he asked, puzzled.
“Because they would prefer death to what is in store for them. The Jeddak, Ul Vas, is keeping them for himself.”
Jat Or scowled. “We must do something,” he said; “we must save them.”
“I know it,” I replied; “but how?”
“You have given up hope?” he demanded. “You will go to your death calmly, knowing what is in store for them?”
“You know me better than that, Jat Or,” I said. “I am hoping that something will occur that will suggest a plan of rescue; although I see no hope at present, I am not hopeless. If no opportunity occurs before, then in the last moment, I shall at least avenge her, if I cannot save her; for I have an advantage over these people that they do not know I possess.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“They are neither invisible nor inaudible to me,” I replied.
He nodded. “Yes, I had forgotten,” he said; “but it seemed impossible that you could see and hear where there was nothing to be seen nor heard.”
“Why are they going to kill us?” demanded Gar Nal, who had overheard my conversation with Jat Or.
“We are to be offered as sacrifices to the Fire God whom they worship,” I replied.
“The Fire God?” demanded Ur Jan. “Who is he?”
“The sun,” I explained.
“But how could you understand their language?” asked Gar Nal. “It cannot be possible that they speak the same tongue that is spoken upon Barsoom.”
“No,” I replied, “they do not; but Umka, with whom I have been imprisoned ever since we were captured, has taught me the language of the Tarids.”
“What are Tarids?” asked Jat Or.
“It is the name of the people in whose power we are,” I explained.
“What is their name for Thuria?” asked Gar Nal.
“I am not sure,” I replied; “but I will ask Umka. Umka,” I said, in his own language, “what does the word, Ladan, mean?”
“That is the name of this world we live on,” he replied. “You heard Ul Vas say that we should die when the Fire God had encircled Ladan seven times.”
We Barsoomians fell into a general conversation after this, and I had an opportunity to study Gar Nal and Ur Jan more carefully.
The former was, like most Martians, of indeterminate age. He was not of such extreme age that he commenced to show it, as did Fal Sivas. Gar Nal might have been anywhere from a hundred to a thousand years old. He had a high forehead and rather thin hair for a Martian, and there was nothing peculiarly distinctive about his features, except his eyes. I did not like them; they were crafty, deceitful, and cruel.
Ur Jan, whom of course I had seen before, was just what one might have expected—a burly, brutal fighting man of the lowest type; but of the two, I thought then that I should have trusted Ur Jan farther than Gar Nal.
It seemed strange to me to be confined here in such small quarters with two such bitter enemies; but I realized, as they must have also, that it would profit us nothing to carry on our quarrel under such circumstances, whereas if an opportunity to escape presented itself, four men who could wield swords would have a very much better chance to effect the liberty of all than if there were only two of us. There would not have been more than two, had we dared to continue our quarrel; for at least two of us, and possibly three, must have died in order to ensure peace.
Umka seemed rather neglected as we four talked in our own tongue. He and I had grown to be on very friendly terms, and I counted on him to assist us if an opportunity arose whereby we might attempt escape. I was therefore particularly anxious that he remain friendly, and so I drew him into the conversation occasionally, acting as interpreter for him.