The Chessmen of Mars (27 page)

A shout arose from the stands, for wherever may have been the
favor of the spectators, none there was who could say that it had
not been a pretty fight, or that the better man had not won. And
from the Black players came a sigh of relief as they relaxed from
the tension of the past moments.

I shall not weary you with the details of the game—only the high
features of it are necessary to your understanding of the
outcome. The fourth move after the victory of the Black Odwar
found Gahan upon U-Dor's fourth; an Orange Panthan was on the
adjoining square diagonally to his right and the only opposing
piece that could engage him other than U-Dor himself.

It had been apparent to both players and spectators for the past
two moves, that Gahan was moving straight across the field into
the enemy's country to seek personal combat with the Orange
Chief—that he was staking all upon his belief in the superiority
of his own swordsmanship, since if the two Chiefs engage, the
outcome decides the game. U-Dor could move out and engage Gahan,
or he could move his Princess' Panthan upon the square occupied
by Gahan in he hope that the former would defeat the Black Chief
and thus draw the game, which is the outcome if any other than a
Chief slays the opposing Chief, or he could move away and escape,
temporarily, the necessity for personal combat, or at least that
is evidently what he had in mind as was obvious to all who saw
him scanning the board about him; and his disappointment was
apparent when he finally discovered that Gahan had so placed
himself that there was no square to which U-Dor could move that
it was not within Gahan's power to reach at his own next move.

U-Dor had placed his own Princess four squares east of Gahan when
her position had been threatened, and he had hoped to lure the
Black Chief after her and away from U-Dor; but in that he had
failed. He now discovered that he might play his own Odwar into
personal combat with Gahan; but he had already lost one Odwar and
could ill spare the other. His position was a delicate one, since
he did not wish to engage Gahan personally, while it appeared
that there was little likelihood of his being able to escape.
There was just one hope and that lay in his Princess' Panthan,
so, without more deliberation he ordered the piece onto the
square occupied by the Black Chief.

The sympathies of the spectators were all with Gahan now. If he
lost, the game would be declared a draw, nor do they think better
of drawn games upon Barsoom than do Earth men. If he won, it
would doubtless mean a duel between the two Chiefs, a development
for which they all were hoping. The game already bade fair to be
a short one and it would be an angry crowd should it be decided a
draw with only two men slain. There were great, historic games on
record where of the forty pieces on the field when the game
opened only three survived—the two Princesses and the victorious
Chief.

They blamed U-Dor, though in fact he was well within his rights
in directing his play as he saw fit, nor was a refusal on his
part to engage the Black Chief necessarily an imputation of
cowardice. He was a great chief who had conceived a notion to
possess the slave Tara. There was no honor that could accrue to
him from engaging in combat with slaves and criminals, or an
unknown warrior from Manataj, nor was the stake of sufficient
import to warrant the risk.

But now the duel between Gahan and the Orange Panthan was on and
the decision of the next move was no longer in other hands than
theirs. It was the first time that these Manatorians had seen
Gahan of Gathol fight, but Tara of Helium knew that he was master
of his sword. Could he have seen the proud light in her eyes as
he crossed blades with the wearer of the Orange, he might easily
have wondered if they were the same eyes that had flashed fire
and hatred at him that time he had covered her lips with mad
kisses, in the pits of the palace of O-Tar. As she watched him
she could not but compare his swordplay with that of the greatest
swordsman of two worlds—her father, John Carter, of Virginia, a
Prince of Helium, Warlord of Barsoom—and she knew that the skill
of the Black Chief suffered little by the comparison.

Short and to the point was the duel that decided possession of
the Orange Chief's fourth. The spectators had settled themselves
for an interesting engagement of at least average duration when
they were brought almost standing by a brilliant flash of rapid
swordplay that was over ere one could catch his breath. They saw
the Black Chief step quickly back, his point upon the ground,
while his opponent, his sword slipping from his fingers, clutched
his breast, sank to his knees and then lunged forward upon his
face.

And then Gahan of Gathol turned his eyes directly upon U-Dor of
Manator, three squares away. Three squares is a Chief's
move—three squares in any direction or combination of
directions, only provided that he does not cross the same square
twice in a given move. The people saw and guessed Gahan's
intention. They rose and roared forth their approval as he moved
deliberately across the intervening squares toward the Orange
Chief.

O-Tar, in the royal enclosure, sat frowning upon the scene. O-Tar
was angry. He was angry with U-Dor for having entered this game
for possession of a slave, for whom it had been his wish only
slaves and criminals should strive. He was angry with the warrior
from Manataj for having so far out-generaled and out-fought the
men from Manator. He was angry with the populace because of their
open hostility toward one who had basked in the sunshine of his
favor for long years. O-Tar the jeddak had not enjoyed the
afternoon. Those who surrounded him were equally glum—they, too,
scowled upon the field, the players, and the people. Among them
was a bent and wrinkled old man who gazed through weak and watery
eyes upon the field and the players.

As Gahan entered his square, U-Dor leaped toward him with drawn
sword with such fury as might have overborne a less skilled and
powerful swordsman. For a minute the fighting was fast and
furious and by comparison reducing to insignificance all that had
gone before. Here indeed were two magnificent swordsmen, and here
was to be a battle that bade fair to make up for whatever the
people felt they had been defrauded of by the shortness of the
game. Nor had it continued long before many there were who would
have prophesied that they were witnessing a duel that was to
become historic in the annals of jetan at Manator. Every trick,
every subterfuge, known to the art of fence these men employed.
Time and again each scored a point and brought blood to his
opponent's copper hide until both were red with gore; but neither
seemed able to administer the coup de grace.

From her position upon the opposite side of the field Tara of
Helium watched the long-drawn battle. Always it seemed to her
that the Black Chief fought upon the defensive, or when he
assumed to push his opponent, he neglected a thousand openings
that her practiced eye beheld. Never did he seem in real danger,
nor never did he appear to exert himself to quite the pitch
needful for victory. The duel already had been long contested and
the day was drawing to a close. Presently the sudden transition
from daylight to darkness which, owing to the tenuity of the air
upon Barsoom, occurs almost without the warning twilight of
Earth, would occur. Would the fight never end? Would the game be
called a draw after all? What ailed the Black Chief?

Tara wished that she might answer at least the last of these
questions for she was sure that Turan the panthan, as she knew
him, while fighting brilliantly, was not giving of himself all
that he might. She could not believe that fear was restraining
his hand, but that there was something beside inability to push
U-Dor more fiercely she was confident. What it was, however, she
could not guess.

Once she saw Gahan glance quickly up toward the sinking sun. In
thirty minutes it would be dark. And then she saw and all those
others saw a strange transition steal over the swordplay of the
Black Chief. It was as though he had been playing with the great
dwar, U-Dor, all these hours, and now he still played with him
but there was a difference. He played with him terribly as a
carnivore plays with its victim in the instant before the kill.
The Orange Chief was helpless now in the hands of a swordsman so
superior that there could be no comparison, and the people sat in
open-mouthed wonder and awe as Gahan of Gathol cut his foe to
ribbons and then struck him down with a blow that cleft him to
the chin.

In twenty minutes the sun would set. But what of that?

Long and loud was the applause that rose above the Field of Jetan
at Manator, as The Keeper of the Towers summoned the two
Princesses and the victorious Chief to the center of the field
and presented to the latter the fruits of his prowess, and then,
as custom demanded, the victorious players, headed by Gahan and
the two Princesses, formed in procession behind The Keeper of the
Towers and were conducted to the place of victory before the
royal enclosure that they might receive the commendation of the
jeddak. Those who were mounted gave up their thoats to slaves as
all must be on foot for this ceremony. Directly beneath the royal
enclosure are the gates to one of the tunnels that, passing
beneath the seats, give ingress or egress to or from the Field.
Before this gate the party halted while O-Tar looked down upon
them from above. Val Dor and Floran, passing quietly ahead of the
others, went directly to the gates, where they were hidden from
those who occupied the enclosure with O-Tar. The Keeper of the
Towers may have noticed them, but so occupied was he with the
formality of presenting the victorious Chief to the jeddak that
he paid no attention to them.

"I bring you, O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, U-Kal of Manataj," he
cried in a loud voice that might be heard by as many as possible,
"victor over the Orange in the second of the Jeddak's Games of
the four hundred and thirty-third year of O-Tar, and the slave
woman Tara and the slave woman Lan-O that you may bestow these,
the stakes, upon U-Kal."

As he spoke, a little, wrinkled, old man peered over the rail of
the enclosure down upon the three who stood directly behind The
Keeper, and strained his weak and watery eyes in an effort to
satisfy the curiosity of old age in a matter of no particular
import, for what were two slaves and a common warrior from
Manataj to any who sat with O-Tar the jeddak?

"U-Kal of Manataj," said O-Tar, "you have deserved the stakes.
Seldom have we looked upon more noble swordplay. And you tire of
Manataj there be always here in the city of Manator a place for
you in The Jeddak's Guard."

While the jeddak was speaking the little, old man, failing
clearly to discern the features of the Black Chief, reached into
his pocket-pouch and drew forth a pair of thick-lensed
spectacles, which he placed upon his nose. For a moment he
scrutinized Gahan closely, then he leaped to his feet and
addressing O-Tar pointed a shaking finger it Gahan. As he rose
Tara of Helium clutched the Black Chief's arm.

"Turan!" she whispered. "It is I-Gos, whom I thought to have
slain in the pits of O-Tar. It is I-Gos and he recognizes you and
will—"

But what I-Gos would do was already transpiring. In his falsetto
voice he fairly screamed: "It is the slave Turan who stole the
woman Tara from your throne room, O-Tar. He desecrated the dead
chief I-Mal and wears his harness now!"

Instantly all was pandemonium. Warriors drew their swords and
leaped to their feet. Gahan's victorious players rushed forward
in a body, sweeping The Keeper of the Towers from his feet. Val
Dor and Floran threw open the gates beneath the royal enclosure,
opening the tunnel that led to the avenue in the city beyond the
Towers. Gahan, surrounded by his men, drew Tara and Lan-O into
the passageway, and at a rapid pace the party sought to reach the
opposite end of the tunnel before their escape could be cut off.
They were successful and when they emerged into the city the sun
had set and darkness had come, relieved only by an antiquated and
ineffective lighting system, which cast but a pale glow over the
shadowy streets.

Now it was that Tara of Helium guessed why the Black Chief had
drawn out his duel with U-Dor and realized that he might have
slain his man at almost any moment he had elected. The whole plan
that Gahan had whispered to his players before the game was
thoroughly understood. They were to make their way to The Gate of
Enemies and there offer their services to U-Thor, the great Jed
of Manatos. The fact that most of them were Gatholians and that
Gahan could lead rescuers to the pit where A-Kor, the son of
U-Thor's wife, was confined, convinced the Jed of Gathol that
they would meet with no rebuff at the hands of U-Thor. But even
should he refuse them, still were they bound together to go on
toward freedom, if necessary cutting their way through the forces
of U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies—twenty men against a small
army; but of such stuff are the warriors of Barsoom.

They had covered a considerable distance along the almost
deserted avenue before signs of pursuit developed and then there
came upon them suddenly from behind a dozen warriors mounted on
thoats—a detachment, evidently, from The Jeddak's Guard.
Instantly the avenue was a pandemonium of clashing blades,
cursing warriors, and squealing thoats. In the first onslaught
life blood was spilled upon both sides. Two of Gahan's men went
down, and upon the enemies' side three riderless thoats attested
at least a portion of their casualties.

Gahan was engaged with a fellow who appeared to have been
selected to account for him only, since he rode straight for him
and sought to cut him down without giving the slightest heed to
several who slashed at him as he passed them. The Gatholian,
practiced in the art of combating a mounted warrior from the
ground, sought to reach the left side of the fellow's thoat a
little to the rider's rear, the only position in which he would
have any advantage over his antagonist, or rather the position
that would most greatly reduce the advantage of the mounted man,
and, similarly, the Manatorian strove to thwart his design. And
so the guardsman wheeled and turned his vicious, angry mount
while Gahan leaped in and out in an effort to reach the coveted
vantage point, but always seeking some other opening in his foe's
defense.