John Carter (4 page)

L
ATE THAT NIGHT
,
John Carter sat chained to a wall alongside rows of diapered Thark babies. The Thark nursery resembled a dungeon: filthy walls, rusted chains, a hard clay floor.

Female Tharks moved gently along the row of green-skinned hatchlings, tipping kettles of a strong, foul brew into the tiny, hungry mouths. They murmured words, the harsh, unknown language of the Tharks.

The female called Sola approached Carter, hesitantly at first. Then she grabbed hold of his head. When he struggled, she vaulted on top of him, pinning his arms with two of her four hands. Sola was wiry but tall, and she outweighed Carter by a good measure. With her third hand, she forced open his mouth, and with the fourth she poured the brew. He gagged, swallowed, and coughed.

Sola was speaking, too…and as Carter sputtered, he realized he was beginning to understand her words.
“Drink…good…”

He blinked, shook his head. “What's in that stuff?”

Her strange eyes bored into his. When she spoke again, he heard every word clearly.

“The voice of Barsoom.”

After he had consumed the potion, Carter was able to remember and translate the words the Tharks had spoken earlier that day. And then their customs made sense…as much sense, at least, as anything he'd seen in this strange place.

They'd ridden into the city as a troop. Carter, tied to a pack thoat along with the newborns, had watched as a settlement of ruined buildings loomed into view. The troop passed along the ramparts of a seawall and in through a crumbling gate.

A horde of Tharks seemed to materialize, creeping out of every portal, every building's doorway. Hundreds of them swarmed around the returning troop, welcoming their warriors home. Carter noticed that every Thark carried weapons, even the children.

As the warriors came to an open square, the female Tharks—dozens of them—stepped forward. One giant scowling female, whom Carter would come to know as Sarkoja, ordered them into two lines facing each other, roughly five feet apart.

Then Tars Tarkas, leader of the Thark warriors, slashed out, cutting the baskets free from the pack thoat. The babies tumbled to the ground along with Carter, who grunted and lay still for a moment, dazed and stiff. As he watched, the babies reeled, staggered to their feet, and scampered into the gauntlet between the two lines of females.

The females moved in, reaching for the babies. Some of the hatchlings squirmed and dodged away, scuttling and squirming with their four arms, while others allowed themselves to be scooped up. Several times, two females reached for the same baby and began to fight, grappling until one either fell or abandoned the struggle, turning her attention to a different child.

Not for the first time, Carter wondered,
where on Earth am I?

One female—Sola—held back and failed to catch a child. The other women shouted at her, some of them holding out their newly adopted charges to taunt her. Sarkoja strode over to Sola, shoved her backward, and slapped her.

Tars Tarkas stepped forward. “Sarkoja,” he called, in words that Carter would soon come to understand. “Enough!”

Sarkoja glared at Tars. The other women stood in their lines watching the drama. One of them scooped up the last stray child.

Then Sarkoja broke from the line and crossed to Carter, who still lay sprawled on the ground. She scooped him up and hurled him into the gauntlet. Helpless, he landed on the dirt in front of Sola, who had just pulled herself back to her feet.

“Sola can take the little white worm,” Sarkoja said.

Sola looked down at Carter, her expression unreadable. Then she bent down, picked him up, and released him from his bindings. Her touch was softer than he'd expected. Her arms bore an intricate pattern of scars, a chaos of symbols burned and calloused over. The other Tharks, he'd noticed, all bore scarification, but Sola's was by far the most extensive.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“Be still.”

Sarkoja snorted and led the other women away. Sola followed sheepishly, carrying Carter like a baby, past the assembled Tharks. Something metallic and shiny hung from one young warrior's belt—

The medallion. The ancient-looking artifact that had brought Carter to this strange land. He'd lost his grip on it, he realized, when he'd first tumbled down onto these red sands. This Thark warrior must have found it out near the incubator and snatched it up just before harvesting the babies.

Carter leaped free of Sola's grasp and slammed into the surprised warrior, knocking him into several of the others. As they howled in anger, Carter reached out and grabbed the medallion, snapping it free.

Then, incredibly fast, three green arms grasped hold of him, pinning him to the ground. A fourth arm flashed a blade up under Carter's neck, and the grim face of the grizzled, broken-tusked warrior glared down at him.

The medallion slipped from Carter's fingers.

“Now we kill it,” the warrior said. A drop of spittle flecked his chipped tusk.

“Step away, Tal Hajus.”

Carter recognized Tars Tarkas's voice by now, if not his words.

Tal Hajus hauled Carter roughly to his feet. “You prize
this
more highly than my judgment?”

The towering figure of Tars Tarkas appeared above Carter, right in Tal's face. As Carter watched, their tusks locked together in a clear gesture of challenge, with Carter directly between them.

“Step away,” Tars said slowly.

Tal turned cold with anger. He pressed the blade against Carter's neck. “I claim the right of challenge.”

“And who supports your challenge?”

Still holding the blade to Carter's throat, Tal disengaged his tusks from Tars's and turned to address the assembled Tharks. “Who will pledge their metal to mine?”

Silence.

Tars Tarkas stepped forward and grabbed Carter like a rag doll. “You will not be Jeddak this day, Tal. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Tal Hajus glared back at Tars for a long moment.

“Tomorrow, then.”

Tal whirled and strode off into the crowd. Carter let out a sigh of relief—then coughed as Tars Tarkas dragged him toward the crowd.

“See the prize your Jeddak has found!”

The Tharks gathered around, staring with undisguised curiosity. “Is it a baby white ape?” one asked.

“No,” Tars replied proudly. “It is a rare and valuable animal. It is called a Virginia.”

“Vir-gin-ya,” the Tharks repeated, haltingly.

“Watch. Step back, everyone.” Tars released Carter, who staggered free. “Show them, Virginia. Jump.”

Carter still didn't understand Tars's words, but the meaning of the Thark's gesture was clear. And inside Carter, something snapped. He'd been tossed around, swaddled like an infant, treated like a pet and a slave. He was damned if he'd perform tricks on command.

Tars mimed a jumping motion with three of his hands. “Jump,” he repeated.

Sola stepped forward, gestured encouragingly.

“No,” Carter said.

Tars whacked Carter on the back of the knees. Carter sprawled forward, his face landing just inches from the fallen medallion. The Tharks burst into a storm of laughter, baring their monstrous teeth.

“Sola,” Tars said, “chain him. Initiate him with the other hatchlings.”

Grimacing, Sola clamped a metal collar onto Carter's neck. As the Thark females dragged him to his feet, he heard Tars Tarkas hiss, “By Issus, you will jump tomorrow, Virginia.”

That night Carter was shaved, swabbed, cleaned, and powdered along with the other newborns. No Thark woman seemed to know which of the children was her biological spawn. They just adopted whichever ones they could grab, and then all the hatchlings were put through the same rough process of initiation into Thark society. To Carter, it seemed a cold, inhuman system.

But then, he reminded himself, these people were not human.

After Sola fed him the translation potion, Carter collapsed in exhaustion. He woke in a sweat and looked around at the crowded floor carpeted with snoring babies. Slowly he rose and began to creep toward the entrance. A long chain still tethered him to the wall, rattling as if to remind him of his helplessness.

A fearsome creature barred Carter's way, staring at him with beady eyes. Half lizard, half bulldog, an enormous mouth crammed with rows of sharp teeth. As Carter approached, it rose up on ten stumpy legs.

“Easy, boy,” Carter said softly. “Nice, ugly…dog?”

The creature settled back down again. Past it, the nursery opened onto a clear spiral ramp leading upward. An easy jump—except for the chain. Carter tugged on his shackle, felt a link begin to give way. The creature opened one eye, then closed it again.

The next tug broke Carter's chain. He sprang up and out, vaulting over the surprised animal. He lit easily on top of the spiral ramp, turned to exit—but the animal stood right in front of him. Snuffling.

“How in the world?” Carter asked.

The creature grunted, tried to nudge Carter back down into the nursery. He leaped over it again—and this time he saw it follow in a blur of dust. Carter landed farther up the ramp, a few steps closer to freedom.

The animal didn't seem to want to hurt Carter. In fact, he had the odd feeling it was concerned for his safety. But it sure was slowing him down.

A final jump carried Carter out into the heart of the Thark settlement. Tents lay scattered all around the ruins, filled with sleeping Tharks. Carter landed in a crouch, then stopped to gather his thoughts.

He still had no idea where he was. He'd heard tales of Africa and South America, of remote villages untouched by modern civilization. But none of those accounts had mentioned ten-foot-tall, green-skinned warriors with tusks.

Carter's first instinct was to run for it, to leap for the edge of the settlement and just keep going. But there was nothing around for miles. How long could he survive, alone, in an unfamiliar desert?

The animal from the nursery crept up behind him and growled softly.

“Shoo,” Carter said. “Go away. Git!”

No, he realized, the Tharks were his best option. Now that Carter understood their language, he was in a better position to negotiate with Tars Tarkas. But a weapon would improve his chances even further.

Quietly, followed closely by the gruff animal, Carter crossed the central square to a huge, partly destroyed building. Up on a high terrace, firelight flickered, and the sound of drums and voices wafted down. An armed sentry crossed the terrace.

Carter leaped straight up to the terrace and grabbed the surprised sentry around the neck. As the Thark's four arms flailed about, Carter jabbed him hard on the head and took his long, tapered sword. The sentry went down.

Beyond the terrace, a large pavilion tent stood within the ruined walls of an ancient throne room. Carter crossed silently to the edge of the tent, stopping in the shadows. Through the open side, he could see Tars Tarkas surrounded by his clansmen, eating. A few Tharks pounded on ceremonial drums.

Carter took a deep breath and raised his sword.

Then the animal burst past him, roaring. It slammed clumsily into a group of Tharks, knocking their dishes to the stone floor. Turning to face Carter, it roared again.

The Tharks were upon the creature in an instant, raining down blows on its thick hide.

Carter's first instinct was to protect the animal.

He dove forward, sword upraised, calling out, “That's enough!” He pulled a Thark off the creature and punched him hard, knocking the warrior back a dozen feet into a tent pole. The pole cracked, knocking the tent wall down, and the Thark slammed hard against a stone wall. Dead.

The other Tharks stopped in shock, staring at Carter. He held up his own fist, amazed at his strength.

Tars Tarkas stood now, gazing down at the dead Thark. Slowly he straightened and turned cold eyes on Carter. “You killed him with one blow.”

“I—I didn't mean to—”

Carter realized he now understood Tars's words. But even as the thought flitted through his mind, Tars gestured to the others, and they all set upon Carter with their hands, furious and eager to avenge their fallen comrade.

Carter was still too stunned to fight back. He went limp, wincing as green fists pummeled him into unconsciousness. His last thought was to wonder if he would die here…without ever knowing where
here
really was.

S
LOWLY
,
Sarkoja raised the white-hot iron out of the flame. She smiled the horrific grin of the Tharks. Then she brought the iron down firmly onto Sola's heavily scarred arm.

Sola's flesh sizzled. She struggled against the bonds that held her fast. But she didn't cry out.

“For the love of God!” Carter screamed.

He stood chained in the plaza square, watching helplessly as the Tharks performed their barbaric scarification ritual. Tars Tarkas and the others had blamed Sola for Carter's escape. This was her punishment. Her arms were lashed to an X-shaped frame, and Sarkoja crouched over her, relishing every second of Sola's pain. Under the hot sun, the assembled Tharks watched, hungry for blood or perhaps just for a diversion.

As the brand burned into Sola's flesh again, Carter leaned forward. “It was
my
fault—”

Tal Hajus strode forward and slapped Carter hard in the face. “Silence!”

“Do that again and I'll—”

Tal slapped him again.

“Enough!”

All eyes followed Tars Tarkas as he pulled Sarkoja away from her captive. Sarkoja snarled and waved the iron in the air, but Tars ignored her. He raised his knife and cut Sola loose.

Sola's arms were covered with welts. “There is no room for another mark, Sola,” Tars said. “Your next offense will be your last.”

Something in the Thark's tone made Carter look away. Then he felt a tugging and turned to see Tars holding his chain like a leash.

“Jump, Virginia.”

Carter glared at Tars briefly. He wanted nothing more to do with these savages…whoever they were, wherever they came from.

“You will jump, Virginia.
Now
.”

From behind Tars Tarkas, Sola fixed pleading eyes on Carter.

“Fliers!”

Everyone looked up. High on a battered rooftop was a Thark scout pointing wildly at the sky.

“You are the stones,” Tars Tarkas said. “The sand!”

The Tharks scattered silently, slipping like ghosts into the doorways and arcades, the holes and windows and hiding places they'd carved out in the ruins. A few burrowed into drifts of sand, leaving only the nostrils on top of their heads exposed.

Tars yanked sharply on Carter's chain, pulling him toward a collapsed outpost tower. Carter glanced skyward again and heard the first faint rumbling from above. Hurriedly, he turned to follow the Thark leader.

Tharks crowded the collapsed battlements, staring at the sky. A bookmaker moved among them collecting armbands, torques, and other valuables into a bowl. “Helium,” a Thark said. Another sneered at him. “Zodanga!” A third dropped a necklace into the bowl. “Helium.”

Carter stretched his limbs, struggling to peer up into the sky. Tars had loosened his chains, but his muscles still ached. Up above, three vicious looking, red-colored airships pursued a single, ornate one flying a blue flag.

“Zodanga are the red flag,” Tars said. “Helium, the blue.”

Carter pointed at the lead Zodangan ship. A deadly looking black weapon gripped its side, tendrils reaching into the hull. The weapon looked out of place, like a living creature stitched to a machine. “What is that?”

Tars peered through a spyglass for a moment, then shrugged.

“Flying ships,” Carter whispered.

The lead Zodangan ship pulled almost directly overhead. Its eerie blue weapon began to glow bright, then fired a bolt of blue energy directly at the Helium vessel. When it struck, the Helium ship glowed, listed, and sparked. Carter thought he saw a man on the side stiffen, cry out, and vanish in the blue light.

The Helium ship stopped dead in the air, hovering just above the ruins. The Tharks cheered.

Carter turned to Tars. “Your people root for Zodanga?”

“Zodanga is winning the war. But it makes no difference to us. I say let red men kill red men until only Tharks remain.”

Above, the blue beam flashed out again. “That don't look like a fair fight,” Carter said.

Tars stared grimly through the spyglass. “Zodanga never fights fair.”

Sab Than watched with satisfaction as his crew marched the last of the Helium prisoners onto the deck of his airship. A prisoner stumbled as he stepped off the gangplank, almost falling into the open air between the two ships.

The Heliumites fell passively into a line, facing their captors. Their faces were hidden by protective helmets, but Sab Than could almost smell their fear. They'd just seen dozens of their fellow crewmen disintegrate, wiped from existence by the blue ray. And now they were prisoners of Zodanga.

Sab Than smiled. Encasing his hand, the Thern pistol pulsed like a living thing.

He strode down the line, flipping open the first prisoner's helmet. Sab scanned the young face and frowned. He moved to the second prisoner, then the third.

He stopped at the fourth, an older man with slate-dark eyes set against reddish skin. “Where is she?”

The man said nothing.

Sab Than raised his hand and fired the Thern weapon. The prisoner screamed, flashed blue, and vanished.

The next prisoner's eyes were wide with fear when Sab pulled up his helmet. Sab raised the weapon and held its glowing tip right before the man's face. “Where is sh—”

“Sire!”

Sab Than whirled to see a crewman pointing toward the captive Helium ship. The gangway between the ships lurched, jerking violently up and to the side. Zodangan soldiers, caught on the gangway, flailed wildly, struggling to maintain their balance.

The Helium corsair was pulling away, spreading its vanes to gather power. Trying to break free.

“Who's on that ship?” Sab Than demanded.

“Only our own men,” the boarding party leader replied. “We left no Heliumites alive, sire. I swear!”

“To the bridge. Move!” Sab turned, pointed, saw one of the Heliumites give a signal—and then the prisoners were upon them. They swarmed over their captors, and a brawl began.

“Finish them!” Sab Than screamed, firing his hand weapon. Another Heliumite dissolved in blue fire.

The gangplank snapped. Zodangans screamed and toppled off into the open air.

Sab Than raced for the bridge, dodging both his own soldiers and the rebel Heliumites. This was not the end, he vowed. Before this day was out, he would possess the Helium princess's hand in marriage—and Barsoom would be united under his iron rule.

Sab stopped just before the bridge entrance and glanced over the side of the deck. His sister ship was arcing in toward the runaway Helium corsair, moving to intercept it. But the corsair was moving too fast…

Zodangan soldiers rained down among the Tharks, their necks snapping and heads crunching as they struck the stone ruins. The Tharks pointed with each impact, groaning in glee and mock sympathy.

“Those ships are gonna collide,” Carter said.

As he and Tars watched, the Helium corsair picked up speed and struck the second Zodangan ship with a sickening crunch. The corsair listed sharply to one side, its solar vanes cracked and damaged. More Zodangans spilled off the deck, dropping to their deaths among the uncaring Tharks.

But Carter's eye was caught by another motion on the corsair's deck. He snatched the spyglass away from Tars, ignoring the Thark's protest. Through it he saw an armored, visored figure, dressed very differently from the red-garbed Zodangans, tumble across the deck to pitch over the side. The figure sailed through the air for a moment, then managed to catch hold of the ship's gunwale projecting off the side. The figure's helmet flipped off, and long brown hair spilled out.

Carter's first thought was:
she's beautiful
.

His second:
she's human
.

The woman was tall and lush, with full lips, strong arms, and a rich red hue to her skin. She hung desperately from the airship, her deep blue eyes searching wildly. For an instant they seemed to lock on Carter's, through the spyglass.

Faintly, he heard her cry out for help.

Carter tossed the spyglass to Tars and took off with a leap, soaring high up into the air. His chain unspooled behind him. Tars reached for it, but the Thark was too late.

Carter arced down toward a rooftop, almost missing it; the chain's weight was throwing him off. As he landed, he heard the woman's cry, clearer this time. He glanced up at her thrashing figure, then around at the various buildings. Only a few roofs stood higher than his current position. Gathering up his chain, he jumped again, gaining a few more feet. If the ship kept drifting…and if he could just get a little bit closer to it…

For the first time since the Apache cave, Carter felt a sense of purpose—maybe, he realized with a shock, for the first time since the war.

I won't fail you
, he thought. And leaped again, ever closer to the strange red woman with the flowing hair.

Down on the ground, the Thark bookmaker continued his rounds. He stepped over a fallen Zodangan soldier, cocked his head at Tars Tarkas. “Zodanga or Helium?”

Grimacing, Tars dropped an amulet into the bookmaker's bowl.

“I bet Virginia,” he said.