The Chessmen of Mars - Edgar Rice Burroughs (best thriller novels of all time txt) 📗

“Tara of Helium,” said the warrior, dropping to one knee, “your words are as food to my hungry heart,” and he took her fingers in his and pressed them to his lips.

Gently she raised him to his feet. “You need not tell me, kneeling,” she said, softly.

Her hand was still in his as he rose and they were very close, and the man was still flushed with the contact of her body since he had carried her from the throne room of O-Tar. He felt his heart pounding in his breast and the hot blood surging through his veins as he looked at her beautiful face, with its downcast eyes and the half-parted lips that he would have given a kingdom to possess, and then he swept her to him and as he crushed her against his breast his lips smothered hers with kisses.

But only for an instant. Like a tigress the girl turned upon him, striking him, and thrusting him away. She stepped back, her head high and her eyes flashing fire. “You would dare?” she cried. “You would dare thus defile a princess of Helium?”

His eyes met hers squarely and there was no shame and no remorse in them.

“Yes, I would dare,” he said. “I would dare love Tara of Helium; but I would not dare defile her or any woman with kisses that were not prompted by love of her alone.” He stepped closer to her and laid his hands upon her shoulders. “Look into my eyes, daughter of The Warlord,” he said, “and tell me that you do not wish the love of Turan, the panthan.”

“I do not wish your love,” she cried, pulling away. “I hate you!” and then turning away she bent her head into the hollow of her arm, and wept.

The man took a step toward her as though to comfort her when he was arrested by the sound of a crackling laugh behind him. Wheeling about, he discovered a strange figure of a man standing in a doorway. It was one of those rarities occasionally to be seen upon Barsoom⁠—an old man with the signs of age upon him. Bent and wrinkled, he had more the appearance of a mummy than a man.

“Love in the pits of O-Tar!” he cried, and again his thin laughter jarred upon the silence of the subterranean vaults. “A strange place to woo! A strange place to woo, indeed! When I was a young man we roamed in the gardens beneath giant pimalias and stole our kisses in the brief shadows of hurtling Thuria. We came not to the gloomy pits to speak of love; but times have changed and ways have changed, though I had never thought to live to see the time when the way of a man with a maid, or a maid with a man would change. Ah, but we kissed them then! And what if they objected, eh? What if they objected? Why, we kissed them more. Ey, ey, those were the days!” and he cackled again. “Ey, well do I recall the first of them I ever kissed, and I’ve kissed an army of them since; she was a fine girl, but she tried to slip a dagger into me while I was kissing her. Ey, ey, those were the days! But I kissed her. She’s been dead over a thousand years now, but she was never kissed again like that while she lived, I’ll swear, not since she’s been dead, either. And then there was that other⁠—” but Turan, seeing a thousand or more years of osculatory memoirs portending, interrupted.

“Tell me, ancient one,” he said, “not of thy loves but of thyself. Who are you? What do you here in the pits of O-Tar?”

“I might ask you the same, young man,” replied the other. “Few there are who visit the pits other than the dead, except my pupils⁠—ey! That is it⁠—you are new pupils! Good! But never before have they sent a woman to learn the great art from the greatest artist. But times have changed. Now, in my day the women did no work⁠—they were just for kissing and loving. Ey, those were the women. I mind the one we captured in the south⁠—ey! she was a devil, but how she could love. She had breasts of marble and a heart of fire. Why, she⁠—”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Turan; “we are pupils, and we are anxious to get to work. Lead on and we will follow.”

“Ey, yes! Ey, yes! Come! All is rush and hurry as though there were not another countless myriad of ages ahead. Ey, yes! as many as lie behind. Two thousand years have passed since I broke my shell and always rush, rush, rush, yet I cannot see that aught has been accomplished. Manator is the same today as it was then⁠—except the girls. We had the girls then. There was one that I gained upon The Fields of Jetan. Ey, but you should have seen⁠—”

“Lead on!” cried Turan. “After we are at work you shall tell us of her.”

“Ey, yes,” said the old fellow and shuffled off down a dimly lighted passage. “Follow me!”

“You are going with him?” asked Tara.

“Why not?” replied Turan. “We know not where we are, or the way from these pits; for I know not east from west; but he doubtless knows and if we are shrewd we may learn from him that which we would know. At least we cannot afford to arouse his suspicions”; and so they followed him⁠—followed along winding corridors and through many chambers, until they came at last to a room in which there were several marble slabs raised upon pedestals some three feet above the floor and upon each slab lay a human corpse.

“Here we are,” exclaimed the old man. “These are fresh and we shall have to get to work upon them soon. I am working