And Gahan, Jed of Gathol--what of him? Plummet-like he fell for a thousand feet and then the storm seized him in its giant clutch and bore him far aloft again.As a bit of paper borne upon a gale he was tossed about in mid-air, the sport and plaything of the wind.Over and over it turned him and upward and downward it carried him, but after each new sally of the element he was brought nearer to the ground.The freaks of cyclonic storms are the rule of cyclonic storms, demolish giant trees, and in the same gust they transport frail infants for miles and deposit them unharmed in their wake.
And so it was with Gahan of Gathol.Expecting momentarily to be dashed to destruction he presently found himself deposited gently upon the soft, ochre moss of a dead sea-bottom, bodily no worse off for his harrowing adventure than in the possession of a slight swelling upon his forehead where the metal hook had struck him.Scarcely able to believe that Fate had dealt thus gently with him, the jed arose slowly, as though more than half convinced that he should discover crushed and splintered bones that would not support his weight.But he was intact.He looked about him in a vain effort at orientation.The air was filled with flying dust and debris.The Sun was obliterated.His vision was confined to a radius of a few hundred yards of ochre moss and dust-filled air.Five hundred yards away in any direction there might have arisen the walls of a great city and he not known it.
It was useless to move from where he was until the air cleared, since he could not know in what direction he was moving, and so he stretched himself upon the moss and waited, pondering the fate of his warriors and his ship, but giving little thought to his own precarious situation.
Lashed to his harness were his swords, his pistols, and a dagger, and in his pocket-pouch a small quantity of the concentrated rations that form a part of the equipment of the fighting men of Barsoom.These things together with trained muscles, high courage, and an undaunted spirit sufficed him for whatever misadventures might lie between him and Gathol, which lay in what direction he knew not, nor at what distance.
The wind was falling rapidly and with it the dust that obscured the landscape.That the storm was over he was convinced, but he chafed at the inactivity the low visibility put upon him, nor did conditions better materially before night fell, so that he was forced to await the new day at the very spot at which the tempest had deposited him.Without his sleeping silks and furs he spent a far from comfortable night, and it was with feelings of unmixed relief that he saw the sudden dawn burst upon him.The air was now clear and in the light of the new day he saw an undulating plain stretching in all directions about him, while to the northwest there were barely discernible the outlines of low hills.Toward the southeast of Gathol was such a country, and as Gahan surmised the direction and the velocity of the storm to have carried him somewhere in the vicinity of the country he thought he recognized, he assumed that Gathol lay behind the hills he now saw, whereas, in reality, it lay far to the northeast.
It was two days before Gahan had crossed the plain and reached the summit of the hills from which he hoped to see his own country, only to meet at last with disappointment.Before him stretched another plain, of even greater proportions than that he had but just crossed, and beyond this other hills.In one material respect this plain differed from that behind him in that it was dotted with occasional isolated hills.Convinced, however, that Gathol lay somewhere in the direction of his search he descended into the valley and bent his steps toward the northwest.
For weeks Gahan of Gathol crossed valleys and hills in search of some familiar landmark that might point his way toward his native land, but the summit of each succeeding ridge revealed but another unfamiliar view.He saw few animals and no men, until he finally came to the belief that he had fallen upon that fabled area of ancient Barsoom which lay under the curse of her olden gods--the once rich and fertile country whose people in their pride and arrogance had denied the deities, and whose punishment had been extermination.
And then, one day, he scaled low hills and looked into an inhabited valley--a valley of trees and cultivated fields and plots of ground enclosed by stone walls surrounding strange towers.He saw people working in the fields, but he did not rush down to greet them.First he must know more of them and whether they might be assumed to be friends or enemies.Hidden by concealing shrubbery he crawled to a vantage point upon a hill that projected further into the valley,and here he lay upon his belly watching the workers closest to him.They were still quite a distance from him and he could not be quite sure of them, but there was something verging upon the unnatural about them.Their heads seemed out of proportion to their bodies--too large.
For a long time he lay watching them and ever more forcibly it was borne in upon his consciousness that they were not as he, and that it would be rash to trust himself among them.Presently he saw a couple appear from the nearest enclosure and slowly approach those who were working nearest to the hill where he lay in hiding.Immediately he was aware that one of these differed from all the others.Even at the greater distance he noted that the head was smaller and as they approached, he was confident that the harness of one of them was not as the harness of its companion or of that of any of those who tilled the fields.
