ANOTHER CHANGE OF NAME
TURAN dashed himself against the door of his prison in a vain effort to break through the solid skeel to the side of Tara whom he knew to be in grave danger, but the heavy panels held and he succeeded only in bruising his shoulders and his arms.At last he desisted and set about searching his prison for some other means of escape.He found no other opening in the stone walls, but his search revealed a heterogeneous collection of odds and ends of arms and apparel, of harness and ornaments and insignia, and sleeping silks and furs in great quantities.There were swords and spears and several large, two-bladed battle-axes, the heads of which bore a striking resemblance to the propellor of a small flier.Seizing one of these he attacked the door once more with great fury.He expected to hear something from I-Gos at this ruthless destruction, but no sound came to him from beyond the door, which was, he thought, too thick for the human voice to penetrate; but he would have wagered much that I-Gos heard him.
Bits of the hard wood splintered at each impact of the heavy axe, but it was slow work and heavy.Presently he was compelled to rest, and so it went for what seemed hours--working almost to the verge of exhaustion and then resting for a few minutes; but ever the hole grew larger though he could see nothing of the interior of the room beyond because of the hanging that I-Gos had drawn across it after he had locked Turan within.
At last, however, the panthan had hewn an opening through which his body could pass, and seizing a long-sword that he had brought close to the door for the purpose he crawled through into the next room.Flinging aside the arras he stood ready, sword in hand, to fight his way to the side of Tara of Helium--but she was not there.In the center of the room lay I-Gos, dead upon the floor; but Tara of Helium was nowhere to be seen.
Turan was nonplussed.It must have been her hand that had struck down the old man, yet she had made no effort to release Turan from his prison.And then he thought of those last words of hers:
"I do not want your love! I hate you," and the truth dawned upon him--she had seized upon this first opportunity to escape him.
With downcast heart Turan turned away.What should he do? There could be but one answer.While he lived and she lived he must still leave no stone unturned to effect her escape and safe return to the land of her people.But how? How was he even to find his way from this labyrinth? How was he to find her again?
He walked to the nearest doorway.It chanced to be that which led into the room containing the mounted dead, awaiting transportation to balcony or grim room or whatever place was to receive them.His eyes travelled to the great, painted warrior on the thoat and as they ran over the splendid trappings and the serviceable arms a new light came into the pain-dulled eyes of the panthan.With a quick step he crossed to the side of the dead warrior and dragged him from his mount.With equal celerity he stripped him of his harness and his arms, and tearing off his own, donned the regalia of the dead man.Then he hastened back to the room in which he had been trapped, for there he had seen that which he needed to make his disguise complete.In a cabinet he found them--pots of paint that the old taxidermist had used to place the war-paint in its wide bands across the cold faces of dead warriors.
A few moments later Gahan of Gathol emerged from the room a warrior of Manator in every detail of harness, equipment, and ornamentation.He had removed from the leather of the dead man the insignia of his house and rank so that he might pass, with the least danger of arousing suspicion, as a common warrior.
To search for Tara of Helium in the vast, dim labyrinth of the pits of O-Tar seemed to the Gatholian a hopeless quest, foredoomed to failure.It would be wiser to seek the streets of Manator where he might hope to learn first if she had been recaptured and, if not, then he could return to the pits and pursue the hunt for her.To find egress from the maze he must perforce travel a considerable distance through the winding corridors and chambers, since he had no idea as to the location or direction of any exit.In fact, he could not have retraced his steps a hundred yards toward the point at which he and Tara had entered the gloomy caverns, and so he set out in the hope that he might find by accident either Tara of Helium or a way to the street level above.
For a time he passed room after room filled with the cunningly preserved dead of Manator, many of which were piled in tiers after the manner that firewood is corded, and as he moved through corridor and chamber he noticed hieroglyphics painted upon the walls above every opening and at each fork or crossing of corridors, until by observation he reached the conclusion that these indicated the designations of passageways, so that one who understood them might travel quickly and surely through the pits;but Turan did not understand them.Even could he have read the language of Manator they might not materially have aided one unfamiliar with the city; but he could not read them at all since, though there is but one spoken language upon Barsoom, there are as many different written languages as there are nations.One thing, however, soon became apparent to him--the hieroglyphic of a corridor remained the same until the corridor ended.
