[JohnCarterofMars]

For all of you ppl out there, I'd like to post some entertaining reading. This is what inspired me to take on the name "John Carter" as a alias online. I can say that I only strive to be the true warrior and hero that John Carter of Edgar Rice Burroughs is and ever will be!

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The Project Gutenberg Etext of A PRINCESS OF MARS

by Edgar Rice Burroughs





CHAPTER I




ON THE ARIZONA HILLS


I am a very old man; how old I do not know. Possibly I am
a hundred, possibly more; but I cannot tell because I have
never aged as other men, nor do I remember any childhood.
So far as I can recollect I have always been a man, a man
of about thirty. I appear today as I did forty years and
more ago, and yet I feel that I cannot go on living forever;
that some day I shall die the real death from which there is
no resurrection. I do not know why I should fear death,
I who have died twice and am still alive; but yet I have the
same horror of it as you who have never died, and it is
because of this terror of death, I believe, that I am so
convinced of my mortality.

And because of this conviction I have determined to write
down the story of the interesting periods of my life and of
my death. I cannot explain the phenomena;I can only set
down here in the words of an ordinary soldier of fortune a
chronicle of the strange events that befell me during the ten
years that my dead body lay undiscovered in an Arizona
cave.

I have never told this story, nor shall mortal man see this
manuscript until after I have passed over for eternity. I know
that the average human mind will not believe what it cannot
grasp, and so I do not purpose being pilloried by the public,
the pulpit, and the press, and held up as a colossal
liar when I am but telling the simple truths which some day
science will substantiate. Possibly the suggestions which I
gained upon Mars, and the knowledge which I can set down
in this chronicle, will aid in an earlier understanding of the
mysteries of our sister planet; mysteries to you, but no
longer mysteries to me.

My name is John Carter; I am better known as Captain Jack
Carter of Virginia. At the close of the Civil War I found
myself possessed of several hundred thousand dollars
(Confederate) and a captain's commission in the cavalry arm
of an army which no longer existed; the servant of a state
which had vanished with the hopes of the South. Masterless,
penniless, and with my only means of livelihood, fighting,
gone, I determined to work my way to the southwest and
attempt to retrieve my fallen fortunes in a search for gold.

I spent nearly a year prospecting in company with another
Confederate officer, Captain James K. Powell of Richmond.
We were extremely fortunate, for late in the winter of
1865, after many hardships and privations, we located the
most remarkable gold-bearing quartz vein that our wildest
dreams had ever pictured. Powell, who was a mining engineer
by education, stated that we had uncovered over a million
dollars worth of ore in a trifle over three months.

As our equipment was crude in the extreme we decided
that one of us must return to civilization, purchase the
necessary machinery and return with a sufficient force of
men properly to work the mine.

As Powell was familiar with the country, as well as with
the mechanical requirements of mining we determined that
it would be best for him to make the trip. It was agreed that
I was to hold down our claim against the remote possibility
of its being jumped by some wandering prospector.

On March 3, 1866, Powell and I packed his provisions on
two of our burros, and bidding me good-bye he mounted
his horse, and started down the mountainside toward the
valley, across which led the first stage of his journey.

The morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly
all Arizona mornings, clear and beautiful; I could see
him and his little pack animals picking their way down the
mountainside toward the valley, and all during the morning I
would catch occasional glimpses of them as they topped a hog
back or came out upon a level plateau. My last sight of
Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the
shadows of the range on the opposite side of the valley.

Some half hour later I happened to glance casually across
the valley and was much surprised to note three little dots
in about the same place I had last seen my friend and his
two pack animals. I am not given to needless worrying, but
the more I tried to convince myself that all was well with
Powell, and that the dots I had seen on his trail were
antelope or wild horses, the less I was able to assure myself.

Since we had entered the territory we had not seen a
hostile Indian, and we had, therefore, become careless in the
extreme, and were wont to ridicule the stories we had
heard of the great numbers of these vicious marauders that
were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll in lives
and torture of every white party which fell into their
merciless clutches.

Powell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an
experienced Indian fighter; but I too had lived and fought
for years among the Sioux in the North, and I knew that his
chances were small against a party of cunning trailing
Apaches. Finally I could endure the suspense no longer,
and, arming myself with my two Colt revolvers and a
carbine, I strapped two belts of cartridges about me and
catching my saddle horse, started down the trail taken by
Powell in the morning.

As soon as I reached comparatively level ground I urged
my mount into a canter and continued this, where the going
permitted, until, close upon dusk, I discovered the point
where other tracks joined those of Powell. They were the
tracks of unshod ponies, three of them, and the ponies had
been galloping.

I followed rapidly until, darkness shutting down, I was
forced to await the rising of the moon, and given an opportunity
to speculate on the question of the wisdom of my chase.
Possibly I had conjured up impossible dangers, like
some nervous old housewife, and when I should catch up
with Powell would get a good laugh for my pains.
However, I am not prone to sensitiveness, and the following
of a sense of duty, wherever it may lead, has always been a
kind of fetich with me throughout my life; which may account
for the honors bestowed upon me by three republics and the
decorations and friendships of an old and powerful emperor
and several lesser kings, in whose service my sword has
been red many a time.

About nine o'clock the moon was sufficiently bright for
me to proceed on my way and I had no difficulty in following
the trail at a fast walk, and in some places at a brisk
trot until, about midnight, I reached the water hole where
Powell had expected to camp. I came upon the spot unexpectedly,
finding it entirely deserted, with no signs of having been
recently occupied as a camp.

I was interested to note that the tracks of the pursuing
horsemen, for such I was now convinced they must be, continued
after Powell with only a brief stop at the hole for water;
and always at the same rate of speed as his.

I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that
they wished to capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure
of the torture, so I urged my horse onward at a most
dangerous pace, hoping against hope that I would catch up
with the red rascals before they attacked him.

Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint
report of two shots far ahead of me. I knew that Powell
would need me now if ever, and I instantly urged my
horse to his topmost speed up the narrow and difficult
mountain trail.

I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without
hearing further sounds, when the trail suddenly debouched
onto a small, open plateau near the summit of the pass. I
had passed through a narrow, overhanging gorge just before
entering suddenly upon this table land, and the sight which
met my eyes filled me with consternation and dismay.

The little stretch of level land was white with Indian
tepees, and there were probably half a thousand red warriors
clustered around some object near the center of the camp.
Their attention was so wholly riveted to this point of interest
that they did not notice me, and I easily could have
turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and made
my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this
thought did not occur to me until the following day removes
any possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration
of this episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.

I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which
constitutes heroes, because, in all of the hundreds of instances
that my voluntary acts have placed me face to face with
death, I cannot recall a single one where any alternative
step to that I took occurred to me until many hours later.
My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously
forced into the path of duty without recourse to tiresome
mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted
that cowardice is not optional with me.

In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was
the center of attraction, but whether I thought or acted first
I do not know, but within an instant from the moment the
scene broke upon my view I had whipped out my revolvers
and was charging down upon the entire army of warriors,
shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs.
Singlehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for
the red men, convinced by sudden surprise that not less
than a regiment of regulars was upon them, turned and fled
in every direction for their bows, arrows, and rifles.

The view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me
with apprehension and with rage. Under the clear rays of the
Arizona moon lay Powell, his body fairly bristling with the
hostile arrows of the braves. That he was already dead I
could not but be convinced, and yet I would have saved his
body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches as
quickly as I would have saved the man himself from death.

Riding close to him I reached down from the saddle,
and grasping his cartridge belt drew him up across the withers
of my mount. A backward glance convinced me that to
return by the way I had come would be more hazardous
than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to my
poor beast, I made a dash for the opening to the pass which
I could distinguish on the far side of the table land.

The Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone
and I was pursued with imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls.
The fact that it is difficult to aim anything but imprecations
accurately by moonlight, that they were upset by the sudden
and unexpected manner of my advent, and that I was a
rather rapidly moving target saved me from the various
deadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me to reach
the shadows of the surrounding peaks before an orderly
pursuit could be organized.

My horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew
that I had probably less knowledge of the exact location of
the trail to the pass than he, and thus it happened that he
entered a defile which led to the summit of the range and not
to the pass which I had hoped would carry me to the
valley and to safety. It is probable, however, that to this
fact I owe my life and the remarkable experiences and
adventures which befell me during the following ten years.

My first knowledge that I was on the wrong trail came
when I heard the yells of the pursuing savages suddenly
grow fainter and fainter far off to my left.

I knew then that they had passed to the left of the jagged
rock formation at the edge of the plateau, to the right of
which my horse had borne me and the body of Powell.

I drew rein on a little level promontory overlooking the
trail below and to my left, and saw the party of pursuing
savages disappearing around the point of a neighboring peak.

I knew the Indians would soon discover that they were
on the wrong trail and that the search for me would be renewed
in the right direction as soon as they located my tracks.

I had gone but a short distance further when what
seemed to be an excellent trail opened up around the face of
a high cliff. The trail was level and quite broad and led upward
and in the general direction I wished to go. The cliff
arose for several hundred feet on my right, and on my left
was an equal and nearly perpendicular drop to the bottom
of a rocky ravine.

I had followed this trail for perhaps a hundred yards
when a sharp turn to the right brought me to the mouth of
a large cave. The opening was about four feet in height and
three to four feet wide, and at this opening the trail ended.

It was now morning, and, with the customary lack of dawn
which is a startling characteristic of Arizona, it had become
daylight almost without warning.

Dismounting, I laid Powell upon the ground, but the most
painstaking examination failed to reveal the faintest spark
of life. I forced water from my canteen between his dead
lips, bathed his face and rubbed his hands, working over him
continuously for the better part of an hour in the face of
the fact that I knew him to be dead.

I was very fond of Powell; he was thoroughly a man in
every respect; a polished southern gentleman; a staunch and
true friend; and it was with a feeling of the deepest grief that
I finally gave up my crude endeavors at resuscitation.

Leaving Powell's body where it lay on the ledge I crept
into the cave to reconnoiter. I found a large chamber,
possibly a hundred feet in diameter and thirty or forty feet
in height; a smooth and well-worn floor, and many other
evidences that the cave had, at some remote period, been inhabited.
The back of the cave was so lost in dense shadow that I could not
distinguish whether there were openings into other apartments or not.

As I was continuing my examination I commenced to feel
a pleasant drowsiness creeping over me which I attributed
to the fatigue of my long and strenuous ride, and the reaction
from the excitement of the fight and the pursuit. I felt
comparatively safe in my present location as I knew that
one man could defend the trail to the cave against an army.

I soon became so drowsy that I could scarcely resist the
strong desire to throw myself on the floor of the cave for
a few moments' rest, but I knew that this would never do, as
it would mean certain death at the hands of my red friends,
who might be upon me at any moment. With an effort I
started toward the opening of the cave only to reel drunkenly
against a side wall, and from there slip prone upon the floor.


_________________
JohnCarter, Warlord of Mars
--it was Mars, the god of war,
and for me, the fighting man, it had always held the power of irresistible enchantment.




<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: JohnCarterofMars on 2002-02-06 09:24 ]</font>

[JohnCarterofMars]

...so I am unlocking the thread to see what you all might have to say about the first chapter of The Princess of Mars. Spit it out! And don't hold back, cause I like to hear whatever you've got to say about it. Plus if you have any thoughts about how it is to read these chapters at the forums add those too. I might try to break down each chapter so that they are not such long segments to read. Anyway, I look foward to your comments!

_________________
JohnCarter, Warlord of Mars

[CyC0Dad]

I find it pretty interesting JD, it has been Soooo long since I read them that it seems like the first time again. E.R.B. was my introduction into fantasy and Sci-fi along with Campbells Conan series.

Ummm could you get in trouble for posting them here, or are they officially out of print ?

[thewz]

Where can I get this book?

Has anyone ever read the sphere by micheal chrichton? or Atlantis found, by clive cussler? They are both excellent books. Another good book is the hunt for red october, by Tom Clancy.

[Kjeldorian Royal Guard 42]

I prefer the coffee table book "The Many Types of Yarn" by Simon and Shuester!

_________________
Recipient of POTM award
Creator of Warz/Ville Golf Classic
<TVB> Member/Event Coordinator/Council - Retired
=US-V= Member/Event Coordinator - Retired
<eVa> Founding Father/Leadership/Webmaster - Retired
Ville Admin - Retired

[(+)ASSASSIN(+)]

JCOM, I was reading it here at work and it caught my attention pretty quickly, too bad it couldnt have kept going as it was getting more interesting the more I read it



_________________
Killing is my bidness ladies and BIDNESS IS GOOD!!!!

[Snaggletooth]

Speaking of coffee table books, "Our Dumb Century" from the publishers of the Onion.

[JohnCarterofMars]

Well, this is public domain according to the disclaimer at the beginning of the E-Text by Project Guttenburg. There are no copyrights involved. Please feel free to check out the main site: http://promo.net/pg/index.html

There are many books available for downloading and reading. As long as one doesn't try to sell this stuff for money, there is nothing illegal. I am glad that you all liked it and I will post the second chapter. Do stay tuned as I continue with the entire book at the 'Ville. And please, check out the project guttenburg website. Who knows, you might be as big a bookworm as I and want to contribute to their cause!

Power to the BOOK!

[ This Message was edited by: JohnCarterofMars on 2002-02-07 17:10 ]

[Whybkuul]

[JohnCarterofMars]

CHAPTER II

THE ESCAPE OF THE DEAD



A sense of delicious dreaminess overcame me, my muscles relaxed,
and I was on the point of giving way to my desire to sleep when the
sound of approaching horses reached my ears. I attempted to spring
to my feet but was horrified to discover that my muscles refused to
respond to my will. I was now thoroughly awake, but as unable to
move a muscle as though turned to stone. It was then, for the first
time, that I noticed a slight vapor filling the cave. It was
extremely tenuous and only noticeable against the opening which led
to daylight. There also came to my nostrils a faintly pungent odor,
and I could only assume that I had been overcome by some poisonous
gas, but why I should retain my mental faculties and yet be unable
to move I could not fathom.

I lay facing the opening of the cave and where I could see the short
stretch of trail which lay between the cave and the turn of the
cliff around which the trail led. The noise of the approaching
horses had ceased, and I judged the Indians were creeping stealthily
upon me along the little ledge which led to my living tomb. I
remember that I hoped they would make short work of me as I did not
particularly relish the thought of the innumerable things they might
do to me if the spirit prompted them.

I had not long to wait before a stealthy sound apprised me of their
nearness, and then a war-bonneted, paint-streaked face was thrust
cautiously around the shoulder of the cliff, and savage eyes looked
into mine. That he could see me in the dim light of the cave I was
sure for the early morning sun was falling full upon me through the
opening.

The fellow, instead of approaching, merely stood and stared; his
eyes bulging and his jaw dropped. And then another savage face
appeared, and a third and fourth and fifth, craning their necks over
the shoulders of their fellows whom they could not pass upon the
narrow ledge. Each face was the picture of awe and fear, but for
what reason I did not know, nor did I learn until ten years later.
That there were still other braves behind those who regarded me was
apparent from the fact that the leaders passed back whispered word
to those behind them.

Suddenly a low but distinct moaning sound issued from the recesses
of the cave behind me, and, as it reached the ears of the Indians,
they turned and fled in terror, panic-stricken. So frantic were
their efforts to escape from the unseen thing behind me that one of
the braves was hurled headlong from the cliff to the rocks below.
Their wild cries echoed in the canyon for a short time, and then
all was still once more.

The sound which had frightened them was not repeated, but it had
been sufficient as it was to start me speculating on the possible
horror which lurked in the shadows at my back. Fear is a relative
term and so I can only measure my feelings at that time by what I
had experienced in previous positions of danger and by those that I
have passed through since; but I can say without shame that if the
sensations I endured during the next few minutes were fear, then may
God help the coward, for cowardice is of a surety its own
punishment.

To be held paralyzed, with one's back toward some horrible and
unknown danger from the very sound of which the ferocious Apache
warriors turn in wild stampede, as a flock of sheep would madly
flee from a pack of wolves, seems to me the last word in fearsome
predicaments for a man who had ever been used to fighting for his
life with all the energy of a powerful physique.

Several times I thought I heard faint sounds behind me as of
somebody moving cautiously, but eventually even these ceased, and I
was left to the contemplation of my position without interruption.
I could but vaguely conjecture the cause of my paralysis, and my
only hope lay in that it might pass off as suddenly as it had fallen
upon me.

Late in the afternoon my horse, which had been standing with
dragging rein before the cave, started slowly down the trail,
evidently in search of food and water, and I was left alone with
my mysterious unknown companion and the dead body of my friend,
which lay just within my range of vision upon the ledge where I
had placed it in the early morning.

From then until possibly midnight all was silence, the silence of
the dead; then, suddenly, the awful moan of the morning broke upon
my startled ears, and there came again from the black shadows the
sound of a moving thing, and a faint rustling as of dead leaves.
The shock to my already overstrained nervous system was terrible in
the extreme, and with a superhuman effort I strove to break my awful
bonds. It was an effort of the mind, of the will, of the nerves;
not muscular, for I could not move even so much as my little finger,
but none the less mighty for all that. And then something gave,
there was a momentary feeling of nausea, a sharp click as of the
snapping of a steel wire, and I stood with my back against the wall
of the cave facing my unknown foe.

And then the moonlight flooded the cave, and there before me lay my
own body as it had been lying all these hours, with the eyes staring
toward the open ledge and the hands resting limply upon the ground.
I looked first at my lifeless clay there upon the floor of the cave
and then down at myself in utter bewilderment; for there I lay
clothed, and yet here I stood but naked as at the minute of my
birth.

The transition had been so sudden and so unexpected that it left me
for a moment forgetful of aught else than my strange metamorphosis.
My first thought was, is this then death! Have I indeed passed over
forever into that other life! But I could not well believe this, as
I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs from the exertion of
my efforts to release myself from the anaesthesis which had held me.
My breath was coming in quick, short gasps, cold sweat stood out
from every pore of my body, and the ancient experiment of pinching
revealed the fact that I was anything other than a wraith.

Again was I suddenly recalled to my immediate surroundings by a
repetition of the weird moan from the depths of the cave. Naked and
unarmed as I was, I had no desire to face the unseen thing which
menaced me.

My revolvers were strapped to my lifeless body which, for some
unfathomable reason, I could not bring myself to touch. My carbine
was in its boot, strapped to my saddle, and as my horse had wandered
off I was left without means of defense. My only alternative seemed
to lie in flight and my decision was crystallized by a recurrence of
the rustling sound from the thing which now seemed, in the darkness
of the cave and to my distorted imagination, to be creeping
stealthily upon me.

Unable longer to resist the temptation to escape this horrible place
I leaped quickly through the opening into the starlight of a clear
Arizona night. The crisp, fresh mountain air outside the cave acted
as an immediate tonic and I felt new life and new courage coursing
through me. Pausing upon the brink of the ledge I upbraided myself
for what now seemed to me wholly unwarranted apprehension. I
reasoned with myself that I had lain helpless for many hours within
the cave, yet nothing had molested me, and my better judgment, when
permitted the direction of clear and logical reasoning, convinced me
that the noises I had heard must have resulted from purely natural
and harmless causes; probably the conformation of the cave was such
that a slight breeze had caused the sounds I heard.

I decided to investigate, but first I lifted my head to fill my
lungs with the pure, invigorating night air of the mountains. As I
did so I saw stretching far below me the beautiful vista of rocky
gorge, and level, cacti-studded flat, wrought by the moonlight into
a miracle of soft splendor and wondrous enchantment.

Few western wonders are more inspiring than the beauties of an
Arizona moonlit landscape; the silvered mountains in the distance,
the strange lights and shadows upon hog back and arroyo, and the
grotesque details of the stiff, yet beautiful cacti form a picture
at once enchanting and inspiring; as though one were catching for
the first time a glimpse of some dead and forgotten world, so
different is it from the aspect of any other spot upon our earth.

As I stood thus meditating, I turned my gaze from the landscape to
the heavens where the myriad stars formed a gorgeous and fitting
canopy for the wonders of the earthly scene. My attention was
quickly riveted by a large red star close to the distant horizon.
As I gazed upon it I felt a spell of overpowering fascination--it
was Mars, the god of war, and for me, the fighting man, it had
always held the power of irresistible enchantment. As I gazed at
it on that far-gone night it seemed to call across the unthinkable
void, to lure me to it, to draw me as the lodestone attracts a
particle of iron.

My longing was beyond the power of opposition; I closed my eyes,
stretched out my arms toward the god of my vocation and felt myself
drawn with the suddenness of thought through the trackless immensity
of space. There was an instant of extreme cold and utter darkness.
_________________
JohnCarter, Warlord of Mars

[-=ITS=-GaladerieL[Vegas]]

Bumps this up and wants to thxs jcom for bringing in chapter 2 .. hoping everybody is enjoying this as much as i am..

[JohnCarterofMars]

CHAPTER III


MY ADVENT ON MARS


I opened my eyes upon a strange and weird landscape. I
knew that I was on Mars; not once did I question either my
sanity or my wakefulness. I was not asleep, no need for pinching
here; my inner consciousness told me as plainly that I was
upon Mars as your conscious mind tells you that you are upon
Earth. You do not question the fact; neither did I.

I found myself lying prone upon a bed of yellowish,
mosslike vegetation which stretched around me in all directions
for interminable miles. I seemed to be lying in a deep, circular
basin, along the outer verge of which I could distinguish the
irregularities of low hills.

It was midday, the sun was shining full upon me and the
heat of it was rather intense upon my naked body, yet no
greater than would have been true under similar conditions on
an Arizona desert. Here and there were slight outcroppings
of quartz-bearing rock which glistened in the sunlight; and
a little to my left, perhaps a hundred yards, appeared a low,
walled enclosure about four feet in height. No water, and
no other vegetation than the moss was in evidence, and as I
was somewhat thirsty I determined to do a little exploring.

Springing to my feet I received my first Martian surprise,
for the effort, which on Earth would have brought me standing
upright, carried me into the Martian air to the height of about
three yards. I alighted softly upon the ground, however, without
appreciable shock or jar. Now commenced a series of
evolutions which even then seemed ludicrous in the extreme.
I found that I must learn to walk all over again, as the muscular
exertion which carried me easily and safely upon Earth played
strange antics with me upon Mars.

Instead of progressing in a sane and dignified manner, my
attempts to walk resulted in a variety of hops which took me
clear of the ground a couple of feet at each step and landed
me sprawling upon my face or back at the end of each second
or third hop. My muscles, perfectly attuned and accustomed
to the force of gravity on Earth, played the mischief with me
in attempting for the first time to cope with the lesser gravitation
and lower air pressure on Mars.

I was determined, however, to explore the low structure
which was the only evidence of habitation in sight, and so I
hit upon the unique plan of reverting to first principles in
locomotion, creeping. I did fairly well at this and in a few
moments had reached the low, encircling wall of the enclosure.

There appeared to be no doors or windows upon the side
nearest me, but as the wall was but about four feet high I
cautiously gained my feet and peered over the top upon the
strangest sight it had ever been given me to see.

The roof of the enclosure was of solid glass about four or
five inches in thickness, and beneath this were several hundred
large eggs, perfectly round and snowy white. The eggs were
nearly uniform in size being about two and one-half feet in
diameter.

Five or six had already hatched and the grotesque caricatures
which sat blinking in the sunlight were enough to cause
me to doubt my sanity. They seemed mostly head, with little
scrawny bodies, long necks and six legs, or, as I afterward
learned, two legs and two arms, with an intermediary pair of
limbs which could be used at will either as arms or legs. Their
eyes were set at the extreme sides of their heads a trifle above
the center and protruded in such a manner that they could
be directed either forward or back and also independently of
each other, thus permitting this queer animal to look in any
direction, or in two directions at once, without the necessity
of turning the head.

The ears, which were slightly above the eyes and closer together,
were small, cup-shaped antennae, protruding not more than an inch on
these young specimens. Their noses were but longitudinal slits in
the center of their faces, midway between their mouths and ears.

There was no hair on their bodies, which were of a very
light yellowish-green color. In the adults, as I was to learn
quite soon, this color deepens to an olive green and is darker
in the male than in the female. Further, the heads of the
adults are not so out of proportion to their bodies as in the
case of the young.

The iris of the eyes is blood red, as in Albinos, while the
pupil is dark. The eyeball itself is very white, as are the teeth.
These latter add a most ferocious appearance to an otherwise
fearsome and terrible countenance, as the lower tusks
curve upward to sharp points which end about where the eyes
of earthly human beings are located. The whiteness of the
teeth is not that of ivory, but of the snowiest and most gleaming
of china. Against the dark background of their olive
skins their tusks stand out in a most striking manner, making
these weapons present a singularly formidable appearance.

Most of these details I noted later, for I was given but little
time to speculate on the wonders of my new discovery. I had
seen that the eggs were in the process of hatching, and as I
stood watching the hideous little monsters break from their
shells I failed to note the approach of a score of full-grown
Martians from behind me.

Coming, as they did, over the soft and soundless moss,
which covers practically the entire surface of Mars with the
exception of the frozen areas at the poles and the scattered
cultivated districts, they might have captured me easily, but
their intentions were far more sinister. It was the rattling of
the accouterments of the foremost warrior which warned me.

On such a little thing my life hung that I often marvel that
I escaped so easily. Had not the rifle of the leader of the
party swung from its fastenings beside his saddle in such a
way as to strike against the butt of his great metal shod spear
I should have snuffed out without ever knowing that death was
near me. But the little sound caused me to turn, and there
upon me, not ten feet from my breast, was the point of that
huge spear, a spear forty feet long, tipped with gleaming
metal, and held low at the side of a mounted replica of the
little devils I had been watching.

But how puny and harmless they now looked beside this
huge and terrific incarnation of hate, of vengeance and of
death. The man himself, for such I may call him, was fully
fifteen feet in height and, on Earth, would have weighed some
four hundred pounds. He sat his mount as we sit a horse,
grasping the animal's barrel with his lower limbs, while the
hands of his two right arms held his immense spear low at the
side of his mount; his two left arms were outstretched laterally
to help preserve his balance, the thing he rode having neither
bridle or reins of any description for guidance.

And his mount! How can earthly words describe it! It
towered ten feet at the shoulder; had four legs on either
side; a broad flat tail, larger at the tip than at the root, and
which it held straight out behind while running; a gaping
mouth which split its head from its snout to its long, massive
neck.

Like its master, it was entirely devoid of hair, but was of a
dark slate color and exceeding smooth and glossy. Its belly
was white, and its legs shaded from the slate of its shoulders
and hips to a vivid yellow at the feet. The feet themselves were
heavily padded and nailless, which fact had also contributed
to the noiselessness of their approach, and, in common
with a multiplicity of legs, is a characteristic feature of the
fauna of Mars. The highest type of man and one other animal,
the only mammal existing on Mars, alone have well-formed
nails, and there are absolutely no hoofed animals in existence
there.

Behind this first charging demon trailed nineteen others,
similar in all respects, but, as I learned later, bearing
individual characteristics peculiar to themselves; precisely as
no two of us are identical although we are all cast in a similar
mold. This picture, or rather materialized nightmare, which
I have described at length, made but one terrible and swift
impression on me as I turned to meet it.

Unarmed and naked as I was, the first law of nature manifested
itself in the only possible solution of my immediate problem,
and that was to get out of the vicinity of the point of
the charging spear. Consequently I gave a very earthly and at
the same time superhuman leap to reach the top of the
Martian incubator, for such I had determined it must be.

My effort was crowned with a success which appalled me
no less than it seemed to surprise the Martian warriors, for it
carried me fully thirty feet into the air and landed me a
hundred feet from my pursuers and on the opposite side of
the enclosure.

I alighted upon the soft moss easily and without mishap,
and turning saw my enemies lined up along the further wall.
Some were surveying me with expressions which I afterward
discovered marked extreme astonishment, and the others were
evidently satisfying themselves that I had not molested their
young.

They were conversing together in low tones, and
gesticulating and pointing toward me. Their discovery that I had
not harmed the little Martians, and that I was unarmed, must have
caused them to look upon me with less ferocity; but, as I was
to learn later, the thing which weighed most in my favor was
my exhibition of hurdling.

While the Martians are immense, their bones are very large
and they are muscled only in proportion to the gravitation
which they must overcome. The result is that they are infinitely
less agile and less powerful, in proportion to their weight,
than an Earth man, and I doubt that were one of them suddenly
to be transported to Earth he could lift his own weight from
the ground; in fact, I am convinced that he could not do so.

My feat then was as marvelous upon Mars as it would have
been upon Earth, and from desiring to annihilate me they
suddenly looked upon me as a wonderful discovery to be
captured and exhibited among their fellows.

The respite my unexpected agility had given me permitted
me to formulate plans for the immediate future and to note
more closely the appearance of the warriors, for I could not
disassociate these people in my mind from those other
warriors who, only the day before, had been pursuing me.

I noted that each was armed with several other weapons in
addition to the huge spear which I have described. The
weapon which caused me to decide against an attempt at
escape by flight was what was evidently a rifle of some
description, and which I felt, for some reason, they were
peculiarly efficient in handling.

These rifles were of a white metal stocked with wood, which
I learned later was a very light and intensely hard growth
much prized on Mars, and entirely unknown to us denizens
of Earth. The metal of the barrel is an alloy composed
principally of aluminum and steel which they have learned
to temper to a hardness far exceeding that of the steel with
which we are familiar. The weight of these rifles is comparatively
little, and with the small caliber, explosive, radium projectiles
which they use, and the great length of the barrel, they are
deadly in the extreme and at ranges which would be unthinkable
on Earth. The theoretic effective radius of this rifle is
three hundred miles, but the best they can do in actual
service when equipped with their wireless finders and
sighters is but a trifle over two hundred miles.

This is quite far enough to imbue me with great respect for
the Martian firearm, and some telepathic force must have
warned me against an attempt to escape in broad daylight
from under the muzzles of twenty of these death-dealing
machines.

The Martians, after conversing for a short time, turned and
rode away in the direction from which they had come, leaving
one of their number alone by the enclosure. When they had
covered perhaps two hundred yards they halted, and turning
their mounts toward us sat watching the warrior by the
enclosure.

He was the one whose spear had so nearly transfixed me,
and was evidently the leader of the band, as I had noted that
they seemed to have moved to their present position at his
direction. When his force had come to a halt he dismounted,
threw down his spear and small arms, and came around the
end of the incubator toward me, entirely unarmed and as
naked as I, except for the ornaments strapped upon his head,
limbs, and breast.

When he was within about fifty feet of me he unclasped an
enormous metal armlet, and holding it toward me in the
open palm of his hand, addressed me in a clear, resonant
voice, but in a language, it is needless to say, I could not
understand. He then stopped as though waiting for my reply,
pricking up his antennae-like ears and cocking his strange-looking
eyes still further toward me.

As the silence became painful I concluded to hazard a little
conversation on my own part, as I had guessed that he was
making overtures of peace. The throwing down of his weapons
and the withdrawing of his troop before his advance toward
me would have signified a peaceful mission anywhere on
Earth, so why not, then, on Mars!

Placing my hand over my heart I bowed low to the Martian
and explained to him that while I did not understand his
language, his actions spoke for the peace and friendship that
at the present moment were most dear to my heart. Of course
I might have been a babbling brook for all the intelligence
my speech carried to him, but he understood the action with
which I immediately followed my words.

Stretching my hand toward him, I advanced and took the
armlet from his open palm, clasping it about my arm above the
elbow; smiled at him and stood waiting. His wide mouth
spread into an answering smile, and locking one of his
intermediary arms in mine we turned and walked back toward
his mount. At the same time he motioned his followers to
advance. They started toward us on a wild run, but were checked
by a signal from him. Evidently he feared that were I to be
really frightened again I might jump entirely out of the landscape.

He exchanged a few words with his men, motioned to me
that I would ride behind one of them, and then mounted his
own animal. The fellow designated reached down two or
three hands and lifted me up behind him on the glossy
back of his mount, where I hung on as best I could by the
belts and straps which held the Martian's weapons and ornaments.


The entire cavalcade then turned and galloped away toward
the range of hills in the distance.
_________________
JohnCarter, Warlord of Mars

[Shovel me Silly]

A good, but old book about mars is "The Martian Chronicles" by Ray Bradbury. Its a very strange, but really good and a quick read.