Thuvia Maid of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs (feel good books to read txt) 📖

her head sadly. “The love of Carthoris of Helium,” she said simply, “could be naught but an honour to any woman; but you must not speak, my friend, of bestowing upon me that which I may not reciprocate.”

The young man got slowly to his feet. His eyes were wide in astonishment. It never had occurred to the Prince of Helium that Thuvia of Ptarth might love another.

“But at Kadabra!” he exclaimed. “And later here at your father’s court, what did you do, Thuvia of Ptarth, that might have warned me that you could not return my love?”

“And what did I do, Carthoris of Helium,” she returned, “that might lead you to believe that I DID return it?”

He paused in thought, and then shook his head. “Nothing, Thuvia, that is true; yet I could have sworn you loved me. Indeed, you well knew how near to worship has been my love for you.”

“And how might I know it, Carthoris?” she asked innocently. “Did you ever tell me as much? Ever before have words of love for me fallen from your lips?”

“But you MUST have known it!” he exclaimed. “I am like my father—witless in matters of the heart, and of a poor way with women; yet the jewels that strew these royal garden paths—the trees, the flowers, the sward—all must have read the love that has filled my heart since first my eyes were made new by imaging your perfect face and form; so how could you alone have been blind to it?”

“Do the maids of Helium pay court to their men?” asked Thuvia.

“You are playing with me!” exclaimed Carthoris. “Say that you are but playing, and that after all you love me, Thuvia!”

“I cannot tell you that, Carthoris, for I am promised to another.”

Her tone was level, but was there not within it the hint of an infinite depth of sadness? Who may say?

“Promised to another?” Carthoris scarcely breathed the words. His face went almost white, and then his head came up as befitted him in whose veins flowed the blood of the overlord of a world.

“Carthoris of Helium wishes you every happiness with the man of your choice,” he said. “With—” and then he hesitated, waiting for her to fill in the name.

“Kulan Tith, Jeddak of Kaol,” she replied. “My father’s friend and Ptarth’s most puissant ally.”

The young man looked at her intently for a moment before he spoke again.

“You love him, Thuvia of Ptarth?” he asked.

“I am promised to him,” she replied simply.

He did not press her. “He is of Barsoom’s noblest blood and mightiest fighters,” mused Carthoris. “My father’s friend and mine—would that it might have been another!” he muttered almost savagely. What the girl thought was hidden by the mask of her expression, which was tinged only by a little shadow of sadness that might have been for Carthoris, herself, or for them both.

Carthoris of Helium did not ask, though he noted it, for his loyalty to Kulan Tith was the loyalty of the blood of John Carter of Virginia for a friend, greater than which could be no loyalty.

He raised a jewel-encrusted bit of the girl’s magnificent trappings to his lips.

“To the honour and happiness of Kulan Tith and the priceless jewel that has been bestowed upon him,” he said, and though his voice was husky there was the true ring of sincerity in it. “I told you that I loved you, Thuvia, before I knew that you were promised to another. I may not tell you it again, but I am glad that you know it, for there is no dishonour in it either to you or to Kulan Tith or to myself. My love is such that it may embrace as well Kulan Tith—if you love him.” There was almost a question in the statement.

“I am promised to him,” she replied.

Carthoris backed slowly away. He laid one hand upon his heart, the other upon the pommel of his long-sword.

“These are yours—always,” he said. A moment later he had entered the palace, and was gone from the girl’s sight.

Had he returned at once he would have found her prone upon the ersite bench, her face buried in her arms. Was she weeping? There was none to see.

 

Carthoris of Helium had come all unannounced to the court of his father’s friend that day. He had come alone in a small flier, sure of the same welcome that always awaited him at Ptarth. As there had been no formality in his coming there was no need of formality in his going.

To Thuvan Dihn he explained that he had been but testing an invention of his own with which his flier was equipped—a clever improvement of the ordinary Martian air compass, which, when set for a certain destination, will remain constantly fixed thereon, making it only necessary to keep a vessel’s prow always in the direction of the compass needle to reach any given point upon Barsoom by the shortest route.

Carthoris’ improvement upon this consisted of an auxiliary device which steered the craft mechanically in the direction of the compass, and upon arrival directly over the point for which the compass was set, brought the craft to a standstill and lowered it, also automatically, to the ground.

“You readily discern the advantages of this invention,” he was saying to Thuvan Dihn, who had accompanied him to the landing-stage upon the palace roof to inspect the compass and bid his young friend farewell.

A dozen officers of the court with several body servants were grouped behind the jeddak and his guest, eager listeners to the conversation—so eager on the part of one of the servants that he was twice rebuked by a noble for his forwardness in pushing himself ahead of his betters to view the intricate mechanism of the wonderful “controlling destination compass,” as the thing was called.

“For example,” continued Carthoris, “I have an all-night trip before me, as to-night. I set the pointer here upon the right-hand dial which represents the eastern hemisphere of Barsoom, so that the point rests upon the exact latitude and longitude of Helium. Then I start the engine, roll up in my sleeping silks and furs, and with lights burning, race through the air toward Helium, confident that at the appointed hour I shall drop gently toward the landing-stage upon my own palace, whether I am still asleep or no.”

“Provided,” suggested Thuvan Dihn, “you do not chance to collide with some other night wanderer in the meanwhile.”

Carthoris smiled. “No danger of that,” he replied. “See here,” and he indicated a device at the right of the destination compass. “This is my `obstruction evader,’ as I call it. This visible device is the switch which throws the mechanism on or off. The instrument itself is below deck, geared both to the steering apparatus and the control levers.

“It is quite simple, being nothing more than a radium generator diffusing radio-activity in all directions to a distance of a hundred yards or so from the flier. Should this enveloping force be interrupted in any direction a delicate instrument immediately apprehends the irregularity, at the same time imparting an impulse to a magnetic device which in turn actuates the steering mechanism, diverting the bow of the flier away from the obstacle until the craft’s radio-activity sphere is no longer in contact with the obstruction, then she falls once more into her normal course. Should the disturbance approach from the rear, as in case of a faster-moving craft overhauling me, the mechanism actuates the speed control as well as the steering gear, and the flier shoots ahead and either up or down, as the oncoming vessel is upon a lower or higher plane than herself.

“In aggravated cases, that is when the obstructions are many, or of such a nature as to deflect the bow more than forty-five degrees in any direction, or when the craft has reached its destination and dropped to within a hundred yards of the ground, the mechanism brings her to a full stop, at the same time sounding a loud alarm which will instantly awaken the pilot. You see I have anticipated almost every contingency.”

Thuvan Dihn smiled his appreciation of the marvellous device. The forward servant pushed almost to the flier’s side. His eyes were narrowed to slits.

“All but one,” he said.

The nobles looked at him in astonishment, and one of them grasped the fellow none too gently by the shoulder to push him back to his proper place. Carthoris raised his hand.

“Wait,” he urged. “Let us hear what the man has to say—no creation of mortal mind is perfect. Perchance he has detected a weakness that it will be well to know at once. Come, my good fellow, and what may be the one contingency I have overlooked?”

As he spoke Carthoris observed the servant closely for the first time. He saw a man of giant stature and handsome, as are all those of the race of Martian red men; but the fellow’s lips were thin and cruel, and across one cheek was the faint, white line of a sword-cut from the right temple to the corner of the mouth.

“Come,” urged the Prince of Helium. “Speak!”

The man hesitated. It was evident that he regretted the temerity that had made him the centre of interested observation. But at last, seeing no alternative, he spoke.

“It might be tampered with,” he said, “by an enemy.”

Carthoris drew a small key from his leathern pocket-pouch.

“Look at this,” he said, handing it to the man. “If you know aught of locks, you will know that the mechanism which this unlooses is beyond the cunning of a picker of locks. It guards the vitals of the instrument from crafty tampering. Without it an enemy must half wreck the device to reach its heart, leaving his handiwork apparent to the most casual observer.”

The servant took the key, glanced at it shrewdly, and then as he made to return it to Carthoris dropped it upon the marble flagging. Turning to look for it he planted the sole of his sandal full upon the glittering object. For an instant he bore all his weight upon the foot that covered the key, then he stepped back and with an exclamation as of pleasure that he had found it, stooped, recovered it, and returned it to the Heliumite. Then he dropped back to his station behind the nobles and was forgotten.

A moment later Carthoris had made his adieux to Thuvan Dihn and his nobles, and with lights twinkling had risen into the star-shot void of the Martian night.