Under the Moons of Mars (6 page)

The sword buried itself in the sand as John Carter spun away and came around with a double-handed blow aimed at Ghar Han’s exposed right shoulder. The Green Man raised his lower right sword to block, but the Earthman’s blade knocked the weapon aside and sank deep into Ghar Han’s flesh.

Ghar Han stumbled back, feeling a terrible wrenching as the Earthman’s blade was ripped free. Ghar Han’s upper right sword fell from his nerveless fingers, and his upper right arm now hung from his shoulder like a pennon. That arm, his strongest, would never fully heal, he knew.

John Carter pressed the attack, and Ghar Han reeled, dazed. The Earthman’s blade was everywhere, and Ghar Han hurled up sword after sword to deflect the blows, but three swords were not enough. He needed a fourth sword, a fifth, a sixth, to fend off the relentless attacks.

John Carter kicked him in the chest, and Ghar Han sprawled, sliding backward through the sand.

He lifted his head. The sun was in his eyes, and all he could see was a dark form wreathed in blinding light. The shadow raised its sword and brought it down.

Ghar Han, one of the greatest warriors of the Green Men, felt his lower left arm part, and fall away.

He awoke, which surprised him, since duels among the Green Men are fought to the death. He was in his tent, lying on a mat, and it was night. He went to rub his eyes with his upper right hand, but nothing happened. He glanced at his shoulder, and saw bandages there soaked in blood. More bandages bound his abdomen.

“We were forced to remove the upper right arm,” came a woman’s voice. “And the lower left was—”

“Where is John Carter?” said Ghar Han.

“Gone. The others brought you here.”

“Get out.”

“I—”

“Get out!” he said, sitting up. The woman fled.

Ghar Han fell back, writhing. Phantom pains lanced up and down his missing limbs. He cursed the cruelty of the Earthman, for not striking a killing blow. He cursed the potent medicine of the Green women. He was a freak now, a cripple. Two arms only remained to him—two arms, like any of the lesser races of men.

In another dream he’d lost all his limbs, even his legs, and he lay helpless on his back like a worm, staring up at the stars, and the twin moons, and Earth. From the darkness around him came the growls of circling banths, and somewhere above him echoed the cruel laughter of John Carter. It was a dream he would have many more times.

When he was awake, he replayed the duel over and over in his mind.

How was it possible, he thought, that he should have been defeated by such a small and wretched man? Not through skill, that was certain. No, rather this John Carter had come from another world, a world whose heavy gravity had given him muscles unmatched on Barsoom. It was treacherous, thought Ghar Han, to use Earthly muscles here. The more he thought about it, the greater grew his sense of outrage. John Carter did not belong here. John Carter had caught him off guard. John Carter had cheated!

We will meet again, Earthman,
he thought.
And next time I’ll be ready.

Finally he strapped on four swords—one at each hip and two crossed across his back—and strode out into the harsh light of day. As he moved through the camp, the Warhoon regarded him with disdain. Harkan Thul and Sutarat emerged from behind a tent and stopped to stare. Normally they would never have the nerve to mock Ghar Han to his face, but now that he’d been shamed and crippled they jeered.

“Look!” cried Harkan Thul. “An intruder in our camp! What manner of creature is it, Sutarat?”

“I know not,” said Sutarat, with a grin. “It almost seems to be one of us, but of course we have four arms, and this strange creature has only two.”

Sutarat laughed.

Ghar Han scowled and walked on past. He sought out the tent of Xan Malus, Jeddak of the Warhoon, and was shown into the presence of the great lord, a cold, imperious man who clutched a spiked scepter and sat upon a jeweled throne.

“Kaor, Ghar Han,” said Xan Malus. “It pleases us to see that you are up and useful to us once more.”

“Kaor, Excellency,” said Ghar Han, crossing his two arms and bowing his head. “Thank you.”

“Now tell us,” said the Jeddak, “why have you come?”

“Excellency,” said Ghar Han, “if it please you, I should like to pursue the Earthman John Carter, and challenge him once again to—”

“No, no,” said Xan Malus impatiently. “It does
not
please us. John Carter’s death is nothing to me, and in any event you would not succeed. I relinquish no asset, however small. I will not sacrifice one of my warriors, even a cripple, to no end.”

“Excellency, I—”

“I know, I know,” said the Jeddak, with a wave. “You would prefer an honorable death to your present humiliation. But what care I for your honor, Ghar Han? I am Jeddak, and you are mine, and so long as I breathe you shall be deployed to my ends, not yours. Tomorrow we strike camp and journey to retrieve the eggs of our offspring, and I desire that every able warrior be on hand to guard them. You know our wishes. Go.”

Ghar Han bowed again, and departed.

As the months passed, he found that his feelings about his people had begun to change. From his lofty vantage as a fearsome warrior, the ways of the Warhoon had always seemed fair to him. Harsh, yes, for Barsoom was a harsh world that required a harsh people. But fair. Now though, he was not so sure. More and more the ways of the Warhoon seemed to him pointlessly cruel. Why should he, who had suffered a misfortune that might befall anyone, be so scorned? Did such ruthlessness make them stronger as a tribe, or weaker?

One day he was walking through camp and turned a corner into a shaded area between two tents, and came upon Harkan Thul and Sutarat and some of the others. They’d surrounded a young woman, who’d been knocked to her knees, and they were taunting her and laughing.

Without thinking, Ghar Han stepped forward. “Leave her alone.”

Harkan Thul turned to regard him with contempt. “Oh, leave us be, two-arm. You’re not wanted here.”

“Don’t call me that,” warned Ghar Han, and the others laughed.

For an instant he considered walking away. Then he took a deep breath, collected himself, and said calmly, “I said leave her alone.”

Harkan Thul sighed. “Oh, what has become of you, Ghar Han? Not only do you
look
like one of the lesser races, now it seems you have one of their soft hearts as well. You don’t belong here. You are not one of us. Go.”

Ghar Han didn’t move.

Harkan Thul reached for his swords. “Do you lust for suffering, Ghar Han? This will go worse for you than the day you faced John Carter.”

“And how would you know?” Ghar Han said sharply.

Harkan Thul paused, caught off guard.

“How would
you
know what it’s like to face John Carter? You never have. Only I have.” Ghar Han’s voice rose, his fury pouring out of him. “The Earthman was here among us. I fought him, and then he departed, and none of you raised a sword to stop him. Because you were afraid!”

Harkan Thul drew his swords. “Call me a coward? I will kill you.”

“Oh, so brave!” cried Ghar Han. “To fight a cripple. But where were you when John Carter was among us?” He pounded his fist against his chest. “Only Ghar Han had the courage to face him then.”

Harkan Thul was silent. Finally he sheathed his swords.

“It’s true,” he said, “spilling your blood would be too easy. Bring me a real challenge. Bring any man of this world or another and I will face him. I am not afraid.”

“We’ll see,” said Ghar Han. “Someday the Earthman will cross our paths again, and then we’ll see who’s not afraid.”

Harkan Thul sneered and turned away. “Come on,” he said to the others. “Let’s go.”

When they were gone, Ghar Han offered his hand to the girl.

“Do not touch me, cripple,” she said, furious, climbing to her feet.

Years passed, and Ghar Han grew ever more isolated and withdrawn, watching grimly as Harkan Thul and Sutarat amassed power and status. Harkan Thul attained the rank of jed and became leader of their scouting party, with Sutarat as his second-in-command.

One day the scouting party rode up over the crest of a hill and looked out on the valley below. Before them lay an ancient ghost town, a lonely place of stairways and minarets and white marble. Then the Green Men noticed, off in the distance, a lone figure trudging across the sand toward the village.

Sutarat said, “Who is that, who dares invade our territory?”

“Let’s find out,” said Harkan Thul, urging his thoat to a gallop.

As the beasts thundered down the hill, the stranger broke into a run, racing toward the village. Then, as the Green Men watched, astonished, he took a great flying leap, hurtling through the air. In two bounds he’d reached the outlying buildings, and then he sprang to a third-story window and disappeared.

Ghar Han’s heart beat faster. John Carter! It must be, for only the unnatural muscles of an Earthman could propel such wondrous leaps. After all these years they would meet again. At last had come his chance for redemption, or perhaps an honorable death.

When the Green Men reached the city gates, Harkan Thul wheeled his mount and cried, “Circle the village, all of you! Make sure he doesn’t sneak off! I will enter and challenge him to a duel. Sutarat will be my second. Come.”

Harkan Thul glared. “I am jed here, not you, and I say—”

“No!” yelled one of the warriors. “Ghar Han should face John Carter. If he dares.”

“Yes,” said another. “He was crippled and shamed by the Earthman. Let him fight.”

Others muttered agreement, and Harkan Thul saw that he risked mutiny if he tried to press the issue.

“All right,” he said at last. “Ghar Han will have his chance. But if he fails, I will not. Come on.”

As the others fanned out around the village, Ghar Han, Harkan Thul, and Sutarat rode through the gates. They tied their thoats to a hitching post, then proceeded on foot through the narrow streets, swords in their hands.

Ghar Han heard footfalls on a nearby rooftop, and glanced up just as a dark form catapulted across the sky, leaping from building to building. An instant later it was gone, but not before Ghar Han had seen that this Earthman had yellow hair.

Yellow, not black like John Carter.

“Come on!” said Harkan Thul. “After him!”

They pursued the figure, and Ghar Han’s mind raced. What if this was not John Carter?