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Burroughs, Edgar Rice, 1875-1950

"Warlord of Mars"


A quick glance about they took. Their eyes rested for a moment,
wide in horror, upon the dead body of Salensus Oll, upon the blood
that crimsoned the floor, upon the corpses of the nobles who had
fallen thick before the throne, upon me, and upon the battling
warriors at the other door.
They did not essay to enter the apartment, but scanned its every
corner from where they stood, and then, when their eyes had sought
its entire area, a look of fierce rage overspread the features
of Matai Shang, and a cold and cunning smile touched the lips of
Phaidor.
Then they were gone, but not before a taunting laugh was thrown
directly in my face by the woman.
I did not understand then the meaning of Matai Shang's rage or
Phaidor's pleasure, but I knew that neither boded good for me.
A moment later I was upon the backs of the yellow men, and as the
red men of Helium saw me above the shoulders of their antagonists
a great shout rang through the corridor, and for a moment drowned
the noise of battle.
"For the Prince of Helium!" they cried. "For the Prince of Helium!"
and, like hungry lions upon their prey, they fell once more upon
the weakening warriors of the north.
The yellow men, cornered between two enemies, fought with the
desperation that utter hopelessness often induces. Fought as I
should have fought had I been in their stead, with the determination
to take as many of my enemies with me when I died as lay within
the power of my sword arm.


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