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Burroughs, Edgar Rice, 1875-1950

"Warlord of Mars"


With the blow upon my head came unconsciousness.
It could not have been more than a few seconds that I lay senseless
there upon the northern ice, while all that was dearest to me
drifted farther from my reach in the clutches of that black fiend,
for when I opened my eyes Thurid and Matai Shang yet battled at the
ladder's top, and the flier drifted but a hundred yards farther to
the south--but the end of the trailing rope was now a good thirty
feet above the ground.
Goaded to madness by the cruel misfortune that had tripped me when
success was almost within my grasp, I tore frantically across the
intervening space, and just beneath the rope's dangling end I put
my earthly muscles to the supreme test.
With a mighty, catlike bound I sprang upward toward that slender
strand--the only avenue which yet remained that could carry me to
my vanishing love.
A foot above its lowest end my fingers closed. Tightly as I clung
I felt the rope slipping, slipping through my grasp. I tried to
raise my free hand to take a second hold above my first, but the
change of position that resulted caused me to slip more rapidly
toward the end of the rope.
Slowly I felt the tantalizing thing escaping me. In a moment all
that I had gained would be lost--then my fingers reached a knot at
the very end of the rope and slipped no more.
With a prayer of gratitude upon my lips I scrambled upward toward
the boat's deck.


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