CHAPTER 3
Assassins? Kidnappers? We knew not, but both of us prepared for imminent combat.
As he leapt down the ramp leading into the garden, Kantos Kan drew his light bejewelled ceremonial blade, his curses proclaiming its utter inadequacy. I was right behind him.
"Cara, stay on the terrace!" he shouted.
He did not know I needed no protection though I had no sword, nor any weapon on my person. All I needed were my hands and feet. Wu Shu is not merely defensive, it is also Earth's deadliest form of unarmed combat and I had been my mother's most adept pupil. Our skill, as one can imagine, was doubly multiplied in Barsoom's light gravity.
We carried the fight to our attackers. Kantos disabled his first opponent with his first stroke and immediately took on another while glancing back to see where I was. When I realized he was distracted by my presence at his side, I shouted, "Attend to your own defence – I'll be fine!" I kicked the sword from the hand of my attacker, twisted his arm back until he bent double in pain, and broke his elbow. As he collapsed in agony, something about him struck me as unusual . . .
Kantos Kan must have glimpsed the move, for he muttered, "Great Mother Issus – I should have known . . ." Apparently relieved of further worry about me, he then concentrated on dispatching his own opponent.
But, as Lara keeps reminding me, assassins have no honour. When they understood they themselves were in danger, our assailants changed their tactics. Two of them charged Kantos Kan simultaneously while a third he did not see crept up on him from behind. I screamed a warning at him just as two more advanced upon me, swords at the ready. I whirled and kicked both swords into the abused pimalias, and then leapt high in the light gravity, driving my heels into their temples in rapid succession. They fell like stones.
Landing in a crouch, I snapped a quick look at Kantos Kan, who was hard-pressed. I could do nothing to help him as two more of them came at me. I snatched up one of the swords that lay almost at my feet from my last encounter. My new attackers were too cautious. I charged them both, my sword plucking their weapons from their hands one after the other. Mouths agape, they stumbled backward to escape
Fighting for his life facing three attackers at once, Kantos Kan's singing sword swept about him in lethal arcs, dealing havoc among the men opposing him.
Except, I realized abruptly, they weren't men . . .
I recognized one or two of the faces of the women who had fought with Danalla in the arena, and ran to help him. I had just gained the attention of one of them when Kantos Kan gave a hoarse cry. Even as he slumped heavily to the ground, more attackers rushed at me from the shrubbery. I fought like a cornered banth, inflicting considerable damage, judging by the sound of breaking bones and screams. More of them, bruised but determined, converged on me and at length enough of them grabbed my flailing arms and legs to immobilize me, while four more picked up Kantos Kan who was now lying unmoving on the sward.
In all this time, no one in the banquet hall had noticed the pitched battle raging only ads away.
Carried in haste to an ancient enclosed cargo flyer which lay hidden in a far corner of the garden, we were shoved into it unceremoniously. Several women kept us closely guarded; others began to return with their wounded.
Kantos Kan, a dark mound in the dim hold, lay so still I could not tell whether he was dead or unconscious. While the women guarding me gloated over their accomplishments, I listened very carefully and concentrated on following their thoughts. Altogether I estimated there were twenty of them.
When the last of their injured had been loaded someone shouted, "Go!" The flyer's ailing engines groaned, lifting the machine laboriously under the weight of too many people. My guards relaxed.
A mistake.
With a few well aimed kicks, I freed myself from grasping hands and dived through the still-open door to the ground fifty feet below.
Such a leap would have been suicidal on Earth, but for me, in Mars' lighter gravity, it was only a hard fall that I mitigated by rolling as I landed. Uninjured – though I knew I'd feel the bruises in the morning – I sprang to my feet and sprinted toward the palace. A glance over my shoulder showed the flyer still rising and taking a course for the south. No doubt those in charge did not wish to take a chance on another confrontation.
When I reached the darkness under the trees, I stumbled over something and, thinking it was a body, stooped to investigate. Groping around, I encountered a sword and, close by, another curiously shaped object which I was unable to identify. Picking it up, I carried it to the terrace where the light from the ballroom revealed, to my horror, that it was Kantos Kan's brawny right forearm, sliced off cleanly just below the elbow. The wide gold band of a jedwar still lay snug around the wrist.
Winding one of the panels of my gown around the arm and cradling it as I would a baby, I ran into the ballroom. Those standing nearest exclaimed at my wild hair, dishevelled appearance and the blood from the severed limb which was oozing into my clothing.
"Vad Varo," I murmured, my thoughts crystallizing as I moved into the ballroom. I began to search the crowd, and said more loudly, "I need Vad Varo!" I knew he was there – I had seen him earlier.
"Here," said a voice from nearby. There was a stir among the crowded dignitaries and in seconds Ulysses Paxton of Earth – Vad Varo the surgeon on Barsoom – shouldered through, his blue eyes in his fair-skinned face filled with concern.
"Cara! You're hurt . . .!"
I interrupted in English – my appearance alone was horrifying enough without the addition of what I was about to say. "It's Kantos Kan's arm. Can you preserve it until I bring him back?"
His eyes widened. "Good lord," he whispered. "I'll certainly try. What happened to him?"
"Abducted."
"And you're going after him," as if to say What else would a descendant of John Carter do?
"Now," I said flatly. It was part answer, part order.
"Let me take it," he said, stepping forward.
I shook my head. Nothing on Earth – or Mars – could have removed that arm from my possession at that moment.
Vad Varo knew it too, turned abruptly, and said, "Then follow me. I have preservative in my med kit."
Of the three other English-speakers present, Lara was the only one near enough to have overheard us. She trailed in silence as I followed Vad Varo up two or three ramps to the guest quarters. Once in his suite, Vad Varo ran to his medical "kit" – actually a large skeel chest – and pulled several items from it – two vials of clear fluid, a complicated miniaturized suction pump, and a dense airtight film. Gingerly unwrapping the arm from my gown, he laid it on the film and inspected it closely. The cleanly-sliced raw end of the limb was the only injury.
He cleaned the open wound, attached the pump to veins and arteries and suctioned out what remained of the blood. He then reversed the flow on the suction machine to inject the preservative, massaging the limb until he was certain all the veins and arteries were filled. He then sealed the raw wound with a quick-drying transparent liquid, and wrapped the limb tightly in the film, being careful to seal all the edges.
Picking up the arm, he looked at us. "Where is the cold room?"
I said, "Beneath the kitchens." I took the limb from him and hurried out the door. Neither he nor Lara, who had not yet said a word, followed.
The huge freezer, comprising several large vaults which lay deep below the palace, had been carved out of solid permafrost. I tucked the wrapped arm into a far corner of a high shelf. Moving several dusty containers to conceal it, I stood back to memorize the arm's position. Someday soon, Kantos Kan, I vowed, you will use it again