CHAPTER 6

A million years ago the land below my flyer would have been submerged in a shallow sea, known to modern Barsoomians as Throxeus. Now it was covered with the ubiquitous ochre moss of Barsoom's wastelands, with only here and there isolated oases of mantalia indicating the presence of water deep below ground. I passed the time studying the charts Lara had given me. My flight line, if it had continued onward toward the far south, would ultimately have intersected Tjanath – which is now friendly – or Ghasta and Bantoom, two places it was best to avoid.

Several hours into my flight and knowing I must be close, I slowed down to search the scene below. Some 1500 miles south of Kobol, the ancient city of Korad had occupied the edge of a long cliff overlooking a bone-dry harbour where ships had once docked from voyages that had covered a quarter of the planet. The crumbling ruins of magnificent palaces and elegant homes were difficult to spot in the middle of what was now rock-strewn desert.

But there it was – its ruined towers toppled, its walls breached and battered by ancient wars and globe-spanning storms. I couldn't imagine how anyone thought the place could be habitable.

I landed about a haad from the city in a sparse mantalia grove and, making certain the flyer could not be seen, waited there until nightfall. Just as the sun dropped below the horizon of the dry sea bed, I set out for the city – or rather, ruins. With both moons in the sky at least for another hour I was able to make good time. I had chosen a deep breach in the wall to make my entrance, but it was more difficult than I had anticipated as I struggled over and around massive tumbled blocks. Eventually I stood within what was left of the city walls.

I knew the old city very well. Carthan, Lara, Tarin and I had spent half a year there studying its pictorial history painted on magnificent murals inside many of its public buildings. It was a fascinating summer which had given me a glimpse into Barsoom's ancient past.

I was fairly certain that anyone claiming to be a jeddarra would choose to live in a palace where possible, and in the case of Korad it would be the best of a bad lot. Located in the city's geographic centre, the palace had been massively built and, for its age, was remarkably well preserved. It had been the focus of Carthan's explorations because of its particularly skilled and graphic murals.

I sped on silent feet through the familiar streets until reaching the central square. One of the buildings facing the square opposite the palace had once been several storeys high. Now it was reduced to three – and only accessible from the second floor. When we had first arrived, the four of us had evicted a family of white apes that lived in the building, claimed it for ourselves, and then sealed every entrance on the ground floor to ensure our sole possession.

By the light of the two moons, I leapt up to a second floor window and climbed the ramp to the third floor where we had lived for months. In the dim light, I saw that a few dust-covered pieces of sorapus wood furniture were all that was left of our presence all those years ago. I tossed my pack onto the crude table. Thankfully, there was no sign of ape footprints in the accumulated dust. From the window I had a panoramic view of the palace and the square, but there was no sign of activity. I rolled myself in my bedding and fell asleep just as Thuria set.

The clashing of swords woke me with a start. It was just after sunrise and as I peeked out the window I smiled. Whatever else she might be, the jeddarra was a disciplinarian. About 30 women, most of them inexperienced, were swinging, hacking and thrusting at each other with practice swords. Shaking my head and wondering why any woman would leave her home and country to take up such a life, I turned away to rummage through my pack for breakfast.

As the morning passed, two more groups of thirty followed the first, each more adept than the last. The last group appeared to be the jeddarra's elite, and I noticed that many of them were sporting colourful bruises and favouring painful injuries. I grinned, accepting half the blame. Kantos could claim the rest.

It appeared then that the jeddarra's militia numbered around a hundred women. More than sufficient, I decided, to kill my parents in their bed.

I spent the rest of that day watching the comings and goings and pondering on how to infiltrate the palace without being noticed. I ate dinner, slept through another night, and watched through the next morning, growing increasingly concerned. In the middle of that day, however, a flyer landed in the plaza. As a group of about fifteen women disembarked, I noted the motley variety of clothing they wore. New recruits! They were the answer to my problem.

With that one look, I grabbed my pack and bedroll and sprinted down the ramp. I leapt through a window and then, rounding the building much more sedately, followed the stragglers of the group as they walked into the palace carrying bags and cases of their personal possessions.

I was dressed in leather tights and tunic – a practical fashion I had copied from Lara for Carthan's explorations and which was outlandish enough to identify me as a rebel. As long as I proved myself in weaponry, I saw no reason why anyone should be suspicious. I hoped this group was sufficiently unacquainted with each other to realize I had not been with them all along

We were led to an enormous space that Carthan had identified as the throne room, judging by what was left of the magnificent frescoes that once adorned its three-storey walls. If there had been a dais, it had long since disintegrated. Devoid of furniture when my family had been there, the room now contained sufficient mismatched benches to seat everyone, with a small podium on top of a crude platform – all clearly having been brought to Korad recently.

A few of the recruits gave me questioning looks as we took our seats but, giving me the benefit of their doubt, did not offer any direct challenge.

We had waited perhaps half an hour, when a black-clad guard entered and shouted, "The Jeddarra comes! All stand!"

We stood while a tall woman entered, accompanied by six guards. Dressed in the same black uniform as her guards, she stepped up onto the stage and approached the podium. I knew her instantly.

Danalla.

I nearly laughed aloud, muffling the sound with a cough barely in time. The woman was a professional assassin. How dare she claim a rank of privilege!

Flabbergasted by her gall, I missed her first few words.

". . . and when you qualify as full citizens of our growing community, you will be expected to participate in every aspect of its maintenance –" (sweep the floors, cook the food, I thought in amusement, possessing no aptitude for either) – "and when we feel you are ready you will join us in our Great Purpose – to rid Barsoom of the Jasoomian Threat forever!"

Throwing a fist into the air with each name, Danalla shouted, "We will begin with the witch Lara and her unnatural twins! And then Carthan! Then Vad Varo, Carthoris and Tara! And finally the tyrant himself, John Carter!"

The recruits cheered after every name. The unnatural twin refrained.

Danalla, the "jeddarra", had to be insane.

But, as the cliché says, there is method in madness. As I watched the entranced women around me, I realized that Danalla, like all charismatic dictators, must have a persuasive way about her – and with women in particular – that inspired belief in her ridiculous cause, and created obedience and loyalty in the process.

Somehow, I had to oust this maniac.

And I had to find Kantos.