[Illustration] The Gods of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs Contents CHAPTER I. The Plant Men CHAPTER II. A Forest Battle CHAPTER III. The Chamber of Mystery CHAPTER IV. Thuvia CHAPTER V. Corridors of Peril CHAPTER VI. The Black Pirates of Barsoom CHAPTER VII. A Fair Goddess CHAPTER VIII. The Depths of Omean CHAPTER IX. Issus, Goddess of Life Eternal CHAPTER X. The Prison Isle of Shador CHAPTER XI. When Hell Broke Loose CHAPTER XII. Doomed to Die CHAPTER XIII. A Break for Liberty CHAPTER XIV. The Eyes in the Dark CHAPTER XV. Flight and Pursuit CHAPTER XVI. Under Arrest CHAPTER XVII. The Death Sentence CHAPTER XVIII. Sola's Story CHAPTER XIX. Black Despair CHAPTER XX. The Air Battle CHAPTER XXI. Through Flood and Flame CHAPTER XXII. Victory and Defeat FOREWORD Twelve years had passed since I had laid the body of my great-uncle, Captain John Carter, of Virginia, away from the sight of men in that strange mausoleum in the old cemetery at Richmond. Often had I pondered on the odd instructions he had left me governing the construction of his mighty tomb, and especially those parts which directed that he be laid in an _open_ casket and that the ponderous mechanism which controlled the bolts of the vault’s huge door be accessible _only from the inside_. Twelve years had passed since I had read the remarkable manuscript of this remarkable man; this man who remembered no childhood and who could not even offer a vague guess as to his age; who was always young and yet who had dandled my grandfather’s great-grandfather upon his knee; this man who had spent ten years upon the planet Mars; who had fought for the green men of Barsoom and fought against them; who had fought for and against the red men and who had won the ever beautiful Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, for his wife, and for nearly ten years had been a prince of the house of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium. Twelve years had passed since his body had been found upon the bluff before his cottage overlooking the Hudson, and oft-times during these long years I had wondered if John Carter were really dead, or if he again roamed the dead sea bottoms of that dying planet; if he had returned to Barsoom to find that he had opened the frowning portals of the mighty atmosphere plant in time to save the countless millions who were dying of asphyxiation on that far-gone day that had seen him hurtled ruthlessly through forty-eight million miles of space back to Earth once more. I had wondered if he had found his black-haired Princess and the slender son he had dreamed was with her in the royal gardens of Tardos Mors, awaiting his return. Or, had he found that he had been too late, and thus gone back to a living death upon a dead world? Or was he really dead after all, never to return either to his mother Earth or his beloved Mars? Thus was I lost in useless speculation one sultry August evening when old Ben, my body servant, handed me a telegram. Tearing it open I read: