Extraterrestrial beings -- Fiction; Life on other planets -- Fiction; Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Science fiction
“Any other fool might have thought it,” returned Gor Hajus, “but he
would have been as wrong as you,” and as he spoke he struck with the
short-sword I had loaned him.
The blow was broken by the wing of the warrior’s equilibrimotor, which
it demolished, yet it inflicted a severe wound in the fellow’s shoulder.
He tried to back off, but the damaged wing caused him only to wheel
around erratically; and then he seized upon his whistle and attempted to
blow a mighty blast that was cut short by another blow from Gor Hajus’
sword that split the man’s head open to the bridge of his nose.
“Quick!” cried the assassin. “We must drop into the gardens of Mu Tel,
for that signal will bring a swarm of air patrols about our heads.”
The others I saw falling rapidly towards the ground, but again I had
trouble. Depress my wings as I would I moved only slightly downward and
upon a path that, if continued, would have landed me at a considerable
distance from the gardens of Mu Tel. I was approaching one of the
elevated portions of the palace, what appeared to be a small suite that
was raised upon its shining metal shaft far above the ground. From all
directions I could hear the screaming whistles of the air patrols
answering the last call of their comrade whose corpse floated just above
me, a guide even in death to point the way for his fellows to search us
out. They were sure to discover him and then I would be in plain view of
them and my fate sealed.
Perhaps I could find ingress to the apartment looming darkly near! There
I might hide until the danger had passed, provided I could enter,
undetected. I directed my course towards the structure; an open window
took form through the darkness and then I collided with a fine wire
netting—I had run into a protecting curtain that fends off assassins of
the air from these high-flung sleeping apartments. I felt that I was
lost. If I could but reach the ground I might find concealment among the
trees and shrubbery that I had seen vaguely outlined beneath me in the
gardens of this Barsoomian prince; but I could not drop at a sufficient
angle to bring me to ground within the garden, and when I tried to
spiral down I turned over and started up again. I thought of ripping
open my belt and letting the eighth ray escape; but in my unfamiliarity
with this strange force I feared that such an act might precipitate me
to the ground with too great violence, though I was determined to have
recourse to it as a last alternative if nothing less drastic presented
itself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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