The guests had all filed through The Hall of Chiefs; the doors at both ends had been closed.Presently those at the lower end of the hall opened and O-Tar entered.His black harness was ornamented with rubies and gold; his face was covered by a grotesque mask of the precious metal in which two enormous rubies were set for eyes, though below them were narrow slits through which the wearer could see.His crown was a fillet supporting carved feathers of the same metal as the mask.To the least detail his regalia was that demanded of a royal bridegroom by the customs of Manator, and now in accordance with that same custom he came alone to The Hall of Chiefs to receive the blessings and the council of the great ones of Manator who had preceded him.
As the doors at the lower end of the Hall closed behind him O-Tar the Jeddak stood alone with the great dead.By the dictates of ages no mortal eye might look upon the scene enacted within that sacred chamber.As the mighty of Manator respected the traditions of Manator, let us, too, respect those traditions of a proud and sensitive people.Of what concern to us the happenings in that solemn chamber of the dead?
Five minutes passed.The bride stood silently at the foot of the throne.The guests spoke together in low whispers until the room was filled with the hum of many voices.At length the doors leading into The Hall of Chiefs swung open, and the resplendent bridegroom stood framed for a moment in the massive opening.Ahush fell upon the wedding guests.With measured and impressive step the groom approached the bride.Tara felt the muscles of her heart contract with the apprehension that had been growing upon her as the coils of Fate settled more closely about her and no sign came from Turan.Where was he? What, indeed, could he accomplish now to save her? Surrounded by the power of O-Tar with never a friend among them, her position seemed at last without vestige of hope.
"I still live!" she whispered inwardly in a last brave attempt to combat the terrible hopelessness that was overwhelming her, but her fingers stole for reassurance to the slim blade that she had managed to transfer, undetected, from her old harness to the new.
And now the groom was at her side and taking her hand was leading her up the steps to the throne, before which they halted and stood facing the gathering below.Came then, from the back of the room a procession headed by the high dignitary whose office it was to make these two man and wife, and directly behind him a richly-clad youth bearing a silken pillow on which lay the golden handcuffs connected by a short length of chain-of-gold with which the ceremony would be concluded when the dignitary clasped a handcuff about the wrist of each symbolizing their indissoluble union in the holy bonds of wedlock.
Would Turan's promised succor come too late? Tara listened to the long, monotonous intonation of the wedding service.She heard the virtues of O-Tar extolled and the beauties of the bride.The moment was approaching and still no sign of Turan.But what could he accomplish should he succeed in reaching the throne room, other than to die with her? There could be no hope of rescue.
The dignitary lifted the golden handcuffs from the pillow upon which they reposed.He blessed them and reached for Tara's wrist.
The time had come! The thing could go no further, for alive or dead, by all the laws of Barsoom she would be the wife of O-Tar of Manator the instant the two were locked together.Even should rescue come then or later she could never dissolve those bonds and Turan would be lost to her as surely as though death separated them.
Her hand stole toward the hidden blade, but instantly the hand of the groom shot out and seized her wrist.He had guessed her intention.Through the slits in the grotesque mask she could see his eyes upon her and she guessed the sardonic smile that the mask hid.For a tense moment the two stood thus.The people below them kept breathless silence for the play before the throne had not passed un-noticed.
Dramatic as was the moment it was suddenly rendered trebly so by the noisy opening of the doors leading to The Hall of Chiefs.All eyes turned in the direction of the interruption to see another figure framed in the massive opening--a half-clad figure buckling the half-adjusted harness hurriedly in place--the figure of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator.
"Stop!" he screamed, springing forward along the aisle toward the throne."Seize the impostor!"All eyes shot to the figure of the groom before the throne.They saw him raise his hand and snatch off the golden mask, and Tara of Helium in wide-eyed incredulity looked up into the face of Turan the panthan.
"Turan the slave," they cried then."Death to him! Death to him!""Wait!" shouted Turan, drawing his sword, as a dozen warriors leaped forward.
"Wait!" screamed another voice, old and cracked, as I-Gos, the ancient taxidermist, sprang from among the guests and reached the throne steps ahead of the foremost warriors.
At sight of the old man the warriors paused, for age is held in great veneration among the peoples of Barsoom, as is true, perhaps, of all peoples whose religion is based to any extent upon ancestor worship.But O-Tar gave no heed to him, leaping instead swiftly toward the throne."Stop, coward!" cried I-Gos.
The people looked at the little old man in amazement."Men of Manator," he cackled in his thin, shrill voice, "wouldst be ruled by a coward and a liar?""Down with him!" shouted O-Tar.
"Not until I have spoken," retorted I-Gos."It is my right.If Ifail my life is forfeit--that you all know and I know.I demand therefore to be heard.It is my right!""It is his right," echoed the voices of a score of warriors in various parts of the chamber.
"That O-Tar is a coward and a liar I can prove," continued I-Gos.
