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Page 14
As we advanced we found a well-proportioned tunnel cut from the
solid cliff. Its walls rose some twenty feet above the floor,
which was about five feet in width. The roof was arched. We had
no means of making a light, and so groped our way slowly into the
ever-increasing darkness, Tars Tarkas keeping in touch with one
wall while I felt along the other, while, to prevent our wandering
into diverging branches and becoming separated or lost in some
intricate and labyrinthine maze, we clasped hands.
How far we traversed the tunnel in this manner I do not know,
but presently we came to an obstruction which blocked our further
progress. It seemed more like a partition than a sudden ending of
the cave, for it was constructed not of the material of the cliff,
but of something which felt like very hard wood.
Silently I groped over its surface with my hands, and presently
was rewarded by the feel of the button which as commonly denotes
a door on Mars as does a door knob on Earth.
Gently pressing it, I had the satisfaction of feeling the door slowly
give before me, and in another instant we were looking into a dimly
lighted apartment, which, so far as we could see, was unoccupied.
Without more ado I swung the door wide open and, followed by the
huge Thark, stepped into the chamber. As we stood for a moment in
silence gazing about the room a slight noise behind caused me to
turn quickly, when, to my astonishment, I saw the door close with
a sharp click as though by an unseen hand.
Instantly I sprang toward it to wrench it open again, for something
in the uncanny movement of the thing and the tense and almost
palpable silence of the chamber seemed to portend a lurking evil
lying hidden in this rock-bound chamber within the bowels of the
Golden Cliffs.
My fingers clawed futilely at the unyielding portal, while my eyes
sought in vain for a duplicate of the button which had given us
ingress.
And then, from unseen lips, a cruel and mocking peal of laughter
rang through the desolate place.
CHAPTER III
THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY
For moments after that awful laugh had ceased reverberating through
the rocky room, Tars Tarkas and I stood in tense and expectant
silence. But no further sound broke the stillness, nor within the
range of our vision did aught move.
At length Tars Tarkas laughed softly, after the manner of his
strange kind when in the presence of the horrible or terrifying.
It is not an hysterical laugh, but rather the genuine expression
of the pleasure they derive from the things that move Earth men to
loathing or to tears.
Often and again have I seen them roll upon the ground in mad fits
of uncontrollable mirth when witnessing the death agonies of women
and little children beneath the torture of that hellish green
Martian fete--the Great Games.
I looked up at the Thark, a smile upon my own lips, for here in
truth was greater need for a smiling face than a trembling chin.
"What do you make of it all?" I asked. "Where in the deuce are
we?"
He looked at me in surprise.
"Where are we?" he repeated. "Do you tell me, John Carter, that
you know not where you be?"
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