ached the side of his mount he snatched his long
radium rifle from its boot, and, wheeling, poured three shots into
the oncoming red men.

Such is the uncanny marksmanship of these Martian savages that three
red warriors dropped in their tracks as three projectiles exploded
in their vitals.

The others halted, nor did they dare return the fire for fear of
wounding the girl.

Then Thar Ban vaulted to the back of his thoat, Thuvia of Ptarth
still in his arms, and with a savage cry of triumph disappeared
down the black canyon of the Avenue of Quays between the sullen
palaces of forgotten Aaanthor.

Carthoris' flier had not touched the ground before he had sprung
from its deck to race after the swift thoat, whose eight long legs
were sending it down the avenue at the rate of an express train;
but the men of Dusar who still remained alive had no mind to permit
so valuable a capture to escape them.

They had lost the girl. That would be a difficult thing to explain
to Astok; but some leniency might be expected could they carry the
Prince of Helium to their master instead.

So the three who remained set upon Carthoris with their long-swords,
crying to him to surrender; but they might as successfully have cried
aloud to Thuria to cease her mad hurtling through the Barsoomian
sky, for Carthoris of Helium was a true son of the Warlord of Mars
and his incomparable Dejah Thoris.

Carthoris' long-sword had been already in his hand as he leaped from
the deck of the flier, so the instant that he realized the menace
of the three red warriors, he wheeled to face them, meeting their
onslaught as only John Carter himself might have done.

So swift his sword, so mighty and agile his half-earthly muscles,
that one of his opponents was down, crimsoning the ochre moss with
his life-blood, when he had scarce made a single pass at Carthoris.

Now the two remaining Dusarians rushed simultaneously upon the
Heliumite. Three long-swords clashed and sparkled in the moonlight,
until the great white apes, roused from their slumbers, crept
to the lowering windows of the dead city to view the bloody scene
beneath them.

Thrice was Carthoris touched, so that the red blood ran down his
face, blinding him and dyeing his broad chest. With his free hand
he wiped the gore from his eyes, and with the fighting smile of his
father touching his lips, leaped upon his antagonists with renewed
fury.

A single cut of his heavy sword severed the hea