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Her engine would not start. We were helpless there in mid air above the arctic ice. The craft had drifted across the chasm which held the corpses of Matai Shang, Thurid, and Phaidor, and now hung above a low hill.
No sound of conflict reached our ears, for in the rarefied atmosphere of our great altitude no sound wave could penetrate; they were dissipated in thin air far below us. It became intensely cold. Breathing was difficult. The girl, Phaidor, and the black pirate kept their eyes glued upon me. At length the girl spoke. "Unconsciousness comes quickly at this altitude," she said quietly.
Anything within the power of the Holy Therns to give will be yours. Phaidor " she stumbled a little here, and then in a very low voice, "Phaidor already is yours." I felt very sorry for the poor child, and placed my hand over hers where it rested on my arm.
Instead I took a firm grasp upon the rail with my left hand and drew my dagger. I should at least die as I had lived fighting. As Thurid came opposite the cabin's doorway a new element projected itself into the grim tragedy of the air that was being enacted upon the deck of Matai Shang's disabled flier. It was Phaidor.
Had we continued the five thousand miles that lie between Thuria and the planet he would have been but the frozen memory of a man." Phaidor looked at the black in evident astonishment. "If you are not of Thuria, then where?" she asked. He shrugged his shoulders and turned his eyes elsewhere, but did not reply. The girl stamped her little foot in a peremptory manner.
She told me of that last terrible moment months before when the door of her prison cell within the Temple of the Sun was slowly closing between us. Of how Phaidor had sprung upon her with uplifted dagger, and of Thuvia's shriek as she had realized the foul intention of the thern goddess.
Now we swung a little north of west, leaving the valley of lost souls, and shortly I discerned over our starboard bow what appeared to be a black mountain rising from the desolate waste of ice. It was not high and seemed to have a flat top. Xodar had left us to attend to some duty on the vessel, and Phaidor and I stood alone beside the rail.
As the fellow went down I snatched his sword from him and over his prostrate body looked into the eyes of the one whose quick hand had saved me from the first cut of his sword it was Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang. "Fly, my Prince!" she cried. "It is useless to fight them longer. All within the arena are dead. All who charged the throne are dead but you and this youth.
The remaining crack was not over an inch in width a moment later. Dejah Thoris stood as close to it as she could, whispering words of hope and courage to me, and urging me to save myself. Suddenly beyond her I saw the beautiful face of Phaidor contorted into an expression of malign hatred. As my eyes met hers she spoke.
"That even Phaidor, daughter of the Master of Life and Death, is mortal," I said smiling. "There is immortality only in Issus," she replied. "And Issus is for the race of therns alone. Thus am I immortal." I caught a fleeting grin passing across the features of the black as he heard her words. I did not then understand why he smiled. Later I was to learn, and she, too, in a most horrible manner.
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