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Updated: June 9, 2025
"To the upper chambers!" shouted the red man who was still fettered to the floor. "To the upper chambers! There you may defend the tower against all Kadabra. Do not delay because of me, who could pray for no better death than in the service of Tardos Mors and the Prince of Helium."
There needs no more to die but to will to die: "Ubique mors est; optime hoc cavit deus. Eripere vitam nemo non homini potest; At nemo mortem; mille ad hanc aditus patent." Any one may deprive us of life; no one can deprive us of death. To death there are a thousand avenues."
Apparently this remark fell on deaf ears; for, without replying, Beulah lifted her drawing, looked at it intently, turned it round once or twice, and then resumed her crayon. "What a hideous countenance! Who is it?" continued Clara. "Mors." "She is horrible! Where did you ever see anything like it?"
"Stop!" said Bearwarden; "let us each for himself describe in writing what he has seen." In a moment they had done this, and then compared notes. In each case the vision was the same. Then they looked at the writing made by the invisible hand. "Absorpta est mors in Victoria," it ran.
A right royal tribunal indeed, and such a one, I warrant, as never before sat together during all the history of ancient Mars. As I entered, silence fell upon the great concourse of people that packed the auditorium. Then Tardos Mors arose.
In the council chamber of John Carter, Warlord of Mars, was Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium; Mors Kajak, his son, Jed of Lesser Helium; Carthoris, and a score of the great nobles of the empire. "There must be no war between Ptarth and Helium, my son," said John Carter.
Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done.
For they are the first, that find their own griefs, though they be the last, that find their own faults. Certainly men in great fortunes are strangers to themselves, and while they are in the puzzle of business, they have no time to tend their health, either of body or mind. Illi mors gravis incubat, qui notus nimis omnibus, ignotus moritur sibi.
Ten minutes after it touched at the palace a message called me to the council chamber, which I found filling with the members of that body. On the raised platform of the throne was Tardos Mors, pacing back and forth with tense-drawn face. When all were in their seats he turned toward us.
So that all our knowledge reduces itself to this one point: of finding Moyland in the Map, with DATE, with REMINISCENCE to us, hanging by it henceforth! Mors which is near the Town of Ruhrort, about midway between Wesel and Dusseldorf must be some forty miles from Moyland, forty-five from Cleve; southward of both.
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