"09 - Synthetic Men of Mars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burroughs Edgar Rice)

so great. A thousand years is supposed to be the limit, but because of our
warlike natures and the prevalency of assassination few attain it. He must,
indeed, have been a withered little mummy of a man, I thought; and I wondered
that he had the strength to carry on the enormous work in which he was engaged.
We had waited but a short time when the officer returned accompanied by an
extremely handsome young man who looked at us with a haughty and supercilious
air, as though we had been the dregs of humanity and he a god.
"Two more spies to watch me," he sneered.
"Two more fighting men to protect you, Ras Thavas," corrected the officer who
had brought us here from the other building.
So this was Ras Thavas! I could not believe my eyes. This was a young man,
unquestionably; for while it is true that we Martians show few traces of
advancing years until almost the end of our allotted span, at which time decay
is rapid, yet there are certain indications of youth that are obvious.
Ras Thavas continued to scrutinize us. I saw his brows contract in thought as
his eyes held steadily on John Carter as though he were trying to recall a half
remembered face. Yet I knew that these two men had never met. What was in the
mind of Ras Thavas?
"How do I know," he suddenly snapped, "that they have not wormed their way into
Morbus to assassinate me? How do I know that they are not from Toonol or
Phundahl?"
"They are from Helium," replied the officer. I saw Ras Thavas's brow clear as
though he had suddenly arrived at the solution of a problem. "They are two
panthans whom we found on their way to Phundahl seeking service," concluded the
officer.
Ras Thavas nodded. "I shall use them to assist me in the laboratory," he said.
The officer looked surprised. "Had they not better serve in the guard for a
while?" he suggested, "That will give you time to have them watched and to
determine if it would be safe to have them possibly alone with you in the
laboratory."
"I know what I am doing," snapped Ras Thavas. "I don't need the assistance of
any fifth-rate brain to decide what is best for me. But perhaps I honor you."
The officer flushed. "My orders were simply to turn these men over to you. How
you use them is none of my concern. I merely wished to safeguard you."
"Then carry out your orders and mind your own business. I can take care of
myself." His tone was as disagreeable as his words. I had a premonition that he
was not going to be a very pleasant person with whom to work.
The officer shrugged, gave a command to the hormad warriors that had accompanied
us, and marched them from the audience chamber. Ras Thavas nodded to us. "Come
with me," he said. He led us to a small room, the walls of which were entirely
lined with shelves packed with books and manuscripts. There was a desk littered
with papers and books, at which he seated himself, at the same time motioning us
to be seated at a bench nearby.
"By what names do you call yourselves?" he asked.
"I am Dotar Sojat," replied John Carter, "and this is Vor Daj."
"You know Vor Daj well and have implicit confidence in him?" demanded Ras
Thavas. It seemed a strange question, since Ras Thavas knew neither of us.
"I have known Vor Daj for years," replied The Warlord. "I would trust to his
loyalty and intelligence in any matter and to his skill and courage as a
warrior."