Read Online Under the Moons of Mars by John Joseph Adams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Joseph Adams
Ads: Link
pithecanthropi of Pal-ul-don . . .” He was just starting to enumerate the several dialects of Pellucidar when the Earthman waved him impatiently to silence, saying, “English will do. I am John Carter, of the Virginia Carters. This”—he gestured toward the red-skinned woman—“is my wife, the Princess Dejah Thoris of Helium.”
His wife . . . Tarzan drew himself erect and bowed formally to both of them. “I am Tarzan of the Mangani.” As Dejah Thoris appeared puzzled by the appellation, he added, “Tarzan of the Apes. I also speak some Russian, though with a rather coarse Siberian accent, I’m afraid—”
“You’re English,” John Carter said flatly. Tarzan bowed again, without answering. John Carter said, “You people were supposed to aid the South in the War.”
“We thought better of it.” The ape-man kept his voice level, his manner courteous.
“We lost the War because of your treachery.” John Carter’s growl might have been that of Kerchak, king of the apes among which Tarzan had been raised, regarding a rash upstart—and, in time, Tarzan himself. The ape-man could feel the old red scar on his brow beginning to throb dangerously— I killed Kerchak, broke his neck —but he controlled himself still, answering only, “I was in Africa, myself, during that regrettable confrontation. Perhaps civilized people may agree to disagree on that point. As we do in the House of Lords.”
“The House of Lords?” The unexpected phrase clearly brought John Carter up short, but he rallied quickly, with a dry chuckle. “Well, you’re not in any House of Lords here, Mr. Tarzan of the Apes. You’re facing a squad of Tharks—friends of mine, if they’re friends of anyone, even each other—and they’re very upset to see that you’ve broken into their nursery, what with their newest generation being so near to hatching. I don’t mind telling you that if you weren’t a fellow Earthman, and if you weren’t our guest, I’d as soon—”
“But he is !” Dejah Thoris’s voice was as quiet and steady as her eyes. “He is our guest, my lord—and plainly your countryman.” She continued to regard Tarzan as she spoke, and the ape-man bowed his head in acknowledgment of her courtesy. This time, when he raised his head, he stared back boldly, until it was she who looked away.
John Carter noticed none of this silent exchange. He was musing, “Remarkable, how after one person transmigrates, suddenly everyone starts doing it. Your body’s up in a tree in Africa somewhere, I suppose? Mine’s in a cave in Arizona, with a bunch of Indians outside, waiting for me to come out.” His laugh was no more than a quick, short bark. “They’ll be very old Indians by the time I do.”
“I have no idea where my body is,” Tarzan admitted candidly. “Is this not my real body? It certainly feels like my body.”
“What you’re standing up in—that’s your astral body,” John Carter informed him. “The astral body can go anywhere, once you know how to project it—to the outer planets, to the stars! Mine”—he placed a possessive arm around the slight shoulders of Dejah Thoris—“is staying right here on Barsoom. As we Martians call it.” Turning briefly, he gestured toward the tusked riders ranged in a semicircle behind him. “The Princess and I were accompanying our green friends on a quick inspection of the hatchery before we start home to Helium. You’d best come along with us—I don’t imagine you’d last long among the Tharks. They’re fighters, not tree-climbers. And they keep their promises.”
The last words set the ape-man’s scar burning once again, but Jane Porter had spent a long time sweetly and lovingly domesticating the wild creature he knew himself to be. With some trepidation—and the aid of a large boulder as a mounting block—he got up behind one of the Tharks (“When a thoat gets to know you, he’ll kneel down for you to get on,” John Carter told him), although
His wife . . . Tarzan drew himself erect and bowed formally to both of them. “I am Tarzan of the Mangani.” As Dejah Thoris appeared puzzled by the appellation, he added, “Tarzan of the Apes. I also speak some Russian, though with a rather coarse Siberian accent, I’m afraid—”
“You’re English,” John Carter said flatly. Tarzan bowed again, without answering. John Carter said, “You people were supposed to aid the South in the War.”
“We thought better of it.” The ape-man kept his voice level, his manner courteous.
“We lost the War because of your treachery.” John Carter’s growl might have been that of Kerchak, king of the apes among which Tarzan had been raised, regarding a rash upstart—and, in time, Tarzan himself. The ape-man could feel the old red scar on his brow beginning to throb dangerously— I killed Kerchak, broke his neck —but he controlled himself still, answering only, “I was in Africa, myself, during that regrettable confrontation. Perhaps civilized people may agree to disagree on that point. As we do in the House of Lords.”
“The House of Lords?” The unexpected phrase clearly brought John Carter up short, but he rallied quickly, with a dry chuckle. “Well, you’re not in any House of Lords here, Mr. Tarzan of the Apes. You’re facing a squad of Tharks—friends of mine, if they’re friends of anyone, even each other—and they’re very upset to see that you’ve broken into their nursery, what with their newest generation being so near to hatching. I don’t mind telling you that if you weren’t a fellow Earthman, and if you weren’t our guest, I’d as soon—”
“But he is !” Dejah Thoris’s voice was as quiet and steady as her eyes. “He is our guest, my lord—and plainly your countryman.” She continued to regard Tarzan as she spoke, and the ape-man bowed his head in acknowledgment of her courtesy. This time, when he raised his head, he stared back boldly, until it was she who looked away.
John Carter noticed none of this silent exchange. He was musing, “Remarkable, how after one person transmigrates, suddenly everyone starts doing it. Your body’s up in a tree in Africa somewhere, I suppose? Mine’s in a cave in Arizona, with a bunch of Indians outside, waiting for me to come out.” His laugh was no more than a quick, short bark. “They’ll be very old Indians by the time I do.”
“I have no idea where my body is,” Tarzan admitted candidly. “Is this not my real body? It certainly feels like my body.”
“What you’re standing up in—that’s your astral body,” John Carter informed him. “The astral body can go anywhere, once you know how to project it—to the outer planets, to the stars! Mine”—he placed a possessive arm around the slight shoulders of Dejah Thoris—“is staying right here on Barsoom. As we Martians call it.” Turning briefly, he gestured toward the tusked riders ranged in a semicircle behind him. “The Princess and I were accompanying our green friends on a quick inspection of the hatchery before we start home to Helium. You’d best come along with us—I don’t imagine you’d last long among the Tharks. They’re fighters, not tree-climbers. And they keep their promises.”
The last words set the ape-man’s scar burning once again, but Jane Porter had spent a long time sweetly and lovingly domesticating the wild creature he knew himself to be. With some trepidation—and the aid of a large boulder as a mounting block—he got up behind one of the Tharks (“When a thoat gets to know you, he’ll kneel down for you to get on,” John Carter told him), although
Similar Books
