Tarzan and The Martian Legion: The Impossible Discovery

By Jake Saunders

Tarzan and The Martian Legion is a story too big to be contained to one world, one age, or one universe. A pantheon of heroes including Tarzan and John Carter combat a foe across planets, dimensions, and time. The epic account takes readers not only to Africa and Barsoom, but to new worlds, with new heroes in the grandest Burroughsian tradition. - Scott Tracy Griffin

Praise for Tarzan and The Martian Legion

An unreserved recommendation from Harlan Ellison: Get yourself a copy of THE MARTIAN LEGION!!!, a brand-new novel by Jake Saunders based on, and continuing, the ever-popular Edgar Rice Burroughs chronicles of John Carter of Mars or Barsoom, Tarzan, and other memorable pulp fiction stellars, all set in a story by Saunders -- you may have knowledge of his wildly original Texas-Israeli War novel (co-written with Howard Waldrop) some years ago from Ballantine -- or know him as a pulp/comics enthusiast/author who writes a good page, many of which are in this magnificent homage to many of the most lasting popular fictional icons in our collective memory. Bringing me to a wholly-insufficient description of this BREATHTAKING novel.

Go thee, with my stoutest urging, and possess a copy for a lifetime.

- Harlan Ellison

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Feb 13, 2024

Book preview

CHAPTER NINE The Impossible Discovery

Conan Clayton possessed his father’s highly developed sense of direction, and Ghek had drawn a schematic of the ship in the boy’s mind. Any fears that he might not find his way back to Marna were quickly dispelled. On his return to the pantry, he more than once glimpsed therns through the ventilator grids, herding before them red slaves bearing cargo or thern reliquaries. Stern and humorless, the bald therns with their grotesque wigs of golden curls struck Conan as capable of killing a man with little compunction.

Odors from the pantry grew strong and then Conan saw Marna’s face, pinched with worry. She stepped back as he dropped in among the boxes and bags.

It feels good to stand up, said the boy, stretching.

Remble was just here, whispered Marna. "He was all a dither at the thought of our being found. He says the therns are filling the ship thick as lice on a kirg’s¹ belly—whatever that is—and that we’ll all be caught and killed."

Remble, ever the optimist, grinned Conan, trying to reassure the girl. He won’t betray us. He dare not.

Did you find Ghek? asked Marna hopefully.

Conan shook his head. Not a sign anywhere. I admit I’m now as worried as you.

Someone tapped three times on the pantry door.

Remble’s signal, breathed Marna.

Just the same, warned Conan, placing a hand on the hilt of his dagger, let’s get well hidden.

And you, Blot, he continued, projecting the thought even as he spoke, be silent as growing moss.

The door swung open to reveal the cook.

We are dead! wept Remble. I knew it would come to this!

What do they know? demanded Conan.

Nothing yet, moaned Remble.

Conan blew out a breath in disgust. Remble, calm yourself or they will know. If anything gets us killed it will be your defective courage.

Certainly, blame me, blame the cook for the broth he did not boil.

And don’t whine, snapped Marna, equally exasperated. We must think if we are to survive.

It is not good, worried Remble. Therns must eat and meals are served in the galley. I suppose they will be glad enough that I do all the cooking and cleaning, but even if no thern turns a hand in my kitchen, they’ll poke about the cold boxes and pantry at odd hours. And then they will find you, boy, grinning just as you are now, and cut your throat.

"You are grinning, exclaimed Marna. Whatever could make you smile in that impish way just now?"

Conan’s smile broadened. I recall something useful regarding therns.

The girl shook her head. E-Thun, you make me nervous when you smile so.

Remble, continued the boy, ignoring Marna’s puzzled expression. Tell the therns, very apologetically, that you had a rodent problem in your kitchen.

Impossible, blurted the cook. Look about you. Is my diligence not everywhere apparent? See, every utensil shines, and so, too, the floor. I have never had vermin.

Just listen, interrupted Conan. Your enthusiasm for your duties is obvious, and I have not seen a rodent.

Why then? muttered the cook.

We wish only to trick the therns, explained Conan, trick them into keeping away from your kitchen and this pantry. Now listen to my plan.

At last Remble was persuaded to do as the boy insisted. An hour later he returned, his face almost happy.

Against my better judgment, began the cook, rubbing his large nose, I confronted the first thern who came into the dining hall. I immediately apologized, saying I had experienced a problem with rodents, but that the complication had been resolved by the setting of traps. I then related how, on the first day, a single twik had been drawn to a trap and crushed. And how on the second day three twiks had expired in three traps, and then, an odd coincidence, a full nine—all that there were left in the pantry and kitchen, I was sure—died on the third day. Then I said, very distinctly, but in a musing sort of way so as to appear very casual, ‘Funny thing, one, then three, then nine, then all dead.’

Conan seemed about to laugh. And then?

Remble shook his head in bewilderment. And then that snow-white devil stiffened and stepped away from me as if I were plague itself. His face somehow grew whiter. As he retreated, a look of horror and revulsion on his face, his fingers brushed a cabinet. As they did so, he drew them back with a howl as though he had touched a hot burner instead of cold metal. Then he mumbled something about ‘the thirteen,’ and bolted from the room.

Word will spread quickly, said Conan, and then for a time we will be safe.

You stimulated a thern superstition! guessed Marna, her eyes fixing on Conan with new respect. Tell us the juicy details.

There’s little enough to tell, answered the boy nonchalantly, although secretly much pleased at having impressed Marna. The therns have their idiosyncrasies and quirks, each rooted in some ancient myth. Among the thern superstitions is one concerning the number thirteen, a belief also common to my...

Yes, go on then, smiled Marna of Jahar, her eyelashes fluttering in a distracting way.

That is to say, stumbled Conan, the therns believe that any event that occurs so as to produce first a one, then a three, and finally a nine, to make the sum of thirteen, is a source of dark luck. The therns avoid the place where the event occurred. And their aversion in this case is a thousand times multiplied because Remble’s story involved thirteen violent deaths. So much and more of the therns I learned while reading in the Great Library.

And from what book in the Great Library of Helium did you extract your exquisite facts, my Green Mountain boy? demanded Marna.

Before Conan could answer, the girl pressed forward and surprised him with a quick kiss upon the cheek.

Time passed but still they had no sign of Ghek. Hope faded that a patrol craft from Helium or from one of her allies might sight the Cassidy and prevent her departure from the southern pole. The therns, otherwise busy throughout the great ship, were yet rigorous in their avoidance of Remble’s domain, just as Conan had predicted. Even Remble was given a wide berth.

They’ll be casting off soon, guessed Conan, growing somber, and there is nothing we can do.

Sometime later, the boy woke from fretful sleep. Now fully loaded with its contingent of therns, slaves and cargo, the Cassidy was getting under way. The thunderous ignition of her main engines jerked Marna awake. Blot rocked nervously on his ten stubby legs.

Here we go again, breathed Conan. He closed his eyes and prayed as he had a hundred times before. His father, his brother, all the friends he had made on his journey to Mars, all were half a planet distant. And his mother, sister and young cousin? How very much further away were they? He bit his lip and would have teared up, but for knowing Marna was watching him.

That strangest of all sensations came again, and Conan knew they had time jumped once more. How far in time had they already traveled in the space of a single thought? How distant now was the Barsoom he had come to know? A day? A year? A thousand years and more? Conan stole a glance at Marna and saw that she was crying.

An hour, a day later—it was hard to say in a vessel suspended in both space and time—Remble returned to the pantry after being away on minor errands. He was as nervous as ever, but also excited.

The therns mutter and they mutter still more and always I listen, blinked the cook, drawing nervous fingers through his thinning ring of mouse gray hair. "They say we have again jumped in time. That much I knew. The feeling when it first happens is unlike anything I can imagine or wish to describe.

But I heard something more than the dour murmuring of therns. Your friend, that wretched creature who owns yonder headless body that only sleeps and eats, I know where he is.

Tell us, blurted both boy and girl.

Remble shook his head. He is beyond your help.

Dead? Marna lowered her head.

Conan frowned and put his fingers on the knife at his hip. No! He’s not dead. I see that much in your face, Remble.

A prisoner, admitted the cook, growing agitated and pulling nervously at his mustache. You aren’t thinking of trying to free him, are you?

And why not? demanded Conan.

‘Because you’ll get us all killed! answered Marna in a mock falsetto, quoting the cook’s by now well-established refrain.

Remble collapsed onto a nearby stool. Oh foolish man, Remble, foolish to tell these children about their friend.

Armed with knife and sword, Conan again disappeared into the ventilators. He had wrung the information he required from Remble after tedious wheedling punctuated with occasional threats. The resolute boy moved quickly, despite the risk of detection being multiplied by the ship’s now much increased population. Here and there he caught snatches of conversation, sometimes between therns, at other times between members of the Centaurian mutineers. From this talk he learned that the Centaurians were ill-disposed toward the white Martians, and that the therns, in their turn, had no love for the Centaurians.

After peering into many rooms, Conan came at last to one where he found Ghek, a captive within a metal cage upon a table.

Conan explored the chamber with his eyes. Judging from the beakers and tubes, here was a well-equipped laboratory.

The boy waited, patient and careful. Like a beast of the jungle, he would do nothing until he was sure the coast was clear. Time passed. No one came.

"Hist, Ghek!" called Conan in a low voice.

Ghek stirred. Conan, I knew you would come. I tried minding you but the dimensional interference from Wonmug’s machine made that impossible.

I can free you, said Conan, already reaching for the grill that separated him from his friend. If I cannot find the key to the lock upon the lid of your prison, then I will break it with my sword.

No, Conan, warned Ghek, I can pick the lock at my whim.

Then come with me now! urged the boy.

Not yet, replied the Kaldane, remaining as immobile as before. So long as I am here, you and Marna are safe. The Centaurians who caged me think I am—here the Kaldane evinced what seemed a clicking laugh—a Barsoomian species of the lower orders, a creature with neither sentience nor speech. As a consequence, they betray useful knowledge in my presence.

You were not recognized? marveled Conan. "You’ve been aboard the Cassidy at least a dozen times."

"The Cassidy is a capacious ship, clicked Ghek. There are still Centaurians aboard who’ve never seen me riding a rykor, much less as I am now."

But what if they show you to others?

Ghek remained undismayed. The two who have me are greedy. I am their secret. They think to keep me hidden until they are back among the Ten Planets of Alpha Centauri where they will sell me to a menagerie as the oddest of oddities.

What if their plans change? What if they decide to dissect you like an insect? persisted Conan. Or what if the therns discover you? Your end could be quick and awful!

In the former case, answered Ghek in his cold, analytical fashion, I would die in the service of science, a worthy if premature end. In the latter case, most therns have never encountered a Kaldane. On seeing me, they would be as puzzled as are my two Centaurians.

Were I to come with you now, reasoned Ghek, every corner of the ship would be poked and prodded, especially if they guessed that I was an intelligent being or that I had been aided in my escape.

Kaldane’s logic was frequently difficult to overcome, and this instance, Conan decided, was such a time.

All right, then, but what shall I do? demanded the boy impatiently.

Continue to explore the ship. Listen, learn as much as you can, but under no circumstance betray your presence. Likewise caution Marna to keep well concealed. And warn Remble, if you see his fidelity waver, that I will return and kill him should he betray you and Marna.

Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of a Centaurian officer, a man of middle age with pepper gray hair and features that reminded the boy of the Chinamen he had seen in towns on the African coast. The newcomer paused before Ghek’s transparent cage, leaned forward, and placed large hands upon the table as he gazed at the captive creature.

What have we here, what have we here? he repeated musingly. And how did you scuttle aboard, my repulsive little fellow? That face of yours is suggestively humanoid, yet there’s nothing hominid below your chin, neither neck nor body, just those six arachnoid legs and a pair of chitenous claws.

After a last thoughtful look at the Kaldane, the Centaurian officer collected several items from a nearby cabinet and departed.

His name is Tallus, said Ghek. "He, with the aid of another named Willoce, captured me as I attempted to reach the controls of Dr. Wonmug’s time machine. They are unaware that I traveled throughout the ship in the ventilator conduits. They think I, as might any dumb brute, wandered aboard while the Cassidy took on the therns and their cargo at the Valley Dor."

The therns? interrupted Conan, placing his face nearer the ventilator grid. What do you know of their plans?

Did Ghek’s sudden shift in position indicate excitement? Despite the chronomic interference, Conan felt a faint telepathic emanation that suggested as much.

I know only that we are moving into the past, answered Ghek. "At a given point, we will reach a predetermined destination. At that time, most of the therns will be put off together with the slaves and massive amounts of equipment and supplies. Then the Cassidy will return to the present. It is then, and only then that we should attempt to rescue Dejah Thoris and her fellow captives and secure our own escape."

Another day passed within the time-spanning Centaurian vessel even as ages flew past beyond the ship’s iron walls. Conan visited Ghek twice more. Each time he found the Kaldane as obdurate as ever about leaving his cage. The boy also located Dejah Thoris, Oola and the other women, but found them always in the company of attending slaves and female therns. Never was there an opportunity to communicate. Meanwhile, the therns, to Remble’s quivering relief, continued to scrupulously avoid the cook’s thirteen-tainted kitchen and pantry.

Another chronosurge told all aboard that the Cassidy had reached its destination in the past. Conan found himself forced to sit out the time in hiding while the therns again bustled about the ship. Many disembarked into a Barsoomian time that existed thousands, and possibly millions of years in the past. What did Mars look like in those ancient times? wondered the curious boy. Were the life forms even more exotic than those of modern-day Mars? He would never know, Conan decided. In vast disappointment, he felt the Cassidy again time jump, the vessel having completed a further stage in her mysterious mission.

There were now many fewer therns aboard the ship, and the vast cargo had been offloaded. Although Conan spied often, he found that the remaining therns tight-lipped. At first he worried that the priests might have guessed that they were being spied upon, but Ghek explained the real reason for thern silence.

The enmity between thern and Centaurian grows, explained Ghek. The therns worship their Father of Therns and their new god, Skhet. The Centaurian traitors, in their turn, think Fu Manchu of Alpha Centauri hung the moons and stars. And being brigands all, none trusts another. Did they each not need the other to accomplish their designs, then surely blood would flow between them.

The Cassidy returned to the present and to the Valley Dor, there to take on a second cargo.

Ghek scoffed when Conan proposed escape. "Here, in the thern heartland? Hatchling, do you not understand that the Valley Dor is infested with blood-sucking plant men, white apes and banths? Were we successful in our escape, we would be captured or eaten."

As it turned out, the question was moot. A flight of battleships flying the banners of Helium and Koal found the renegade Centaurian vessel. The Cassidy, still not fully provisioned, fled first into the Martian sky, then beyond the planet’s atmosphere, escaping only because the battleships withheld fire for fear of harming the captives they guessed might be aboard.

What was that? said Marna, looking to Conan in bewilderment. An odd tingling sensation, but not like...

We haven’t time jumped, answered Conan.

He could not explain further without raising new questions in the girl’s mind about his true identity. But they had not jumped through time; that was certain. The sensation had been all wrong for that. Instead, Conan knew they had made a dimensional leap like the one that had brought him from Earth to Barsoom. But why had they jumped across dimensions, and to where?

I must go speak again with Ghek, said Conan, concealing his growing apprehension.

Marna squeezed his hand as he pushed himself up into the ventilator duct. Be careful.

Conan threw her a kiss and was gone.

Ghek, said the boy, finding his friend nibbling a cut of meat that had once lain upon the flank of a beast of Alpha Centauri.

Oh, for just a small ulsio, clicked the Kaldane, or even a choice slice of zitidar. Centaurian fare frustrates my palate.

No more than a dozen xats ago, interposed Conan with urgency, did you not feel...

It is worse than you imagine, Ghek answered, looking up from his meal, far worse.

The boy sensed that Ghek was trying to shield his thoughts, but even so a wave of raw dread played fretfully at the edges of Conan’s mind.

"My keeper, Willoce, a nice enough Centaurian as they go, has a habit of talking to himself when alone. As senior science officer, and being well-trusted by Commander Kellsar, he is privy to much that Kellsar knows.

Recently, Kellsar was ordered by the Holy Hekkador to undertake a mission the Commander had previously resisted. There was much arguing, so much so that matters almost came to blows, but in the end the Commander relented at the urging of Phaidor, the Hekkador’s sister. This thing called love, it is sparking between the two. Her soft words, and Klee Tun’s promises of wealth and power were too much for the Centaurian.

What is this mission? demanded Conan.

One that Commander Kellsar knows will mean his certain death should he and the therns fail. Kellsar grew pale at the very thought of it.

And as Ghek described the Holy Hekkador’s goal, Conan, too, grew pale.

###

As dusk settled over the African landscape, Carson Napier’s Double Eagle thundered to rest upon the Greystoke estate’s small airfield. Tarzan and Lamont Cranston dropped to the ground, followed by Napier and armed members of the crew. Two hundred yards away lay Tarzan’s bungalow, hidden by trees and a long shed used for the curing of tobacco. Efforts to raise the household by radio transmission and Gridley Wave had proven fruitless.

As the small contingent advanced across the airfield, they saw no sign of life. The sun was below the tree line and long shadows were giving way to twilight. Only an orange glow remained in the west. Staples Jervis, the plantation’s longtime manager, did not come galloping out to meet them mounted on his favorite roan. Nor did swarthy Waziri peer from doorways and then come running with eager greetings. And most troubling of all, there was no sign of Jane and her guests.

No cattle, no pigs, not even a chicken, said Cranston.

And no dogs. No barking, said Napier.

Tarzan said nothing.

Ready your weapons, Napier ordered his men, pulling his ray pistol from its holster.

Cranston flipped the safeties of his twin .45 automatics as Centaurian sailors brought power rifles to bear.

The bungalow came into view, a silent shadow just ahead with no light at any window. At a signal from Napier, his sailors fanned out, a red, blue, and yellow line grown gray in the failing light.

The place is empty, guessed Cranston. It has to be. They’d be out here in a minute if...

But Tarzan could not be sure. The breeze had shifted, taking away any scent from the bungalow.

Halt where you are! The shouted command came from the house while Tarzan and his company were still fifty yards away.

Six guns are trained on you, and not a man among us is a poor shot, continued the voice.

At the first challenge, the advancing line threw itself prone, each man presenting the smallest possible target and each ready to fire.

Who threatens me from within my own home? called back the ape-man. I am Tarzan.

A man stepped from within the house and stood on the verandah. In one hand he carried an express rifle. The man on the porch studied the newcomers skeptically. Days earlier, men in similar red, blue, and yellow uniforms had come on an errand of murder and kidnapping.

What proof have you of your identity? the man on the verandah called. An evil thing has happened here. How are we to know that you are not those who came before?

And likewise I you? returned Tarzan.

The man on the porch nodded. "A point well taken. Know then that I am David Innes, late of New York and more recently Pellucidar.²"

Then Abner Perry stands with you, answered Tarzan. David, it has been too long since our paths last crossed in your hollow land. And your son Davan? How old is he now? Or has he aged at all in timeless Pellucidar?

Ah, you are indeed Tarzan of the Apes! cried the man gripping the express rifle. No enemy flown from Barsoom or Alpha Centauri could know of our adventuring together! Nor any know my son’s name!

Five men armed with rifles joined Innes on the porch. Carson Napier and his sailors rose, brushed grass from their red tunics, and walked with Tarzan toward the bungalow.

The jungle lord and the man from Pellucidar stood face to face.

Our women? asked Tarzan.

Gone. They have been taken, replied Innes.

Taken by whom?

By men dressed much like your party.

Kellsar, breathed Sky Marshal Napier.

From the beginning, said Tarzan, tell us what happened.

We six arrived too late to prevent the kidnapping of the ladies. However, we did find your granddaughter and grandson safe and unharmed. They are with your Waziri at the Baptist mission station.

At this bit of news, the ape-man’s companions smiled, and Tarzan shook Innes’ hand.

Abner and I arrived three weeks ago, continued Innes. "Gridley flew in soon thereafter, and Corbett, Halliburton, and Breede, who were in the area on safari, joined us.

But as you know, my visit was no accident of fate, nor was Gridley’s, continued Innes. "Like you gentlemen, we received silver boxes. Unfortunately, matters at the Earth’s core delayed us. We missed your departure for Mars, but having come so far, we elected to stay on. Remote as the possibility might be, we nurtured hope of joining you.

By day we hunted about this fine country, and by night held close to your Gridley Wave unit in hopes of receiving a communication. But no reply came until we despaired of receiving any.

Interdimensional communication is a chancy process at best, interjected Gridley, tougher even than keeping Innes on the line down in Pellucidar.

Your signals never reached us, confirmed Tarzan. It is only by a miracle that we received your S.O.S.

The distress call that reached you on Mars did not come from us, corrected Innes. "That must have been the work of your wife, Lady Greystoke.

With no word from Mars, we discussed returning to our homes, continued Innes, "but first we undertook a final exploration of the hill country west of your plantation. With twenty Waziri acting as guides and porters, we marched away three days ago. Returning, we saw pass above us a flying craft much like the one you arrived in, yet immensely larger. We hurried toward the plantation, but as we drew nearer, we heard gunshots. Redoubling our speed, we arrived in time to see the ladies being dragged into the immense aircraft.

"Knowing then that these visitors were enemies, we fired upon them and received return fire. I confess that I have never been the target of a ray weapon. The experience is unsettling. Still, we accounted for ourselves in that brief exchange, killing several of the invaders, and sorely wounding more before the women disappeared into the vessel.

"As we watched, now horrified and helpless, that monstrous craft thundered into the sky and vanished. Dispirited, we looked to our own wounded, happy at least that no man on our side had been killed. We found Staples Jervis, your foreman, injured, but alive. He is mending well at the mission station. A search of the house produced nothing. All the women and children were indeed gone. Jervis seemed certain none had escaped.

Our only bit of good luck did not arrive until nightfall. As we sat within the bungalow, we heard a thumping sound and looked up in astonishment to see a small carpet rise Aladdin-like from the floor. A trap door was opening. Moments later, a quite attractive young woman appeared, followed by two children and their black nanny. They had been hidden under the floor, just where Lady Greystoke had left them. Hearing our boots and muffled voices, they at first imagined we were the enemy returned.

Thus did Tarzan learn that Korak’s wife Meriem and their children, Katy and Ryan, were safe.

Introductions are now in order, said Tarzan. Innes, you seem to be the spokesman for your band.

Gentlemen, began the discoverer of Pellucidar, "As for me, I’m just a simple mining engineer. Any claim to fame belongs to my good friend, Abner Perry, the inventor of the Iron Mole. Together we have experienced the wonders and perils of Earth’s hollow core and lived to tell of it."

While Innes was in his prime, betraying a rugged handsomeness, Perry was the oldest of the group by many years. Lank and lean, he had large ears and a thick, twice broken nose. Thin wisps of white hair swirled across the top of his head like wind-driven cirrus clouds. And he did, indeed, carry a Bible at all times.

Next is Jason Gridley, inventor of the Gridley Wave, continued Innes. Don’t let his boyish, bookish looks and horn-rimmed specs fool you. He’s a mean poker player, and not bad with a rifle.

Gridley was tall, lanky, with neatly trimmed blond hair and a blond mustache. In his eyes was the far off-look one associates with certain scientists who can never quite keep their thoughts wholly centered on ambient reality.

And now to Mr. Jim Corbett, said Innes. He was out this way on a visit with his sister when this trouble blew up. But back in India where he hails from, there’s no surer shot. He has bagged more man-eating tigers than any man alive.

And Richard Halliburton there, continued Innes, indicating a young and rather handsome man as deeply tanned as the rest, well, there’s hardly a place on this old heap of dust Halliburton hasn’t tramped over and written about, though he still calls Memphis, Tennessee home, and like a good boy writes to his folks most every week.

And this last of our six is Adam Breede, said Innes, nodding to a husky and likable looking fellow pushing toward middle age. Breede calls Nebraska home, and like Richard, is a world traveler, an accomplished hunter, and a published author to boot.

While they had been conversing, the African landscape had gone to starlit night. Kindling was brought from nearby and a fire built on the lawn in front of the bungalow. A meal was prepared while they discussed plans for the following day. Out of the darkness came Waziri warriors, delighted to see their big bwana returned to them, if only briefly.

Coffee was brewed, cigarettes and cigars