The Gods of Mars
propellers of the giant above us. If I could but touch them the huge bulk would be disabled for hours and escape once more possible. 

 At the same instant the sun shot above the horizon, disclosing a hundred grim, black faces peering over the stern of the battleship upon us. 

 At sight of us a shout of rage went up from a hundred throats. Orders were shouted, but it was too late to save the giant propellers, and with a crash we rammed them. 

 Instantly with the shock of impact I reversed my engine, but my prow was wedged in the hole it had made in the battleship’s stern. Only a second I hung there before tearing away, but that second was amply long to swarm my deck with black devils. 

 There was no fight. In the first place there was no room to fight. We were simply submerged by numbers. Then as swords menaced me a command from Xodar stayed the hands of his fellows. 

 “Secure them,” he said, “but do not injure them.” 

 Several of the pirates already had released Xodar. He now personally attended to my disarming and saw that I was properly bound. At least he thought that the binding was secure. It would have been had I been a Martian, but I had to smile at the puny strands that confined my wrists. When the time came I could snap them as they had been cotton string. 

 The girl they bound also, and then they fastened us together. In the meantime they had brought our craft alongside the disabled battleship, and soon we were transported to the latter’s deck. 

 Fully a thousand black men manned the great engine of destruction. Her decks were crowded with them as they pressed forward as far as discipline would permit to get a glimpse of their captives. 

 The girl’s beauty elicited many brutal comments and vulgar jests. It was evident that these self-thought supermen were far inferior to the red men of Barsoom in refinement and in chivalry. 

 My close-cropped black hair and thern complexion were the subjects of much comment. When Xodar told his fellow nobles of my fighting ability and strange origin they crowded about me with numerous questions. 

 The fact that I wore the harness and metal of a thern who had been killed by a member of my party convinced them that I was an enemy of their hereditary foes, and placed me on a better footing in their 
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