John Carter Read Online Free Page A

outside, the faint clopping of horses.
    Powell stirred, grimaced up at Carter. “Gimme a gun, Carter.”
    Carter nodded and handed the colonel a pistol. He raised his own rifle and cocked it back. The Apache rode into view in full force, framed in the opening of the cave mouth—and stopped dead, their mouths open in horror.
    Their horses whinnied in fear.
    Domingo locked frightened eyes with Carter for just a moment, shook his head. Then he gestured, and the Apaches turned and rode swiftly away.
    Carter turned to Powell, who shrugged. Slowly, his rifle still raised, Carter crept toward the cave opening. He stepped outside, eyeing the last dust raised by the Apache as they disappeared over the ridge. Then he turned to look up at the mouth of the cave, and his heart seemed to skip a beat.
    Carved over the entrance was a circle with nine lines radiating from it.
    The nine-legged spider.
    A few minutes later, deep inside the cave, Carter lit a match and drew in a sharp breath.
    Artifacts filled the room: a rotting canoe, pieces of old arrows. But an eerie, complex lattice of lines stretched all along the walls, apparently carved long, long ago. And at the far wall stood a stone platform, a large, carven rock with the same nine-legged spider pattern on it.
    Behind Carter, Powell grunted. “This place for sure ain’t Apache.”
    Carter fanned the match around slowly—and something on the wall reflected its glow. Eyes wide, Carter followed a shiny vein upward along the wall to the ceiling, which glimmered bright against the match flame.
    â€œGold,” he whispered.
    â€œCarter!”
    Carter whirled to see a strange robed figure advancing toward him. It wore a medallion with the nine-legged spider design. As Carter watched, a deadly black dagger seemed to appear in its hand from nothing at all.
    Carter fired. The figure clutched its chest and fell backward.
    Powell limped into the room, staring at the figure. “He wasn’t there. And then he was —”
    The figure struggled to rise, but Carter could see it was dying. It lifted its medallion, which glowed bright blue now, and began to chant. “Och Ohem, Och Tay, Wyees—” A gasp of pain. “Och Ohem, Och Tay, Wyees B—”
    As the medallion slipped from the creature’s limp fingers, Carter snatched it up.
    â€œWyees—Barsoom,” the figure finished.
    Carter stared at the glowing artifact. “Barsoom?”
    He had just enough time to see Powell reach toward him, crying out in alarm.
    And then John Carter was gone.

T HE LEGS of the spider seemed to stretch out in all directions, fracturing space and time in an infinite web of light. Carter was falling, falling forever, unable even to reach out and grab one of the light strands that might lead back home. Then the strands seemed to compress, weaving together into a single thick, shining cord of light. It tugged at him, pulling him to it with an irresistible gravitational force. Carter fell into it, blind and helpless…
    Then he lifted his head and spat crimson sand.
    He looked around, blinking in disbelief. He definitely wasn’t in the cave anymore. Pale red sands stretched away in all directions as far as Carter could see. Yellow moss covered scarlet rocks; strange, bulbous rock formations dotted the desert landscape. Carter shook his head, sprang to his feet.
    And pinwheeled through the air. Twenty feet, then thirty, finally crashing back down on a bed of the strange yellow moss.
    Stunned, he crawled slowly to his feet. Took another tentative step—and soared upward, corkscrewing like a high diver.
    Over the next half hour, Carter tried skipping, creeping, frog hopping, treading water in air, and bunny hopping. Every move ended in a painful return to the desert floor. In desperation, he squatted down and tried to crab walk himself along the sand safely. The process was slow and humiliating, but it worked. Frustrated, he accelerated his pace