It must have been several hours 
before I regained consciousness, 
and when I did 
I remember being surprised 
that I was not dead. 

I woke lying on a pile 
of sleeping silks and furs
in a corner of a small room
in which were several green warriors, 
with an ancient, ugly female 
bending over me.

As I opened my eyes 
she turned and said 
"He will live, O Jed, Dak Kova."

"Tis well, said the Jed, rising, 
"He will render rare sport 
in the great games. 
Real games, with real blood. 
Bring him.  Burn it."

As my eyes fell upon him
I saw that he was no Thark, 
for his ornaments and metal 
were much different. 

Human skulls and dried hands 
hung from his harness, 
and I felt that I had fallen 
from Purgatory to Gehenna.

Dak Kova, Jed of Warhoon, 
had me strapped to 
as wild a thoat 
as I had ever seen, 
and we rode like mad to 
the main encampment of 
young Bar Comas, 
Jeddak of Warhoon. 
I saw that there was no love lost 
between Bar Comas and his 
jealous old lieutenant, 
soon after we arrived
just before dark.

Dak Kova 
ignored saluting his Jeddak, 
shoved me forth and growled 
"I have found this creature, 
wearing the metal of Thark, 
whom I shall have do battle 
with a wild thoat 
at the Great Games!"

Bar Comas replied 
"He will die 
as I, Jeddak, 
see fit, if at all!"

Bar Comas eyed 
his defiant subordinate
with fearless hatred, 
and without drawing a weapon, 
hurled himself 
at this defamer's throat.

I had never seen 
two Martian warriors battle 
with only Nature's weapons, 
and the animal ferocity 
was beyond the wildest imagining. 

They ripped and gored 
with their frightful tusks
until both were cut to ribbons. 
But the younger, cleverer Jeddak 
was clearly winning
--until he slipped.

It was the one opening
that Dak Kova needed, 
and with a powerful effort
he buried his single tusk 
in the Jeddak's groin 
and ripped him wide open 
to the jaw. 
Bar Comas was stone dead, 
and only by the most 
Herculean efforts 
were Dak Kova's females 
able to save him, 
so badly wounded was he. 

The dead Jeddak's 
hand and head 
were removed to be added
to the ornaments 
of  his conqueror, 
and then his women 
cremated what remained, 
amid wild and terrible laughter,
and three days later 
Dak Kova became
the new Jeddak of Warhoon.

The Warhoons 
were if possible 
even more savage 
than the Tharks,
and not a day passed 
among them without 
several mortal duels.

A three-day march 
brought us to Warhoon,
where I was immediately cast 
into a dungeon 
and heavily chained 
to the floor and wall.

Food was brought to me
at intervals,
but owing to 
the inky darkness 
I do not know 
if I lay there, days, 
or weeks, or months. 

It was the 
most horrible experience
in my entire life. 

That my mind 
did not give way 
is a wonder. 

The silent darkness
was filled with creeping, 
crawling things. 

Cold, sinuous bodies
passed over me 
when I lay down, 
and fiery eyes 
fixed on me 
with horrible intentness.

Finally my tottering reason
focused all 
my maniacal hatred 
upon this single 
emissary of the 
horde of Warhoons. 
As I heard him approach 
I gathered the 
slack of my chain in my hand, 
and when he bent 
to place my food within reach,
I swung with all my strength,
killing him.