"And then?" I gently prodded, after a long time had passed.

"I do not know," she answered. "I felt a moment of sickness, and then a sharp click, as of the snapping of a taut bowstring. There was an instant of extreme cold and utter darkness, and then --"

She shuddered.

I waited, loath to coax such painful memories from her.

"-- And then I woke to find myself here, in this place, staring up at the face of a Green One," Shis-Inday said. "Never had I seen anything so horrible in my most nightmarish visions. Not even Killer of Enemies and Child of the Water faced such a Monster. And they hunted Owl-Man Giant, in the before time."

"There are many red warriors who fear an encounter with the green men," I said softly.

"When the Green Ones learned of my Power, my ability to find water in this place that is even more dry than the most barren stretches of The World, I became a prized possession to them," Shis-Inday said.

"In some ways, I became a form of entertainment, as well," she continued. "For I had a new Power after coming here. I have great strength, and my ability to `sak,' is nothing short of uncanny. Ka-chu would be envious."

"I saw your marvelous leaps that night in the marsh," I said. "I have never seen anything like it. I know something of Jasoom, the world which that old scientist, Ras Thavas, says you must be from. Perhaps the differences between it and Barsoom give you these new abilities."

"Perhaps," Shis-Inday said. "I would certainly trade them to return to Light-in-Eyes and Yellow Bear. It has been a long time. Five rains -- or more; I do not know. I have never seen rain here, so how can I be sure?"

She had been looking at the dirt floor of our prison, hands folded delicately in her lap. Now, Shis-Inday raised her eyes to meet mine.

"I did not really believe that Usen was yah-ik-tee; that the Men With Metal Heads had killed Him," she said. "But, sometimes, it is difficult to understand His purpose."

"The judgement of Tur awaits you, infidel," grinned one of the guards. "We'll be waiting for the Word of the Great One with anticipation. I hope that it is fire. I'll make it hot."

We were in a large chamber somewhere in the pits far below Phundahl. It was lit with flickering torches. The radium bulbs that light even the most ancient of Barsoom's dark places seemed to be unkown here.

Chivalry and honor were also unknown. I witnessed barbaric sights in this temple of doom.

An agonized scream from one of the poor souls being tortured punctuated my thoughts. The guard pushed us roughly to the stone tablet.

After a jolt, the dais moved slowly upward, through the opening. The grating of stone upon stone accompanied our progress through the shaft. As my eyes became accustomed to the dimness, I noted the mechanism of our conveyance: a series of pulleys attached to stone rollers, set in the sides of the shaft. I suspected that slaves powered the device.

We continued ponderously upward. One hundred feet. Two hundred. The smell of incense became thick about us.

A dull roar from above suggested the presence of a large crowd. Chants, and a few scattered shouts of passion, replaced the horrid sounds from the torture chamber below.

"Tur is Tur!"

"Death to the Blasphemers!"

"No worlds but Barsoom!"

We emerged in the center of the sweeping aisle that led to the throne of the statue-god, Tur. It sat in stony silence, surveying the chamber with its roving eyes. They rolled upon the crowd, which had been lulled into mesmerized silence. The assembled populace of Phundahl, thousands upon thousands, stared fearfully back at their god from the benches that ascended from the floor to nearly the ceiling of the hall.

The eyes of the people turned back to where we stood. A rumble built slowly from the center of the crowd, and soon the chanting and angered cries began again, hurled at Shis-Inday and me.

"Death!" screamed a woman.

The girl stood straight at my side, seemingly unconcerned by the wrath directed at us. Her gaze rested coolly upon Tur. She was more curious than afraid.

"Usen, slay this idol!" she defiantly whispered.

"Silence!" roared the idol in question.

Priests in white robes stood in front of Tur, facing us. Their entire bodies, including their heads, were wrapped in the cloth. Bowing, each swung a heavy chain with a ball of burning incense attached to it. The pendulums were perfectly synchronized.

Xax, the Jeddak, stood to one side of the huge statue, upon the other side was plain Xaxa.

Father and daughter were oblivious to the crowd, to Shis- Inday and me, and even to Tur. They seemed made of a stone more solid than that which comprised the false god. Blank looks of indifference masked their features as effectively as the shrouds that hid the emotions of the priests.

Despite Tur's vehement admonition, Shis-Inday spoke quietly in the strange language I'd heard her use before. I could tell that it was a prayer.

I listened for a moment, then turned my attention to Tur.

"I know not what science animates you," I cried at the obscenity. "Or where the workers of your mechanism hide -- but Issus will descend from the Lesser Moon and lay waste this blasphemy ere it continues much longer!"

That silenced the crowd. The poor deluded followers of a sacrilege were frozen in terror. Not by my words, but by the reaction they might bring from the stone god.

"And if She does not," I continued, "the soldiers of Helium surely will!"

Tur's reaction was immediate.

The lights in the temple were extinguished, plunging us all into inky blackness. For a moment, I was disoriented. But soon a greenish glow eminated from the direction of Tur. Whisps of smoke danced in the shadows that outlined the immense statue. Red points of lights glared from where I judged its eyes to be. A low gurgle became a moan that seemed amplified and utterly inhuman. I reached a manacled hand through darkness to Shis- Inday, to calm her.

But she needed no reassurance from me. Shis-Inday squeezed my hand, and we waited for whatever would come.

"Usen will protect us, if your Issus cannot," she whispered.

As instantaneously as the light had been extinguished, it was restored. Scarcely ten tals had passed. When my eyes refocused, I saw that the countenance of Tur had changed.

The grinning face, heavily joweled, had transformed into a wicked scowl of rage. A thick tongue undulated from the open mouth, and frothy droplets fell from it to the floor of the temple. One fleck landed upon a priest. He screamed, rolling to the ground and clawing at what must have been an acidic burn. His swinging ball of incense clattered across the floor, leaving a trail of noxious vapor. After a moment, his struggles slowed and finally ceased. He appeared to be dead.

The other priests remained frozen. Not a soul in the vast crowd stirred.

I hadn't noticed him at first, but now I saw that a newcomer stood at the front of the line of white-robed priests.

His ornamentation was even more resplendent than that of the Jeddak. A scintillating diadem was afixed to his brow. He bore a wicked grin that mimicked the statue-god behind him.

His skin was white and his head was bald. That seemed strange to me then, for the people of Phundahl are as red as the men of my own empire.

I'd never seen a Holy Thern before. And if I had, this would have been the last place I'd expect to find one.

"I am Hora San, High Priest of Tur," said the white man. "I speak for the god of Phundahl."

Hora San walked slowly toward Shis-Inday and me. The great chamber was absolutely silent, save for his echoing footsteps on the stone floor. When he was an arm's length from the girl at my side, the high priest stopped and glared intently into her unflinching eyes.

"Have you studied the Turgan?" he asked softly.

"Your words carry no meaning, Pindah-Lickoyee," Shis-Inday replied.

The crowd erupted. Hora San himself seemed gripped by an apoplexy that made it difficult for him to speak. When finally he was able, he motioned to one of the lesser priests. The man scurried forward, carrying a large book.

"It is The Book, penned by Tur himself -- one hundred thousand years ago," Hora San said.

The white-robed one knelt abjectly before Hora San, holding the book reverently. The high priest made a show of slowly opening the leather-bound volume, and turning to the appropriate page. With great flare, he quoted:

"I am Tur. Tur am I. My home is upon the sun. I fashion a disk of clay, and call it Barsoom, tossing it upon the ocean of space to watch it spin in a solitary existence that is absolute. It amuses me to create Man in various forms, and of two sexes. I also fashion animals, to be food for Man and each other. Vegetation will appear, and water, that Man and the animals might live. Know these things, and worship me in my many forms. And always fear me. I am Tur. Tur am I."

Hora San closed the book and looked expectantly at Shis- Inday.

"It is a lie," she said.

The statue groaned in a long, drawn-out wail that slowly increased in pitch and volume. I looked to the crowd, and saw that the Phundahlians had fallen on their faces, covering their ears and eyes with trembling hands. They rocked back and forth, chanting, "Tur is Tur. Tur is Tur."

Then the wailing stopped.

"You are a lie," Hora San said. "There are no worlds but Barsoom, and yet the ears of Tur heard it claimed that you come from another."

"There are many worlds!" I interrupted, straining against the thick chains that bound me. "Have you not seen them at night? Even Thuria and Cluros, who parade across the heavens in the Dance of Lovers, are populated by beings not completely unlike ourselves!"

"Silence!" screamed Xaxa from her place beside Tur.

Hora San ignored me, turning to Shis-Inday.

"Speak the name of the all-powerful!" the high priest demanded. "Speak the name of the true god!"

Shis-Inday didn't hesitate.

"In the beginning, Usen the Life-Giver created The Universe," she said. "Nobody knows just how he did it, but he did it and that is all."

A murmur ran through the crowd, as if no one could believe that such blasphemy could be uttered in the presence of Tur without the speaker having her eyes blasted from their sockets. Hora San made no comment, motioning for the girl to continue.

"You seal your own fate with every word you speak," he warned.

"When it came time to form The World, Usen told four power- spirits to do it for him," Shis-Inday said. "They were Black Water, Black Mountain, Black Wind and Black Thunder. Together they fashioned The World, but when they were finished they saw it was no good. It was dead."

I was fascinated by the girl's words. She recited the catechism of her religion in a soft sing-song. It was pleasing to the ear, no matter how difficult for the mind to grasp. It was the simple faith of a simple mind. Or, so I thought at the time.

My own faith in the Goddess of Death and Eternal Life remained unshaken; and would for long years to come. My trust in Issus was as strong as the day I'd first set foot in her temple at the center of Greater Helium. It could not be otherwise. I was a Defender of the Faith -- the faith of my father, my brother, and all our ancestors.

I know now that I was as deluded as the fanatics who stared down upon me that day from their perches surrounding a stone idol. That is a bitter admission for any red man of Barsoom to make; perhaps more bitter than you of our sister planet can know.

In the years since John Carter and my granddaughter revealed the hideous truth, the sham that is Dor and the wickedness of Issus, there are times when I recall the beliefs of my Shis-Inday. And I wonder.

Late at night, in the solitude of my cavernous palace, I sometimes seek the wisdom of Shis-Inday's Usen. I can tell you honestly, nephew of John Carter, that I believe the Life-Giver hears me -- a thing Issus never did. Even when I believed, I never felt her presence.

Perhaps Man creates god in his own image. Or some perverted contortion of it. That does not change Man's need for a god that listens. For who else will?

Shis-Inday continued the story of her gods:

"To make The World live, Black Water gave it blood by causing the rivers to flow. Black Mountain gave it a skeleton of hills and mountains. This way it was strong. Black Wind breathed life into The World by causing the wind to blow. The World was there in Usen's Universe, but it was cold. So Black Thunder clothed The World in trees and grass. This way it was made warm."

"And did it just lay there, in darkness?" asked the high priest.

"Of course not," answered Shis-Inday. The reply dripped from her tongue, scornfully.

"In the beginning, there was no darkness," she said. "Sun shone all the time. Night was kept prisoner in a sack, and Usen gave the sack to Badger to guard."

"Night was kept in a sack?" Hora San demanded. "That's preposterous! A land of eternal daylight?"

The high priest turned to the audience, spreading his arms wide.

"Preposterous!" he shouted, and the glaring crowd hissed its contempt. "If there was no night, how could Tur cause the eggs of our young to spring forth from His mouth?"

Shis-Inday was not deterred.

"One day Coyote saw Badger carrying the sack, and thought he had things to eat in there," she continued, ignoring the snickers of derision that still tittered from above. "Coyote started walking with Badger and said, `Old man, you look pretty tired. Why don't you let me carry that sack for a while?'"

Hora San folded his arms, yawning.

"Badger knew that Coyote was playing tricks," Shis-Inday said. "But Badger was indeed an old man. And he was tired. So he trusted Coyote to hold the sack for a little while. Sometimes we all need to trust one who is not worthy of trust. That is the way of things. Badger lay down by a tree to sleep."

"This is a child's tale," Hora San said. "I assume this `Coyote' fellow opened the sack, and Night escaped."

"He couldn't help it," Shis-Inday said. "It is Coyote's nature to do wrong. Badger could not blame him. And neither could Usen, or the Human Beings. Coyote is misguided."

That stopped Hora San for a moment. He licked thin lips, eyeing the girl with suspicion.

"Nor do I blame you, or the people of this strange place," Shis- Inday said. "You know not what you do. But you are hungry, and will do what you please. It's in the nature of Man to fill his belly, no matter the cost."

The high priest stared at the girl, his emotions rocking between disbelief and rage.

Soon, he regained his composure. Or, some semblance of it.

"Preposterous," he said again. But it was with less conviction than before.

Hora San's white face had grown somber. He stepped closer, and spoke in a voice too low for anyone else in the chamber to hear, except for Shis-Inday and me.

"And you, red man," he said. "I suppose you'll tell me of Issus?"

I made no reply.

"And Dor?" he continued. "Your heaven? The peaceful afterlife to which every man, woman and child of your race aspires following a thousand years of bloodshed?"

I refused to say anything of my faith to this heathen. It surprised me when he chuckled in a tone that sounded almost sympathetic.

"Your heaven, Prince of Helium, is in truth a hell," he whispered. "You should sink to your knees and thank me for preventing you from ever reaching it."

With that, he turned and walked back toward the statue god. When the high priest arrived at its base, Tur spoke our fate. "Death by fire," bellowed the stone god.

The only sound in the great hall was the hysterical laughter of Xaxa, princess of Phundahl.

No one noticed, or seemed to care, that Xax, the Jeddak, was gone.