“And if they do not hold may the spirits of our ancestors reward the brave warriors upon the Vanator,” replied another of those upon the roof of the palace, “for it will not be long from the moment her cables part before her crew dons the leather of the dead; but yet, Tanus, I believe they will hold.  Give thanks at least that we did not sail before the tempest fell, since now each of us has a chance to live.”

“Yes,” replied Tanus, “I should hate to be abroad today upon the stoutest ship that sails the Barsoomian sky.”

It was then that Gahan the Jed appeared upon the roof.  With him were the balance of his own party and a dozen warriors of Helium.  The young chief turned to his followers.

“I sail at once upon the Vanator,” he said, “in search of Tara of Helium who is thought to have been carried away upon a one-man flier by the storm.  I do not need to explain to you the slender chances the Vanator has to withstand the fury of the tempest, nor will I order you to your deaths.  Let those who wish remain behind without dishonor.  The others will follow me,” and he leaped for the rope ladder that lashed wildly in the gale.

The first man to follow him was Tanus and when the last reached the deck of the cruiser there remained upon the palace roof only the twelve warriors of Helium, who, with naked swords, had taken the posts of the Gatholians at the moorings.

Not a single warrior who had remained aboard the Vanator would leave her now.

“I expected no less,” said Gahan, as with the help of those already on the deck he and the others found secure lashings.  The commander of the Vanator shook his head.  He loved his trim craft, the pride of her class in the little navy of Gathol.  It was of her he thought—­not of himself.  He saw her lying torn and twisted upon the ochre vegetation of some distant sea-bottom, to be presently overrun and looted by some savage, green horde.  He looked at Gahan.

“Are you ready, San Tothis?” asked the jed.

“All is ready.”

“Then cut away!”

Word was passed across the deck and over the side to the Heliumetic warriors below that at the third gun they were to cut away.  Twelve keen swords must strike simultaneously and with equal power, and each must sever completely and instantly three strands of heavy cable that no loose end fouling a block bring immediate disaster upon the Vanator.

Boom!  The voice of the signal gun rolled down through the screaming wind to the twelve warriors upon the roof.  Boom!  Twelve swords were raised above twelve brawny shoulders.  Boom!  Twelve keen edges severed twelve complaining moorings, clean and as one.

The Vanator, her propellors whirling, shot forward with the storm.  The tempest struck her in the stern as with a mailed fist and stood the great ship upon her nose, and then it caught her and spun her as a child’s top spins; and upon the palace roof the twelve men looked on in silent helplessness and prayed for the souls of the brave warriors who were going to their death.  And others saw, from Helium’s lofty landing stages and from a thousand hangars upon a thousand roofs; but only for an instant did the preparations stop that would send other brave men into the frightful maelstrom of that apparently hopeless search, for such is the courage of the warriors of Barsoom.