Fans of pulp fiction and comic book history are all well aware of Will Murray, the renowned historian who, while best known for his research regarding pulp fiction, has also done some wonderful comic book historical work. Will's also an excellent pulp fiction writer (and as a comic book writer, he created a little-known superhero you might have heard of called Squirrel Girl).

Anyhow, Will has a new book out from Altus Books that was released last month called Tarzan, Conqueror of Mars and it's just what it sounds like. It's Tarzan meets John Carter of Mars!

The press release for the book described it like this:

When a witch doctor’s sorcery hurls the ape-man’s soul out of his magnificent body, Tarzan discovers himself on a weird, treeless landscape, a dying planet inhabited by creatures unknown to him.

Marooned on Mars, Tarzan must learn to survive in an unfamiliar environment. With no hope of rescue, the ape-man begins the arduous journey that takes him from being a friendless stranger on an alien world to his rise as a force to be reckoned with.

For on Barsoom—as Martians style their home planet—there exists apes. Great apes of a type not found upon Earth. Hairless giants resembling gorillas, but possessing two sets of arms. Not to mention ferocious lion-like monsters known as banths as well as the elephantine zitidars.

Tarzan will go up against these fearsome creatures, and so begins the perilous march that elevates him from naked and unarmed castaway to the undisputed Ape-lord of Barsoom!

And now, here is an EXCLUSIVE eight-page excerpt from Tarzan, Conqueror of Mars by Will Murray. Altus Books 2020.

_________________________________________________________

Chapter 33

Face to Face

I allowed a full zode to pass before I gave my instructions to Kantos Kan.

It lacked another zode until sunset, which I determined to be sufficient time to accomplish my aims. They were very simple. To parley with Ramdar, and to take him prisoner, if necessary.

But first I must inveigle him into thinking I meant him no harm.

"Swing about slowly, Kantos Kan. Carefully settle ahead of the horde. When we are almost to the ground, I will alight. Then return to the air and await my signal."

This was done. I went to the rail in preparation to step off. I could easily have leapt to the ground from the deck and landed safely. But I feared that such a bold maneuver would be seen as threatening. Before I made any overt move, I wished to take the measure of Ramdar.

The craft settled, its weapons stowed out of sight. When the keel ground into the cushioning moss, I stepped off lightly and strode unafraid toward the advancing horde.

A rumble came from them, voices rising in concern. I could make out no words, but the cacophony was a disturbing mixture of green men cursing and pale apes growling. Despite my steely will, I could feel my skin crawl. I could not shake off the conviction that apes and men should not share common cause. It was against natural law. It was as if a grizzly bear had begun courting a cougar.

My hands open, my sword banging against my side, I advanced unhurriedly. Pragmatically, I had left my radium pistol behind.

Meeting the gaze of Ramdar, I felt something electrical course through me. It was as if I was being regarded by a wild animal, not a man. There was something distinctly feral about the way the fellow's eyes pierced me.

The trooping horde neither sped up nor slowed down in its coordinated cadence. It continued along at its steady and unhurried pace.

Ramdar regarded me with eyes that were entirely without fear. And why should they not be? The man commanded an army of giants. He had nothing to fear from one individual. Or so I imagined he believed.

When I had traversed half the distance between us, I halted. Lifting one hand, I showed that it was empty of arms.

"Kaor!" I greeted him firmly. "Are you the one who calls himself Ramdar?"

"Who are you?"

"I am the one you seek. John Carter, Prince of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Jeddaks and Warlord of all Barsoom."

Hearing these words, Ramdar slipped from the withers of his thoat and padded forward on bare feet.

I noted the confident swing of his carriage, the apparent strength of his limbs and an uncanny sensation I could not identify. Ramdar was in the shape of a well-proportioned man of indeterminate age, but there was something about him that did not square with outward appearances. Despite his near nakedness, he radiated a subtle but unmistakable sense of primitive majesty.

He strode up to me until we faced one another. Ramdar stood taller than I by the merest margin, and I am six feet, two inches in height. Yet something about his presence made me feel as if I were standing before a much larger man. His animal vitality was a palpable thing, and not merely a feature of his mighty muscles and rolling sinews. His gaze was intelligent, yet somehow also apart from ordinary human emotions. The cast of his sun-darkened features was stern, the gray of his eyes a darker shade than my own. Momentarily, I had the queer feeling of facing someone who might have been an ancestor stepping forth from the forgotten past. I shook off this unaccountable feeling.

My attention went to his garments. They struck me as barbaric. His crude metallic belt displayed the workmanship of the green men, a scavenged armband stripped of all gems and brilliants. His banth-skin apron reminded me of the tales of the great white apes who affected harnesses of similar hides.

Yet Ramdar appeared extremely comfortable in his skin. When my eyes went to the hilt of his sword, I did not recognize its ornate design.

I addressed him formally. "You wear no harness, no metal, nor any insignia of rank, Ramdar. Are you a panthan?"

"I am called by my followers, Ramdar, jeddak of the combined tribes of Narag and Vakanor."

"You mouth that declaration as if you were the Jeddak of all Jeddaks," I responded tersely. For his failure to repeat the universal salutation of Barsoom, "kaor," offended me.

The fellow's bronzed countenance twitched and I sense that he took exception to my hot words, for the words he hurled back at me were hotter still.

"I am also known as Tarzan of the Apes."

"Do you intend to make war on Uxfar, Tarzan-of-the-apes?"

"Only if Uxfar does not welcome me. I come in peace."

By this time, the horde had ground to a halt of its own volition. A thousand eyes were staring at me with undisguised malevolence.

"Whether Uxfar personally welcomes you or not, Sud Sorvon will not stand for you bringing a barbarian horde to his gates. Nor will I."

"The horde of Ramdar goes where it will," he returned, folding his muscular arms haughtily.

"Are you called Ramdar or Tarzan-of-the-apes? Make up your mind."

"Tarzan is my true name. Ramdar is the name the white apes conferred upon me during my time as jedwar among them."

His words were so sincerely expressed, I did not know what to make of them. It was as if he were a caricature of a Martian fighting man, one taught to ape the red men by the tremendous four-armed brutes who befriended him.

The power to read the minds of Martians belongs to me alone of all inhabitants of Barsoom. Yet when I attempted to penetrate to this man's thoughts, I encountered a barrier, or block. I could not peer into his mind or read his brain-waves. Nor did I understand why. Could he be more akin to ape than man? The inchoate thoughts of the great white apes also confounded me.

"Regardless of the status you hold among apes and nomads," I told the stern fellow, "I must insist that you accompany me, if we are to avoid unnecessary bloodshed."

He stood his ground, arms folded resolutely. "I refuse this."

"And I also ask that the red man who is your captive be surrendered to me. Hadron of Hastor is one of my warriors. His safety is my responsibility."

"And if Tarzan refuses?"

"Tarzan should think twice about refusing," I warned.

Our exchange became more heated and from the chariot whose design I did not recognize, a woman's head popped up. She was a fair-skinned beauty, and her marvelously coiffed hair was golden-blonde in color. I confess that she was the most radiant woman I had seen on the face of Barsoom since my first meeting with my beloved Dejah Thoris. There was something about her features that arrested my attention. I could hardly tear my eyes away from her. Her bearing was regal, and for a moment I wondered if she were also a prisoner.

"Is that woman your consort?"

"Cosooma follows Ramdar."

This declaration confused me; did this strange man not know his own name?

"She is an Orovar woman," I declared. "But you do not appear to be an Orovar, despite your bronzed skin. Nor is the cast of your features consonant with the white men of Lothar."

"I am Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle. I have questions for John Carter."

I smiled thinly. "John Carter has questions for you. If you will accompany me to my cruiser, I will convey you to Uxfar, where we will discuss your concerns. But your horde must remain behind until our business is concluded."

"Tarzan is interested in this discussion. But I will not abandon my horde. The questions I have for you must be answered here and now."

There was something about the man's manner that was fast getting under my skin. He was dressed in the most barbaric fashion, yet he carried himself as if he were supreme among jeddaks. This offended me to the depths of my soul.

"And the business that I have with you cannot be conducted out in the open," I returned stiffly. "You must come with me, Ramdar. I guarantee you safe conduct as long as you surrender your blade and promise to take no violent action against my forces or myself."

The sounds of our loud voices clashing must have reached the ears of the halted horde. From one of the leading great apes came an impatient progression of growls and barks.

Turning his head, Ramdar responded in kind. The syllables emerging from his mouth were not couched in any language I could imagine. They were the utterances of a wild animal.

The great white ape subsided, settling back onto his four lower limbs, wrinkling his snout in disgust.

"You speak the tongue of the great white apes?" I inquired.

"Apes raised me," he said flatly.

"Remarkable. The great white apes reared you to manhood?"

"Not these Tarmanbolgani. Other apes. Now I grow impatient."

In that moment I saw the long scar upon his forehead spring to life, like a smoldering fork of lightning. This was my chief warning that the impatient warrior was becoming agitated.

Thinking that he was on the verge of growing violent, my hand drifted to the hilt of my blade by instinct. I did not mean to draw it, only to prepare for the possibility.

Before I could withdraw my hand, Ramdar's fingers sought the hilt of his blade and it whisked from its leather, flying into view. To my surprise, it was not his long-sword, but a mere knife. Yet the blade was long and finely wrought, perhaps half the length of a short-sword.

No longer having a choice in the matter, I drew my own steel. And there we stood, just feet apart, blades poised in the air.

"I do not intend for a duel, Ramdar," I assured him.

"Then you should not have seized your weapon."

"It is not proper for a warrior to fight another with a superior weapon. I must refuse. Or you must draw your long-sword."

"Fear not, John Carter. My knife will be sufficient against your sword."

He advanced two paces, weapon poised for a disemboweling stroke.

"Very well," I said, resigning myself to the inevitable. "If we must fight, kindly permit me to sheathe my sword and draw my dagger instead."

"Tarzan does not wish to fight you. I only seek––"

But it was too late. I consider myself the greatest living swordsman upon Barsoom and at the sight of the threatening blade lifted before me, I could not do otherwise but defend myself. Perhaps a small part of my thinking was I did not recognize the bluish metal from which Ramdar's peculiar weapon was forged. I was interested in seeing how well his steel would stand up to mine.

I was not long in learning this unhappy fact.

I lunged, driving my blade before me, confident in my prowess. My aim was simply to disarm him, then appeal to his more rational side, assuming this vandal possessed any such.

I quickly learned that my martial skills were meaningless.

Our blades made brief, rasping contact, sparked off one another, and with a growl, Ramdar swept his knife around, and with a resounding clang, broke off my blade at the guard with a single blow that staggered me.

It was an unbelievable sight. His speed was demonic in its ferocity. In that moment, I could not tell if it was the might of his right arm or the strength of his blade that rendered my weapon useless. I barely registered the sound of my steel falling to the ground, unbloodied.

Staring at the blunted hilt, I realized the shocking truth. Throwing away the maimed weapon, I took a step backward.

"You are strong," I told him.

"I am Tarzan," he rejoined, as if that explained all.

I had not brought my pistol, nor would I have turned it against a swordsman. Such would have been against my honor, and the common military etiquette of Barsoom.

The point of his blade whipped up to rest beneath my chin.

With that gesture, no doubt this fellow thought he had an advantage over me. He did not know my strength, nor the power of my muscles in the Martian atmosphere.

Endeavoring once again to lull him into a false sense of confidence, I remarked, "It's a pity you broke my blade. I would like to see what manner of swordsman you truly are."

Instead of responding, Ramdar asked, "The ships you fly. Do any of them leave the atmosphere?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Answer at once!" And the point of his curious blade pressed deeper into my larynx.

I made my move then. With the palm of my hand, I struck the flat of his knife. To my astonishment, the weapon did not go flying. True, it shifted several inches, but it did not leave his grasp. The bronzed arm held firm, as if it were truly forged of the metal it so closely resembled.

Abruptly, he dropped his blade, took hold of my harness and then shook me the way a terrier shakes a rat.

It pains me to write these words. But his might was not the might of a normal Barsoomian, nor that of any Earth man. It was the unbridled strength of an animal. It surpassed my own, which is paramount among men on this warring world. Momentarily, I was helpless in his fierce clutch. In a flash of a moment, I believed that Ramdar was in truth raised by apes. But I could not understand how they conferred their titanic strength into his comparatively puny physique.

I tore myself loose from his grasp with an effort, losing a portion of my harness as I did so. This angered me. This much-scarred barbarian was manhandling the Warlord of Mars as if he were a mere panthan.

Making a fist, I drove it in the direction of his chin. My knuckles made contact, rocking his head back. But then a bronze fist connected with my forehead, and I found myself tumbling through the air like an acrobat who had lost control of his performance, to land in a stretch of moss that was made the worse for my scraping along it.

Growling in the most ferocious manner, he charged after me.

"You are no Orovar!" I told him. "You are not a man. You are a beast!"

Copyright © Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. All rights reserved. Trademarks Edgar Rice Burroughs®, Tarzan®, Tarzan of the Apes™, John Carter®, John Carter of Mars®, and Barsoom® owned by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. All associated logos, characters, names, and distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks or registered trademarks of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc. Used by permission.

_________________________________________________________