The fight on Mars? An old Atlantian tale, learned from one who read the planets with a lens of lightest glass made double, treble, full one hundred thick by process learned in that great age, but never more employed because, alas! the method sunk, with him who learned when water wall engulfed.
The battle on Mars? An ancient Atlantean legend, passed down from one who studied the planets through a telescope. This device was made of the thinnest glass, layered a hundred times over using techniques from that advanced era. Sadly, this knowledge was lost when the great flood consumed both the inventor and his methods.
One read, and, reading told so plain the tale to eager sage beside him, that the mood of all upon the island then was turned unto the story.
One person read aloud, and the tale was so clear that the eager listener next to them quickly understood. Soon, everyone on the island became engrossed in the story.
Story long forgot by men of earth, and we, who dwell where ether makes a plane of light, remember us that in our youth the tale was told by some old knight, or nurse, with bated breath and whispered accent. Secrecy was pledged lest angry gods cast foul disease upon the eye that pictured—lips which told.
A story long forgotten by humanity, we who live in the ethereal realm of light recall that in our youth, this tale was shared in hushed tones by aged knights or cautious nurses. We swore to keep it secret, fearing that wrathful gods might curse with sickness any eye that envisioned or lips that spoke of it.
One morn the master mind of him who dwelt in tower made high with marble columns formed for strength, and steps wound cunningly among the carven leaves and blossoms rivaling the snow on mountain spur of North, heard with the inner sense the note preluding conflict. Heard with the inner sense, which in that age was factor brought to bear on all the speech of Earth, and taught by science.
One morning, the brilliant mind of the man living in the towering marble fortress sensed an impending conflict. This inner perception, honed by science and widely used for communication in that era, allowed him to detect the subtle signs of approaching strife. The tower itself stood tall, its strong columns adorned with intricate carvings of leaves and flowers that rivaled the snow-capped peaks of northern mountains.
Long ago the tone was needed not by certain learned men, and in Atlantis dwelt the art perfected. In this day the men on mountain spur afar, ye view with scorn, hold simple speech in manner of the Atlantian sage—through current of the mind.
Long ago certain learned men did not need the spoken tone, and in Atlantis the art was perfected. In this day the men on a far mountain spur, whom you view with scorn, hold simple speech in the manner of the Atlantian sage, through the current of the mind.
The brain casts out an ether potent, all unseen yet swift and subtle as the lightning's stroke to them who understand; a potency of mind which dormant hath become in all mankind save favored few who, guided by the mind, seek not the outward mark to glean, but cultivate the inner force of man.
The mind emits a powerful, invisible energy, as quick and elusive as lightning to those who grasp it. This mental force lies dormant in most people, except for a select few who, led by intuition, look beyond surface appearances and instead nurture humanity's inner strength.
I spake, he heard with inner sense the note preluding conflict. Calm he spake to his attendant: "Swing in line the glass which stands beside the trident. Make it clear by passing silken substance o’er the face and wheel it to my couch.
I spoke, and he heard with his inner sense the note that comes before conflict. Calmly he spoke to his attendant: "Swing into line the glass that stands beside the trident. Make it clear by passing silk over its face, and wheel it to my couch.
"Throw wide the casement that my eyes may drink the sparkle on the sea—the forest top that comes unto my casement. Thus my mind grows calm and clear and I may mark events, so that no dream I name the wondrous sights that I shall hand adown the line of sons who follow after."
"Open the window wide so I can take in the glimmering sea and the treetops that reach my sill. This view clears my mind, allowing me to observe events clearly. I'll pass on these remarkable sights to my descendants, ensuring they're no mere dream."
Light-footed slaves brought scented bath, and laved he well his body—body of a prince whose father sat upon the throne in that Atlantian isle.
Agile servants brought fragrant water and thoroughly bathed him—a prince whose father ruled the throne of that Atlantean island.
He broke no meat, but drank he long and deep a draught of milk of goat mixed strong with spice which nourished mind and body; then cast his length upon a carven seat, with silken screen, beside the casement. Far below the sea danced in the light of sun just rising. Far below the gardens, rose-besprinkled, lay; the breath of million blossoms rose to meet his sense of ecstasy and calm commingled.
He ate nothing, but drank deeply from a spiced goat's milk that nourished both mind and body. Then he stretched out on an ornate bench by the window, shielded by a silk screen. Far below, the sea sparkled in the light of the rising sun. The gardens spread out beneath him, dotted with roses, and the scent of countless flowers wafted up, filling him with a mix of joy and tranquility.
He drank the note of warbling buhl that called unto its mate, or osprey's shriek and thrush's note low-hidden in the rose's nest of bloom. Afar were ships of fishers toiling in from work of early morn, and galleys gay with colors wove in silk and fiber of the shrub * which stronger holds.
He drank in the note of the warbling buhl calling to its mate, the osprey's shriek, and the thrush's note hidden low in the rose's nest of bloom. Far off, fishing ships were toiling in from their early morning's work. Gay galleys were there too, with colors woven in silk and in the fiber of the shrub * that holds more strongly.
The people at their prayers looked like the flies which dart from bird or beak of hungry asp; and soldiers in the lines upon the quays were but as moving dolls—aye, so were they, the puppets of a king who ruled through judgment of the priests; for in that age of priest's supremacy fell this tale.
The worshippers looked like insects fleeing from predators. Soldiers lined up on the docks seemed no more than animated toys—mere puppets controlled by a monarch who ruled at the priests' discretion. For this story takes place in an era when the clergy held ultimate power.
Aye, long before the sea-fight of the northmen bold or Asia's subtle souls, Zambesi—tool of these, and old Atlantians guarding well their homes. Nay, after years so long—the sea fight—that I do not count, yet speak, mayhap, the tale I tell fell many thousand years before Atlantis sank.
Yes, this was long before the sea fight of the bold northmen and of Asia's subtle souls, of Zambesi (the tool of these), and of the old Atlantians who guarded their homes well. No, the sea fight came so many years later that I do not count them. Yet I say that the tale I tell perhaps took place many thousands of years before Atlantis sank.
"Wheel to my side the instrument," spake he to his attendant sage, far younger. The man who learned to read each thought made no reply, but wheeled well in line with stars, to eye unaided all invisible, the trumpet-shapen instrument, whose base was metal of that ruddy hue † and gold en-beaten in one gleaming mass, with stones that studded here and there the base.
"Wheel the instrument to my side," he said to his attendant sage, who was far younger. The man who had learned to read every thought made no reply. He wheeled the trumpet-shaped instrument well into line with stars invisible to the unaided eye. Its base was of metal of that ruddy hue † and gold, beaten together into one gleaming mass, with stones studded here and there about the base.
Great dull, white pebbles to the eye of ignorance, but holding meaning to the man so learned, that everything had tongue and speech and mind.
To the eye of ignorance they were great, dull, white pebbles. But they held meaning for the man, who was so learned that everything had tongue and speech and mind.
Great pebbles hurled from planets down to Earth in storm-time of that age. The time of mud from those volcanoes which now lie to sight as spurs of green, so steep and smoothe to eye they seem a fairy garden shaped as cone with carpet made from finest mosses spun. Great cones of beauty yet they worked much harm at seasons.
Massive rocks rained down from space onto Earth during that era's tumultuous storms. Volcanoes, now visible as green hills, spewed mud. These slopes appear so steep and smooth that they resemble fairy-tale cones carpeted with the finest moss. Despite their beauty, these volcanic formations caused significant damage at times.
Slowly bent the sage his eye to instrument and long he gazed. The moon he sullen saw, worn hollow here, at variance there with all the laws of symmetry. The lesser stars, mere floating balls of air, yet shot with rocks from higher zones. At last his eyes grew bright with leaping light, as Mars—the great sky war-god swung on high.
Slowly the sage bent his eye to the instrument, and he gazed long. He saw the sullen moon, worn hollow here and at odds there with all the laws of symmetry. He saw the lesser stars, mere floating balls of air, yet shot through with rocks from higher zones. At last his eyes grew bright with leaping light, as Mars, the great war-god of the sky, swung on high.
"Behold great Mars!" he cried aloud with joy. “I ne’er before have seen his fields of green, for higher hath he floated than mine eyes could reach with all the cunning of this instrument, made from a method learned at the cost of years of life—of study. Instrument supreme!
"Look at Mars!" he exclaimed joyfully. "I've never seen its green fields before, as it always floated too high for my eyes to reach, even with this clever instrument. It's made using a method that took years of study—a lifetime's work. What an incredible tool!"
“But in this day, oh joy! he swingeth nigh in transit lower down by reason of the laxity of ether. The gods be praised! This moment cometh each one thousand years! and I, the blessed, have lived to see this day which none shall see again till I forgot shall be! And yet the knowledge and the history gained shall live long after I have passed from earth.
"But today, what joy! He swings closer in his orbit due to the thinning of the ether. Thank heavens! This moment comes only once every thousand years! And I, the fortunate one, have lived to see this day that no one will witness again until long after I'm forgotten! Yet the knowledge and history gained will endure long after I've left this world."
“Behold!“ he cried, all sudden to attending sage, “The Mars men gather for a battle! Ah! magnificent the armor for each leader. Scales of metal earth-eye hath not seen but later shall invest. The scales of copper part, yet part of silver-smoothed the mottled surface by the smith who welds with beaten stroke, nor forges; metal scales made slow by patient toil, they seem; Ah, I shall learn the method.
"Look!" he exclaimed suddenly to the attentive sage, "The Martians are assembling for battle! Their leaders' armor is magnificent. The metal scales are unlike anything seen on Earth, but will be developed in the future. The surface is a mix of copper and smooth silver, crafted by a smith who welds without forging. These metal scales, made through patient labor, seem to have been created slowly. I must learn their technique."
“Behold the tridents, fiery balls are shot from such as those. I see the fine-wrought spring (by inner sense) the spring which leaps to throw its missile to the foe. The spears, three-pointed, savage instruments—that tear so well the breast. A javelin at the belt made of the woven links and discs and wire of copper hardened.
Look at those tridents - they launch fiery projectiles. I can sense the intricate mechanism inside, the spring that propels the deadly missile towards the enemy. The three-pronged spears are brutal weapons, designed to rip through flesh. At the waist hangs a javelin, its belt crafted from interlaced links, discs, and hardened copper wire.
“Mars men, too, carry spikes of wood like steel; behold the polished point dipped in the blood of adversary—poisoned! doth the inner sense contend, and thus is life all quickly ended. And now behold the shield each bears! a shield en-shaped like leaf of grape; shields made of light yet toughened stuff—of hide, so toughened by a liquid bath (tradition hath), that even steel can scarcely penetrate.
The Martians also wield wooden spikes as deadly as steel. Their polished tips, dipped in the blood of enemies, are poisoned! One's instinct warns of swift death. Look at their shields, shaped like grape leaves. These lightweight yet durable shields are made of hide, toughened by a legendary liquid treatment that even steel can barely pierce.
“About their limbs are tangled cords of silk, each cunningly concealing fiery veins, I wist, encased in metal which to pierce means death when foemen clutch, but well the body bath of wearer doth protect so as a ray of noon-day sun it feels, nor harms.
“Tangled cords of silk wrap their limbs. Each cord cunningly hides fiery veins, I think, encased in metal. When enemies clutch at it, to pierce that metal means death. But the bath on the wearer's body protects him well, so that he feels it only as a ray of the noonday sun, and it does not harm him.
“Their mode of warfare I as yet see not. Ah! I behold great ships sail outward—upward; one alone doth man each boat, and he unarmed save for his deadly dress which burneth foe, but leaveth him unscathed, for outward point the various tubes and lines concealing deadly methods. Around his body warm, bathed in fumes of smoke from some rare shrub which does protect from death, is wound a silken substance soaked in strong solution of a nitrate which protects, the sages wise have told.
Their methods of warfare remain unclear to me. But wait! I see massive ships sailing out and up. Each vessel is manned by a single person, unarmed except for their lethal attire. This outfit burns enemies while leaving the wearer unharmed, as tubes and lines pointing outward hide deadly mechanisms. The pilot's body is kept warm, enveloped in smoke from an exotic plant that wards off death. They're wrapped in silk soaked in a potent nitrate solution, which the wise scholars claim offers protection.
“The ships sail outward from the land and bear a keen-eyed messenger to spy on foe. The foe? I see them not. O men of Mars, whence comes thy foe?—Hark! In their hands they bear them trumpets long, such as our sages spake, their eyes beheld on Mars.
The ships set sail from shore, carrying a vigilant scout to observe the enemy. But where is this enemy? I see no one. People of Mars, where does your foe come from? Listen! They carry long trumpets, just as our wise elders described seeing on Mars.
“I hear their music. Nay, alas! I hear it not. Too great the distance for my strained ears to catch, yet I can see the gleam of light on burnished metal; see the fingers lithe press cunning keys—toy gently with the stops and pull from pierced sides the chain which carries note to other portion of the trumpet long—as long as man with outstretched arms could span.
I hear their music. No, sadly, I don't. They're too far away for me to catch the sound, but I can see the light glinting off polished brass. I watch nimble fingers press skilled keys, gently adjusting stops and pulling chains from the instrument's sides. These chains connect different parts of the trumpet, which is as long as a man's outstretched arms.
“The color of their garments? Sanguine hue, a redder than the light which sun casts ere it sinks behind the hills of Ocean. Men of Mars, ye learn the meaning well of hues the gods make in the worlds to gladden orbs of men and make the heart to leap, the blood run quicker yet, and pulse beat fast which once felt sluggish thrill.
Their garments were a deep, rich red - more vibrant than the sun's glow as it sets beyond the ocean's horizon. Martians, you truly understand the significance of colors that the gods create across worlds to delight human eyes, quicken the blood, and make hearts race that once beat slow.
“White tufts of silk upon each helm are set. Such helms! of scales the fish might deftly grow, embroidered with each name all set in gems of azure, yellow, too, I see the noble captains of the host affect—the color of the shifting light on corn, the yellow symbol, too, of holiness—the flower's heart—the center of an orb—the pigment pure that mellows flesh in tint.
“White tufts of silk are set on each helm. Such helms! They are made of scales such as a fish might deftly grow, and embroidered with each name, all set in azure gems. Yellow too, I see, is the color the noble captains of the host favor. It is the color of the shifting light on grain, and also the yellow symbol of holiness. It is the flower's heart, the center of an eye, the pure pigment that mellows the tint of flesh.
“Embroidered robes I see not as our day has fashioned, but behold the carven lilies as have we. The golden lotus—white, too, they employ.”
I don't see embroidered robes like those made today, but I notice carved lilies similar to ours. They also use golden and white lotus designs.