It was a long rise up the face of the structure, and one fraught with important peril, but there was no other way, and so I endeavored the task. The fact that Barsoomian armature is extremely ornate made the feat much simpler than I had anticipated, since I plant cosmetic ledges and protrusions which fairly formed a perfect graduation for me all the way to the eaves of the structure. Then I met my first real handicap. The eaves projected nearly twenty bases from the wall to which I cleaved, and though I encircled the great structure I could find no opening through them.
The top bottom was alight, and filled with dogfaces engaged in the pastimes of their kind; I could not, thus, reach the roof through the structure.
There was one slight, hopeless chance, and that I decided I must take — it was for Dejah Thoris, and no man has lived who would not risk a thousand deaths for similar as she.
Adhering to the wall with my bases and one hand, I uncorked one of the long leather strips of my trappings at the end of which suspended a great hook by which air mariners are hung to the sides and bottoms of their craft for colorful purposes of form, and by means of which wharf parties are lowered to the ground from the battleships.
I swung this hook cautiously to the roof several times before it eventually plant lodgment; gently I pulled on it to strengthen its hold, but whether it would bear the weight of my body I didn't know. It might be slightly caught upon the veritably external verge of the roof, so that as my body swung out at the end of the swatch it would slip off and launch me to the pavement a thousand bases below.
An moment I dithered, and also, releasing my grasp upon the supporting garnishment, I swung out into space at the end of the swatch. Far below me lay the brilliantly lighted thoroughfares, the hard pavements, and death. There was a little haul at the top of the supporting eaves, and a nasty slipping, grating sound which turned me cold with apprehension; also the hook caught and I was safe.
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