 CHAPTER 9 I had learned the language. As I came back to myself, I glanced at Sola, who had witnessed this encounter, and I was surprised to note a strange expression upon her usually expressionless countenance. What her thoughts were I did not know, for as yet I had learned but little of the Martian tongue, enough only to suffice for my daily needs. As I reached the doorway of our building, a strange surprise awaited me. A warrior approached, bearing the arms, ornaments, and full accoutrements of his kind. These he presented to me with a few unintelligible words, and of bearing, at once, respectful and menacing. Later, Sola, with the aid of several of the other women, remodeled the trappings to fit my lesser proportions, and after they completed the work I went about garbed in all the panoply of war. From then on Sola instructed me in the mysteries of the various weapons, and with the Martian young I spent several hours each day practicing upon the plaza. I was not yet proficient with all the weapons, but my great familiarity with similar earthly weapons made me an unusually apt pupil, and I progressed in a very satisfactory manner. The training of myself and the young Martians was conducted solely by the women, who not only attend to the education of the young in the arts of individual defense and offense, but are also the artisans who produce every manufactured article wrought by the green Martians. They make the powder, the cartridges, the firearms. In fact, everything of value is produced by the females. In time of actual warfare they form a part of the reserves, and when the necessity arises, fight with even greater intelligence and ferocity than the men. The men are trained in the higher branches of the art of war, in strategy and the maneuvering of large bodies of troops. They make the laws as they are needed, a new law for each emergency. They are unfettered by precedent in the administration of justice. Customs have been handed down by ages of repetition, but the punishment for ignoring a custom is a matter for individual treatment by a jury of the culprit's peers, and I may say that justice seldom misses fire, but seems rather to rule in inverse ratio to the ascendancy of law. In one respect, at least, the Martians are a happy people. They have no lawyers. I did not see the prisoner again for several days subsequent to our first encounter, and then only to catch a fleeting glimpse of her as she was being conducted to the great audience chamber where I had had my first meeting with Lorquas Tommel. I could not but note the unnecessary harshness and brutality with which her guards treated her, so different from the almost maternal kindness which Sola manifested toward me, and the respectful attitude of the few green Martians who took the trouble to notice me at all. I had observed on the two occasions when I had seen her that the prisoner exchanged words with her guards, and this convinced me that they spoke or at least could make themselves understood by a common language. With this added incentive I nearly drove Sola distracted by my importunities to hasten on my education, and within a few more days I had mastered the Martian tongue sufficiently well to enable me to carry on a passable conversation and to fully understand practically all that I heard. At this time our sleeping quarters were occupied by three or four females and a couple of the recently hatched young, besides Sola and her youthful ward, myself and Wula the Hound. After they had retired for the night it was customary for the adults to carry on a desultory conversation for a short time before lapsing into sleep, and now that I could understand their language I was always a keen listener, although I never proffered any remarks myself. From the night following the prisoner's visit to the audience chamber the conversation finally fell upon this subject, and I was all ears on the instant. I had feared to question Sola relative to the beautiful captive, as I could not but recall the strange expression I had noted upon her face after my first encounter with the prisoner. That it denoted jealousy I could not say, and yet judging all things by mundane standards as I still did I felt it safer to affect indifference in the matter until I learned more surely Sola's attitude toward the object of my solicitude. Sarcogea, one of the older women who shared our domicile, had been present at the audience as one of the captive's guards, and it was toward her the question turned. When, asked one of the women, will we enjoy the death-throws of the red one, or does Lorquois Tommel, Jed, intend holding her for ransom? They have decided to carry her with us back to Thark, and exhibit her last agonies at the great games before Tal Hajus, replied Sarcogea. What will be the manner of her going out, inquired Sola? She is very small and very beautiful. I had hoped that they would hold her for ransom, Sarcogea and the other women grunted angrily at this evidence of weakness on the part of Sola. It is sad, Sola, that you were not born a million years ago, snapped Sarcogea, when all the hollows of the land were filled with water and the peoples were as soft as the stuff they sailed upon. In our day we have progressed to a point where such sentiments mark weakness and atavism. It will not be well for you to permit Tars Tarkas to learn that you hold such degenerate sentiments, as I doubt that he would care to entrust such as you with the grave responsibilities of maternity. I see nothing wrong with my expression of interest in this red woman, retorted Sola. She has never harmed us, nor would she should we have fallen into her hands. It is only the men of her kind who war upon us, and I have ever thought that their attitude toward us is but the reflection of ours toward them. They live at peace with all their fellows, except when duty calls upon them to make war, while we are at peace with none, forever warring among our own kind as well as upon the red men, and even in our own communities the individuals fight amongst themselves. Oh, it is one continual awful period of bloodshed from the time we break the shell until we gladly embrace the bosom of the River of Mystery, the dark and ancient is, which carries us to an unknown, but at least no more frightful and terrible existence. Fortunate indeed is he who meets his end in an early death. Say what you please to Tars Tarkas. He can meet out no worse fate to me than a continuation of the horrible existence we are forced to lead in this life. This wild outbreak on the part of Sola, so greatly surprised and shocked the other women that after a few words of general reprimand they all lapsed into silence and were soon asleep. One thing the episode had accomplished was to assure me of Sola's friendliness toward the poor girl, and also to convince me that I had been extremely fortunate in falling into her hands rather than those of some of the other females. I knew that she was fond of me, and now that I had discovered that she hated cruelty and barbarity, I was confident that I could depend upon her to aid me and the girl captive to escape, provided, of course, that such a thing was within the range of possibilities. I did not even know that there were any better conditions to escape, too, but I was more than willing to take my chances among people fashioned after my own mold rather than to remain longer among the hideous and bloodthirsty green men of Mars. But where to go and how was as much of a puzzle to me as the age-old search for the spring of eternal life has been to earthly men since the beginning of time? I decided that at the first opportunity I would take Sola into my confidence and openly ask her to aid me, and with this resolution strong upon me I turned among my silk and furs and slept the dreamless and refreshing sleep of Mars. CHAPTER X CHAMPION AND CHIEF Early the next morning I was a stir. Considerable freedom was allowed me, as Sola had informed me that so long as I did not attempt to leave the city, I was free to go and come as I pleased. She had warned me, however, against venturing forth unarmed, as this city, like all other deserted metropolises of an ancient Martian civilization, was peopled by the great white apes of my second day's adventure. In advising me that I must not leave the boundaries of the city, Sola had explained that Wula would prevent this anyway should I attempt it, and she warned me most urgently not to arouse his fierce nature by ignoring his warnings should I venture too close to the forbidden territory. His nature was such, she said, that he would bring me back into the city, dead or alive, should I persist in opposing him, preferably dead, she added. On this morning I had chosen a new street to explore, when suddenly I found myself at the limits of the city. Before me were low hills pierced by narrow and inviting ravines. I longed to explore the country before me, and, like the pioneer stock from which I sprang, to view what the landscape beyond the encircling hills might disclose from the summits which shut out my view. It also occurred to me that this would prove an excellent opportunity to test the qualities of Wula. I was convinced that the brute loved me. I had seen more evidences of affection in him than in any other Martian animal, man or beast, and I was sure that gratitude for the acts that had twice saved his life would more than outweigh his loyalty to the duty imposed upon him by cruel and loveless masters. As I approached the boundary line, Wula ran anxiously before me and thrust his body against my legs. His expression was pleading rather than ferocious, nor did he bear his great tusks or utter his fearful guttural warnings. Denied the friendship and companionship of my kind, I had developed considerable affection for Wula and Sola, for the normal earthly man must have some outlet for his natural affections, and so I decided upon an appeal to a like instinct in this great brute, sure that I would not be disappointed. I had never petted nor fondled him, but now I sat upon the ground and putting my arms around his heavy neck I stroked and coaxed him, talking in my newly acquired Martian tongue as I would have to my hound at home, as I would have talked to any other friend among the lower animals. His response to my manifestation of affection was remarkable to a degree. He stretched his great mouth to its full width, bearing the entire expanse of his upper rows of tusks and wrinkling his snout until his great eyes were almost hidden by the folds of flesh. If you have ever seen a collie smile, you may have some idea of Wula's facial distortion. He threw himself upon his back and fairly wallowed at my feet, jumped up and sprang upon me, rolling me upon the ground by his great weight, then wriggling and squirming around me like a playful puppy presenting its back for the petting it craves. I could not resist the ludicrousness of the spectacle, and holding my sides I rocked back and forth in the first laughter which had passed my lips in many days. The first, in fact, since the morning pout had left the camp, when his horse, long unused, had precipitately and unexpectedly bucked him off, head foremost, into a pot of free holies. My laughter frightened Wula. His antics ceased and he crawled pitifully toward me, poking his ugly head far into my lap, and then I remembered what laughter signified on Mars, torture, suffering, death. Quieting myself I rubbed the poor old fellow's head and back, talked to him for a few minutes, and then, in an authoritative tone, commanded him to follow me, and a rising started for the hills. There was no further question of authority between us. Wula was my devoted slave from that moment hence, and I, his only and undisputed master. My walk to the hills occupied but a few minutes, and I found nothing of particular interest to reward me. Numerous, brilliantly colored, and strangely formed wildflowers dotted the ravines, and from the summit of the first hill I saw still other hills stretching off toward the north, and rising one range above another until lost in mountains of quite respectable dimensions. So I afterward found that only a few peaks on all Mars exceed four thousand feet in height. The suggestion of magnitude was merely relative. My morning's walk had been large with importance to me, for it had resulted in a perfect understanding with Wula, upon whom Taurus Tarkas relied for my safekeeping. I now knew that while theoretically a prisoner I was virtually free, and I hastened to regain the city limits before the defection of Wula could be discovered by his erstwhile masters. The adventure decided me never again to leave the limits of my prescribed stamping grounds until I was ready to venture forth for good and all, as it would certainly result in a curtailment of my liberties as well as the probable death of Wula were we to be discovered. When regaining the plaza I had my third glimpse of the captive girl. She was standing with her guards before the entrance to the audience chamber, and as I approached she gave me one haughty glance and turned her back full upon me. The act was so womanly, so earthly womanly, that though it stung my pride it also warmed my heart with a feeling of companionship. It was good to know that someone else on Mars beside myself had human instincts of a civilized order, even though the manifestation of them was so painful and mortifying. Had a green Martian woman desired to show dislike or contempt she would in all likelihood have done it with a sword thrust or a movement of her trigger finger. But as their sentiments are mostly atrophied it would have required a serious injury to have aroused such passions in them. Sola, let me add, was an exception. I never saw her perform a cruel or uncouth act, or fail in uniform kindness and good nature. She was indeed, as her fellow Martian had said of her, an atavism, a dear and precious reversion to a former type of loved and loving ancestor. Seeing that the prisoner seemed the center of attraction I halted to view the proceedings. I had not longed to wait, for presently Lorquas Tommel and his retinue of Chieftains approached the building and, signing the guards to follow with the prisoner, entered the audience chamber. Realizing that I was a somewhat favored character and also convinced that the warriors did not know of my proficiency in their language as I had pleaded with Sola to keep this a secret on the grounds that I did not wish to be forced to talk with the men until I had perfectly mastered the Martian tongue, I chanced an attempt to enter the audience chamber and listen to the proceedings. The counsel squatted upon the steps of the rostrum while below them stood the prisoner and her two guards. I saw that one of the women was Sarkoja and thus understood how she had been present at the hearing of the preceding day, the results of which she had reported to the occupants of our dormitory last night. Her attitude toward the captive was most harsh and brutal. When she held her she sunk her rudimentary nails into the poor girl's flesh or twisted her arm in a most painful manner. When it was necessary to move from one spot to another she either jerked her roughly or pushed her headlong before her. She seemed to be venting upon this poor defenseless creature all the hatred, cruelty, ferocity and spite of her nine hundred years, backed by unguessable ages of fierce and brutal ancestors. The other woman was less cruel because she was entirely indifferent. If the prisoner had been left to her alone and fortunately she was at night she would have received no harsh treatment nor by the same token would she have received any attention at all. As Lorcaz Tomell raised his eyes to address the prisoner they fell on me and he turned to Tars Tarkas with a word and a gesture of impatience. Tars Tarkas made some reply which I could not catch, but which caused Lorcaz Tomell to smile after which they paid no further attention to me. What is your name? asked Lorcaz Tomell addressing the prisoner. Dejah Thoris, daughter of Morse Kajak of Helium. And the nature of your expedition? he continued. It was a purely scientific research party sent out by my father's father, the Jeddak of Helium, to recharge the air currents and to take atmospheric density tests, replied the fair prisoner in a low, well modulated voice. We were unprepared for battle, she continued, as we were on a peaceful mission, as our banners and the colours of our craft denoted. The work we were doing was as much in your interests as in ours. For you know full well that were it not for our labours and the fruits of our scientific operations there would not be enough air or water on Mars to support a single human life. For ages we have maintained the air and water supply at practically the same point without inappreciable loss, and we have done this in the face of the brutal and ignorant interference of your green men. Why oh why will you not learn to live in amity with your fellows? Must you ever go on down the ages to your final extinction, but little above the plain of the dumb brutes that serve you? A people without written language, without art, without homes, without love. The victim of eons of the horrible community idea, owning everything in common, even to your women and children, has resulted in your owning nothing in common. You hate each other as you hate all else except yourselves. Come back to the ways of our common ancestors. Come back to the light of kindness and fellowship. The way is open to you. You will find the hands of the red men stretched out to aid you. Together we may do still more to regenerate our dying planet. The granddaughter of the greatest and mightiest of the red jeddaks has asked you. Will you come?" Loquaz Tommel and the warriors sat looking silently and intently at the young woman for several moments after she had ceased speaking. What was passing in their minds no man may know. But that they were moved I truly believed. And if one man high among them had been strong enough to rise above custom, that moment would have marked a new and mighty era for Mars. I saw Tars Tarkas rise to speak, and on his face was such an expression as I had never seen upon the countenance of a green Martian warrior. It bespoke an inward and mighty battle with self, with heredity, with age-old custom, and as he opened his mouth to speak a look almost of benignity of kindness momentarily lighted up his fierce and terrible countenance. That words of moment were to have fallen from his lips were never spoken, as just then a young warrior evidently sensing the trend of thought among the older men leaped down from the steps of the rostrum and striking the frail captive a powerful blow across the face which felled her to the floor, placed his foot upon her prostrate form and turning toward the assembled council broke into peals of horrid, mirthless laughter. For an instant I thought Tars Tarkas would strike him dead. Nor did the aspect of Lorquas Tommel augur any too favorably for the brute, but the mood passed, their old selves reasserted their ascendancy and they smiled. It was portentous, however, that they did not laugh aloud, for the brute's act constituted a side-splitting witticism according to the ethics which rule green Martian humor. Had I have taken moments to write down part of what occurred as that blow fell does not signify that I remained inactive for any such length of time. I think I must have sensed something of what was coming, for I realize now that I was crouched as for a spring as I saw the blow aimed at her beautiful, upturned, pleading face, and ere the hand descended I was half way across the hall. Only had his hideous laugh rang out but once when I was upon him. The brute was twelve feet in height and armed to the teeth, but I believe that I could have accounted for the whole roomful in the terrific intensity of my rage. Springing upward I struck him full in the face as he turned at my warning-cry, and then as he drew his short sword I drew mine, and sprang up again at his breast, hooking one leg over the butt of his pistol and grasping one of his huge tusks with my left hand while I delivered blow after blow upon his enormous chest. He could not use his short sword to advantage because I was too close to him, nor could he draw his pistol, which he attempted to do in direct opposition to Martian custom, which says that you may not fight a fellow warrior in private combat with any other than the weapon with which you were attacked. In fact he could do nothing but make a wild and futile attempt to dislodge me. With all his immense bulk he was little, if any, stronger than I, and it was but the matter of a moment or two before he sank, bleeding and lifeless to the floor. Dejah Thoris had raised herself upon one elbow and was watching the battle with wide, staring eyes. When I had regained my feet I raised her in my arms and bore her to one of the benches at the side of the room. Again no Martian interfered with me, and tearing a piece of silk from my cape I endeavored to staunch the flow of blood from her nostrils. I was soon successful as her injuries amounted to little more than an ordinary nosebleed, and when she could speak she placed her hand upon my arm and, looking up into my eyes, said, Why did you do it? You who refused me even friendly recognition in the first hour of my peril, and now you risk your life and kill one of your companions for my sake. I cannot understand. What strange manner of man are you, that you can sort with the green men, though your form is that of my race, while your color is little darker than that of the white ape? Tell me, are you human, or are you more than human? It is a strange tale, I replied, too long to attempt to tell you now, and one which I so much doubt the credibility of myself that I fear to hope that others will believe it. Suffice it for the present that I am your friend, and so far as your captors will permit your protector and your servant. Then you, too, are a prisoner? But why, then, those arms and the regalia of a Tharcian chieftain? What is your name? Where your country? Yes, Dejah Thoris, I, too, am a prisoner. My name is John Carter, and I claim Virginia, one of the United States of America, Earth, as my home. But why I am permitted to wear arms I do not know, nor was I aware that my regalia was that of a chieftain. We were interrupted at this juncture by the approach of one of the warriors, bearing arms, accoutrements, and ornaments, and in a flash one of her questions was answered, and a puzzle cleared up for me. I saw that the body of my dead antagonist had been stripped, and I read in the menacing yet respectful attitude of the warrior who had brought me these trophies of the kill the same demeanor as that evinced by the other who had brought me my original equipment. And now, for the first time, I realized that my blow, on the occasion of my first battle in the audience chamber, had resulted in the death of my adversary. The reason for the whole attitude display toward me was now apparent. I had won my spurs, so to speak, and in the crude justice which always marks Martian dealings, and which, among other things, has caused me to call her the planet of paradoxes, I was accorded the honors due a conqueror, the trappings and the position of the man I killed. In truth, I was a Martian chieftain, and this I learned later was the cause of my great freedom and my toleration in the audience chamber. As I turned to receive the dead warrior's chattels, I had noticed that Tars Tarkas and several others had pushed forward toward us, and the eyes of the former rested upon me in a most quizzical manner. Finally he addressed me. You speak the tongue of Barsoom quite readily for one who was deaf and dumb to us a few short days ago. Where did you learn it, John Carter? You yourself are responsible, Tars Tarkas, I replied, in that you furnished me with an instructress of remarkable ability. I have to thank Sola for my learning. He has done well, he answered, but your education in other respects needs considerable polish. Do you know that your unprecedented temerity would have cost you had you failed to kill either of the two chieftains whose metal you now wear? I presume that the one whom I had failed to kill would have killed me, I answered, smiling. No, you are wrong. Only in the extremity of self-defense would a Martian warrior kill a prisoner. He liked to save them for other purposes, and his face bespoke possibilities that were not pleasant to dwell upon. But one thing can save you now, he continued, should you, in recognition of your remarkable valor, ferocity, and prowess, be considered by Tal Huggis as worthy of his service, you may be taken into the community and become a full-fledged Tharkian. Until we reach the headquarters of Tal Huggis it is the will of Lorquas Tommel that you be accorded the respect your acts have earned you. You will be treated by us as a Tharkian chieftain, but you must not forget that every chief who ranks you is responsible for your safe delivery to our mighty and most ferocious ruler. I am done." I hear you, Tars Tarkas, I answered. As you know I am not of Barsoom. Your ways are not my ways, and I can act only in the future as I have in the past, in accordance with the dictates of my conscience and guided by the standards of my own people. If you will leave me alone I will go in peace, but if not, let the individual Barsoomians with whom I must deal either respect my rights as a stranger among you or take whatever consequences may befall. Of one thing let us be sure. Whatever may be your ultimate intentions toward this unfortunate young woman, whoever would offer her injury or insult in the future must figure on making a full accounting to me. I understand that you belittle all sentiments of generosity and kindness, but I do not, and I can convince your most doubty warrior that these characteristics are not incompatible with an ability to fight. Ordinarily I am not given to long speeches, nor ever before had I descended to Bombast, but I had guessed at the keynote which would strike an answering chord in the breasts of the Green Martians, nor was I wrong, for my harangue evidently deeply impressed them, and their attitude toward me thereafter was still further respectful. Tars Tarkas himself seemed pleased with my reply, but his only comment was more or less enigmatic. And I think I know Tal Hajus, Jeddak of Thok. I now turned my attention to Dejah Thoris, and assisting her to her feet I turned with her toward the exit, ignoring her hovering guardian harpies as well as the inquiring glances of the chieftains. Was I not now a chieftain also? Well then, I would assume the responsibilities of one. They did not molest us, and so Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, and John Carter, gentlemen of Virginia, followed by the faithful Wula, passed through utter silence from the audience chamber of Lorquas Tommel, Jedd, among the Tharks of Barsoom. End of Chapter 10. Chapters 11 and 12 of A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs, read by Mark Nelson. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. The Princess of Mars. Chapter 11 With Dejah Thoris As we reached the open, the two female guards who had been detailed to watch over Dejah Thoris hurried up and made as though to assume custody of her once more. The poor child shrank against me, and I felt her two little hands fold tightly over my arm. Waving the women away, I informed them that Sola would attend the captive hereafter, and I further warned Sarkoja that any more of her cruel attentions bestowed upon Dejah Thoris would result in Sarkoja's sudden and painful demise. My threat was unfortunate and resulted in more harm than good to Dejah Thoris, for as I learned later men do not kill women upon Mars nor women men, so Sarkoja merely gave us an ugly look and departed to hatch up devil trees against us. I soon found Sola and explained to her that I wished her to guard Dejah Thoris as she had guarded me, that I wished her to find other quarters where they would not be molested by Sarkoja, and I finally informed her that I myself would take up my quarters among the men. Sola glanced at the accoutrements which were carried in my hand and slung across my shoulder. You are a great chieftain now, John Carter, she said, and I must do your bidding, though indeed I am glad to do it under any circumstances. The man whose medal you carry was young, but he was a great warrior, and had by his promotions and kills won his way close to the rank of Tars Tarkas, who, as you know, is second to Lorquas Tomell only. You are eleventh, but there are but ten chieftains in this community who rank you in prowess. And if I should kill Lorquas Tomell, I asked. You would be first, John Carter, but you may only win that honour by the will of the entire Council that Lorquas Tomell meet you in combat, or should he attack you, you may kill him in self-defense, and thus win first place. I laughed and changed the subject. I had no particular desire to kill Lorquas Tomell, and less to be a jed among the Tharks. I accompanied Sola and Dejah Thoris in a search for new quarters, which we found in a building nearer the audience chamber, and a far more pretentious architecture than our former habitation. We also found in this building real sleeping apartments with ancient beds of highly wrought metal, swinging from enormous gold chains depending from the marble ceilings. The decoration of the walls was most elaborate, and unlike the frescoes in the other buildings I had examined, portrayed many human figures in the compositions. These were of people like myself, and of a much lighter colour than Dejah Thoris. They were clad in graceful flowing robes, highly ornamented with metal and jewels, and the luxuriant hair was of a beautiful golden and reddish bronze. The men were beardless, and only a few wore arms. The scenes depicted, for the most part, a fair-skinned, fair-haired people at play. Dejah Thoris clasped her hands with an exclamation of rapture as she gazed upon these magnificent works of art, wrought by a people long extinct. While Sola, on the other hand, apparently did not see them. We decided to use this room on the second floor and overlooking the plaza for Dejah Thoris and Sola, and another room adjoining and in the rear for the cooking and supplies. I then dispatched Sola to bring the bedding and such food and utensils as she might need, telling her that I would guard Dejah Thoris until her return. As Sola departed, Dejah Thoris turned to me with a faint smile. And where to then with your prisoner escape should you leave her, unless it was to follow you and crave your protection and ask your pardon for the cruel thought she has harbored against you these past few days? You are right, I answered. There is no escape for either of us unless we go together. I heard your challenge to the creature you call Tars Tarkas, and I think I understand your position among these people, but what I cannot fathom is your statement that you are not of Barsoom. In the name of my first ancestor then, she continued, where may you be from? You are like unto my people, and yet so unlike. You speak my language, and yet I heard you tell Tars Tarkas that you had but learned it recently. All Barsoomians speak the same tongue, from the ice clad south to the ice clad north, though their written languages differ. Only in the valley Dor, where the river Iss empties into the lost Sea of Chorus, is there supposed to be a different language spoken, and except in the legends of our ancestors there is no record of a Barsoomian returning up the river Iss from the shores of Chorus in the valley of Dor. Do not tell me that you have thus returned. They would kill you horribly anywhere upon the surface of Barsoom, if that were true. Tell me it is not. Her eyes were filled with a strange, weird light. Her voice was pleading, and her little hands, reached up upon my breast, where pressed against me as though to ring a denial from my very heart. I do not know your customs, Dejah Thoris, but in my own Virginia a gentleman does not lie to save himself. I am not of Dor. I have never seen the mysterious Iss. The lost Sea of Chorus is still lost so far as I am concerned. Do you believe me? And then it struck me suddenly that I was very anxious that she should believe me. It was not that I feared the results which would follow a general belief that I had returned from the Barsoomian heaven or hell or whatever it was. Why was it then? Why should I care what she thought? I looked down at her, her beautiful face upturned, and her wonderful eyes opening up the very depth of her soul, and as my eyes met hers I knew why and I shuddered. A similar wave of feeling seemed to stir her. She drew away from me with a sigh, and with her earnest, beautiful face turned up to mine, she whispered, I believe you, John Carter, I do not know what a gentleman is, nor have I ever heard of Virginia, but on Barsoom no man lies. If he does not wish to speak the truth he is silent. Where is this Virginia, your country, John Carter? She asked. And it seemed that this fair name of my fair land had never sounded more beautiful than as it fell from those perfect lips on that far-gone day. I, am of another world, I answered. The great planet Earth, which revolves about our common sun and next within the orbit of your Barsoom, which we know as Mars. How I came here I cannot tell you, for I do not know. But here I am, and since my presence has permitted me to serve Dejah Thoris, I am glad that I am here. She gazed at me with troubled eyes, long and questioningly. That it was difficult to believe my statements I well know, nor could I hope that she would do so, however much I craved her confidence and respect. I would much rather not have told her anything of my antecedents, but no man can look into the depths of those eyes and refuse her slightest behest. Finally she smiled, and rising said, I shall have to believe even though I cannot understand. I can readily perceive that you are not of Barsoom of today. You are like us, yet different. But why should I trouble my poor head with such a problem when my heart tells me that I believe because I wish to believe? It was good logic, good, earthly, feminine logic, and if it satisfied her I certainly could pick no flaws in it. As a matter of fact it was about the only kind of logic that could be brought to bear upon my problem. We fell into a general conversation then, asking and answering many questions on each side. She was curious to learn of the customs of my people and displayed a remarkable knowledge of events on earth. When I questioned her closely on this seeming familiarity with earthly things she laughed and cried out. Why, every schoolboy on Barsoom knows the geography and much concerning the fauna and flora, as well as the history of your planet fully as well as of his own. Can we not see everything which takes place upon earth, as you call it? Is it not hanging there in the heavens in plain sight? This baffled me, I must confess, fully as much as my statements had confounded her. And I told her so. She then explained in general the instruments her people had used and been perfecting for ages, which permit them to throw upon a screen a perfect image of what is transpiring upon any planet and upon many of the stars. These pictures are so perfect in detail that when photographed and enlarged objects no greater than a blade of grass may be distinctly recognized. I afterward, in Helium, saw many of these pictures, as well as the instruments which produced them. If, then, you are so familiar with earthly things, I asked, why is it that you do not recognize me as identical with the inhabitants of that planet? She smiled again as one might in bored indulgence of a questioning child. "'Because,' John Carter, she replied, nearly every planet and star having atmospheric conditions at all approaching those of Barsoom, show forms of animal life almost identical with you and me, and further, earth men, almost without exception, cover their bodies with strange, unsightly pieces of cloth, and their heads with hideous contraptions the purpose of which we have been unable to conceive, while you, when found by the Tharcian warriors, were entirely undisfigured and unadorned. The fact that you wore no ornaments is a strong proof of your un-Barsoomian origin, while the absence of grotesque coverings might cause a doubt as to your earthliness.' I then narrated the details of my departure from the earth, explaining that my body there lay fully clothed in all the, to her, strange garments of mundane dwellers. At this point, Sola returned with our meager belongings and her young Martian protégé, who, of course, would have to share the quarters with them. Sola asked us if we had had a visitor during her absence, and seemed much surprised when we answered in the negative. It seemed that as she had mounted the approach to the upper floors where our quarters were located, she had met Sarcogea descending. We decided that she must have been eavesdropping, but as we could recall nothing of importance that had passed between us, we dismissed the matter as of little consequence, merely promising ourselves to be warned to the utmost caution in the future. Dejah Thoris and I fell to examining the architecture and decorations of the beautiful chambers of the building we were occupying. She told me that these people had presumably flourished over a hundred thousand years before. They were the early progenitors of her race, but had mixed with the other great race of early Martians, who were very dark, almost black, and also with the reddish-yellow race which had flourished at the same time. These three great divisions of the higher Martians had been forced into a mighty alliance as the drying up of the Martian seas had compelled them to seek the comparatively few and always diminishing fertile areas, and to defend themselves under new conditions of life against the wild hordes of green men. Ages of close relationship and intermarrying had resulted in the race of red men, of which Dejah Thoris was a fair and beautiful daughter. During the ages of hardships and incessant warrings between their own various races as well as with the green men, and before they had fitted themselves to the changed conditions much of the high civilizations and many of the arts of the fair-haired Martians had become lost. But the red race of today has reached a point where it feels that it has made up in new discoveries and in a more practical civilization for all that lies irretrievably buried with the ancient Barsoomians beneath the countless intervening ages. These ancient Martians had been a highly cultivated and literary race, but during the vicissitudes of those trying centuries of readjustment to new conditions not only did their advancement and production cease entirely, but practically all their archives, records, and literature were lost. Dejah Thoris related many interesting facts and legends concerning this lost race of noble and kindly people. She said that the city in which we were camping was supposed to have been a center of commerce and culture known as Korad. It had been built upon a beautiful, natural harbor, landlocked by magnificent hills. The little valley on the west front of the city, she explained, was all that remained of the harbor, while the pass through the hills to the old sea-bottom had been the channel through which the shipping passed up to the city's gates. The shores of the ancient seas were dotted with just such cities, and lesser ones, in diminishing numbers, were to be found converging toward the center of the oceans, as the people had found it necessary to follow the receding waters until necessity had forced upon them their ultimate salvation, the so-called Martian canals. We had been so engrossed in exploration of the building and in our conversation that it was late in the afternoon before we realized it. We were brought back to a realization of our present conditions by a messenger bearing a summons from Lorquas Tommel directing me to appear before him forthwith, bidding Dejah Thoris and Sola farewell and commanding Wula to remain on guard, I hastened to the audience chamber where I found Lorquas Tommel and Tars Tarkas seated upon the rostrum. CHAPTER XII A PRISONER WITH POWER As I entered and saluted, Lorquas Tommel signaled me to advance, and fixing his great hideous eyes upon me addressed me thus. You have been with us a few days, yet during that time you have by your prowess won a high position among us. Be that as it may, you are not one of us, you owe us no allegiance. Your position is a peculiar one, he continued. You are a prisoner, and yet you give commands which must be obeyed. You are an alien, and yet you are a Tharkian chieftain. You are a midget, and yet you can kill a mighty warrior with one blow of your fist. And now you are reported to have been plotting to escape with another prisoner of another race, a prisoner who, from her own admission, half believes you are returned from the valley of Dorr. Either one of these accusations, if proved, would be sufficient grounds for your execution. But we are just people, and you shall have a trial on our return to Thark, if Tal Hajus so commands. But, he continued in his fierce guttural tones, if you run off with the Red Girl, it is I who shall have to account to Tal Hajus. It is I who shall have to face Tars Tarkas, and either demonstrate my right to command, or the medal from my dead Karkas will go to a better man, for such is the custom of the Tharks. I have no quarrel with Tars Tarkas. Together we rule supreme the greatest of the lesser communities among the green men. We do not wish to fight between ourselves. And so, if you were dead, John Carter, I should be glad. Under two conditions only, however, may you be killed by us without orders from Tal Hajus. In personal combat in self-defense, should you attack one of us, or were you apprehended in an attempt to escape? As a matter of justice, I must warn you that we only await one of these two excuses for ridding ourselves of so great a responsibility. The safe delivery of the Red Girl to Tal Hajus is of the greatest importance. Not in a thousand years have the Tharks made such a capture. She is the granddaughter of the greatest of the Red Jeddaks, who is also our bitterest enemy. I have spoken. The Red Girl told us that we were without the softer sentiments of humanity. But we are a just and truthful race. You may go. Turning I left the audience chamber. So this was the beginning of Sarkoja's persecution. I knew that none other could be responsible for this report which had reached the ears of Lorquas Tommel so quickly, and now I recalled those portions of our conversation which had touched upon escape and upon my origin. Sarkoja was at this time Taurus Tarkus' oldest and most trusted female. As such, she was a mighty power behind the throne, for no warrior had the confidence of Lorquas Tommel to such an extent as did his ableist lieutenant, Taurus Tarkus. However, instead of putting thoughts of possible escape from my mind, my audience with Lorquas Tommel only served to center my every faculty on this subject. Now, more than before, the absolute necessity for escape insofar as Dejah Thoris was concerned was impressed upon me. For I was convinced that some horrible fate awaited her at the headquarters of Tal Hedges. As described by Sola, this monster was the exaggerated personification of all the ages of cruelty, ferocity, and brutality from which he had descended. Cold, cunning, calculating. He was also, in marked contrast to most of his fellows, a slave to that brute passion which the waning demands for procreation upon their dying planet has almost stilled in the Martian breast. The thought that the divine Dejah Thoris might fall into the clutches of such an abysmal activism started the cold sweat upon me. Far better than we, say, friendly bullets for ourselves at the last moment, as did those brave frontier women of my lost land, who took their own lives rather than fall into the hands of the Indian Braves. As I wandered about the plaza, lost in my gloomy forebodings, Tars Tarkas approached me on his way from the audience chamber. His demeanor toward me was unchanged, and he greeted me as though we had not just parted a few moments before. Where are your quarters, John Carter? he asked. I have selected none, I replied. It seemed best that I quartered either by myself or among the other warriors, and I was awaiting an opportunity to ask your advice. As you know, and I smiled, I am not yet familiar with all the customs of the Tharks. Come with me, he directed, and together we moved off across the plaza to a building which I was glad to see adjoined that occupied by Sola and her charges. My quarters are on the first floor of this building, he said, and the second floor also is fully occupied by warriors, but the third floor and the floors above are vacant, you may take your choice of these. I understand, he continued, that you have given up your woman to the Red Prisoner. Well, as you have said, your ways are not our ways. But you can fight well enough to do about as you please. And so, if you wish to give your woman to a captive, it is your own affair. But as a chieftain, you should have those to serve you, and in accordance with our customs you may select any or all the females from the retinues of the chieftains whose medal you now wear. I thanked him, but assured him that I could get along very nicely without assistance except in the matter of preparing food, and so he promised to send women to me for this purpose and also for the care of my arms and the manufacture of my ammunition, which he said would be necessary. I suggested that they might also bring some of the sleeping silks and furs which belong to me as spoils of combat, for the nights were cold and I had none of my own. He promised to do so and departed. Left alone I ascended the winding corridor to the upper floors in search of suitable quarters. The beauties of the other buildings were repeated in this, and as usual I was soon lost in a tour of investigation and discovery. I finally chose a front room on the third floor, because this brought me nearer to Dejah Thoris, whose apartment was on the second floor of the adjoining building, and it flashed upon me that I could rig up some means of communication whereby she might signal me in case she needed either my services or my protection. Adjoining my sleeping apartment were baths, dressing rooms, and other sleeping and living apartments, in all some ten rooms on this floor. The windows of the back rooms overlooked an enormous court which formed the center of the square made by the buildings which faced the four contiguous streets, and which was now given over to the quartering of the various animals belonging to the warriors occupying the adjoining buildings. While the court was entirely overgrown with the yellow, moss-like vegetation which blankets practically the entire surface of Mars, yet numerous fountains, statuary, benches, and pergola-like contraptions bore witness to the beauty which the court must have presented in bygone times, when graced by the fair-haired, laughing people whom stern and unalterable cosmic laws had driven not only from their homes, but from all except the vague legends of their descendants. One could easily picture the gorgeous foliage of the luxuriant Martian vegetation which once filled this scene with life and color, the graceful figures of the beautiful women, the straight and handsome men, the happy, frolicking children, all sunlight, happiness, and peace. It was difficult to realize that they had gone down through ages of darkness, cruelty, and ignorance until their hereditary instincts of culture and humanitarianism had risen ascend it once more in the final composite race which now is dominant upon Mars. My thoughts were cut short by the advent of several young females bearing loads of weapons, silks, furs, jewels, cooking utensils, and casks of food and drink, including considerable loot from the aircraft. All this, it seemed, had been the property of the two chieftains I had slain, and now, by the customs of the Tharks, it had become mine. At my direction they placed the stuff in one of the back rooms, and then departed only to return with a second load, which they advised me constituted the balance of my goods. On the second trip they were accompanied by ten or fifteen other women and youths, who, it seemed, formed the retinues of the two chieftains. They were not their families nor their wives nor their servants. The relationship was peculiar, and so unlike anything known to us that it is most difficult to describe. All property among the green Martians is owned in common by the community, except the personal weapons, ornaments, and sleeping silks and furs of the individuals. These alone can one claim undisputed right to, nor may he accumulate more of these than are required for his actual needs. The surplus he holds merely as custodian, and it is passed on to the younger members of the community as necessity demands. The women and children of a man's retinue may be likened to a military unit for which he is responsible in various ways, as in matters of instruction, discipline, sustenance, and the exigencies of their continual romings, and their unending strife with other communities and with the red Martians. His women are in no sense wives. The green Martians use no word corresponding and meaning with this earthly word. Their mating is a matter of community interest solely, and is directed without reference to natural selection. The council of chieftains of each community control the matter as surely as the owner of a Kentucky racing-stud directs the scientific breeding of his stock for the improvement of the whole. In theory it may sound well, as is often the case with theories, but the results of ages of this unnatural practice, coupled with the community interest in the offspring being held paramount to that of the mother, is shown in the cold, cruel creatures, and their gloomy, loveless, mirthless existence. It is true that the green Martians are absolutely virtuous, both men and women, with the exception of such degenerates as Tal Hages, but better far a finer balance of human characteristics even at the expense of a slight and occasional loss of chastity. Finding that I must assume responsibility for these creatures, whether I would or not, I made the best of it and directed them to find quarters on the upper floors, leaving the third floor to me. One of the girls I charged with the duties of my simple cuisine, and directed the others to take up the various activities which had formally constituted their vocations. Thereafter I saw little of them, nor did I care to. End of Chapter 12 CHAPTERS 13 AND 14 OF A PRINCESS OF MARS Following the battle with the airships, the community remained within the city for several days, abandoning the homeward march until they could feel reasonably assured that the ships would not return, or to be caught on the open plains with a cavalcade of chariots and children was far from the desire of even so warlike of people as the green Martians. During our period of inactivity, Tars Tarkas had instructed me in many of the customs and arts of war familiar to the Tharks, including lessons in writing and guiding the great beasts which bore the warriors. These creatures, which are known as Thoats, are as dangerous and vicious as their masters, but when once subdued are sufficiently tractable for the purposes of the green Martians. Two of these animals had fallen to me from the warriors whose metal I wore, and in a short time I could handle them quite as well as the native warriors. The method was not at all complicated. If the Thoats did not respond with sufficient celerity to the telepathic instructions of their riders, they were dealt a terrific blow between the ears with the butt of a pistol, and if they showed fight this treatment was continued until the Brutes either were subdued or had unseated their riders. In the latter case it became a life and death struggle between the man and the beast. If the former were quick enough with his pistol he might live to ride again, though upon some other beast. If not, his torn and mangled body was gathered up by his women and burned in accordance with Tharkian custom. My experience with Wula determined me to attempt the experiment of kindness in my treatment of my Thoats. First I taught them that they should not unseat me, and even wrap them sharply between the ears to impress upon them my authority and mastery. Then by degrees I won their confidence in much the same manner as I had adopted countless times with my many mundane mounts. I was ever a good hand with animals, and by inclination as well as because it brought more lasting and satisfactory results, I was always kind and humane in my dealings with the lower orders. I could take a human life, if necessary, with far less compunction than that of a poor, unreasoning, irresponsible brute. In the course of a few days my Thoats were the wonder of the entire community. They would follow me like dogs, rubbing their great snouts against my body in awkward evidence of affection, and respond to my every command with an alacrity and docility which caused the Martian warriors to ascribe to me the possession of some earthly power unknown on Mars. How have you bewitched them? asked Tars Tarkas one afternoon, when he had seen me run my arms far between the great jaws of one of my Thoats which had wedged a piece of stone between two of his teeth while feeding upon the moss-like vegetation within our courtyard. By kindness, I replied, You see, Tars Tarkas, the softer sentiments have their value even to a warrior. In the height of battle as well as upon the march I know that my Thoats will obey my every command, and therefore my fighting efficiency is enhanced, and I am a better warrior for the reason that I am a kind master. Your other warriors would find it to the advantage of themselves as well as of the community to adopt my methods in this respect. Only a few days since you yourself told me that these great brutes by the uncertainty of their tempers often were the means of turning victory into defeat since at a crucial moment they might elect to unseat and rend their riders. Show me how you accomplished these results, was Tars Tarkas only rejoinder. And so I explained as carefully as I could the entire method of training I had adopted with my beasts, and later he had me repeat it before Lorquas Tommel and the assembled warriors. That moment marked the beginning of a new existence for the poor Thoats, and before I left the community of Lorquas Tommel I had the satisfaction of observing a regiment of as tractable and docile mounts as one might care to see. The effect on the precision and celerity of the military movements was so remarkable that Lorquas Tommel presented me with a massive anklet of gold from his own leg as a sign of his appreciation of my service to the horde. On the seventh day following the battle with the aircraft we again took up the march toward Thark, all probability of another attack being deemed remote by Lorquas Tommel. During the days just preceding our departure I had seen but little of Dejah Thoris, as I had been kept very busy by Tars Tarkas with my lessons in the art of Martian warfare, as well as in the training of my Thoats. The few times I had visited her quarters she had been absent, walking upon the streets with Sola, or investigating the buildings in the near vicinity of the plaza. I had warned them against venturing far from the plaza for fear of the great white apes, whose ferocity I was only too well acquainted with. However, since Wula accompanied them in all their excursions and as Sola was well armed there was comparatively little cause for fear. On the evening before our departure I saw them approaching along one of the great avenues which led into the plaza from the east. I advanced to meet them, and telling Sola that I would take responsibility for Dejah Thoris' safekeeping I directed her to return to her quarters on some trivial errand. I liked and trusted Sola, but for some reason I desired to be alone with Dejah Thoris, who represented to me all that I had left behind upon earth in agreeable and congenial companionship. There seemed bonds of mutual interest between us as powerful as though we had been born under the same roof, rather than upon different planets, hurtling through space some forty-eight million miles apart. That she shared my sentiments in this respect I was positive, for on my approach the look of pitiful hopelessness left her sweet countenance to be replaced by a smile of joyful welcome, as she placed her little right hand upon my left shoulder in true red Martian salute. Sarkoja told Sola that you had become a true thark, she said, and that I would now see no more of you than any of the other warriors. Sarkoja is a liar of the first magnitude, I replied, not with standing the proud claim of the Tharks to absolute verity. Dejah Thoris laughed. I knew that even though you became a member of the community you would not cease to be my friend. A warrior may change his medal, but not his heart, as the saying is upon Barsoom. I think they have been trying to keep us apart, she continued, for whenever you have been off duty one of the older women of Thars Tarkas Retinue has always arranged to trump up some excuse to get Sola and me out of sight. They have had me down in the pits below the buildings helping them mix their awful radium powder and make their terrible projectiles. You know that these have to be manufactured by artificial light as exposure to sunlight always results in an explosion. You have noticed that their bullets explode when they strike an object? Well, the opaque outer coating is broken by the impact, exposing a glass cylinder, almost solid in the forward end of which is a minute particle of radium powder. The moment the sunlight, even though diffused, strikes this powder it explodes with a violence which nothing can withstand. If you ever witness a night battle you will note the absence of these explosions while the morning following the battle will be filled at sunrise with the sharp detonations of exploding missiles fired the preceding night. As a rule, however, non-exploding projectiles are used at night. I have used the word radium in describing this powder because in the light of recent discoveries on earth I believe it to be a mixture of which radium is the base. In Captain Carter's manuscript it is mentioned always by the name used in the written language of helium and is spelled in hieroglyphics which it would be difficult and useless to reproduce. While I was much interested in Dejah Thoris' explanation of this wonderful adjunct to Martian warfare I was more concerned by the immediate problem of their treatment of her. That they were keeping her away from me was not a matter for surprise, but that they should subject her to dangerous and arduous labor filled me with rage. Have they ever subjected you to cruelty and ignominy Dejah Thoris? I asked, feeling the hot blood of my fighting ancestors leap in my veins as I awaited her reply. Only in little ways, John Carter, she answered, nothing that can harm me outside my pride. They know that I am the daughter of ten thousand jeddaks, that I trace my ancestry straight back without a break to the builder of the first great waterway, and they, who do not even know their own mothers, are jealous of me. At the heart they hate their horrible fates, and so wreak their poor spite on me who stand for everything they have not, and for all they most crave and never can attain. Let us pity them, my chieftain, for even though we die at their hands we can afford them pity, since we are greater than they, and they know it. Had I known the significance of those words, my chieftain, as applied by a red Martian woman to a man, I should have had the surprise of my life, but I did not know at that time, nor for many months thereafter. Yes, I still had much to learn upon Barsoom. I presume it is the better part of wisdom that we bow to our fate with as good grace as possible, Dejah Thoris. But I hope, nevertheless, that I may be present the next time that any Martian, green, red, pink, or violet, has the temerity to even so much as frown on you, my princess. Dejah Thoris caught her breath at my last words, and gazed upon me with dilated eyes and quickened breath, and then, with an odd little laugh, which brought roguish dimples to the corners of her mouth, she shook her head and cried, What a child! A great warrior, and yet a stumbling little child! What have I done now? I asked, in sore perplexity. Someday you shall know, John Carter, if we live, but I may not tell you, and I, the daughter of Morse Kajak, son of Tardos Morse, have listened without anger, she soliloquized in conclusion. Then she broke out again into one of her gay, happy, laughing moods, joking with me on my prowess as a thark warrior, as contrasted with my soft heart and natural kindness. I presume that should you accidentally wound an enemy, you would take him home and nurse him back to health, she laughed. That is precisely what we do on earth, I answered, at least among civilized men. This made her laugh again. She could not understand it, for with all her tenderness and womanly sweetness she was still a Martian, and to a Martian the only good enemy is a dead enemy, for every dead foeman means so much more to divide between those who live. I was very curious to know what I had said or done to cause her so much perturbation a moment before, and so I continued to importune her to enlighten me. No, she exclaimed, it is enough that you have said it and that I have listened, and when you learn, John Carter, and if I be dead, as likely I shall be ere the further moon has circled Barsoom another twelve times, remember that I listened and that I smiled. It was all Greek to me, but the more I begged her to explain, the more positive became her denials of my request, and so, in very hopelessness, I desisted. Day had now given away to night, and as we wandered along the Great Avenue, lighted by the two moons of Barsoom, and with earth looking down upon us, out of her luminous green eye, it seemed that we were alone in the universe, and I at least was content that it should be so. The chill of the Martian night was upon us, and removing my silks I threw them across the shoulders of Dejah Thoris. As my arm rested for an instant upon her, I felt a thrill pass through every fiber of my being, such as contact with no other mortal had ever produced. And it seemed to me that she had leaned slightly toward me, but of that I was not sure. Only I knew that as my arm rested there across her shoulders, longer than the act of adjusting the silk required, she did not draw away, nor did she speak. And so, in silence, we walked the surface of a dying world, but in the breast of one of us, at least, had been born that which is ever-oldest, yet ever new. I loved Dejah Thoris. The touch of my arm upon her naked shoulder had spoken to me in words I would not mistake, and I knew that I had loved her since the first moment that my eyes had met hers that first time in the plaza of the dead city of Korad. Chapter 14 A Duel to the Death My first impulse was to tell her of my love, and then I thought of the helplessness of her position wherein I alone could lighten the burden of her captivity, and protect her, in my poor way, against the thousands of hereditary enemies she must face upon our arrival at Thark. I could not chance causing her additional pain or sorrow by declaring a love which, in all probability, she did not return. Should I be so indiscreet, her position would be even more unbearable than now, and the thought that she might feel that I was taking advantage of her helplessness to influence her decision was the final argument which sealed my lips. Why are you so quiet, Dejah Thoris? I asked. Possibly you would rather return to Sola and your quarters. No, she murmured. I am happy here. I do not know why it is that I should always be happy and contented when you, John Carter, a stranger, are with me. Yet at such times it seems that I am safe, and that with you I shall soon return to my father's court and feel his strong arms about me and my mother's tears and kisses on my cheek. Do people kiss then upon Barsoom, I asked, when she had explained the word she used in answer to my inquiry as to its meaning? Parents, brothers, and sisters, yes, and, she added in a low, thoughtful tone, lovers. And you, Dejah Thoris, have parents and brothers and sisters? Yes. And a lover? She was silent, nor could I venture to repeat the question. The man of Barsoom, she finally ventured, does not ask personal questions of women except his mother and the woman he has fought for and won. But I have fought, I started, and then I wished my tongue had been cut from my mouth, for she turned even as I caught myself and ceased and drawing my silks from her shoulder she held them out to me. And without a word, and with head held high, she moved with the carriage of the queen she was toward the plaza and the doorway of her quarters. I did not attempt to follow her other than to see that she reached the building in safety, but directing Wula to accompany her, I turned disconsolently and entered my own house. I sat for hours, cross-legged and cross-tempered upon my silks, meditating upon the queer freaks Chance plays upon us poor devils of mortals. So this was love. I had escaped it for all the years I had roamed the five continents and their encircling seas, in spite of beautiful women and urging opportunity, in spite of a half-desire for love and a constant search for my ideal, it had remained for me to fall furiously and hopelessly in love with a creature from another world, of a species, similar possibly, yet not identical with mine. A woman who is hatched from an egg and whose span of life might cover a thousand years, whose people had strange customs and ideas. A woman whose hopes, whose pleasures, whose standards of virtue and of right and wrong might vary as greatly from mine as did those of the green Martians. Yes I was a fool, but I was in love, and though I was suffering the greatest misery I had ever known, I would not have it otherwise for all the riches of Barsoom. Such is love, and such are lovers wherever love is known. To me Dejah Thoris was all that was perfect, and all that was virtuous and beautiful and noble and good. I believe that, from the bottom of my heart, from the depth of my soul, on that night in Korad, as I sat, cross-legged upon my silks, while the near moon of Barsoom raced through the western sky toward the horizon, and lighted up the gold and marble and jeweled mosaics of my world-old chamber. And I believe it today, as I sit at my desk in the little study overlooking the Hudson. Twenty years have intervened, for ten of them I lived and fought for Dejah Thoris and her people, and for ten I have lived upon her memory. The morning of our departure for Thark dawned clear and hot, as do all Martian mornings, except for the six weeks when the snow melts at the poles. I sought out Dejah Thoris in the throng of departing chariots, but she turned her shoulder to me, and I could see the red blood mount to her cheek. With a foolish inconsistency of love I held my peace when I might have pled ignorance of the nature of my offence, or at least the gravity of it, and so effected, at worst, a half conciliation. My duty dictated that I must see that she was comfortable, and so I glanced into her chariot and rearranged her silks and furs. In doing so I noted with horror that she was heavily chained by one ankle to the side of the vehicle. What does this mean, I cried, turning to Sola. Sarcoge thought it best, she answered, her face betokening her disapproval of the procedure. Examining the manacles I saw that they fastened with a massive springlock. Where's the key, Sola? Let me have it. Sarcoge wears it, John Carter, she answered. I turned without further word and sought out Tars Tarkas, to whom I vehemently objected to the unnecessary humiliations and cruelties, as they seemed to my lover's eyes, that were being heaped upon Dejah Thoris. John Carter, he answered, if ever you and Dejah Thoris escape the Tarkas, it will be upon this journey. We know that you will not go without her. You have shown yourself a mighty fighter, and we do not wish to manacle you, so we hold you both in the easiest way that will yet ensure security, I have spoken. I saw the strength of his reasoning at a flash, and knew that it were futile to appeal from his decision, but I asked that the key be taken from Sarcoge, and that she be directed to leave the prisoner alone in the future. This much, Tars Tarkas, you may do for me in return for the friendship that I must confess I feel for you. Friendship, he replied, there is no such thing, John Carter, but have your will. I shall direct that Sarcoge cease to annoy the girl, and I myself will take the custody of the key. Unless you wish me to assume the responsibility, I said, smiling. He looked at me long and earnestly before he spoke. Were you to give me your word that neither you nor Dejah Thoris would attempt to escape until after we have safely reached the court of Tal Hajis, you might have the key and throw the chains into the River Is. It were better that you held the key, Tars Tarkas, I replied. He smiled and said no more, but that night, as we were making camp, I saw him unfasten Dejah Thoris fetters himself. With all his cruel ferocity and coldness, there was an undercurrent of something in Tars Tarkas which he seemed ever battling to subdue. Could it be a vestige of some human instinct come back from an ancient forebear to haunt him with the horror of his people's ways? As I was approaching Dejah Thoris' chariot, I passed Sarcoge, and the black, venomous look she accorded me was the sweetest bomb I had felt for many hours. Lord how she hated me! It bristled from her so palpably that one might almost have cut it with a sword. A few moments later I saw her deep in conversation with a warrior named Zad, a big, hulking, powerful brute, but one who had never made a kill among his own chieftains, and a second name only with the metal of some chieftain. It was this custom which entitled me to the names of either of the chieftains I had killed. In fact, some of the warriors addressed me as Dottar Sojat, a combination of the surnames of the two warrior chieftains whose metal I had taken, or in other words, whom I had slain in fair fight. As Sarcoge talked with Zad, he cast occasional glances in my direction, while she seemed to be urging him very strongly to some action. I paid little attention to it at the time, but the next day I had good reason to recall the circumstances, and at the same time gain a slight insight into the depths of Sarcoge's hatred and the lengths to which she was capable of going to wreak her horrid vengeance on me. Dejah Thoris would have none of me again on this evening, and though I spoke her name she neither replied nor conceded by so much as the flutter of an eyelid that she realized my existence. In my extremity I did what most other lovers would have done. I sought word from her through an intimate. In this instance it was Sola, whom I intercepted in another part of the camp. What is the matter with Dejah Thoris, I blurted out at her? Why will she not speak to me? Sola seemed puzzled herself, as those such strange actions on the part of two humans were quite beyond her, as indeed they were, poor child. She says you have angered her, and that is all she will say, except that she is the daughter of a Jed and the granddaughter of a Jeddak, and she has been humiliated by a creature who could not polish the teeth of her grandmother Sorak. I pondered over this report for some time, finally asking, what might a Sorak be, Sola? A little animal about as big as my hand, which the red Martian women keep to play with, explained Sola. Not fit to polish the teeth of her grandmother's cat. I must rank pretty low in the consideration of Dejah Thoris, I thought, but I could not help laughing at the strange figure of speech, so homely and in this respect so earthly. It made me homesick, for it sounded very much like, not fit to polish her shoes, and then commenced a train of thought quite new to me. I began to wonder what my people at home were doing. I had not seen them for years. There was a family of carters in Virginia who claimed close relationship with me. I was supposed to be a great uncle, or something of the kind equally foolish. I could pass anywhere for twenty-five to thirty years of age, and to be a great uncle always seemed the height of incongruity, for my thoughts and feelings were those of a boy. There was two little kitties in the Carter family, whom I loved, and who had thought there was no one on earth like Uncle Jack. I could see them just as plainly as I stood there under the moonlit skies of Barsoom, and I longed for them as I had never longed for any mortals before. By nature a wanderer I had never known the true meaning of the word home, but the great hall of the carters had always stood for all that the word did mean to me, and now my heart turned toward it from the cold and unfriendly peoples I had been thrown amongst. For did not even Dejah Thoris despise me. I was a low creature, so low in fact, that I was not even fit to polish the teeth of our grandmother's cat, and then my saving sense of humor came to my rescue, and, laughing, I turned into my silks and furs, and slept upon the moon-haunted ground the sleep of a tired and healthy fighting man. We broke camp the next day at an early hour and marched with only a single halt until just before dark. Two incidents broke the tediousness of the march. About noon we aspired, far to our right, what was evidently an incubator, and Lorcas Tomal directed Taurus Tarkas to investigate it. The latter took a dozen warriors, including myself, and we raced across the velvety carpeting of moss to the little enclosure. It was indeed an incubator, but the eggs were very small in comparison with those I had seen hatching in hours at the time of my arrival on Mars. Taurus Tarkas dismounted and examined the enclosure minutely, finally announcing that it belonged to the green men of Warhoon and that the cement was scarcely dry where it had been walled up. They cannot be a day's march ahead of us, he exclaimed, the light of battle leaping to his fierce face. The work at the incubator was short indeed. The warriors tore open the entrance, and a couple of them, crawling in, soon demolished all the eggs with their short swords. Then, remounting, we dashed back to join the cavalcade. During the ride I took occasion to ask Taurus Tarkas if these Warhoon's, whose eggs we had destroyed, were a smaller people than his tharks. I noticed that their eggs were so much smaller than those I saw hatching in your incubator, I added. He explained that the eggs had just been placed there, but, like all green Martian eggs, they would grow during the five-year period of incubation until they obtained the size of those I had seen hatching on the day of my arrival on Barsoom. This was indeed an interesting piece of information, for it had always seemed remarkable to me that the green Martian women, large as they were, could bring forth such enormous eggs as I had seen the four-foot infants emerging from. As a matter of fact, the new-laid egg is but little larger than an ordinary goose egg, and as it does not commence to grow until subjected to the light of the sun, the chieftains have little difficulty in transporting several hundreds of them at one time from the storage vaults to the incubators. Shortly after the incident of the war-hoon eggs, we halted to rest the animals, and it was during this halt that the second of the day's interesting episodes occurred. I was engaged in changing my riding-closs from one of the thoats to the other, for I divided the day's work between them, when Zad approached me, and without a word struck my animal a terrific blow with his longsword. I did not need a manual of green Martian etiquette to know what reply to make, for in fact I was so wild with anger that I could scarcely refrain from drawing my pistol and shooting him down for the brute he was. But he stood waiting with drawn longsword, and my only choice was to draw my own and meet him in a fair fight with his choice of weapons or a lesser one. This latter alternative is always permissible, therefore I could have used my short sword, my dagger, my hatchet, or my fists had I wished, and been entirely within my rights, but I could not use firearms or a spear while he held only his longsword. I chose the same weapon he had drawn, because I knew he prided himself upon his ability with it, and I wished, if I worsted him at all, to do it with his own weapon. The fight that followed was a long one and delayed the resumption of the march for an hour. The entire community surrounded us, leaving a clear space about one hundred feet in diameter for our battle. Zad first attempt to rush me down as a bull might a wolf, but I was much too quick for him, and each time I sight-stepped his rushes he would go lunging past me, only to receive a nick from my sword upon his arm or back. He was soon streaming blood from a half-dozen minor wounds, but I could not obtain an opening to deliver an effective thrust. Then he changed his tactics. In fighting warily and with extreme dexterity he tried to do by science what he was unable to do by brute strength. I must admit that he was a magnificent swordsman, and had it not been for my greater endurance and the remarkable agility the lesser gravitation of Mars lent me, I might not have been able to put up the creditable fight I did against him. We circled for some time without doing much damage on either side, the long, straight, needle-like swords flashing in the sunlight and ringing out upon the stillness as they crashed together with each effective parry. Finally, Zad, realizing that he was tiring more than I, evidently decided to close in and end the battle in a final blaze of glory for himself. Just as he rushed me, a blinding flash of light struck full in my eyes so that I could not see his approach and could only leap blindly to one side in an effort to escape the mighty blade that it seemed I could already feel in my vitals. I was only partially successful as a sharp pain in my left shoulder attested, but in the sweep of my glance as I sought to again locate my adversary a sight met my astonished gaze which paid me well for the wound the temporary blindness had caused me. There, upon Dejah Thoris chariot, stood three figures, for the purpose evidently of witnessing the encounter above the heads of the intervening tharks. There were Dejah Thoris, Sola, and Sarkoja, and as my fleeting glance swept over them a little tableau was presented which will stand, graven in my memory, to the day of my death. As I looked, Dejah Thoris turned upon Sarkoja with the fury of a young Tigris and struck something from her upraised hand, something which flashed in the sunlight as it spun to the ground. Then I knew what had blinded me at that crucial moment of the fight, and how Sarkoja had found a way to kill me without herself delivering the final thrust. Another thing I saw, too, which almost lost my life for me then and there, for it took my mind for the fraction of an instant entirely from my antagonist. For as Dejah Thoris struck the tiny mirror from her hand, Sarkoja, her face livid with hatred and baffled rage, whipped out her dagger and aimed a terrific blow at Dejah Thoris. And then Sola, our dear and faithful Sola, sprang between them. The last I saw was the great knife descending upon her shielding breast. My enemy had recovered from his thrust and was making it extremely interesting for me, so I reluctantly gave my attention to the work in hand, but my mind was not upon the battle. We rushed each other furiously time after time, till suddenly, feeling the sharp point of his sword at my breast in a thrust I could neither parry nor escape, I threw myself upon him with outstretched sword and with all the weight of my body, determined that I would not die alone if I could prevent it. I felt the steel tear into my chest all went black before me, my head whirled in dizziness, and I felt my knees giving beneath me.