A Princess of Mars (13 page)

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 the foolish inconsistency of love I held my
peace when I might have plead ignorance of the nature of my offense,
or at least the gravity of it, and so have 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.

"Sarkoja thought it best," she answered, her face betokening her
disapproval of the procedure.

Examining the manacles I saw that they fastened with a massive
spring lock.

"Where is the key, Sola? Let me have it."

"Sarkoja 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
Tharks 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 Sarkoja and that she be directed to leave the
prisoner alone in 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 Sarkoja 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 Hajus you might have the key and throw the chains into the
river Iss."

"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 forbear to haunt him with the horror of his people's ways!

As I was approaching Dejah Thoris' chariot I passed Sarkoja, and the
black, venomous look she accorded me was the sweetest balm 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 Dotar 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 Sarkoja 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 Sarkoja'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 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 though 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's 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 kiddies in the Carter family whom I had 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 her 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 espied far to our right
what was evidently an incubator, and Lorquas Ptomel directed Tars
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 ours at the time
of my arrival on Mars.

Tars 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 Tars
Tarkas if these Warhoons 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 Warhoon 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
cloths from one of my 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 long-sword.

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 long-sword, and
my only choice was to draw my own and meet him in 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 long-sword.

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 attempted to rush me down as a bull might a wolf, but I
was much too quick for him, and each time I side-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, and 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 tigress 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, 'til 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.

When consciousness returned, and, as I soon learned, I was down but
a moment, I sprang quickly to my feet searching for my sword, and
there I found it, buried to the hilt in the green breast of Zad, who
lay stone dead upon the ochre moss of the ancient sea bottom. As I
regained my full senses I found his weapon piercing my left breast,
but only through the flesh and muscles which cover my ribs, entering
near the center of my chest and coming out below the shoulder. As I
had lunged I had turned so that his sword merely passed beneath the
muscles, inflicting a painful but not dangerous wound.