CHAPTER XIV

A Princess of Mars

by Edgar R. Burroughs

CHAPTER XIV, A PRINCESS OF MARS by Edgar R. Burroughs
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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 burdens 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 Woola to
accompany her, I turned disconsolately 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 was 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 had 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; all that was
virtuous and beautiful and noble and good. I believed 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 nearer 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 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 grand-
daughter 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.