A Princess of Mars (9 page)

My laughter frightened Woola, 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 arising started for the hills.

There was no further question of authority between us; Woola 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 wild flowers 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;
though 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 Woola, upon whom Tars
Tarkas relied for my safe keeping. I now knew that while
theoretically a prisoner I was virtually free, and I hastened to
regain the city limits before the defection of Woola 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 Woola, were we to be discovered.

On 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
kindliness 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 long to wait for presently Lorquas
Ptomel 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 council 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 Lorquas Ptomel raised his eyes to address the prisoner they fell
on me and he turned to Tars Tarkas with a word, and gesture of
impatience. Tars Tarkas made some reply which I could not catch,
but which caused Lorquas Ptomel to smile; after which they paid no
further attention to me.

"What is your name?" asked Lorquas Ptomel, addressing the prisoner.

"Dejah Thoris, daughter of Mors 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 rechart 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 colors 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 labors 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 an appreciable 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 plane 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 kindliness 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?"

Lorquas Ptomel 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 believe, 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 kindliness, momentarily
lighted up his fierce and terrible countenance.

What 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 Ptomel augur any too favorably for the brute,
but the mood passed, their old selves reasserted their ascendency,
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.

That I have taken moments to write down a 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 halfway across the hall.

Scarcely 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 upon 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 are 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 consort 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 our captors will
permit, your protector and your servant."

"Then you too are a prisoner? But why, then, those arms and the
regalia of a Tharkian 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, accouterments 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 displayed 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 had 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."

"She has done well," he answered, "but your education in other
respects needs considerable polish. Do you know what 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 that one whom I had failed to kill, would have
killed me," I answered, smiling.

"No, you are wrong. Only in the last extremity of self-defense
would a Martian warrior kill a prisoner; we like 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 Hajus 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 Hajus it is the will of Lorquas Ptomel
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."