A Princess of Mars Rethroned (9 page)

As I approached
the boundary line Woolan ran anxiously before me, and thrust her
body against my legs. Her expression was pleading rather than
ferocious, nor did she bare her great tusks or utter her fearful
guttural warnings. Denied the friendship and companionship of my
kind, I had developed considerable affection for Woolan and Solan,
for the normal earthly woman must have some outlet for her 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 her, but now I sat upon the ground and putting
my arms around her heavy neck I stroked and coaxed her, 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. Her response to my manifestation of affection was
remarkable to a degree; she stretched her great mouth to its full
width, baring the entire expanse of her upper rows of tusks and
wrinkling her snout until her great eyes were almost hidden by the
folds of flesh. If you have ever seen a collie smile you may have
some idea of Woolan's facial distortion.

She threw herself
upon her back and fairly wallowed at my feet; jumped up and sprang
upon me, rolling me upon the ground by her 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 Powell had left camp
when her horse, long unused, had precipitately and unexpectedly
bucked her off headforemost into a pot of frijoles.

My laughter
frightened Woolan, her antics ceased and she crawled pitifully
toward me, poking her 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 her for a few minutes, and then in an authoritative
tone commanded her to follow me, and arising started for the
hills.

There was no
further question of authority between us; Woolan was my devoted
slave from that moment hence, and I her only and undisputed
mistress. 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 Woolan, upon whom Tara 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 Woolan could be discovered by her erstwhile
mistresses. 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
Woolan, were we to be discovered.

On regaining the
plaza I had my third glimpse of the captive boy. He was standing
with his guards before the entrance to the audience chamber, and as
I approached he gave me one haughty glance and turned his 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 man desired to show dislike or contempt he would, in all
likelihood, have done it with a sword thrust or a movement of his
trigger finger; but as their sentiments are mostly atrophied it
would have required a serious injury to have aroused such passions
in them. Solan, let me add, was an exception; I never saw his
perform a cruel or uncouth act, or fail in uniform kindliness and
good nature. He was indeed, as his fellow Martian had said of him,
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 Lorqua Ptomel and
her 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 Solan to keep this a secret on the
grounds that I did not wish to be forced to talk with the women
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 his two guards. I saw that one of the men was Sarkoja,
and thus understood how he had been present at the hearing of the
preceding day, the results of which he had reported to the
occupants of our dormitory last night. His attitude toward the
captive was most harsh and brutal. When he held him, he sunk his
rudimentary nails into the poor boy's flesh, or twisted his arm in
a most painful manner. When it was necessary to move from one spot
to another he either jerked his roughly, or pushed his headlong
before him. He seemed to be venting upon this poor defenseless
creature all the hatred, cruelty, ferocity, and spite of his nine
hundred years, backed by unguessable ages of fierce and brutal
ancestors.

The other man was
less cruel because he was entirely indifferent; if the prisoner had
been left to his alone, and fortunately he was at night, he would
have received no harsh treatment, nor, by the same token would he
have received any attention at all.

As Lorqua Ptomel
raised her eyes to address the prisoner they fell on me and she
turned to Tara Tarkas with a word, and gesture of impatience. Tara
Tarkas made some reply which I could not catch, but which caused
Lorqua Ptomel to smile; after which they paid no further attention
to me.

'What is your
name?' asked Lorqua Ptomel, addressing the prisoner.

'Dejar Thoris,
son of Mora Kajak of Helium.'

'And the nature
of your expedition?' she continued.

'It was a purely
scientific research party sent out by my mother's mother, 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,' he 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 women.

'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 men 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 women 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?'

Lorqua Ptomel and
the warriors sat looking silently and intently at the young man for
several moments after he had ceased speaking. What was passing in
their minds no woman may know, but that they were moved I truly
believe, and if one woman 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 Tara Tarkas
rise to speak, and on her 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 she opened her mouth to speak, a look almost
of benignity, of kindliness, momentarily lighted up her fierce and
terrible countenance.

What words of
moment were to have fallen from her lips were never spoken, as just
then a young warrior, evidently sensing the trend of thought among
the older women, leaped down from the steps of the rostrum, and
striking the frail captive a powerful blow across the face, which
felled his to the floor, placed her foot upon his prostrate form
and turning toward the assembled council broke into peals of
horrid, mirthless laughter.

For an instant I
thought Tara Tarkas would strike her dead, nor did the aspect of
Lorqua 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 his beautiful, upturned, pleading face, and ere the hand
descended I was halfway across the hall.

Scarcely had her
hideous laugh rang out but once, when I was upon her. 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 her full in the
face as she turned at my warning cry and then as she drew her
short-sword I drew mine and sprang up again upon her breast,
hooking one leg over the butt of her pistol and grasping one of her
huge tusks with my left hand while I delivered blow after blow upon
her enormous bosom .

She could not use
her short-sword to advantage because I was too close to her, nor
could she draw her pistol, which she 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 she could do nothing but make
a wild and futile attempt to dislodge me. With all her immense bulk
she was little if any stronger than I, and it was but the matter of
a moment or two before she sank, bleeding and lifeless, to the
floor.

Dejar Thoris had
raised himself upon one elbow and was watching the battle with
wide, staring eyes. When I had regained my feet I raised his in my
arms and bore his 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 his nostrils. I was
soon successful as his injuries amounted to little more than an
ordinary nosebleed, and when he could speak he placed his 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
woman are you, that you consort with the green women, 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, Dejar
Thoris, I too am a prisoner; my name is Joan 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 his 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.