CHAPTER I
TARA IN A TANTRUM
Tara of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which shehad been reclining, stretched her lithe body languidly, and crossedtoward the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronzedisc depended from the low ceiling. Her carriage was that of health andphysical perfection--the effortless harmony of faultless coordination.A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped abouther body; her black hair was piled high upon her head. With a woodenstick she tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently thesummons was answered by a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to begreeted similarly by her mistress.
"Are my father's guests arriving?" asked the princess.
"Yes, Tara of Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seenKantos Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and DjorKantos, son of Kantos Kan," she shot a roguish glance at her mistressas she mentioned Djor Kantos' name, "and--oh, there were others, manyhave come."
"The bath, then, Uthia," said her mistress. "And why, Uthia," sheadded, "do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of DjorKantos?"
The slave girl laughed gaily. "It is so plain to all that he worshipsyou," she replied.
"It is not plain to me," said Tara of Helium. "He is the friend of mybrother, Carthoris, and so he is here much; but not to see me. It ishis friendship for Carthoris that brings him thus often to the palaceof my father."
"But Carthoris is hunting in the north with Talu, Jeddak of Okar,"Uthia reminded her.
"My bath, Uthia!" cried Tara of Helium. "That tongue of yours willbring you to some misadventure yet."
"The bath is ready, Tara of Helium," the girl responded, her eyes stilltwinkling with merriment, for she well knew that in the heart of hermistress was no anger that could displace the love of the princess forher slave. Preceding the daughter of The Warlord she opened the door ofan adjoining room where lay the bath--a gleaming pool of scented waterin a marble basin. Golden stanchions supported a chain of goldencircling it and leading down into the water on either side of marblesteps. A glass dome let in the sun-light, which flooded the interior,glancing from the polished white of the marble walls and the processionof bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid withgold in a broad band that circled the room.
Tara of Helium removed the scarf from about her and handed it to theslave. Slowly she descended the steps to the water, the temperature ofwhich she tested with a symmetrical foot, undeformed by tight shoes andhigh heels--a lovely foot, as God intended that feet should be andseldom are. Finding the water to her liking, the girl swam leisurely toand fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the seal she swam, nowat the surface, now below, her smooth muscles rolling softly beneathher clear skin--a wordless song of health and happiness and grace.Presently she emerged and gave herself into the hands of the slavegirl, who rubbed the body of her mistress with a sweet smellingsemi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skinwas covered with a foamy lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, adrying with soft towels, and the bath was over. Typical of the life ofthe princess was the simple elegance of her bath--no retinue of uselessslaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another halfhour her hair was dried and built into the strange, but becoming,coiffure of her station; her leathern trappings, encrusted with goldand jewels, had been adjusted to her figure and she was ready to minglewith the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at thepalace of The Warlord.
As she left her apartments to make her way to the gardens where theguests were congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the House ofthe Prince of Helium upon their harness, followed a few paces behindher, grim reminders that the assassin's blade may never be ignored uponBarsoom, where, in a measure, it counterbalances the great natural spanof human life, which is estimated at not less than a thousand years.
As they neared the entrance to the garden another woman, similarlyguarded, approached them from another quarter of the great palace. Asshe neared them Tara of Helium turned toward her with a smile and ahappy greeting, while her guards knelt with bowed heads in willing andvoluntary adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always, solely atthe command of their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet DejahThoris, whose deathless beauty had more than once brought them tobloody warfare with other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love ofthe people of Helium for the mate of John Carter it amountedpractically to worship, as though she were indeed the goddess that shelooked.
The mother and daughter exchanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" ofgreeting and kissed. Then together they entered the gardens where theguests were. A huge warrior drew his short-sword and struck his metalshield with the flat of it, the brazen sound ringing out above thelaughter and the speech.
"The Princess comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess comes! Taraof Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the twowomen inclined their heads; the guards fell back upon either side ofthe entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to pay their respects;the laughing and the talking were resumed and Dejah Thoris and herdaughter moved simply and naturally among their guests, no suggestionof differing rank apparent in the bearing of any who were there, thoughthere was more than a single Jeddak and many common warriors whose onlytitle lay in brave deeds, or noble patriotism. Thus it is upon Marswhere men are judged upon their own merits rather than upon those oftheir grandsires, even though pride of lineage be great.
Tara of Helium let her slow gaze wander among the throng of guestsuntil presently it halted upon one she sought. Was the faint shadow ofa frown that crossed her brow an indication of displeasure at the sightthat met her eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the noonday sundistress her? Who may say! She had been reared to believe that one dayshe should wed Djor Kantos, son of her father's best friend. It hadbeen the dearest wish of Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this shouldbe, and Tara of Helium had accepted it as a matter of all butaccomplished fact. Djor Kantos had seemed to accept the matter in thesame way. They had spoken of it casually as something that would, as amatter of course, take place in the indefinite future, as, forinstance, his promotion in the navy, in which he was now a padwar; orthe set functions of the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors, Jeddakof Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had puzzledTara of Helium upon the rare occasions she gave it thought, for sheknew that people who were to wed were usually much occupied with thematter of love and she had all of a woman's curiosity--she wonderedwhat love was like. She was very fond of Djor Kantos and she knew thathe was very fond of her. They liked to be together, for they liked thesame things and the same people and the same books and their dancingwas a joy, not only to themselves but to those who watched them. Shecould not imagine wanting to marry anyone other than Djor Kantos.
So perhaps it was only the sun that made her brows contract just thetiniest bit at the same instant that she discovered Djor Kantos sittingin earnest conversation with Olvia Marthis, daughter of the Jed ofHastor. It was Djor Kantos' duty immediately to pay his respects toDejah Thoris and Tara of Helium; but he did not do so and presently thedaughter of The Warlord frowned indeed. She looked long at OlviaMarthis, and though she had seen her many times before and knew herwell, she looked at her today through new eyes that saw, apparently forthe first time, that the girl from Hastor was noticeably beautiful evenamong those other beautiful women of Helium. Tara of Helium wasdisturbed. She attempted to analyze her emotions; but found itdifficult. Olvia Marthis was her friend--she was very fond of her andshe felt no anger toward her. Was she angry with Djor Kantos? No, shefinally decided that she was not. It was merely surprise, then, thatshe felt--surprise that Djor Kantos could be more interested in anotherthan in herself. She was about to cross the garden and join them whenshe heard her father's voice directly behind her.
"Tara of Helium!" he called, and she turned to see him approaching witha strange warrior whose harness and metal bore devices with which shewas unfamiliar.
Even among the gorgeous trappings of the men of Heliumand the visitors from distant empires those of the stranger wereremarkable for their barbaric splendor. The leather of his harness wascompletely hidden beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set withbrilliant diamonds, as were the scabbards of his swords and the ornateholster that held his long, Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlitgarden at the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant rays of hiscountless gems enveloping him as in an aureole of light imparted to hisnoble figure a suggestion of godliness.
"Tara of Helium, I bring you Gahan, Jed of Gathol," said John Carter,after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.
"Kaor! Gahan, Jed of Gathol," returned Tara of Helium.
"My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," said the young chieftain.
The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersitebench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.
"Far Gathol," mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been connectedwith mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. Icannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have neverbefore seen a Gatholian."
"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Heliumand Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little freecity, which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium," addedGahan. "But what we lack in power we make up in pride," he continued,laughing. "We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. Itis one of the few that has retained its freedom, and this despite thefact that its ancient diamond mines are the richest known and, unlikepractically all the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustibleas ever."
"Tell me of Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me withinterest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jeddetracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.
Nor did Gahan seem displeased with the excuse for further monopolizingthe society of his fair companion. His eyes seemed chained to herexquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a roundedbreast, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or thesymmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaricmagnificence.
"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built uponan island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. Asthe ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, thesummit of which was the island upon which she had been built, untiltoday she covers the slopes from summit to base, while the bowels ofthe great hill are honeycombed with the galleries of her mines.Entirely surrounding us is a great salt marsh, which protects us frominvasion by land, while the rugged and ofttimes vertical topography ofour mountain renders the landing of hostile airships a precariousundertaking."
"That, and your brave warriors?" suggested the girl.
Gahan smiled. "We do not speak of that except to enemies," he said,"and then with tongues of steel rather than of flesh."
"But what practice in the art of war has a people which nature has thusprotected from attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had liked the youngjed's answer to her previous question, but yet in whose mind persisteda vague conviction of the possible effeminacy of her companion,induced, doubtless, by the magnificence of his trappings and weaponswhich carried a suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.
"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeaton countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune fromattack," he explained, "for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamondtreasury that there yet may be found those who will risk almost certaindefeat in an effort to loot our unconquered city; so thus we findoccasional practice in the exercise of arms; but there is more toGathol than the mountain city. My country extends from Polodona(Equator) north ten karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to thetwentieth west, including thus a million square haads, the greaterproportion of which is fine grazing land where run our great herds ofthoats and zitidars.
"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herdsmen must indeed bewarriors or we should have no herds, and you may be assured they getplenty of fighting. Then there is our constant need of workers in themines. The Gatholians consider themselves a race of warriors and assuch prefer not to labor in the mines. The law is, however, that eachmale Gatholian shall give an hour a day in labor to the government.That is practically the only tax that is levied upon them. They preferhowever, to furnish a substitute to perform this labor, and as our ownpeople will not hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessaryto obtain slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not wonwithout fighting. We sell these slaves in the public market, theproceeds going, half and half, to the government and the warriors whobring them in. The purchasers are credited with the amount of laborperformed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year a good slavewill have performed the labor tax of his master for six years, and ifslaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted to return to his ownpeople."
"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating hisgorgeous trappings with a quizzical smile.
Gahan laughed. "We are a vain people," he admitted, good-naturedly,"and it is possible that we place too much value on personalappearances. We vie with one another in the splendor of ouraccoutrements when trapped for the observance of the lighter duties oflife, though when we take the field our leather is the plainest I everhave seen worn by fighting men of Barsoom. We pride ourselves, too,upon our physical beauty, and especially upon the beauty of our women.May I dare to say, Tara of Helium, that I am hoping for the day whenyou will visit Gathol that my people may see one who is reallybeautiful?"
"The women of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon thetongue of the flatterer," rejoined the girl, but Gahan, Jed of Gathol,observed that she smiled as she said it.
A bugle sounded, clear and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "TheDance of Barsoom!" exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it,Tara of Helium."
The girl glanced in the direction of the bench where she had last seenDjor Kantos. He was not in sight. She inclined her head in assent tothe claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among the guests,distributing small musical instruments of a single string. Upon eachinstrument were characters which indicated the pitch and length of itstone. The instruments were of skeel, the string of gut, and were shapedto fit the left forearm of the dancer, to which it was strapped. Therewas also a ring wound with gut which was worn between the first andsecond joints of the index finger of the right hand and which, whenpassed over the string of the instrument, elicited the single noterequired of the dancer.
The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward theexpanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where thedance was to be held, when Djor Kantos came hurriedly toward Tara ofHelium. "I claim--" he exclaimed as he neared her; but she interruptedhim with a gesture.
"You are too late, Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No laggardmay claim Tara of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also OlviaMarthis, whom I have never seen wait long to be claimed for this or anyother dance."
"I have already lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.
"And you mean to say that you came for Tara of Helium only after havinglost Olvia Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating displeasure.
"Oh, Tara of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the youngman. "Was it not natural that I should assume that you would expect me,who alone has claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelvetimes past?"
"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" shequestioned. "Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for no laggard,"and she threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward the assemblingdancers with Gahan, Jed of far Gathol.
The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formaldancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours, though itis infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before a Martian youthof either sex may attend an important social function where there isdancing, he must have become pr
oficient in at least three dances--TheDance of Barsoom, his national dance, and the dance of his city. Inthese three dances the dancers furnish their own music, which nevervaries; nor do the steps or figures vary, having been handed down fromtime immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, butThe Dance of Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and harmony--there isno grotesque posturing, no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has beendescribed as the interpretation of the highest ideals of a world thataspired to grace and beauty and chastity in woman, and strength anddignity and loyalty in man.
Today, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate, ledin the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them inpossession of the silent admiration of the guests it was theresplendent Jed of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In theever-changing figures of the dance the man found himself now with thegirl's hand in his and again with an arm about the lithe body that thejeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the girl, though she haddanced a thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time thepersonal contact of a man's arm against her naked flesh. It troubledher that she should notice it, and she looked up questioningly andalmost with displeasure at the man as though it was his fault. Theireyes met and she saw in his that which she had never seen in the eyesof Djor Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and they bothstopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight intoeach other's eyes. It was Gahan of Gathol who spoke first.
"Tara of Helium, I love you!" he said.
The girl drew herself to her full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgetshimself," she exclaimed haughtily.
"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Tara of Helium," hereplied. Fiercely he pressed the soft hand that he still retained fromthe last position of the dance. "I love you, Tara of Helium," herepeated. "Why should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but justnow did not refuse to see--and answer?"
"What meanest thou?" she cried. "Are the men of Gathol such boors,then?"
"They are neither boors nor fools," he replied, quietly. "They knowwhen they love a woman--and when she loves them."
Tara of Helium stamped her little foot in anger. "Go!" she said,"before it is necessary to acquaint my father with the dishonor of hisguest."
She turned and walked away. "Wait!" cried the man. "Just another word."
"Of apology?" she asked.
"Of prophecy," he said.
"I do not care to hear it," replied Tara of Helium, and left himstanding there. She was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafterreturned to her own quarter of the palace, where she stood for a longtime by a window looking out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Heliumtoward the northwest.
Presently she turned angrily away. "I hate him!" she exclaimed aloud.
"Whom?" inquired the privileged Uthia.
Tara of Helium stamped her foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed ofGathol," she replied.
Uthia raised her slim brows.
At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the cornerof the room and crossed to Tara of Helium where it stood looking upinto her face. She placed her hand upon the ugly head. "Dear oldWoola," she said; "no love could be deeper than yours, yet it neveroffends. Would that men might pattern themselves after you!"
The Chessmen of Mars Page 2