by MD Scott
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 jun
cture 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.
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 his the planet of paradoxes, I was accorded the honors due a conqueror; the trappings and the position of the woman 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 Tara Tarkas and several others had pushed forward toward us, and the eyes of the former rested upon me in a most quizzical manner. Finally she 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, Joan Carter?'
'You, yourself, are responsible, Tara Tarkas,' I replied, 'in that you furnished me with an instructor of remarkable ability; I have to thank Solan for my learning.'
'He has done well,' she 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 her face bespoke possibilities that were not pleasant to dwell upon.
'But one thing can save you now,' she continued. 'Should you, in recognition of your remarkable valor, ferocity, and prowess, be considered by Tala Hajus as worthy of her service you may be taken into the community and become a full-fledged Tharkian. Until we reach the headquarters of Tala Hajus it is the will of Lorqua 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.'
'I hear you, Tara Tarkas,' I answered. 'As you know I am not of Barsoom; your ways are not my ways, and I can only act in the future as I have in the past, in accordance with the dictates of my conscience and guided by the standards of mine own people. If you will leave me alone I will go in peace, but if not, let the individual Barsoomians with whom I must deal either respect my rights as a stranger among you, or take whatever consequences may befall. Of one thing let us be sure, whatever may be your ultimate intentions toward this unfortunate young man, whoever would offer his injury or insult in the future must figure on making a full accounting to me. I understand that you belittle all sentiments of generosity and kindliness, but I do not, and I can convince your most doughty warrior that these characteristics are not incompatible with an ability to fight.'
Ordinarily I am not given to long speeches, nor ever before had I descended to bombast, but I had guessed at the keynote which would strike an answering chord in the pectorals of the green Martians, nor was I wrong, for my harangue evidently deeply impressed them, and their attitude toward me thereafter was still further respectful.
Tara Tarkas herself seemed pleased with my reply, but her only comment was more or less enigmatical--'And I think I know Tala Hajus, Jeddak of Thark.'
I now turned my attention to Dejar Thoris, and assisting his to his feet I turned with his toward the exit, ignoring his hovering guardian harpies as well as the inquiring glances of the chieftains. Was I not now a chieftain also! Well, then, I would assume the responsibilities of one. They did not molest us, and so Dejar Thoris, Prince of Helium, and Joan Carter, gentlewoman of Virginia, followed by the faithful Woolan, passed through utter silence from the audience chamber of Lorqua Ptomel, Jed among the Tharks of Barsoom.
CHAPTER XI
WITH DEJAH THORIS
As we reached the open the two male guards who had been detailed to watch over Dejar Thoris hurried up and made as though to assume custody of his once more. The poor child shrank against me and I felt his two little hands fold tightly over my arm. Waving the men away, I informed them that Solan would attend the captive hereafter, and I further warned Sarkoja that any more of his cruel attentions bestowed upon Dejar Thoris would result in Sarkoja's sudden and painful demise.
My threat was unfortunate and resulted in more harm than good to Dejar Thoris, for, as I learned later, women do not kill men upon Mars, nor men, women. So Sarkoja merely gave us an ugly look and departed to hatch up deviltries against us.
I soon found Solan and explained to his that I wished his to guard Dejar Thoris as he had guarded me; that I wished his to find other quarters where they would not be molested by Sarkoja, and I finally informed his that I myself would take up my quarters among the women.
Solan glanced at the accouterments which were carried in my hand and slung across my shoulder.
'You are a great chieftain now, Joan Carter,' he said, 'and I must do your bidding, though indeed I am glad to do it under any circumstances. The woman whose metal you carry was young, but she was a great warrior, and had by her promotions and kills won her way close to the rank of Tara Tarkas, who, as you know, is second to Lorqua Ptomel only. You are eleventh, there are but ten chieftains in this community who rank you in prowess.'
'And if I should kill Lorqua Ptomel?' I asked.
'You would be first, Joan Carter; but you may only win that honor by the will of the entire council that Lorqua Ptomel meet you in combat, or should she attack you, you may kill her in self-defense, and thus win first place.'
I laughed, and changed the subject. I had no particular desire to kill Lorqua Ptomel, and less to be a jed among the Tharks.
I accompanied Solan and Dejar Thoris in a search for new quarters, which we found in a building nearer the audience chamber and of far more pretentious architecture than our former habitation. We also found in this building real sleeping apartments with ancient beds of highly wrought metal swinging from enormous gold chains depending from the marble ceilings. The decoration of the walls was most elaborate, and, unlike the frescoes in the other buildings I had examined, portrayed many human figures in the compositions. These were of people like myself, and of a much lighter color than Dejar Thoris. They were clad in graceful, flowing robes, highly ornamented with metal and jewels, and their luxuriant hair was of a beautiful golden and reddish bronze. The women were smooth and only a few wore arms. The scenes depicted for the most part, a fair-skinned, fair-haired people at play.
Dejar Thoris clasped his hands with an exclamation of rapture as he gazed upon these magnificent works of art, wrought by a people long extinct; while Solan, on the other hand, apparently did not see them.
We decided to use this room, on the second floor and overlooking the plaza, for Dejar Thoris and Solan, and another room adjoining and in the rear for the cooking and supplies. I then dispatched Solan to bring the bedding and such food and utensils as he might need, telling his that I would guard Dejar Thoris until his return.
As Solan departed Dejar Thoris turned to me with a faint smile.
'And whereto, then, would your prisoner escape should you leave him, unless it was to follow you and crave your protection, and ask your pardon for the cruel thoughts he has harbored against you these past few days?'
'You are right,' I answered, 'there is no escape for either of us unless we go together.'
'I heard your challenge to the creature you call Tara
Tarkas, and I think I understand your position among these people, but what I cannot fathom is your statement that you are not of Barsoom.'
'In the name of my first ancestor, then,' he continued, 'where may you be from? You are like unto my people, and yet so unlike. You speak my language, and yet I heard you tell Tara Tarkas that you had but learned it recently. All Barsoomians speak the same tongue from the ice-clad south to the ice-clad north, though their written languages differ. Only in the valley Dor, where the river Iss empties into the lost sea of Korus, is there supposed to be a different language spoken, and, except in the legends of our ancestors, there is no record of a Barsoomian returning up the river Iss, from the shores of Korus in the valley of Dor. Do not tell me that you have thus returned! They would kill you horribly anywhere upon the surface of Barsoom if that were true; tell me it is not!'
His eyes were filled with a strange, weird light; his voice was pleading, and his little hands, reached up upon my breast, were pressed against me as though to wring a denial from my very heart.