Tara In A Tantrum

: The Chessmen Of Mars

Tara of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon

which she had been reclining, stretched her lithe body languidly,

and crossed toward the center of the room, where, above a large

table, a bronze disc depended from the low ceiling. Her carriage

was that of health and physical perfection--the effortless

harmony of faultless coordination. A scarf of silken gossamer

crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about
her body; her black

hair was piled high upon her head. With a wooden stick she tapped

upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the summons was

answered by a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to be greeted

similarly by her mistress.



"Are my father's guests arriving?" asked the princess.



"Yes, Tara of Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seen

Kantos Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and

Djor Kantos, son of Kantos Kan," she shot a roguish glance at her

mistress as she mentioned Djor Kantos' name, "and--oh, there were

others, many have come."



"The bath, then, Uthia," said her mistress. "And why, Uthia," she

added, "do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of

Djor Kantos?"



The slave girl laughed gaily. "It is so plain to all that he

worships you," she replied.



"It is not plain to me," said Tara of Helium. "He is the friend

of my brother, Carthoris, and so he is here much; but not to see

me. It is his friendship for Carthoris that brings him thus often

to the palace of 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

will bring you to some misadventure yet."



"The bath is ready, Tara of Helium," the girl responded, her eyes

still twinkling with merriment, for she well knew that in the

heart of her mistress was no anger that could displace the love

of the princess for her slave. Preceding the daughter of The

Warlord she opened the door of an adjoining room where lay the

bath--a gleaming pool of scented water in a marble basin. Golden

stanchions supported a chain of gold encircling it and leading

down into the water on either side of marble steps. A glass dome

let in the sun-light, which flooded the interior, glancing from

the polished white of the marble walls and the procession of

bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid

with gold in a broad band that circled the room.



Tara of Helium removed the scarf from about her and handed it to

the slave. Slowly she descended the steps to the water, the

temperature of which she tested with a symmetrical foot,

undeformed by tight shoes and high heels--a lovely foot, as God

intended that feet should be and seldom are. Finding the water to

her liking, the girl swam leisurely to and fro about the pool.

With the silken ease of the seal she swam, now at the surface,

now below, her smooth muscles rolling softly beneath her clear

skin--a wordless song of health and happiness and grace.

Presently she emerged and gave herself into the hands of the

slave girl, who rubbed the body of her mistress with a sweet

smelling semi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until

the glowing skin was covered with a foamy lather, then a quick

plunge into the pool, a drying with soft towels, and the bath was

over. Typical of the life of the princess was the simple elegance

of her bath--no retinue of useless slaves, no pomp, no idle waste

of precious moments. In another half hour her hair was dried and

built into the strange, but becoming, coiffure of her station;

her leathern trappings, encrusted with gold and jewels, had been

adjusted to her figure and she was ready to mingle with the

guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the palace

of The Warlord.



As she left her apartments to make her way to the gardens where

the guests were congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the

House of the Prince of Helium upon their harness, followed a few

paces behind her, grim reminders that the assassin's blade may

never be ignored upon Barsoom, where, in a measure, it

counterbalances the great natural span of human life, which is

estimated at not less than a thousand years.



As they neared the entrance to the garden another woman,

similarly guarded, approached them from another quarter of the

great palace. As she neared them Tara of Helium turned toward her

with a smile and a happy greeting, while her guards knelt with

bowed heads in willing and voluntary adoration of the beloved of

Helium. Thus always, solely at the command of their own hearts,

did the warriors of Helium greet Dejah Thoris, whose deathless

beauty had more than once brought them to bloody warfare with

other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love of the people of

Helium for the mate of John Carter it amounted practically to

worship, as though she were indeed the goddess that she looked.



The mother and daughter exchanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor"

of greeting and kissed. Then together they entered the gardens

where the guests were. A huge warrior drew his short-sword and

struck his metal shield with the flat of it, the brazen sound

ringing out above the laughter and the speech.



"The Princess comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess

comes! Tara of Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The

guests arose; the two women inclined their heads; the guards fell

back upon either side of the entrance-way; a number of nobles

advanced to pay their respects; the laughing and the talking were

resumed and Dejah Thoris and her daughter moved simply and

naturally among their guests, no suggestion of differing rank

apparent in the bearing of any who were there, though there was

more than a single Jeddak and many common warriors whose only

title lay in brave deeds, or noble patriotism. Thus it is upon

Mars where men are judged upon their own merits rather than upon

those of their grandsires, even though pride of lineage be great.



Tara of Helium let her slow gaze wander among the throng of

guests until presently it halted upon one she sought. Was the

faint shadow of a frown that crossed her brow an indication of

displeasure at the sight that met her eyes, or did the brilliant

rays of the noonday sun distress her? Who may say! She had been

reared to believe that one day she should wed Djor Kantos, son of

her father's best friend. It had been the dearest wish of Kantos

Kan and The Warlord that this should be, and Tara of Helium had

accepted it as a matter of all but accomplished fact. Djor Kantos

had seemed to accept the matter in the same way. They had spoken

of it casually as something that would, as a matter of course,

take place in the indefinite future, as, for instance, his

promotion in the navy, in which he was now a padwar; or the set

functions of the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors, Jeddak of

Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had

puzzled Tara of Helium upon the rare occasions she gave it

thought, for she knew that people who were to wed were usually

much occupied with the matter of love and she had all of a

woman's curiosity--she wondered what love was like. She was very

fond of Djor Kantos and she knew that he was very fond of her.

They liked to be together, for they liked the same things and the

same people and the same books and their dancing was a joy, not

only to themselves but to those who watched them. She could not

imagine wanting to marry anyone other than Djor Kantos.



So perhaps it was only the sun that made her brows contract just

the tiniest bit at the same instant that she discovered Djor

Kantos sitting in earnest conversation with Olvia Marthis,

daughter of the Jed of Hastor. It was Djor Kantos' duty

immediately to pay his respects to Dejah Thoris and Tara of

Helium; but he did not do so and presently the daughter of The

Warlord frowned indeed. She looked long at Olvia Marthis, and

though she had seen her many times before and knew her well, she

looked at her today through new eyes that saw, apparently for the

first time, that the girl from Hastor was noticeably beautiful

even among those other beautiful women of Helium. Tara of Helium

was disturbed. She attempted to analyze her emotions; but found

it difficult. Olvia Marthis was her friend--she was very fond of

her and she felt no anger toward her. Was she angry with Djor

Kantos? No, she finally decided that she was not. It was merely

surprise, then, that she felt--surprise that Djor Kantos could be

more interested in another than in herself. She was about to

cross the garden and join them when she heard her father's voice

directly behind her.



"Tara of Helium!" he called, and she turned to see him

approaching with a strange warrior whose harness and metal bore

devices with which she was unfamiliar. Even among the gorgeous

trappings of the men of Helium and the visitors from distant

empires those of the stranger were remarkable for their barbaric

splendor. The leather of his harness was completely hidden

beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set with brilliant

diamonds, as were the scabbards of his swords and the ornate

holster that held his long, Martian pistol. Moving through the

sunlit garden at the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant

rays of his countless gems enveloping him as in an aureole of

light imparted to his noble 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

ersite bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.



"Far Gathol," mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been

connected with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of

the ancients. I cannot think of Gathol as existing today,

possibly because I have never before seen a Gatholian."



"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates

Helium and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of

my little free city, which might easily be lost in one corner of

mighty Helium," added Gahan. "But what we lack in power we make

up in pride," he continued, laughing. "We believe ours the oldest

inhabited city upon Barsoom. It is one of the few that has

retained its freedom, and this despite the fact that its ancient

diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike practically all

the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible as ever."



"Tell me of Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me

with interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the

young jed detracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.



Nor did Gahan seem displeased with the excuse for further

monopolizing the society of his fair companion. His eyes seemed

chained to her exquisite features, from which they moved no

further than to a rounded breast, part hid beneath its jeweled

covering, a naked shoulder or the symmetry of a perfect arm,

resplendent in bracelets of barbaric magnificence.



"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was

built upon an island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of

old Barsoom. As the ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of

the mountain, the summit of which was the island upon which she

had been built, until today she covers the slopes from summit to

base, while the bowels of the great hill are honeycombed with the

galleries of her mines. Entirely surrounding us is a great salt

marsh, which protects us from invasion by land, while the rugged

and ofttimes vertical topography of our mountain renders the

landing of hostile airships a precarious undertaking."



"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 thus protected from attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had

liked the young jed's answer to her previous question, but yet in

whose mind persisted a vague conviction of the possible

effeminacy of her companion, induced, doubtless, by the

magnificence of his trappings and weapons which carried a

suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.



"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from

defeat on countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us

immune from attack," he explained, "for so great is the wealth of

Gathol's diamond treasury that there yet may be found those who

will risk almost certain defeat in an effort to loot our

unconquered city; so thus we find occasional practice in the

exercise of arms; but there is more to Gathol than the mountain

city. My country extends from Polodona (Equator) north ten karads

and from the tenth karad west of Horz to the twentieth west,

including thus a million square haads, the greater proportion of

which is fine grazing land where run our great herds of thoats

and zitidars.



"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herdsmen must

indeed be warriors or we should have no herds, and you may be

assured they get plenty of fighting. Then there is our constant

need of workers in the mines. The Gatholians consider themselves

a race of warriors and as such prefer not to labor in the mines.

The law is, however, that each male Gatholian shall give an hour

a day in labor to the government. That is practically the only

tax that is levied upon them. They prefer however, to furnish a

substitute to perform this labor, and as our own people will not

hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessary to obtain

slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not won

without fighting. We sell these slaves in the public market, the

proceeds going, half and half, to the government and the warriors

who bring them in. The purchasers are credited with the amount of

labor performed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year

a good slave will have performed the labor tax of his master for

six years, and if slaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted

to return to his own people."



"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating his

gorgeous 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 personal appearances. We vie with one another in the splendor

of our accoutrements when trapped for the observance of the

lighter duties of life, though when we take the field our leather

is the plainest I ever have 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 when you will visit Gathol that my

people may see one who is really beautiful?"



"The women of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon

the tongue 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. "The Dance 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

seen Djor Kantos. He was not in sight. She inclined her head in

assent to the claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among

the guests, distributing small musical instruments of a single

string. Upon each instrument were characters which indicated the

pitch and length of its tone. The instruments were of skeel, the

string of gut, and were shaped to fit the left forearm of the

dancer, to which it was strapped. There was also a ring wound

with gut which was worn between the first and second joints of

the index finger of the right hand and which, when passed over

the string of the instrument, elicited the single note required

of the dancer.



The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward the

expanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where

the dance was to be held, when Djor Kantos came hurriedly toward

Tara of Helium. "I claim--" he exclaimed as he neared her; but

she interrupted him with a gesture.



"You are too late, Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No

laggard may claim Tara of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose

also Olvia Marthis, whom I have never seen wait long to be

claimed for this or any other dance."



"I have already lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.



"And you mean to say that you came for Tara of Helium only after

having lost Olvia Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating

displeasure.



"Oh, Tara of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the

young man. "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 twelve times past?"



"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for

me?" she questioned. "Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for

no laggard," and she threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward

the assembling dancers with Gahan, Jed of far Gathol.



The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formal

dancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours,

though it is infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before

a Martian youth of either sex may attend an important social

function where there is dancing, he must have become proficient

in at least three dances--The Dance of Barsoom, his national

dance, and the dance of his city. In these three dances the

dancers furnish their own music, which never varies; nor do the

steps or figures vary, having been handed down from time

immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but

The Dance of Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and

harmony--there is no grotesque posturing, no vulgar or suggestive

movements. It has been described as the interpretation of the

highest ideals of a world that aspired to grace and beauty and

chastity in woman, and strength and dignity and loyalty in man.



Today, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate,

led in the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied

with them in possession of the silent admiration of the guests it

was the resplendent Jed of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In

the ever-changing figures of the dance the man found himself now

with the girl's hand in his and again with an arm about the lithe

body that the jeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the

girl, though she had danced a thousand dances in the past,

realized for the first time the personal contact of a man's arm

against her naked flesh. It troubled her that she should notice

it, and she looked up questioningly and almost with displeasure

at the man as though it was his fault. Their eyes met and she saw

in his that which she had never seen in the eyes of Djor Kantos.

It was at the very end of the dance and they both stopped

suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into

each 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

forgets himself," she exclaimed haughtily.



"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Tara of

Helium," he replied. Fiercely he pressed the soft hand that he

still retained from the last position of the dance. "I love you,

Tara of Helium," he repeated. "Why should your ears refuse to

hear what your eyes but just now 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

know when 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 his guest."



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

him standing there. She was strangely unstrung and shortly

thereafter returned to her own quarter of the palace, where she

stood for a long time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet

tower of Greater Helium toward 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

of Gathol," she replied.



Uthia raised her slim brows.



At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the

corner of the room and crossed to Tara of Helium where it stood

looking up into her face. She placed her hand upon the ugly head.

"Dear old Woola," she said; "no love could be deeper than yours,

yet it never offends. Would that men might pattern themselves

after you!"



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