A Duel To The Death

: A Princess Of Mars

My first impulse was to tell her of my love, and then I thought of the

helplessness of her position wherein I alone could lighten the burdens

of her captivity, and protect her in my poor way against the thousands

of hereditary enemies she must face upon our arrival at Thark. I could

not chance causing her additional pain or sorrow by declaring a love

which, in all probability she did not return. Should I be so

indisc
eet, her position would be even more unbearable than now, and

the thought that she might feel that I was taking advantage of her

helplessness, to influence her decision was the final argument which

sealed my lips.



"Why are you so quiet, Dejah Thoris?" I asked. "Possibly you would

rather return to Sola and your quarters."



"No," she murmured, "I am happy here. I do not know why it is that I

should always be happy and contented when you, John Carter, a stranger,

are with me; yet at such times it seems that I am safe and that, with

you, I shall soon return to my father's court and feel his strong arms

about me and my mother's tears and kisses on my cheek."



"Do people kiss, then, upon Barsoom?" I asked, when she had explained

the word she used, in answer to my inquiry as to its meaning.



"Parents, brothers, and sisters, yes; and," she added in a low,

thoughtful tone, "lovers."



"And you, Dejah Thoris, have parents and brothers and sisters?"



"Yes."



"And a--lover?"



She was silent, nor could I venture to repeat the question.



"The man of Barsoom," she finally ventured, "does not ask personal

questions of women, except his mother, and the woman he has fought for

and won."



"But I have fought--" I started, and then I wished my tongue had been

cut from my mouth; for she turned even as I caught myself and ceased,

and drawing my silks from her shoulder she held them out to me, and

without a word, and with head held high, she moved with the carriage of

the queen she was toward the plaza and the doorway of her quarters.



I did not attempt to follow her, other than to see that she reached the

building in safety, but, directing Woola to accompany her, I turned

disconsolately and entered my own house. I sat for hours cross-legged,

and cross-tempered, upon my silks meditating upon the queer freaks

chance plays upon us poor devils of mortals.



So this was love! I had escaped it for all the years I had roamed the

five continents and their encircling seas; in spite of beautiful women

and urging opportunity; in spite of a half-desire for love and a

constant search for my ideal, it had remained for me to fall furiously

and hopelessly in love with a creature from another world, of a species

similar possibly, yet not identical with mine. A woman who was hatched

from an egg, and whose span of life might cover a thousand years; whose

people had strange customs and ideas; a woman whose hopes, whose

pleasures, whose standards of virtue and of right and wrong might vary

as greatly from mine as did those of the green Martians.



Yes, I was a fool, but I was in love, and though I was suffering the

greatest misery I had ever known I would not have had it otherwise for

all the riches of Barsoom. Such is love, and such are lovers wherever

love is known.



To me, Dejah Thoris was all that was perfect; all that was virtuous and

beautiful and noble and good. I believed that from the bottom of my

heart, from the depth of my soul on that night in Korad as I sat

cross-legged upon my silks while the nearer moon of Barsoom raced

through the western sky toward the horizon, and lighted up the gold and

marble, and jeweled mosaics of my world-old chamber, and I believe it

today as I sit at my desk in the little study overlooking the Hudson.

Twenty years have intervened; for ten of them I lived and fought for

Dejah Thoris and her people, and for ten I have lived upon her memory.



The morning of our departure for Thark dawned clear and hot, as do all

Martian mornings except for the six weeks when the snow melts at the

poles.



I sought out Dejah Thoris in the throng of departing chariots, but she

turned her shoulder to me, and I could see the red blood mount to her

cheek. With the foolish inconsistency of love I held my peace when I

might have plead ignorance of the nature of my offense, or at least the

gravity of it, and so have effected, at worst, a half conciliation.




chariots.]



My duty dictated that I must see that she was comfortable, and so I

glanced into her chariot and rearranged her silks and furs. In doing

so I noted with horror that she was heavily chained by one ankle to the

side of the vehicle.



"What does this mean?" I cried, turning to Sola.



"Sarkoja thought it best," she answered, her face betokening her

disapproval of the procedure.



Examining the manacles I saw that they fastened with a massive spring

lock.



"Where is the key, Sola? Let me have it."



"Sarkoja wears it, John Carter," she answered.



I turned without further word and sought out Tars Tarkas, to whom I

vehemently objected to the unnecessary humiliations and cruelties, as

they seemed to my lover's eyes, that were being heaped upon Dejah

Thoris.



"John Carter," he answered, "if ever you and Dejah Thoris escape the

Tharks it will be upon this journey. We know that you will not go

without her. You have shown yourself a mighty fighter, and we do not

wish to manacle you, so we hold you both in the easiest way that will

yet ensure security. I have spoken."



I saw the strength of his reasoning at a flash, and knew that it were

futile to appeal from his decision, but I asked that the key be taken

from Sarkoja and that she be directed to leave the prisoner alone in

future.



"This much, Tars Tarkas, you may do for me in return for the friendship

that, I must confess, I feel for you."



"Friendship?" he replied. "There is no such thing, John Carter; but

have your will. I shall direct that Sarkoja cease to annoy the girl,

and I myself will take the custody of the key."



"Unless you wish me to assume the responsibility," I said, smiling.



He looked at me long and earnestly before he spoke.



"Were you to give me your word that neither you nor Dejah Thoris would

attempt to escape until after we have safely reached the court of Tal

Hajus you might have the key and throw the chains into the river Iss."



"It were better that you held the key, Tars Tarkas," I replied



He smiled, and said no more, but that night as we were making camp I

saw him unfasten Dejah Thoris' fetters himself.



With all his cruel ferocity and coldness there was an undercurrent of

something in Tars Tarkas which he seemed ever battling to subdue.

Could it be a vestige of some human instinct come back from an ancient

forbear to haunt him with the horror of his people's ways!



As I was approaching Dejah Thoris' chariot I passed Sarkoja, and the

black, venomous look she accorded me was the sweetest balm I had felt

for many hours. Lord, how she hated me! It bristled from her so

palpably that one might almost have cut it with a sword.



A few moments later I saw her deep in conversation with a warrior named

Zad; a big, hulking, powerful brute, but one who had never made a kill

among his own chieftains, and a second name only with the metal of some

chieftain. It was this custom which entitled me to the names of either

of the chieftains I had killed; in fact, some of the warriors addressed

me as Dotar Sojat, a combination of the surnames of the two warrior

chieftains whose metal I had taken, or, in other words, whom I had

slain in fair fight.



As Sarkoja talked with Zad he cast occasional glances in my direction,

while she seemed to be urging him very strongly to some action. I paid

little attention to it at the time, but the next day I had good reason

to recall the circumstances, and at the same time gain a slight insight

into the depths of Sarkoja's hatred and the lengths to which she was

capable of going to wreak her horrid vengeance on me.



Dejah Thoris would have none of me again on this evening, and though I

spoke her name she neither replied, nor conceded by so much as the

flutter of an eyelid that she realized my existence. In my extremity I

did what most other lovers would have done; I sought word from her

through an intimate. In this instance it was Sola whom I intercepted

in another part of camp.



"What is the matter with Dejah Thoris?" I blurted out at her. "Why

will she not speak to me?"



Sola seemed puzzled herself, as though such strange actions on the part

of two humans were quite beyond her, as indeed they were, poor child.



"She says you have angered her, and that is all she will say, except

that she is the daughter of a jed and the granddaughter of a jeddak and

she has been humiliated by a creature who could not polish the teeth of

her grandmother's sorak."



I pondered over this report for some time, finally asking, "What might

a sorak be, Sola?"



"A little animal about as big as my hand, which the red Martian women

keep to play with," explained Sola.



Not fit to polish the teeth of her grandmother's cat! I must rank

pretty low in the consideration of Dejah Thoris, I thought; but I could

not help laughing at the strange figure of speech, so homely and in

this respect so earthly. It made me homesick, for it sounded very much

like "not fit to polish her shoes." And then commenced a train of

thought quite new to me. I began to wonder what my people at home were

doing. I had not seen them for years. There was a family of Carters

in Virginia who claimed close relationship with me; I was supposed to

be a great uncle, or something of the kind equally foolish. I could

pass anywhere for twenty-five to thirty years of age, and to be a great

uncle always seemed the height of incongruity, for my thoughts and

feelings were those of a boy. There was two little kiddies in the

Carter family whom I had loved and who had thought there was no one on

Earth like Uncle Jack; I could see them just as plainly, as I stood

there under the moonlit skies of Barsoom, and I longed for them as I

had never longed for any mortals before. By nature a wanderer, I had

never known the true meaning of the word home, but the great hall of

the Carters had always stood for all that the word did mean to me, and

now my heart turned toward it from the cold and unfriendly peoples I

had been thrown amongst. For did not even Dejah Thoris despise me! I

was a low creature, so low in fact that I was not even fit to polish

the teeth of her grandmother's cat; and then my saving sense of humor

came to my rescue, and laughing I turned into my silks and furs and

slept upon the moon-haunted ground the sleep of a tired and healthy

fighting man.



We broke camp the next day at an early hour and marched with only a

single halt until just before dark. Two incidents broke the

tediousness of the march. About noon we espied far to our right what

was evidently an incubator, and Lorquas Ptomel directed Tars Tarkas to

investigate it. The latter took a dozen warriors, including myself,

and we raced across the velvety carpeting of moss to the little

enclosure.



It was indeed an incubator, but the eggs were very small in comparison

with those I had seen hatching in ours at the time of my arrival on

Mars.



Tars Tarkas dismounted and examined the enclosure minutely, finally

announcing that it belonged to the green men of Warhoon and that the

cement was scarcely dry where it had been walled up.



"They cannot be a day's march ahead of us," he exclaimed, the light of

battle leaping to his fierce face.



The work at the incubator was short indeed. The warriors tore open the

entrance and a couple of them, crawling in, soon demolished all the

eggs with their short-swords. Then remounting we dashed back to join

the cavalcade. During the ride I took occasion to ask Tars Tarkas if

these Warhoons whose eggs we had destroyed were a smaller people than

his Tharks.



"I noticed that their eggs were so much smaller than those I saw

hatching in your incubator," I added.



He explained that the eggs had just been placed there; but, like all

green Martian eggs, they would grow during the five-year period of

incubation until they obtained the size of those I had seen hatching on

the day of my arrival on Barsoom. This was indeed an interesting piece

of information, for it had always seemed remarkable to me that the

green Martian women, large as they were, could bring forth such

enormous eggs as I had seen the four-foot infants emerging from. As a

matter of fact, the new-laid egg is but little larger than an ordinary

goose egg, and as it does not commence to grow until subjected to the

light of the sun the chieftains have little difficulty in transporting

several hundreds of them at one time from the storage vaults to the

incubators.



Shortly after the incident of the Warhoon eggs we halted to rest the

animals, and it was during this halt that the second of the day's

interesting episodes occurred. I was engaged in changing my riding

cloths from one of my thoats to the other, for I divided the day's work

between them, when Zad approached me, and without a word struck my

animal a terrific blow with his long-sword.



I did not need a manual of green Martian etiquette to know what reply

to make, for, in fact, I was so wild with anger that I could scarcely

refrain from drawing my pistol and shooting him down for the brute he

was; but he stood waiting with drawn long-sword, and my only choice was

to draw my own and meet him in fair fight with his choice of weapons or

a lesser one.



This latter alternative is always permissible, therefore I could have

used my short-sword, my dagger, my hatchet, or my fists had I wished,

and been entirely within my rights, but I could not use firearms or a

spear while he held only his long-sword.



I chose the same weapon he had drawn because I knew he prided himself

upon his ability with it, and I wished, if I worsted him at all, to do

it with his own weapon. The fight that followed was a long one and

delayed the resumption of the march for an hour. The entire community

surrounded us, leaving a clear space about one hundred feet in diameter

for our battle.



Zad first attempted to rush me down as a bull might a wolf, but I was

much too quick for him, and each time I side-stepped his rushes he

would go lunging past me, only to receive a nick from my sword upon his

arm or back. He was soon streaming blood from a half dozen minor

wounds, but I could not obtain an opening to deliver an effective

thrust. Then he changed his tactics, and fighting warily and with

extreme dexterity, he tried to do by science what he was unable to do

by brute strength. I must admit that he was a magnificent swordsman,

and had it not been for my greater endurance and the remarkable agility

the lesser gravitation of Mars lent me I might not have been able to

put up the creditable fight I did against him.



We circled for some time without doing much damage on either side; the

long, straight, needle-like swords flashing in the sunlight, and

ringing out upon the stillness as they crashed together with each

effective parry. Finally Zad, realizing that he was tiring more than

I, evidently decided to close in and end the battle in a final blaze of

glory for himself; just as he rushed me a blinding flash of light

struck full in my eyes, so that I could not see his approach and could

only leap blindly to one side in an effort to escape the mighty blade

that it seemed I could already feel in my vitals. I was only partially

successful, as a sharp pain in my left shoulder attested, but in the

sweep of my glance as I sought to again locate my adversary, a sight

met my astonished gaze which paid me well for the wound the temporary

blindness had caused me. There, upon Dejah Thoris' chariot stood three

figures, for the purpose evidently of witnessing the encounter above

the heads of the intervening Tharks. There were Dejah Thoris, Sola,

and Sarkoja, and as my fleeting glance swept over them a little tableau

was presented which will stand graven in my memory to the day of my

death.



As I looked, Dejah Thoris turned upon Sarkoja with the fury of a young

tigress and struck something from her upraised hand; something which

flashed in the sunlight as it spun to the ground. Then I knew what had

blinded me at that crucial moment of the fight, and how Sarkoja had

found a way to kill me without herself delivering the final thrust.

Another thing I saw, too, which almost lost my life for me then and

there, for it took my mind for the fraction of an instant entirely from

my antagonist; for, as Dejah Thoris struck the tiny mirror from her

hand, Sarkoja, her face livid with hatred and baffled rage, whipped out

her dagger and aimed a terrific blow at Dejah Thoris; and then Sola,

our dear and faithful Sola, sprang between them; the last I saw was the

great knife descending upon her shielding breast.



My enemy had recovered from his thrust and was making it extremely

interesting for me, so I reluctantly gave my attention to the work in

hand, but my mind was not upon the battle.



We rushed each other furiously time after time, 'til suddenly, feeling

the sharp point of his sword at my breast in a thrust I could neither

parry nor escape, I threw myself upon him with outstretched sword and

with all the weight of my body, determined that I would not die alone

if I could prevent it. I felt the steel tear into my chest, all went

black before me, my head whirled in dizziness, and I felt my knees

giving beneath me.



More

;