A Princess of Mars

I had observed on the two occasions when I had seen her that the

prisoner exchanged words with her guards, and this convinced me that

they spoke, or at least could make themselves understood by a common

language. With this added incentive I nearly drove Sola distracted by

my importunities to hasten on my education and within a few more days I

had mastered the Martian tongue sufficiently well to enable me to carry

on a passable conversation and to fully understand practically all that

I heard.

At this time our sleeping quarters were occupied by three or four

females and a couple of the recently hatched young, beside Sola and her

youthful ward, myself, and Woola the hound. After they had retired for

the night it was customary for the adults to carry on a desultory

conversation for a short time before lapsing into sleep, and now that I

could understand their language I was always a keen listener, although

I never proffered any remarks myself.

On the night following the prisoner's visit to the audience chamber the

conversation finally fell upon this subject, and I was all ears on the

instant. I had feared to question Sola relative to the beautiful

captive, as I could not but recall the strange expression I had noted

upon her face after my first encounter with the prisoner. That it

denoted jealousy I could not say, and yet, judging all things by

mundane standards as I still did, I felt it safer to affect

indifference in the matter until I learned more surely Sola's attitude

toward the object of my solicitude.

Sarkoja, one of the older women who shared our domicile, had been

present at the audience as one of the captive's guards, and it was

toward her the question turned.

"When," asked one of the women, "will we enjoy the death throes of the

red one? or does Lorquas Ptomel, Jed, intend holding her for ransom?"

"They have decided to carry her with us back to Thark, and exhibit her

last agonies at the great games before Tal Hajus," replied Sarkoja.

"What will be the manner of her going out?" inquired Sola. "She is

very small and very beautiful; I had hoped that they would hold her for

ransom."

Sarkoja and the other women grunted angrily at this evidence of

weakness on the part of Sola.

"It is sad, Sola, that you were not born a million years ago," snapped

Sarkoja, "when all the hollows of the land were filled with water, and

the peoples were as soft as the stuff they sailed upon. In our day we

have progressed to a point where such sentiments mark weakness and

atavism. It will not be well for you to permit Tars Tarkas to learn

that you hold such degenerate sentiments, as I doubt that he would care

to entrust such as you with the grave responsibilities of maternity."