A Princess of Mars

Had a green Martian woman desired to show dislike or contempt she

would, in all likelihood, have done it with a sword thrust or a

movement of her trigger finger; but as their sentiments are mostly

atrophied it would have required a serious injury to have aroused such

passions in them. Sola, let me add, was an exception; I never saw her

perform a cruel or uncouth act, or fail in uniform kindliness and good

nature. She was indeed, as her fellow Martian had said of her, an

atavism; a dear and precious reversion to a former type of loved and

loving ancestor.

Seeing that the prisoner seemed the center of attraction I halted to

view the proceedings. I had not long to wait for presently Lorquas

Ptomel and his 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 Sola to keep this a secret on the

grounds that I did not wish to be forced to talk with the men 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 her two guards. I saw that one of the women was

Sarkoja, and thus understood how she had been present at the hearing of

the preceding day, the results of which she had reported to the

occupants of our dormitory last night. Her attitude toward the captive

was most harsh and brutal. When she held her, she sunk her rudimentary

nails into the poor girl's flesh, or twisted her arm in a most painful

manner. When it was necessary to move from one spot to another she

either jerked her roughly, or pushed her headlong before her. She

seemed to be venting upon this poor defenseless creature all the

hatred, cruelty, ferocity, and spite of her nine hundred years, backed

by unguessable ages of fierce and brutal ancestors.

The other woman was less cruel because she was entirely indifferent; if

the prisoner had been left to her alone, and fortunately she was at

night, she would have received no harsh treatment, nor, by the same

token would she have received any attention at all.

As Lorquas Ptomel raised his eyes to address the prisoner they fell on

me and he turned to Tars Tarkas with a word, and gesture of impatience.

Tars Tarkas made some reply which I could not catch, but which caused

Lorquas Ptomel to smile; after which they paid no further attention to

me.

"What is your name?" asked Lorquas Ptomel, addressing the prisoner.