A Princess of Mars

"Only in little ways, John Carter," she answered. "Nothing that can

harm me outside my pride. They know that I am the daughter of ten

thousand jeddaks, that I trace my ancestry straight back without a

break to the builder of the first great waterway, and they, who do not

even know their own mothers, are jealous of me. At heart they hate

their horrid fates, and so wreak their poor spite on me who stand for

everything they have not, and for all they most crave and never can

attain. Let us pity them, my chieftain, for even though we die at

their hands we can afford them pity, since we are greater than they and

they know it."

Had I known the significance of those words "my chieftain," as applied

by a red Martian woman to a man, I should have had the surprise of my

life, but I did not know at that time, nor for many months thereafter.

Yes, I still had much to learn upon Barsoom.

"I presume it is the better part of wisdom that we bow to our fate with

as good grace as possible, Dejah Thoris; but I hope, nevertheless, that

I may be present the next time that any Martian, green, red, pink, or

violet, has the temerity to even so much as frown on you, my princess."

Dejah Thoris caught her breath at my last words, and gazed upon me with

dilated eyes and quickening breath, and then, with an odd little laugh,

which brought roguish dimples to the corners of her mouth, she shook

her head and cried: "What a child! A great warrior and yet a stumbling little child."

"What have I done now?" I asked, in sore perplexity.

"Some day you shall know, John Carter, if we live; but I may not tell

you. And I, the daughter of Mors Kajak, son of Tardos Mors, have

listened without anger," she soliloquized in conclusion.

Then she broke out again into one of her gay, happy, laughing moods;

joking with me on my prowess as a Thark warrior as contrasted with my

soft heart and natural kindliness.

"I presume that should you accidentally wound an enemy you would take

him home and nurse him back to health," she laughed.

"That is precisely what we do on Earth," I answered. "At least among

civilized men."

This made her laugh again. She could not understand it, for, with all

her tenderness and womanly sweetness, she was still a Martian, and to a

Martian the only good enemy is a dead enemy; for every dead foeman

means so much more to divide between those who live.

I was very curious to know what I had said or done to cause her so much

perturbation a moment before and so I continued to importune her to

enlighten me.