A Princess of Mars

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.