his gaze wandered to the perfect lines of Thuvia’s glorious figure, which the harness of a Barsoomian princess accentuated rather than concealed. 

 “Who are you,” he asked, “who knows not the etiquette of the court of the last of jeddaks?” 

 “I am Carthoris, Prince of Helium,” replied the Heliumite. “And this is Thuvia, Princess of Ptarth. In the courts of our fathers men do not prostrate themselves before royalty. Not since the First Born tore their immortal goddess limb from limb have men crawled upon their bellies to any throne upon Barsoom. Now think you that the daughter of one mighty jeddak and the son of another would so humiliate themselves?” 

 Tario looked at Carthoris for a long time. At last he spoke. 

 “There is no other jeddak upon Barsoom than Tario,” he said. “There is no other race than that of Lothar, unless the hordes of Torquas may be dignified by such an appellation. Lotharians are white; your skins are red. There are no women left upon Barsoom. Your companion is a woman.” 

 He half rose from the couch, leaning far forward and pointing an accusing finger at Carthoris. 

 “You are a lie!” he shrieked. “You are both lies, and you dare to come before Tario, last and mightiest of the jeddaks of Barsoom, and assert your reality. Some one shall pay well for this, Jav, and unless I mistake it is yourself who has dared thus flippantly to trifle with the good nature of your jeddak. 

 “Remove the man. Leave the woman. We shall see if both be lies. And later, Jav, you shall suffer for your temerity. There be few of us left, but—Komal must be fed. Go!” 

 Carthoris could see that Jav trembled as he prostrated himself once more before his ruler, and then, rising, turned toward the Prince of Helium. 

 “Come!” he said. 

 “And leave the Princess of Ptarth here alone?” cried Carthoris. 

 Jav brushed closely past him, whispering: 

 “Follow me—he cannot harm her, except to kill; and that he can do whether you remain or not. We had best go now—trust me.” 

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