CHAPTER I

TARA IN A TANTRUM

Tara of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which she

had been reclining, stretched her lithe body languidly, and crossed

toward the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronze

disc depended from the low ceiling. Her carriage was that of health and

physical perfection--the effortless harmony of faultless coordination.

A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about

her body; her black hair was piled high upon her head. With a wooden

stick she tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the

summons was answered by a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to be

greeted similarly by her mistress.

"Are my father's guests arriving?" asked the princess.

"Yes, Tara of Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seen

Kantos Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and Djor

Kantos, son of Kantos Kan," she shot a roguish glance at her mistress

as she mentioned Djor Kantos' name, "and--oh, there were others, many

have come."

"The bath, then, Uthia," said her mistress. "And why, Uthia," she

added, "do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djor

Kantos?"

The slave girl laughed gaily. "It is so plain to all that he worships

you," she replied.

"It is not plain to me," said Tara of Helium. "He is the friend of my

brother, Carthoris, and so he is here much; but not to see me. It is

his friendship for Carthoris that brings him thus often to the palace

of my father."

"But Carthoris is hunting in the north with Talu, Jeddak of Okar,"

Uthia reminded her.

"My bath, Uthia!" cried Tara of Helium. "That tongue of yours will

bring you to some misadventure yet."

"The bath is ready, Tara of Helium," the girl responded, her eyes still

twinkling with merriment, for she well knew that in the heart of her

mistress was no anger that could displace the love of the princess for

her slave. Preceding the daughter of The Warlord she opened the door of

an adjoining room where lay the bath--a gleaming pool of scented water

in a marble basin. Golden stanchions supported a chain of gold

encircling it and leading down into the water on either side of marble

steps. A glass dome let in the sun-light, which flooded the interior,

glancing from the polished white of the marble walls and the procession

of bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid with

gold in a broad band that circled the room.

Tara of Helium removed the scarf from about her and handed it to the

slave. Slowly she descended the steps to the water, the temperature of

which she tested with a symmetrical foot, undeformed by tight shoes and

high heels--a lovely foot, as God intended that feet should be and

seldom are. Finding the water to her liking, the girl swam leisurely to

and fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the seal she swam, now

at the surface, now below, her smooth muscles rolling softly beneath

her clear skin--a wordless song of health and happiness and grace.

Presently she emerged and gave herself into the hands of the slave

girl, who rubbed the body of her mistress with a sweet smelling

semi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skin

was covered with a foamy lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, a

drying with soft towels, and the bath was over. Typical of the life of

the princess was the simple elegance of her bath--no retinue of useless

slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another half

hour her hair was dried and built into the strange, but becoming,

coiffure of her station; her leathern trappings, encrusted with gold

and jewels, had been adjusted to her figure and she was ready to mingle

with the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the

palace of The Warlord.

As she left her apartments to make her way to the gardens where the

guests were congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the House of

the Prince of Helium upon their harness, followed a few paces behind

her, grim reminders that the assassin's blade may never be ignored upon

Barsoom, where, in a measure, it counterbalances the great natural span

of human life, which is estimated at not less than a thousand years.

As they neared the entrance to the garden another woman, similarly

guarded, approached them from another quarter of the great palace. As

she neared them Tara of Helium turned toward her with a smile and a

happy greeting, while her guards knelt with bowed heads in willing and

voluntary adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always, solely at

the command of their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet Dejah

Thoris, whose deathless beauty had more than once brought them to

bloody warfare with other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love of

the people of Helium for the mate of John Carter it amounted

practically to worship, as though she were indeed the goddess that she

looked.

The mother and daughter exchanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" of

greeting and kissed. Then together they entered the gardens where the

guests were. A huge warrior drew his short-sword and struck his metal

shield with the flat of it, the brazen sound ringing out above the

laughter and the speech.

"The Princess comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess comes! Tara

of Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the two

women inclined their heads; the guards fell back upon either side of

the entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to pay their respects;

the laughing and the talking were resumed and Dejah Thoris and her

daughter moved simply and naturally among their guests, no suggestion

of differing rank apparent in the bearing of any who were there, though

there was more than a single Jeddak and many common warriors whose only

title lay in brave deeds, or noble patriotism. Thus it is upon Mars

where men are judged upon their own merits rather than upon those of

their grandsires, even though pride of lineage be great.

Tara of Helium let her slow gaze wander among the throng of guests

until presently it halted upon one she sought. Was the faint shadow of

a frown that crossed her brow an indication of displeasure at the sight

that met her eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the noonday sun

distress her? Who may say! She had been reared to believe that one day

she should wed Djor Kantos, son of her father's best friend. It had

been the dearest wish of Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this should

be, and Tara of Helium had accepted it as a matter of all but

accomplished fact. Djor Kantos had seemed to accept the matter in the

same way. They had spoken of it casually as something that would, as a

matter of course, take place in the indefinite future, as, for

instance, his promotion in the navy, in which he was now a padwar; or

the set functions of the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors, Jeddak

of Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had puzzled

Tara of Helium upon the rare occasions she gave it thought, for she

knew that people who were to wed were usually much occupied with the

matter of love and she had all of a woman's curiosity--she wondered

what love was like. She was very fond of Djor Kantos and she knew that

he was very fond of her. They liked to be together, for they liked the

same things and the same people and the same books and their dancing

was a joy, not only to themselves but to those who watched them. She

could not imagine wanting to marry anyone other than Djor Kantos.

So perhaps it was only the sun that made her brows contract just the

tiniest bit at the same instant that she discovered Djor Kantos sitting

in earnest conversation with Olvia Marthis, daughter of the Jed of

Hastor. It was Djor Kantos' duty immediately to pay his respects to

Dejah Thoris and Tara of Helium; but he did not do so and presently the

daughter of The Warlord frowned indeed. She looked long at Olvia

Marthis, and though she had seen her many times before and knew her

well, she looked at her today through new eyes that saw, apparently for

the first time, that the girl from Hastor was noticeably beautiful even

among those other beautiful women of Helium. Tara of Helium was

disturbed. She attempted to analyze her emotions; but found it

difficult. Olvia Marthis was her friend--she was very fond of her and

she felt no anger toward her. Was she angry with Djor Kantos? No, she

finally decided that she was not. It was merely surprise, then, that

she felt--surprise that Djor Kantos could be more interested in another

than in herself. She was about to cross the garden and join them when

she heard her father's voice directly behind her.

"Tara of Helium!" he called, and she turned to see him approaching with

a strange warrior whose harness and metal bore devices with which she

was unfamiliar. Even among the gorgeous trappings of the men of Helium

and the visitors from distant empires those of the stranger were

remarkable for their barbaric splendor. The leather of his harness was

completely hidden beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set with

brilliant diamonds, as were the scabbards of his swords and the ornate

holster that held his long, Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlit

garden at the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant rays of his

countless gems enveloping him as in an aureole of light imparted to his

noble figure a suggestion of godliness.

"Tara of Helium, I bring you Gahan, Jed of Gathol," said John Carter,

after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.

"Kaor! Gahan, Jed of Gathol," returned Tara of Helium.

"My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," said the young chieftain.

The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersite

bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.

"Far Gathol," mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been connected

with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I

cannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have never

before seen a Gatholian."

"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Helium

and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little free

city, which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium," added

Gahan. "But what we lack in power we make up in pride," he continued,

laughing. "We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It

is one of the few that has retained its freedom, and this despite the

fact that its ancient diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike

practically all the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible

as ever."

"Tell me of Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me with

interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed

detracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.

Nor did Gahan seem displeased with the excuse for further monopolizing

the society of his fair companion. His eyes seemed chained to her

exquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a rounded

breast, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or the

symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaric

magnificence.

"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built upon

an island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. As

the ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, the

summit of which was the island upon which she had been built, until

today she covers the slopes from summit to base, while the bowels of

the great hill are honeycombed with the galleries of her mines.

Entirely surrounding us is a great salt marsh, which protects us from

invasion by land, while the rugged and ofttimes vertical topography of

our mountain renders the landing of hostile airships a precarious

undertaking."

"That, and your brave warriors?" suggested the girl.

Gahan smiled. "We do not speak of that except to enemies," he said,

"and then with tongues of steel rather than of flesh."

"But what practice in the art of war has a people which nature has thus

protected from attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had liked the young

jed's answer to her previous question, but yet in whose mind persisted

a vague conviction of the possible effeminacy of her companion,

induced, doubtless, by the magnificence of his trappings and weapons

which carried a suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.

"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeat

on countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune from

attack," he explained, "for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamond

treasury that there yet may be found those who will risk almost certain

defeat in an effort to loot our unconquered city; so thus we find

occasional practice in the exercise of arms; but there is more to

Gathol than the mountain city. My country extends from Polodona

(Equator) north ten karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to the

twentieth west, including thus a million square haads, the greater

proportion of which is fine grazing land where run our great herds of

thoats and zitidars.

"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herdsmen must indeed be

warriors or we should have no herds, and you may be assured they get

plenty of fighting. Then there is our constant need of workers in the

mines. The Gatholians consider themselves a race of warriors and as

such prefer not to labor in the mines. The law is, however, that each

male Gatholian shall give an hour a day in labor to the government.

That is practically the only tax that is levied upon them. They prefer

however, to furnish a substitute to perform this labor, and as our own

people will not hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessary

to obtain slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not won

without fighting. We sell these slaves in the public market, the

proceeds going, half and half, to the government and the warriors who

bring them in. The purchasers are credited with the amount of labor

performed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year a good slave

will have performed the labor tax of his master for six years, and if

slaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted to return to his own

people."

"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating his

gorgeous trappings with a quizzical smile.

Gahan laughed. "We are a vain people," he admitted, good-naturedly,

"and it is possible that we place too much value on personal

appearances. We vie with one another in the splendor of our

accoutrements when trapped for the observance of the lighter duties of

life, though when we take the field our leather is the plainest I ever

have seen worn by fighting men of Barsoom. We pride ourselves, too,

upon our physical beauty, and especially upon the beauty of our women.

May I dare to say, Tara of Helium, that I am hoping for the day when

you will visit Gathol that my people may see one who is really

beautiful?"

"The women of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon the

tongue of the flatterer," rejoined the girl, but Gahan, Jed of Gathol,

observed that she smiled as she said it.

A bugle sounded, clear and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "The

Dance of Barsoom!" exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it,

Tara of Helium."

The girl glanced in the direction of the bench where she had last seen

Djor Kantos. He was not in sight. She inclined her head in assent to

the claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among the guests,

distributing small musical instruments of a single string. Upon each

instrument were characters which indicated the pitch and length of its

tone. The instruments were of skeel, the string of gut, and were shaped

to fit the left forearm of the dancer, to which it was strapped. There

was also a ring wound with gut which was worn between the first and

second joints of the index finger of the right hand and which, when

passed over the string of the instrument, elicited the single note

required of the dancer.

The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward the

expanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where the

dance was to be held, when Djor Kantos came hurriedly toward Tara of

Helium. "I claim--" he exclaimed as he neared her; but she interrupted

him with a gesture.

"You are too late, Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No laggard

may claim Tara of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also Olvia

Marthis, whom I have never seen wait long to be claimed for this or any

other dance."

"I have already lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.

"And you mean to say that you came for Tara of Helium only after having

lost Olvia Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating displeasure.

"Oh, Tara of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the young

man. "Was it not natural that I should assume that you would expect me,

who alone has claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelve

times past?"

"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" she

questioned. "Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for no laggard,"

and she threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward the assembling

dancers with Gahan, Jed of far Gathol.

The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formal

dancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours, though it

is infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before a Martian youth

of either sex may attend an important social function where there is

dancing, he must have become proficient in at least three dances--The

Dance of Barsoom, his national dance, and the dance of his city. In

these three dances the dancers furnish their own music, which never

varies; nor do the steps or figures vary, having been handed down from

time immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but

The Dance of Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and harmony--there is

no grotesque posturing, no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has been

described as the interpretation of the highest ideals of a world that

aspired to grace and beauty and chastity in woman, and strength and

dignity and loyalty in man.

Today, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate, led

in the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them in

possession of the silent admiration of the guests it was the

resplendent Jed of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In the

ever-changing figures of the dance the man found himself now with the

girl's hand in his and again with an arm about the lithe body that the

jeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the girl, though she had

danced a thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time the

personal contact of a man's arm against her naked flesh. It troubled

her that she should notice it, and she looked up questioningly and

almost with displeasure at the man as though it was his fault. Their

eyes met and she saw in his that which she had never seen in the eyes

of Djor Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and they both

stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into

each other's eyes. It was Gahan of Gathol who spoke first.

"Tara of Helium, I love you!" he said.

The girl drew herself to her full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgets

himself," she exclaimed haughtily.

"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Tara of Helium," he

replied. Fiercely he pressed the soft hand that he still retained from

the last position of the dance. "I love you, Tara of Helium," he

repeated. "Why should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just

now did not refuse to see--and answer?"

"What meanest thou?" she cried. "Are the men of Gathol such boors,

then?"

"They are neither boors nor fools," he replied, quietly. "They know

when they love a woman--and when she loves them."

Tara of Helium stamped her little foot in anger. "Go!" she said,

"before it is necessary to acquaint my father with the dishonor of his

guest."

She turned and walked away. "Wait!" cried the man. "Just another word."

"Of apology?" she asked.

"Of prophecy," he said.

"I do not care to hear it," replied Tara of Helium, and left him

standing there. She was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafter

returned to her own quarter of the palace, where she stood for a long

time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Helium

toward the northwest.

Presently she turned angrily away. "I hate him!" she exclaimed aloud.

"Whom?" inquired the privileged Uthia.

Tara of Helium stamped her foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed of

Gathol," she replied.

Uthia raised her slim brows.

At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the corner

of the room and crossed to Tara of Helium where it stood looking up

into her face. She placed her hand upon the ugly head. "Dear old

Woola," she said; "no love could be deeper than yours, yet it never

offends. Would that men might pattern themselves after you!"