I must
go down eventually to certain death before them. I shuddered at
the thought of it, dying thus in this terrible place where no word
of my end ever could reach my Dejah Thoris. Dying at the hands of
nameless black men in the gardens of the cruel therns.
Then my old-time spirit reasserted itself. The fighting blood of
my Virginian sires coursed hot through my veins. The fierce blood
lust and the joy of battle surged over me. The fighting smile that
has brought consternation to a thousand foemen touched my lips. I
put the thought of death out of my mind, and fell upon my antagonists
with fury that those who escaped will remember to their dying day.
That others would press to the support of those who faced me I
knew, so even as I fought I kept my wits at work, searching for an
avenue of escape.
It came from an unexpected quarter out of the black night behind
me. I had just disarmed a huge fellow who had given me a desperate
struggle, and for a moment the blacks stood back for a breathing
spell.
They eyed me with malignant fury, yet withal there was a touch of
respect in their demeanour.
"Thern," said one, "you fight like a Dator. But for your detestable
yellow hair and your white skin you would be an honour to the First
Born of Barsoom."
"I am no thern," I said, and was about to explain that I was from
another world, thinking that by patching a truce with these fellows
and fighting with them against the therns I might enlist their aid
in regaining my liberty.
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