The great muscles which rolled beneath his glossy black hide
evidently assured him that here was easy prey, not worth the trouble
of drawing the dagger from his harness.
I let him come almost upon me. Then I ducked beneath his outstretched
arms, at the same time sidestepping to the right. Pivoting on my
left toe, I swung a terrific right to his jaw, and, like a felled
ox, he dropped in his tracks.
A low, silvery laugh rang out behind me.
"You are no thern," said the sweet voice of my companion, "for
all your golden locks or the harness of Sator Throg. Never lived
there upon all Barsoom before one who could fight as you have fought
this night. Who are you?"
"I am John Carter, Prince of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of
Helium," I replied. "And whom," I added, "has the honour of serving
been accorded me?"
She hesitated a moment before speaking. Then she asked:
"You are no thern. Are you an enemy of the therns?"
"I have been in the territory of the therns for a day and a half.
During that entire time my life has been in constant danger. I
have been harassed and persecuted. Armed men and fierce beasts
have been set upon me. I had no quarrel with the therns before,
but can you wonder that I feel no great love for them now? I have
spoken."
She looked at me intently for several minutes before she replied.
It was as though she were attempting to read my inmost soul, to
judge my character and my standards of chivalry in that long-drawn,
searching gaze.
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