Apparently the inventory satisfied her.
"I am Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang, Holy Hekkador of the Holy
Therns, Father of Therns, Master of Life and Death upon Barsoom,
Brother of Issus, Prince of Life Eternal."
At that moment I noticed that the black I had dropped with my fist
was commencing to show signs of returning consciousness. I sprang
to his side. Stripping his harness from him I securely bound his
hands behind his back, and after similarly fastening his feet tied
him to a heavy gun carriage.
"Why not the simpler way?" asked Phaidor.
"I do not understand. What 'simpler way'?" I replied.
With a slight shrug of her lovely shoulders she made a gesture with
her hands personating the casting of something over the craft's
side.
"I am no murderer," I said. "I kill in self-defence only."
She looked at me narrowly. Then she puckered those divine brows
of hers, and shook her head. She could not comprehend.
Well, neither had my own Dejah Thoris been able to understand what
to her had seemed a foolish and dangerous policy toward enemies.
Upon Barsoom, quarter is neither asked nor given, and each dead man
means so much more of the waning resources of this dying planet to
be divided amongst those who survive.
But there seemed a subtle difference here between the manner in
which this girl contemplated the dispatching of an enemy and the
tender-hearted regret of my own princess for the stern necessity
which demanded it.
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