The Chessmen of Mars


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Uthia shook her head sorrowfully. "Alas! she does," she admitted. "Iron is the  
Warlord of Barsoom to the influences of all but two. In the hands of Dejah Thoris  
and Tara of Helium he is as potters' clay."  
"Then run and fetch my flying leather like the sweet slave you are," directed the  
mistress.  
*
* * * *  
Far out across the ochre sea-bottoms beyond the twin cities of Helium raced the  
swift flier of Tara of Helium. Thrilling to the speed and the buoyancy and the  
obedience of the little craft the girl drove toward the northwest. Why she should  
choose that direction she did not pause to consider. Perhaps because in that  
direction lay the least known areas of Barsoom, and, ergo, Romance, Mystery,  
and Adventure. In that direction also lay far Gathol; but to that fact she gave no  
conscious thought.  
She did, however, think occasionally of the jed of that distant kingdom, but the  
reaction to these thoughts was scarcely pleasurable. They still brought a flush of  
shame to her cheeks and a surge of angry blood to her heart. She was very angry  
with the Jed of Gathol, and though she should never see him again she was quite  
sure that hate of him would remain fresh in her memory forever. Mostly her  
thoughts revolved about another--Djor Kantos. And when she thought of him she  
thought also of Olvia Marthis of Hastor. Tara of Helium thought that she was  
jealous of the fair Olvia and it made her very angry to think that. She was angry  
with Djor Kantos and herself, but she was not angry at all with Olvia Marthis,  
whom she loved, and so of course she was not jealous really. The trouble was,  
that Tara of Helium had failed for once to have her own way. Djor Kantos had not  
come running like a willing slave when she had expected him, and, ah, here was  
the nub of the whole thing! Gahan, Jed of Gathol, a stranger, had been a witness  
to her humiliation. He had seen her unclaimed at the beginning of a great  
function and he had had to come to her rescue to save her, as he doubtless  
thought, from the inglorious fate of a wall-flower. At the recurring thought, Tara  
of Helium could feel her whole body burning with scarlet shame and then she  
went suddenly white and cold with rage; whereupon she turned her flier about so  
abruptly that she was all but torn from her lashings upon the flat, narrow deck.  
She reached home just before dark. The guests had departed. Quiet had  
descended upon the palace. An hour later she joined her father and mother at the  
evening meal.  
"You deserted us, Tara of Helium," said John Carter. "It is not what the guests of  
John Carter should expect."  
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