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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.
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