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"If they are ancient perhaps they are friendly," suggested the girl. "Did we not

learn as children in the history of our planet that it was once peopled by a

friendly, peace-loving race?"

"But I fear they are not as ancient as that," replied Turan, laughing. "It has been

long ages since the men of Barsoom loved peace."

My father loves peace," returned the girl.

And yet he is always at war," said the man.

She laughed. "But he says he likes peace."

We all like peace," he rejoined; "peace with honor; but our neighbors will not let

us have it, and so we must fight."

"And to fight well men must like to fight," she added.

"And to like to fight they must know how to fight," he said, "for no man likes to do

the thing that he does not know how to do well."

"Or that some other man can do better than he."

"And so always there will be wars and men will fight," he concluded, "for always

the men with hot blood in their veins will practice the art of war."

We have settled a great question," said the girl, smiling; "but our stomachs are

still empty."

"Your panthan is neglecting his duty," replied Turan; "and how can he with the

great reward always before his eyes!"

She did not guess in what literal a sense he spoke.

"I go forthwith," he continued, "to wrest food and drink from the ancients."

"No," she cried, laying a hand upon his arm, "not yet. They would slay you or

make you prisoner. You are a brave panthan and a mighty one, but you cannot

overcome a city singlehanded."

She smiled up into his face and her hand still lay upon his arm. He felt the thrill

of hot blood coursing through his veins. He could have seized her in his arms and

crushed her to him. There was only Ghek the kaldane there, but there was

something stronger within him that restrained his hand. Who may define it--that

inherent chivalry that renders certain men the natural protectors of women?

The Chessmen of Mars