There were
few formalities observed in approaching the Martian chieftain. My
captor merely strode up to the rostrum, the others making way for
him as he advanced. The chieftain rose to his feet and uttered the
name of my escort who, in turn, halted and repeated the name of the
ruler followed by his title.
At the time, this ceremony and the words they uttered meant nothing
to me, but later I came to know that this was the customary greeting
between green Martians. Had the men been strangers, and therefore
unable to exchange names, they would have silently exchanged
ornaments, had their missions been peaceful--otherwise they would
have exchanged shots, or have fought out their introduction with
some other of their various weapons.
My captor, whose name was Tars Tarkas, was virtually the
vice-chieftain of the community, and a man of great ability as a
statesman and warrior. He evidently explained briefly the incidents
connected with his expedition, including my capture, and when he had
concluded the chieftain addressed me at some length.
I replied in our good old English tongue merely to convince him that
neither of us could understand the other; but I noticed that when I
smiled slightly on concluding, he did likewise.
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