Her attitude toward
the captive was most harsh and brutal. When she held her, she sunk
her rudimentary nails into the poor girl's flesh, or twisted her
arm in a most painful manner. When it was necessary to move from
one spot to another she either jerked her roughly, or pushed her
headlong before her. She seemed to be venting upon this poor
defenseless creature all the hatred, cruelty, ferocity, and spite
of her nine hundred years, backed by unguessable ages of fierce
and brutal ancestors.
The other woman was less cruel because she was entirely indifferent;
if the prisoner had been left to her alone, and fortunately she was
at night, she would have received no harsh treatment, nor, by the
same token would she have received any attention at all.
As Lorquas Ptomel raised his eyes to address the prisoner they fell
on me and he turned to Tars Tarkas with a word, and gesture of
impatience. Tars Tarkas made some reply which I could not catch,
but which caused Lorquas Ptomel to smile; after which they paid no
further attention to me.
"What is your name?" asked Lorquas Ptomel, addressing the prisoner.
"Dejah Thoris, daughter of Mors Kajak of Helium.
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