Let us pity them, my chieftain, for even though
we die at their hands we can afford them pity, since we are greater
than they and they know it."
Had I known the significance of those words "my chieftain," as
applied by a red Martian woman to a man, I should have had the
surprise of my life, but I did not know at that time, nor for many
months thereafter. Yes, I still had much to learn upon Barsoom.
"I presume it is the better part of wisdom that we bow to our
fate with as good grace as possible, Dejah Thoris; but I hope,
nevertheless, that I may be present the next time that any Martian,
green, red, pink, or violet, has the temerity to even so much as
frown on you, my princess."
Dejah Thoris caught her breath at my last words, and gazed upon me
with dilated eyes and quickening breath, and then, with an odd
little laugh, which brought roguish dimples to the corners of her
mouth, she shook her head and cried:
"What a child! A great warrior and yet a stumbling little child."
"What have I done now?" I asked, in sore perplexity.
"Some day you shall know, John Carter, if we live; but I may not
tell you. And I, the daughter of Mors Kajak, son of Tardos Mors,
have listened without anger," she soliloquized in conclusion.
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