With all his cruel ferocity and coldness there was an undercurrent
of something in Tars Tarkas which he seemed ever battling to subdue.
Could it be a vestige of some human instinct come back from an
ancient forbear to haunt him with the horror of his people's ways!
As I was approaching Dejah Thoris' chariot I passed Sarkoja, and the
black, venomous look she accorded me was the sweetest balm I had
felt for many hours. Lord, how she hated me! It bristled from her
so palpably that one might almost have cut it with a sword.
A few moments later I saw her deep in conversation with a warrior
named Zad; a big, hulking, powerful brute, but one who had never
made a kill among his own chieftains, and a second name only with
the metal of some chieftain. It was this custom which entitled me
to the names of either of the chieftains I had killed; in fact, some
of the warriors addressed me as Dotar Sojat, a combination of the
surnames of the two warrior chieftains whose metal I had taken, or,
in other words, whom I had slain in fair fight.
As Sarkoja talked with Zad he cast occasional glances in my
direction, while she seemed to be urging him very strongly to some
action.
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