Thuvia, Maid of Mars quotes

She knew that men came not thus with honourable intent. Yet she did not cry aloud to alarm the nearby guardsmen, nor did she flee to the safety of the palace.

I can see her shrug her shapely shoulders in reply as she voices the age-old, universal answer of the woman: Because!

Scarce had the flier touched the ground when four men leaped from its deck. They ran forward toward the girl.

The warrior-artificer bowed.

“Man builds naught,” he said, “that man may not destroy.”

Then he left the cabin with the sketch.

Its leisurely approach and the evident confidence with which it moved across the city aroused no suspicion in the minds of the sleepy guard. Their round of duty nearly done, they had little thought beyond the coming of those who were to relieve them.

Peace reigned throughout Helium. Stagnant, emasculating peace.

Helium had no enemies. There was naught to fear.

Martians dislike harsh, discordant clamour.

The only loud noises they can abide are the martial sounds of war, the clash of arms, the collision of two mighty dreadnoughts of the air. To them there is no sweeter music than this.

At the intersection of two broad avenues Vas Kor descended from the street level to one of the great pneumatic stations of the city.

Carthoris turned unwillingly to follow. As the two left the room he turned to his companion.

“If I may not kill thin air,” he asked, “how, then, shall I fear that thin air may kill me?”

“You saw the Torquasians fall before the bowmen?” asked Jav.

“We have soldiers,” replied Carthoris. “We of the red race are all soldiers, but we have no bowmen to defend us, such as yours. We defend ourselves.”

“You go out and get killed by your enemies!” cried Jav incredulously.

“Certainly,” replied Carthoris. “How do the Lotharians?”

They contend that no food is necessary, nor do they eat; but anyone of the most rudimentary intelligence must realize that food is a necessity to creatures having actual existence.”

“Yes,” agreed Carthoris, “not having eaten today I can readily agree with you.”

“Ah, pardon me,” exclaimed Jav. “Pray be seated and satisfy your hunger,” and with a wave of his hand he indicated a bountifully laden table that had not been there an instant before he spoke.

“Even the etherealists admit that mind itself must have substance in order to transmit to imaginings the appearance of substance. For if there really was no such thing as substance it could not be suggested—what never has been cannot be imagined. Do you follow me?”

“I am groping,” replied Carthoris dryly.

“So the essence must be substance,” continued Jav. “Komal is the essence of the All, as it were. He is maintained by substance. He eats. He eats the real. To be explicit, he eats the realists. That is Tario’s work.

Hands terminating in manlike fingers clutched at his throat and arms and legs. Hairy bodies strained and struggled against his own smooth hide as he battled in grim silence against these horrid foemen in the darkness of the pits of ancient Aaanthor.

Thewed like some giant god was Carthoris of Helium, yet in the clutches of these unseen creatures of the pit’s Stygian night he was helpless as a frail woman.

Yet he battled on, striking futile blows against great, hispid breasts he could not see; feeling thick, squat throats beneath his fingers; the drool of saliva upon his cheek, and hot, foul breath in his nostrils.

Instantly the green men began to fall upon one another with naked swords. Their savage lust of battle was aroused.

To fight, to kill, to die with cold steel buried in their vitals! Ah, that to them was Nirvana.

Carthoris was quick to guess their error and take advantage of it.

Nor did Astok deny the charge when she accused him. He only smiled and pleaded his love for her.

“I would sooner mate with a white ape!”

she cried, when he would have urged his suit.

Weak he was; yes, and wicked, too; but the suggestion that his father’s words implied turned him cold with horror.

Cruel to their enemies are the men of Mars; but the word “enemies” is commonly interpreted to mean men only.

Assassination runs riot in the great Barsoomian cities; yet to murder a woman is a crime so unthinkable that even the most hardened of the paid assassins would shrink from you in horror should you suggest such a thing to him.

For a long moment the girl let her level gaze rest full upon the face of Astok of Dusar. Then she spoke, and though the words were few, the unimpassioned tone carried unfathomable depths of cold contempt.

“Better all that you have threatened,” she said, “than you.”

Then she turned her back upon him and went to stand once more before the east window, gazing with sad eyes toward distant Ptarth.

but that was of no moment, for they were but common warriors to assist with the ordinary duties upon a flier, and to fight if need be.

One of the two was Kar Komak, the bowman. The other was not Carthoris.

The Heliumite was mad with disappointment. He snatched his dagger from his harness;

A quick sign, and Kar Komak turned once more to find the Thuria’s dwar that he might report himself for duty. Behind him followed the panthan.

Carthoris blessed the chance that had caused Vas Kor to choose the bowman of all others,

for had it been another Dusarian there would have been questions to answer as to the whereabouts of the warrior who lay so quietly in the field beyond the residence of Hal Vas, Dwar of the Southern Road;

“Come!” he whispered.

“You are my only friend among a nation of enemies. Will you stand by me?”

“To the death,” replied Kar Komak.

“Come!” he whispered. “You are my only friend among a nation of enemies. Will you stand by me?”

“To the death,” replied Kar Komak.

The two approached the drop. A slave operated it.

Across the chamber the girl, hearing them enter, rose to her feet and faced them.

Under the soft copper of her skin she blanched just a trifle; but her eyes were brave and level, and the haughty tilt of her firm little chin was eloquent of loathing and contempt.

“You still prefer death?” asked Astok.

The Prince of Dusar turned to Vas Kor and nodded. The noble drew his short-sword and crossed the room toward Thuvia.

“I prefer to die standing,” she replied.

“As you will,” said Vas Kor, feeling the point of his blade with his left thumb. “In the name of Nutus, Jeddak of Dusar!” he cried, and ran quickly toward her.

“As you will,” said Vas Kor, feeling the point of his blade with his left thumb. “In the name of Nutus, Jeddak of Dusar!” he cried, and ran quickly toward her.

“In the name of Carthoris, Prince of Helium!” came in low tones from the doorway.

Vas Kor turned to see the panthan he had recruited at his son’s house leaping across the floor toward him. The fellow brushed past Astok with an: “After him, you—calot!”