«And you know so much of Corphals, then,» he cried, «you know that while no common man dare harm them they may be slain by the hand of a jeddak with impunity!»

The girl did not reply, nor would she speak again, for all his threats and rage, for she knew now that none in all Manator dared harm her save O-Tar, the jeddak, and after a while the padwar left, taking his men with him. And after they had gone Tara stood for long looking out upon the city of Manator, and wondering what more of cruel wrongs Fate held in store for her. She was standing thus in silent meditation when there rose to her the strains of martial music from the city below-the deep, mellow tones of the long war trumpets of mounted troops, the clear, ringing notes of foot-soldiers' music. The girl raised her head and looked about, listening, and Lan-O, standing at an opposite window, looking toward the west, motioned Tara to join her. Now they could see across roofs and avenues to The Gate of Enemies, through which troops were marching into the city.

«The Great Jed is coming,» said Lan-O, «none other dares enter thus, with blaring trumpets, the city of Manator. It is U-Thor, Jed of Manatos, second city of Manator. They call him The Great Jed the length and breadth of Manator, and because the people love him, O-Tar hates him. They say, who know, that it would need but slight provocation to inflame the two to war. How such a war would end no one could guess; for the people of Manator worship the great O-Tar, though they do not love him. U-Thor they love, but he is not the jeddak,» and Tara understood, as only a Martian may, how much that simple statement encompassed.

The loyalty of a Martian to his jeddak is almost an instinct, and second not even to the instinct of self-preservation at that. Nor is this strange in a race whose religion includes ancestor worship, and where families trace their origin back into remote ages and a jeddak sits upon the same throne that his direct progenitors have occupied for, perhaps, hundreds of thousands of years, and rules the descendants of the same people that his forebears ruled. Wicked jeddaks have been dethroned, but seldom are they replaced by other than members of the imperial house, even though the law gives to the jeds the right to select whom they please.

«U-Thor is a just man and good, then?» asked Tara of Helium.

«There be none nobler,» replied Lan-O. «In Manatos none but wicked criminals who deserve death are forced to play at jetan, and even then the play is fair and they have their chance for freedom. Volunteers may play, but the moves are not necessarily to the death-a wound, and even sometimes points in swordplay, deciding the issue. There they look upon jetan as a martial sport-here it is but butchery. And U-Thor is opposed to the ancient slave raids and to the policy that keeps Manator forever isolated from the other nations of Barsoom; but U-Thor is not jeddak and so there is no change.»

The two girls watched the column moving up the broad avenue from The Gate of Enemies toward the palace of O-Tar. A gorgeous, barbaric procession of painted warriors in jewel-studded harness and waving feathers; vicious, squealing thoats caparisoned in rich trappings; far above their heads the long lances of their riders bore fluttering pennons; foot-soldiers swinging easily along the stone pavement, their sandals of zitidar hide giving forth no sound; and at the rear of each utan a train of painted chariots, drawn by mammoth zitidars, carrying the equipment of the company to which they were attached. Utan after utan entered through the great gate, and even when the head of the column reached the palace of O-Tar they were not all within the city.

«I have been here many years,» said the girl, Lan-O; «but never have I seen even The Great Jed bring so many fighting men into the city of Manator.»

Through half-closed eyes Tara of Helium watched the warriors marching up the broad avenue, trying to imagine them the fighting men of her beloved Helium coming to the rescue of their princess. That splendid figure upon the great thoat might be John Carter, himself, Warlord of Barsoom, and behind him utan after utan of the veterans of the empire, and then the girl opened her eyes again and saw the host of painted, befeathered barbarians, and sighed. But yet she watched, fascinated by the martial scene, and now she noted again the groups of silent figures upon the balconies. No waving silks; no cries of welcome; no showers of flowers and jewels such as would have marked the entry of such a splendid, friendly pageant into the twin cities of her birth.

«The people do not seem friendly to the warriors of Manatos,» she remarked to Lan-O; «I have not seen a single welcoming sign from the people on the balconies.»

The slave girl looked at her in surprise. «It cannot be that you do not know!» she exclaimed. «Why, they are-«but she got no further. The door swung open and an officer stood before them.

«The slave girl, Tara, is summoned to the presence of O-Tar, the jeddak!» he announced.

Turan the panthan chafed in his chains. Time dragged; silence and monotony prolonged minutes into hours. Uncertainty of the fate of the woman he loved turned each hour into an eternity of hell. He listened impatiently for the sound of approaching footsteps that he might see and speak to some living creature and learn, perchance, some word of Tara of Helium. After torturing hours his ears were rewarded by the rattle of harness and arms. Men were coming! He waited breathlessly. Perhaps they were his executioners; but he would welcome them notwithstanding. He would question them. But if they knew naught of Tara he would not divulge the location of the hiding place in which he had left her.

Now they came-a half-dozen warriors and an officer, escorting an unarmed man; a prisoner, doubtless. Of this Turan was not left long in doubt, since they brought the newcomer and chained him to an adjoining ring. Immediately the panthan commenced to question the officer in charge of the guard.

«Tell me,» he demanded, «why I have been made prisoner, and if other strangers were captured since I entered your city.»

«What other prisoners?» asked the officer.

«A woman, and a man with a strange head,» replied Turan.

«It is possible,» said the officer; «but what were their names?»

«The woman was Tara, Princess of Helium, and the man was Ghek, a kaldane, of Bantoom.»

«These were your friends?» asked the officer.

«Yes,» replied Turan.

«It is what I would know,» said the officer, and with a curt command to his men to follow him he turned and left the cell.

«Tell me of them!» cried Turan after him. «Tell me of Tara of Helium! Is she safe?» but the man did not answer and soon the sound of their departure died in the distance.

«Tara of Helium was safe, but a short time since,» said the prisoner chained at Turan's side.

The panthan turned toward the speaker, seeing a large man, handsome of face and with a manner both stately and dignified. «You have seen her?» he asked. «They captured her then? She is in danger?»

«She is being held in The Towers of Jetan as a prize for the next games,» replied the stranger.

«And who are you?» asked Turan. «And why are you here, a prisoner?»

«I am A-Kor the dwar, keeper of The Towers of Jetan,» replied the other. «I am here because I dared speak the truth of O-Tar the jeddak, to one of his officers.»

«And your punishment?» asked Turan.

«I do not know. O-Tar has not yet spoken. Doubtless the games-perhaps the full ten, for O-Tar does not love A-Kor, his son.»

«You are the jeddak's son?» asked Turan.

«I am the son of O-Tar and of a slave, Haja of Gathol, who was a princess in her own land.»

Turan looked searchingly at the speaker. A son of Haja of Gathol! A son of his mother's sister, this man, then, was his own cousin. Well did Gahan remember the mysterious disappearance of the Princess Haja and an entire utan of her personal troops. She had been upon a visit far from the city of Gathol and returning home had vanished with her whole escort from the sight of man. So this was the secret of the seeming mystery? Doubtless it explained many other similar disappearances that extended nearly as far back as the history of Gathol. Turan scrutinized his companion, discovering many evidences of resemblance to his mother's people. A-Kor might have been ten years younger than he, but such differences in age are scarce accounted among a people who seldom or never age outwardly after maturity and whose span of life may be a thousand years.