Chapter 7: An Interesting Conversation.
The battle with the air ships also made for significant losses on the side of the green martians. Something that didn't bother the green warriors all too much. In their culture, such acts of atrocities and deaths are quite common. In fact, such things might even be considered light hearted in their community.
Such was the mind set of a race so hardened with violence that they don't even have the basic concepts of love and friendship with their kin.
After the short exchange I had with the red martian woman, random thoughts drifted in my mind. Thoughts about war, violence and the unnecessary deaths.
I wandered through the streets that were once again filled with the Tharks after the battle was over.
A large portion of my thoughts was occupied with the sight of the red martian woman. Not to mention her stunning otherworldly beauty, she was the first living being that felt remotely similar to a human on this dying planet.
On the great god of war, a planet that was drowned in an air of desolation, that woman gave me a sense of familiarity. Something that I didn't think I would experience ever since I was taken a captive by the Tharks.
As I walked through the plaza, I saw a couple of green warriors carry some intricately carved ornaments and moving towards me.
They stopped right in front of me and spoke.
Apparently, I was now a Tharkian Chief... Wait, how did that happen?
I looked towards Sola who stood behind me with a questioning look.
Upon sensing my gaze, she nodded at the green warriors and they immediately sprang into action.
They took the ornaments and put them down onto the ground. The ornaments were made out of a dark colored metal, something that seemed like iron but I wasn't yet quite sure of the origin of the metal.
After the Tharkian warriors finished, Sola and several other women remodeled the ornaments to fit my lesser proportions. Their craftsmanship proved to be so impeccable that the intricate designs of the ornaments were not damaged at all.
"A Tharkian chief is supposed to be one of the strongest of his tribe." Sola said as she and several other women adorned my body with the ornaments of the Tharks. "Being a chief not only means being the strongest among his people, but it also means shouldering a responsibility to maintain that position. A chief can be challenged at any time by any warrior that desires his status."
"John Carter, although you are a captive and a prisoner, attacking a chieftain means challenging that chieftain for his position. Once a chieftain is defeated, their metal is taken off and given to the victor; as is being done to you right now." Sola explained.
I understood most of it, but I couldn't remember killing a chieftain. That was the problem.
I looked towards Sola and sent her a telepathic message. My psionic abilities had now developed to the point that I could converse to the other martians without so much as moving my mouth to speak. I could simply engage in a conversation through mentally sent messages.
"It was the great Tharkian warrior you punched on the first day that you arrived." Sola said making me remember the giant green martian that roughly pulled me to my feet when I was not so proficient in walking.
After their work was done, I looked at myself, garbed in the panoply of war.
Over the next couple of days, the teaching of both me and the young martians continued. I was already able to speak fluently in martian tongue and read the minds of other people, something that Sola was quite amazed about, and so, I completely skipped the language classes.
The training of myself and the young Martians was conducted solely by the women, who not only attend to the education of the young in the arts of individual defense and offense, but are also the artisans who produce every manufactured article wrought by the green Martians. They make the powder, the cartridges, the firearms; in fact everything of value is produced by the females. Something that I was quite confused about.
Why would you limit the production to just females, when a male might just turn out of be far more talented in the art of production? Perhaps that seemed weird to me because of my Earthly mindset, or because I had spent way too much time watching Overgeared, but there was nothing to be done about that.
The men in particular are trained in the art of war, usage of higher class weaponry and the maneuvering of large group of troops among enemy lines. Not much else is taught to the green martian men other than the way of fighting and battle, language, the knowledge about the customs and the other races, and last but not least, the history of Mars and the glory of Issus.
Another thing that I learned in the days that I spent learning, was that there were no concrete laws in this place. The Tharkian chieftains make up laws as they go along; a new law for a new situations. And a large part of their administration is governed by the old customs that have been passed down for several generations.
In the Green Martian community, customs were the law and the breaking of customs was the worst thing that one could do. If any warrior were to break a custom, their punishment would be judged according to the type of custom they had broken. Depending on the long history of the green martians and punishments, it could be anywhere between death or a mild punishment of flagellation.
Another thing to mention was the fact that the punishment was decided by the jury of the culprit's peers. At least in this respect, the green martians were pretty straightforward.
I did not see the prisoner again for several days subsequent to our first encounter, and then only to catch a fleeting glimpse of her as she was being conducted to the great audience chamber where I had had my first meeting with Lorquas Ptomel, another Tharkian Jed along with Tars Tarkas.
As she was being conducted, or more like being dragged, I could not help but raise my eyebrow at the unnecessary use of violence and brute force; completely different from the treatment I had received ever since I had made my place among the green martians.
Sola treated me with almost a maternal kindness and the other men and women of the race looked at me with respect. But the treatment the red martian woman was getting here was unlike what I had been expecting. Then again, why did I even think that the green martians would treat their prisoners any better than they do members of their own race. I was an exception solely because I was strong. The ever increasing strength I had due to my Earthly muscles and the constant practice of Yoga was the deciding factor for my current treatment.
With that small encounter with the Martian woman, I continued on with my day. But once again, my thoughts were clouded by her figure like on the first day I had seen her.
At night time, our sleeping quarters were occupied by three or four females and a couple of the recently hatched young, beside Sola and her youthful ward, myself, and Woola the hound. After they had retired for the night it was customary for the adults to carry on a desultory conversation for a short time before heading off to sleep, and now that I could understand their language I was always a keen listener, although I never made any remarks myself.
I had feared to question Sola relative to the beautiful captive, as I could not but recall the strange expression I had noted upon her face after my first encounter with the prisoner. That expression denoted something similar to an unease, like a fear for something. That was what stopped me from asking about it to Sola. And so, today that she had been conducted to the audience chamber, the conversation was bound to fall upon this subject.
Sarkoja, one of the older women who shared our night chambers, had been present at the audience as one of the captive's guards, and it was toward her the flow of the conversation turned to.
"When," asked one of the women, "will we enjoy the death throes of the red one? or does Lorquas Ptomel intend to hold her for ransom?"
"They have decided to carry her with us back to Thark, and exhibit her last struggles at the great games before Tal Hajus," replied Sarkoja.
"How will she be killed?" inquired Sola. "She is very small and beautiful; I had hoped that they would hold her for ransom."
Sarkoja and the other woman grunted angrily at this display of kindness, and thereby, weakness by Sola.
"It is a pity Sola." Sarkoja said "If you were born a million years ago, perhaps you would find yourself more comfortable at that time. In the current age, we have progressed to a time where the death of the planet can happen at any time. Emotions are a weakness. I wonder? What if Tars Tarkas were to find out about your defect, would he still entrust a duty as noble and demanding as maternity to you?"
"I see nothing wrong with my statement." Sola shot back "It is not the red woman that has harmed us. It is the men of her race and I can say with confidence that she has nothing to do with the atrocities that both sides commit against each other. Furthermore, she is a princess of the House of Tardos Mors. Is she could be used as a ransom, the Tharks might just be well off for the next couple of months."
This wild outbreak on the part of Sola so greatly surprised and shocked the other women, that, after a few words of general reprimand, they all lapsed into silence and were soon asleep. One thing the episode had accomplished was to assure me of Sola's friendliness toward the poor girl, and also to convince me that I had been extremely fortunate in falling into her hands rather than those of some of the other females. I knew that she was fond of me, and now that I had discovered that she hated cruelty and barbarity I was confident that I could depend upon her to aid me and the girl captive to escape, provided of course that such a thing was within the range of possibilities.
I did not even know that there were any better conditions to escape to, but I was more than willing to take my chances among people fashioned after my own mold rather than to remain longer among the hideous and bloodthirsty green men of Mars. But where to go, and how, was as much of a puzzle to me as the age-old search for the spring of eternal life has been to earthly men since the beginning of time.
I decided that at the first opportunity I would take Sola into my confidence and openly ask her to aid me, and with this resolution strong upon me I turned among my silks and furs and slept the dreamless and refreshing sleep of Mars.
But before I could put myself to sleep, I could not help but note a single word that Sola had uttered.
'So she's a princess huh? This feels more and more like the plot of a action romance novel.'
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