The Chessmen of Mars | Page 5

supported a chain of gold encircling it and
leading down into the water on either side of marble steps. A glass dome let in the
sun-light, which flooded the interior, glancing from the polished white of the marble
walls and the procession of bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid
with gold in a broad band that circled the room.
Tara of Helium removed the scarf from about her and handed it to the slave. Slowly she
descended the steps to the water, the temperature of which she tested with a symmetrical
foot, undeformed by tight shoes and high heels--a lovely foot, as God intended that feet
should be and seldom are. Finding the water to her liking, the girl swam leisurely to and
fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the seal she swam, now at the surface, now
below, her smooth muscles rolling softly beneath her clear skin--a wordless song of
health and happiness and grace. Presently she emerged and gave herself into the hands of
the slave girl, who rubbed the body of her mistress with a sweet smelling semi-liquid
substance contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skin was covered with a foamy
lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, a drying with soft towels, and the bath was over.
Typical of the life of the princess was the simple elegance of her bath--no retinue of
useless slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another half hour her hair

was dried and built into the strange, but becoming, coiffure of her station; her leathern
trappings, encrusted with gold and jewels, had been adjusted to her figure and she was
ready to mingle with the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the palace
of The Warlord.
As she left her apartments to make her way to the gardens where the guests were
congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the House of the Prince of Helium upon their
harness, followed a few paces behind her, grim reminders that the assassin's blade may
never be ignored upon Barsoom, where, in a measure, it counterbalances the great natural
span of human life, which is estimated at not less than a thousand years.
As they neared the entrance to the garden another woman, similarly guarded, approached
them from another quarter of the great palace. As she neared them Tara of Helium turned
toward her with a smile and a happy greeting, while her guards knelt with bowed heads in
willing and voluntary adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always, solely at the
command of their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet Dejah Thoris, whose
deathless beauty had more than once brought them to bloody warfare with other nations
of Barsoom. So great was the love of the people of Helium for the mate of John Carter it
amounted practically to worship, as though she were indeed the goddess that she looked.
The mother and daughter exhanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" of greeting and kissed.
Then together they entered the gardens where the guests were. A huge warrior drew his
short-sword and struck his metal shield with the flat of it, the brazen sound ringing out
above the laughter and the speech.
"The Princess comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess comes! Tara of Helium!"
Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the two women inclined their heads;
the guards fell back upon either side of the entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to
pay their respects; the laughing and the talking were resumed and Dejah Thoris and her
daughter moved simply and naturally among their guests, no suggestion of differing rank
apparent in the bearing of any who were there, though there was more than a single
Jeddak and many common warriors whose only title lay in brave deeds, or noble
patriotism. Thus it is upon Mars where men are judged upon their own merits rather than
upon those of their grandsires, even though pride of lineage be great.
Tara of Helium let her slow gaze wander among the throng of guests until presently it
halted upon one she sought. Was the faint shadow of a frown that crossed her brow an
indication of displeasure at the sight that met her eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the
noonday sun distress her? Who may say! She had been reared to believe that one day she
should wed Djor Kantos, son of her father's best friend. It had been the dearest wish of
Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this should be, and Tara of Helium had accepted it as a
matter of all but accomplished fact. Djor Kantos had seemed to accept the matter in the
same way. They had spoken of it casually