In an instant
I guessed that it was a secret exit from the room, and so I paused
that he might have an opportunity to negotiate it, for I cared
nothing to take the life of this poor servitor--all I craved was
a clear road in pursuit of Dejah Thoris, my long-lost princess.
But, try as he would, the panel would yield neither to cunning nor
force, so that eventually he gave it up and turned to face me.
"Go thy way, Thern," I said to him, pointing toward the entrance
to the runway up which we had but just come. "I have no quarrel
with you, nor do I crave your life. Go!"
For answer he sprang upon me with his sword, and so suddenly, at
that, that I was like to have gone down before his first rush. So
there was nothing for it but to give him what he sought, and that
as quickly as might be, that I might not be delayed too long in
this chamber while Matai Shang and Thurid made way with Dejah Thoris
and Thuvia of Ptarth.
The fellow was a clever swordsman--resourceful and extremely
tricky. In fact, he seemed never to have heard that there existed
such a thing as a code of honor, for he repeatedly outraged a dozen
Barsoomian fighting customs that an honorable man would rather die
than ignore.
He even went so far as to snatch his holy wig from his head and
throw it in my face, so as to blind me for a moment while he thrust
at my unprotected breast.
When he thrust, however, I was not there, for I had fought with
therns before; and while none had ever resorted to precisely that
same expedient, I knew them to be the least honorable and most
treacherous fighters upon Mars, and so was ever on the alert for
some new and devilish subterfuge when I was engaged with one of
their race.
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