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Volume 1312
A Graphic Interpretation of
Edgar Rice Burroughs'
A Princess of Mars
James Killian Spratt

CHAPTER 11: With Dejah Thoris

As we reached the open 
the two female guards made as though
to take custody of Dejah Thoris again,
but she shrank against me 
and folded her little hands tightly over my arm. 
I waved them away, and 
warned Sarkoja not to torment her again
. . . Sola would attend the captive hereafter,


and further cruelties would result in 
Sarkoja's sudden and painful demise. . .
My threat was unfortunate -- 
men do not kill women on Mars, nor women men.
She gave me an ugly look and 
departed to hatch up deviltries against us. . . .

Sola said, 
"You area great chieftain now, John Carter;
I must do your bidding, and I shall gladly. 
Should Lorquas Ptomel attack you, 
you might kill him, 
and thus become first." 
I laughed; 
I had no desire to kill Lorquas Ptomel, 
and less to become Jed. 


We found new quarters 
in a far more pretentious building
than our former habitation, 
and nearer the audience chamber. . .

We also found real sleeping apartments
with ancient beds 
swinging from enormous gold chains. 
The decoration of the walls
was most elaborate,
with many frescoes 
portraying human figures . . .

Dejah Thoris clasped her hands
in rapture as she gazed at 
these magnificent works of art,
wrought by a people long extinct, 
while Sola apparently did not see them. 
We decided to use this room, 
overlooking the plaza . . . 
I then dispatched Sola 
to bring the bedding and such food 
and utensils as she might need,
telling her that I would guard
Dejah Thoris until her return. 


As Sola departed, 
Dejah Thoris turned to me
with a faint smile. 
"And where to would I escape,
but to follow you and 
beg forgiveness
of my cruelty to you?"

"You are right -- 
there is no escape for us
if we do not go together." I said. 
"I think I understand your position here,
among these people,
but where are you from? 
To have but learned our language,
which is spoken 
throughout all Barsoom -- 
unless -- ! -- you are not returned 
from the Valley Dor!?!

I am not of Dor, 
I have never seen the Iss, 
and the Lost Sea of Korus
is still lost, as far as I'm concerned." 
She asked, 
"Where is this -- 'Virginia,' John Carter?" 
She gazed deep into my eyes, 
with a look of great concern 
on her beautiful face.


I am of another world,
the great planet Earth. 
How I came here I cannot tell, 
but here I am, 
and since I may serve Dejah Thoris, 
I am glad that I am here." 
Suddenly I wanted very much 
for her to believe me.


So I asked her, 
"Do you believe me?"
She gazed at me with troubled eyes,
long and questioningly.
Finally she said,
"Though I cannot understand, 
I believe -- because I wish to believe."
Such feminine logic could not be argued, 
and I could pick no flaws in it. 
She said, 
"You are not of Barsoom,
yet seem not of Earth, either."
Then we talked of many things. . . 

She told me of their great telescopes, 
with which they could see all of Earth,
in close detail, 
and noted that people of Earth 
covered their bodies with unsightly apparel, 
while I was rightly undisfigured with such. 


"You are not of Barsoom," she said, 
"and you wore no ornaments  -
- and one might doubt your Earthliness 
from absence of grotesque coverings."


Then Sola returned with our belongings, 
and asked if we had had a visitor --

I told her no. 

She had passed Sarkoja going down as 
she had ascended to our apartment.
Sarkoja had obviously been eves dropping;
we promised ourselves 
to be more cautious in future.


Dejah Thoris and I then fell to 
exploring the ancient building, 
admiring the beauties of a people 
of a hundred thousand years before 
her early progenitors, 
now long extinct. . .


Dejah Thoris related many
interesting facts about this 
lost race of noble and kindly people. 
This ancient city was supposed 
to have been a center of commerce 
and culture known as Korad. 
It had once been 
a beautiful natural harbor;
the shores of the dead sea bottoms 
were dotted with 
such ancient, deserted places. 
The ancient Martians had been a civilized,
literary race, 
but the drying of the seas 
had ended them,
to leave the surviving races in 
a harsh struggle for 
the few remaining fertile areas. 

It was late afternoon, a
nd we were brought rudely back 
to the present when a messenger 
bearing a summons from Lorquas Ptomel 
directed me to appear before him 
-- forthwith. 
So, bidding Dejah Thoris farewell, 
I hastened to the audience chamber. . . 

Intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 15a | 16 | 16a | 17 | 17a | 18 | 19 | 19a | 19b | 20 | 20a | 20b |
| 21 | 21a | 21b |

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