"I am Phaidor, daughter of Matai Shang, Holy Hekkador of the Holy Therns, Father of Therns, Master of Life and Death upon Barsoom, Brother of Issus, Prince of Life Eternal."
At that moment I noticed that the black I had dropped with my fist was commencing to show signs of returning consciousness.
I sprang to his side. Stripping his harness from him I securely bound his hands behind his back, and after similarly fastening his feet tied him to a heavy gun carriage.
"Why not the ******r way?" asked Phaidor.
"I do not understand. What '******r way'?" I replied.
With a slight shrug of her lovely shoulders she made a gesture with her hands personating the casting of something over the craft's side.
"I am no murderer," I said. "I kill in self-defence only."
She looked at me narrowly. Then she puckered those divine brows of hers, and shook her head. She could not comprehend.
Well, neither had my own Dejah Thoris been able to understand what to her had seemed a foolish and dangerous policy toward enemies. Upon Barsoom, quarter is neither asked nor given, and each dead man means so much more of the waning resources of this dying planet to be divided amongst those who survive.