and upon the ugly head. "Dear old
Woola," she said; "no love could be deeper than yours, yet it never
offends. Would that men might pattern themselves after you!"

CHAPTER II

AT THE GALE'S MERCY

Tara of Helium did not return to her father's guests, but awaited in
her own apartments the word from Djor Kantos which she knew must come,
begging her to return to the gardens. She would then refuse, haughtily.
But no appeal came from Djor Kantos. At first Tara of Helium was angry,
then she was hurt, and always she was puzzled. She could not
understand. Occasionally she thought of the Jed of Gathol and then she
would stamp her foot, for she was very angry indeed with Gahan. The
presumption of the man! He had insinuated that he read love for him in
her eyes. Never had she been so insulted and humiliated. Never had she
so thoroughly hated a man. Suddenly she turned toward Uthia.

"My flying leather!" she commanded.

"But the guests!" exclaimed the slave girl. "Your father, The Warlord,
will expect you to return."

"He will be disappointed," snapped Tara of Helium.

The slave hesitated. "He does not approve of your flying alone," she
reminded her mistress.

The young princess sprang to her feet and seized the unhappy slave by
the shoulders, shaking her. "You are becoming unbearable, Uthia," she
cried. "Soon there will be no alternative than to send you to the
public slave-market. Then possibly you will find a master to your
liking."

Tears came to the soft eyes of the slave girl. "It is because I love
you, my princess," she said softly. Tara of Helium melted. She took the
slave in her arms and kissed her.

"I have the disposition of a thoat, Uthia," she said. "Forgive me! I
love you and there is nothing that I would not do for you and nothing
would I do to harm you. Again, as I have so often in the past, I offer
you your freedom."

"I do not wish my freedom if it will separate me from you, Tara of
Helium," replied Uthia. "I am happy here with you--I think that I
should die without you."

Again the girls kissed. "And you will not fly alone, then?" questioned
the slave.

Tara of Helium laughed and pinched her companion. "You persistent
little pest," she cried. "Of course I shall fly--does not Tara of
Helium always do that which pleases her?"

Uthia shook her head sorrowfully. "Alas! she does," she admitted. "Iron
is the Warlord of Barsoom to the influences of all but two. In the
hands of Dejah Thoris and Ta