“I have brought a strange creature wearing the metal of a Thark whom it is my pleasure to have battle with a wild thoat at the great games.”

“He will die as Bar Comas, your jeddak, sees fit, if at all,” replied the young ruler, with emphasis and dignity.

“If at all?” roared Dak Kova. “By the dead hands at my throat but he shall die, Bar Comas. No maudlin weakness on your part shall save him. O, would that Warhoon were ruled by a real jeddak rather than by a water-hearted weakling from whom even old Dak Kova could tear the metal with his bare hands!”

Bar Comas eyed the defiant and insubordinate chieftain for an instant, his expression one of haughty, fearless contempt and hate, and then without drawing a weapon and without uttering a word he hurled himself at the throat of his defamer.