SHEA had just beaten me at chess, as usual, and, also as usual, Ihad gleaned what questionable satisfaction I might by twittinghim with this indication of failing mentality by calling hisattention to the nth time to that theory, propounded by certainscientists, which is based upon the assertion that phenomenalchess players are always found to be from the ranks of childrenunder twelve, adults over seventy-two or the mentallydefective--a theory that is lightly ignored upon those rareoccasions that I win. Shea had gone to bed and I should havefollowed suit, for we are always in the saddle here beforesunrise; but instead I sat there before the chess table in thelibrary, idly blowing smoke at the dishonored head of my defeatedking.

While thus profitably employed I heard the east door of theliving-room open and someone enter. I thought it was Sheareturning to speak with me on some matter of tomorrow's work; butwhen I raised my eyes to the doorway that connects the two roomsI saw framed there the figure of a bronzed giant, his otherwisenaked body trapped with a jewel-encrusted harness from whichthere hung at one side an ornate short-sword and at the other apistol of strange pattern. The black hair, the steel-gray eyes,brave and smiling, the noble features--I recognized them at once,and leaping to my feet I advanced with outstretched hand.

"John Carter!" I cried. "You?"

"None other, my son," he replied, taking my hand in one of hisand placing the other upon my shoulder.

"And what are you doing here?" I asked. "It has been long yearssince you revisited Earth, and never before in the trappings ofMars. Lord! but it is good to see you--and not a day older inappearance than when you trotted me on your knee in my babyhood.How do you explain it, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, or do youtry to explain it?"

"Why attempt to explain the inexplicable?" he replied. "As I havetold you before, I am a very old man. I do not know how old I am.I recall no childhood; but recollect only having been always asyou see me now and as you saw me first when you were five yearsold. You, yourself, have aged, though not as much as most men ina corresponding number of years, which may be accounted for bythe fact that the same blood runs in our veins; but I have notaged at all. I have discussed the question with a noted Martianscientist, a friend of mine; but his theories are still onlytheories. However, I am content with the fact--I never age, and Ilove life and the vigor of youth.

"And now as to your natural question as to what brings me toEarth again and in this, to earthly eyes, strange habiliment. Wemay thank Kar Komak, the bowman of Lothar. It was he who gave methe idea upon which I have been experimenting until at last Ihave achieved success. As you know I have long possessed thepower to cross the void in spirit, but never before have I beenable to impart to inanimate things a similar power. Now, however,you see me for the first time precisely as my Martian fellows seeme--you see the very short-sword that has tasted the blood ofmany a savage foeman; the harness with the devices of Helium andthe insignia of my rank; the pistol that was presented to me byTars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark.

"Aside from seeing you, which is my principal reason for beinghere, and satisfying myself that I can transport inanimate thingsfrom Mars to Earth, and therefore animate things if I so desire,I have no purpose. Earth is not for me. My every interest is uponBarsoom--my wife, my children, my work; all are there. I willspend a quiet evening with you and then back to the world I loveeven better than I love life."

As he spoke he dropped into the chair upon the opposite side ofthe chess table.

"You spoke of children," I said. "Have you more than Carthoris?"

"A daughter," he replied, "only a little younger than Carthoris,and, barring one, the fairest thing that ever breathed the thinair of dying Mars. Only Dejah Thoris, her mother, could be morebeautiful than Tara of Helium."

For a moment he fingered the chessmen idly. "We have a game onMars similar to chess," he said, "very similar.

And there is a race there that plays it grimly with men and nakedswords. We call the game jetan. It is played on a board likeyours, except that there are a hundred squares and we use twentypieces on each side. I never see it played without thinking ofTara of Helium and what befell her among the chessmen of Barsoom.Would you like to hear her story?"

I said that I would and so he told it to me, and now I shall tryto re-tell it for you as nearly in the words of The Warlord ofMars as I can recall them, but in the third person. If there beinconsistencies and errors, let the blame fall not upon JohnCarter, but rather upon my faulty memory, where it belongs. It isa strange tale and utterly Barsoomian.