"Why, oh, why will you not learn to live in amity with your fellows,
must you ever go on down the ages to your final extinction but
little above the plane of the dumb brutes that serve you! A people
without written language, without art, without homes, without love;
the victim of eons of the horrible community idea. Owning
everything in common, even to your women and children, has resulted
in your owning nothing in common. You hate each other as you hate
all else except yourselves. Come back to the ways of our common
ancestors, come back to the light of kindliness and fellowship. The
way is open to you, you will find the hands of the red men stretched
out to aid you. Together we may do still more to regenerate our
dying planet. The granddaughter of the greatest and mightiest of
the red jeddaks has asked you. Will you come?"

Lorquas Ptomel and the warriors sat looking silently and intently at
the young woman for several moments after she had ceased speaking.
What was passing in their minds no man may know, but that they were
moved I truly believe, and if one man high among them had been
strong enough to rise above custom, that moment would have marked
a new and mighty era for Mars.

I saw Tars Tarkas rise to speak, and on his face was such an
expression as I had never seen upon the countenance of a green
Martian warrior. It bespoke an inward and mighty battle with self,
with heredity, with age-old custom, and as he opened his mouth to
speak, a look almost of benignity, of kindliness, momentarily
lighted up his fierce and terrible countenance.

What words of moment were to have fallen from his lips were never
spoken, as just then a young warrior, evidently sensing the trend