"And whereto, then, would your prisoner escape should you leave her,
unless it was to follow you and crave your protection, and ask your
pardon for the cruel thoughts she has harbored against you these
past few days?"

"You are right," I answered, "there is no escape for either of us
unless we go together."

"I heard your challenge to the creature you call Tars Tarkas, and
I think I understand your position among these people, but what I
cannot fathom is your statement that you are not of Barsoom."

"In the name of my first ancestor, then," she continued, "where may
you be from? You are like unto my people, and yet so unlike. You
speak my language, and yet I heard you tell Tars Tarkas that you had
but learned it recently. All Barsoomians speak the same tongue from
the ice-clad south to the ice-clad north, though their written
languages differ. Only in the valley Dor, where the river Iss
empties into the lost sea of Korus, is there supposed to be a
different language spoken, and, except in the legends of our
ancestors, there is no record of a Barsoomian returning up the river
Iss, from the shores of Korus in the valley of Dor. Do not tell me
that you have thus returned! They would kill you horribly anywhere
upon the surface of Barsoom if that were true; tell me it is not!"

Her eyes were filled with a strange, weird light; her voice was
pleading, and her little hands, reached up upon my breast, were
pressed against me as though to wring a denial from my very heart.