Why not sue once more? If she would relent, all might yet be well. Even if his father could not be persuaded, they could fly to Ptarth, laying all the blame of the knavery and intrigue that had thrown four great nations into war, upon the shoulders of Nutus. And who was there that would doubt the justice of the charge? “Thuvia,” he said, “I come once again, for the last time, to lay my heart at your feet. Ptarth and Kaol and Dusar are battling with Helium because of you. Wed me, Thuvia, and all may yet be as it should be.” The girl shook her head. “Wait!” he commanded, before she could speak. “Know the truth before you speak words that may seal, not only your own fate, but that of the thousands of warriors who battle because of you. “Refuse to wed me willingly, and Dusar would be laid waste should ever the truth be known to Ptarth and Kaol and Helium. They would raze our cities, leaving not one stone upon another. They would scatter our peoples across the face of Barsoom from the frozen north to the frozen south, hunting them down and slaying them, until this great nation remained only as a hated memory in the minds of men. “But while they are exterminating the Dusarians, countless thousands of their own warriors must perish—and all because of the stubbornness of a single woman who would not wed the prince who loves her. “Refuse, Thuvia of Ptarth, and there remains but a single alternative—no man must ever know your fate. Only a handful of loyal servitors besides my royal father and myself know that you were stolen from the gardens of Thuvan Dihn by Astok, Prince of Dusar, or that to-day you be imprisoned in my palace. “Refuse, Thuvia of Ptarth, and you must die to save Dusar—there is no other way. Nutus, the jeddak, has so decreed. I have spoken.” For a long moment the girl let her level gaze rest full upon the face of Astok of Dusar. Then she spoke, and though the words were few, the unimpassioned tone carried unfathomable depths of cold contempt. “Better all that you have threatened,” she said, “than you.” Then she turned her back upon him and went to stand once more before the east window, gazing with sad eyes toward distant Ptarth. Astok wheeled and left the room, returning after a short interval of time with food and drink. “Here,” he said, “is sustenance until I return again. The next to enter this apartment will be your executioner. Commend yourself to your ancestors, Thuvia of Ptarth, for within a few days you shall be with them.” Then he was gone. Half an hour later he was interviewing an officer high in the navy of Dusar. “Whither went Vas Kor?” he asked. “He is not at his palace.” “South, to the great waterway that skirts Torquas,” replied the other. “His son, Hal Vas, is Dwar of the Road there, and thither has Vas Kor gone to enlist recruits among the workers on the farms.” “Good,” said Astok, and a half-hour more found him rising above Dusar in his swiftest flier. CHAPTER XIII. TURJUN, THE PANTHAN