About noon 
I passed low 
over a great dead city 
of ancient Mars.

As I skimmed out 
over the plain beyond
I suddenly came full upon
thousands of green warriors 
engaged in a terrific battle.
 
 
 

Scarcely had I seen them
than a volley of shots was directed at me, 
and with the green men’s
unfailing accuracy of aim, 
my little craft was instantly a ruined wreck,
sinking erratically toward the ground.

I fell almost directly in the center of the fierce combat, 
among warriors who had not seen my approach, 
so busily were they engaged, mostly on foot with longswords, 
and sharpshooters on the outskirts picking off those
who momentarily became separated from the entangled mass.

He did not see me at first, as I was a trifle behind him, 
then he was charged simultaneously by all three Warhoons.

The mighty fellow made quick work of one of them, but in stepping back
he fell over a dead body behind him and was down 
and at the mercy of the other two in an instant. 
Had I not sprung between him and his foes, killing one in short order, 
Tars Tarkas would have been gathered to his forefathers in moments.

The mighty Thark quickly regained his feet 
and settled the other Warhoon. 
He gave me one look, 
and a slight smile touched his grim lips.
 

Touching my shoulder, he said, 
“I would scarcely recognize you, John Carter, 
but no other mortal upon Barsoom would have done 
what you have for me. 

I think I have learned that
there is such a thing as friendship,
my friend.”