“Then we shall go, John Carter,” he said quietly, 
“but first I would share a few words with Sarkoja. 
Come with me.”
 

All this was momentous news 
to the women of Tars Tarkas’ house. 
Least surprised was Zephira, Captain of Household, 
his oldest ward, who had herself known Gozava. 

Zephira knew well 
Tars Tarkus’ exceptional kindness toward women 
and had occasionally suspected something of the sort. 

She also feared what Sarkoja might do 
once she got this stunning news, 
and knew she must strike first.

I can see no good to come of this
—Tars Tarkas may not kill Sarkoja,
but she will see to the ruin of this house if she is able. 
We need to assure that her lips are sealed, forever, 
ere she tattles her half-truths to Tal Hajus. 
Who is with me?”

The senior women in Tars Tarkas’ house knew 
that neither threats nor reason 
would prevent Sarkoja from running to tell Tal Hajus
of their master’s alleged guilt. 
Tars Tarkas would be tortured and killed, 
as would Sola, and they, 
with Tars Tarkas gone, 
would be separated out to other, 
less happy houses.

With very little discussion or argument,
five set out for Sarkoja’s quarters 
with steel at their hips and blood in their eyes.

A short walk brought us to Sarkoja’s quarters, 
and the look of venomous hatred 
she gave me was almost recompense
for any future grief
this accidental return to Thark might bring me.
 
 

Tars Tarkas spoke: 
“Sarkoja, forty years ago
you were instrumental in 
the torture and death of a woman 
named Gozava.”

He continued, 
“I have just discovered that the warrior 
who loved her has learned of 
your complicity in her death. 

By our custom he may not kill you, 
but nothing would prevent him tying a strap
around your neck, 
with the other end tied to a wild thoat, 
merely to test your fitness to survive 
and help perpetuate our race.”

“Having heard that 
he would do this on the morrow, 
I thought it only right and just to warn you. 
The River Iss
is but a short pilgrimage, Sarkoja. 
Come, John Carter.”

Without further words 
Tars Tarkas and I departed, 
and hastened to the Jeddak’s palace 
to face Tal Hajus.

As we later learned, 
Zephira’s war-party had just arrived. 
She put her ear to an open window,
covered within by a mere cloth hanging, 
and could hear Sarkoja cursing vehemently.

Transcendant with cold rage she hissed
“But at last I shall be rid of him—
Gozava’s partner in degeneracy! 
Tal Hajus will torture
the illegitimate whelp’s name 
from the mighty Tars Tarkus, 
and make an agonized end of both of them! 
Come, we must make haste 
while the whole Council may hear as one!”

Sarkoja and her underlings 
set out for Tal Hajus’ palace 
at a rapid pace, 
with gleams of self-righteous triumph 
in their wicked eyes, 
savoring the prospect of bloody vengeance 
against those who had so long eluded 
and defied them.
With bared blades 
Zephira and her party charged,
intent upon assassination. 

As her cowardly cohorts
dropped their weapons and ran, 
Sarkoja, caring not at all about
the dishonor of replying 
to blades with bullets, 
but intent on winning at any cost, 
cleared leather and 
pointed her pistol at Zephira,
only to have her target blocked 
y the body of Woola, 
moving at such a speed 
as to barely register in her vision 
as a blurry streak, coming straight at her. 

--Sarkoja looked down 
at the stump of her gun-arm, 
fountaining blood. 
Comprehending and enraged beyond fury, 
she swung her sword wildly
at two of her despised foes, 
coming on swiftly with their blades
flashing in the moonlights.