CHAPTER I
CARTHORIS AND THUVIA
Upon a massive bench of polished ersite beneath the gorgeous
blooms of a giant pimalia a woman sat. Her shapely, sandalled foot tapped
impatiently upon the jewel-strewn walk that wound beneath the stately
sorapus trees across the scarlet sward of the royal gardens of Thuvan Dihn,
Jeddak of Ptarth, as a dark-haired, red- skinned warrior bent low toward
her, whispering heated words close to her ear.
"Ah, Thuvia of Ptarth," he cried, "you are cold even before the fiery
blasts of my consuming love! No harder than your heart, nor colder is the
hard, cold ersite of this thrice happy bench which supports your divine and
fadeless form! Tell me, O Thuvia of Ptarth, that I may still hope--that
though you do not love me now, yet some day, some day, my princess, I-
-"
The girl sprang to her feet with an exclamation of surprise and
displeasure. Her queenly head was poised haughtily upon her smooth red
shoulders. Her dark eyes looked angrily into those of the man.