plied Turan, laughing. "It has been long ages since the men of Barsoom loved peace."
"My father loves peace," returned the girl.
"And yet he is always at war," said the man.
She laughed. "But he says he likes peace."
"We all like peace," he rejoined; "peace with honor; but our neighbors will not let us have it, and so we must fight."
"And to fight well men must like to fight," she added.
"And to like to fight they must know how to fight," he said, "for no man likes to do the thing that he does not know how to do well."
"Or that some other man can do better than he."
"And so always there will be wars and men will fight," he concluded, "for always the men with hot blood in their veins will practice the art of war."
"We have settled a great question," said the girl, smiling; "but our stomachs are still empty."
"Your panthan is neglecting his duty," replied Turan; "and how can he with the great reward always before his eyes!"
She did not guess in what literal a sense he spoke.
"I go forthwith," he continued, "to wrest food and drink from the ancients."
"No," she cried, laying a hand upon his arm, "not yet. They would slay you or make you prisoner. You are a brave panthan and a mighty one, but you cannot overcome a city singlehanded."
