us. Let us get out of here quickly.'
I drew the cloak of invisibility over the body of Phor Tak again. 'I have work here before I leave,' I said.
'What?' he demanded.
'Help me gather all of the disintegrating rays shells and rifles into one end of the room.'
'What are you going to do?' he demanded.
'I am going to save a world, Nur An,' I said.
Then he fell to and helped me and when they were all collected in a pile at the far end of the laboratory, I selected a single shell and returning to the rifle mounted upon the bench I inserted it in the chamber, closed the block and turned the muzzle of the weapon upon that frightful aggregation of death and disaster.
As I pressed the button all that remained in Jhama of Phor Tak's dangerous invention disappeared in thin air, with the exception of the single rifle, for which there remained no ammunition. With it had gone his model of The Flying Death and with him the secret had been lost.
Nur An told me that the slaves were becoming suspicious of us and as there was no necessity of risking ourselves further, we embarked upon the flier that John Carter had given me, and, taking the Jhama in tow, set our course toward Helium.
We overtook the fleet shortly before it reached the Twin Cities of Greater Helium and Lesser Helium and upon the deck of John Carter's flagship we received a welcome and a great ovation, and shortly thereafter there occurred one of the most remarkable and dramatic incidents that I have ever beheld. We were holding something of an informal reception upon the forward deck of the great battleship. Officers and nobles were pressing forward to be presented and numerous were the appreciative eyes that admired Tavia.
It was the turn of the Dwar, Kal Tavan, who had been a slave in the palace of Tor Hatan. As he came face to face with Tavia, I saw a look of surprise in his eyes.
'Your name is Tavia?' he repeated.
'Yes,' she said, 'and yours is Tavan. They are similar.'
'I do not need to ask from what country you are,' he said. 'You are Tavia of Tjanath.'
'How do you know?' she asked.
'Because you are my daughter,' he replied. 'Tavia is the name your mother gave you. You look like her. By that alone I should have known my daughter anywhere.'
Very gently he took her in his arms and I saw tears in his eyes, and hers too, as he pressed his lips against her forehead, and then he turned to me.
'They told me that the brave Tan Hadron of Hastor had chosen to mate with a slave girl,' he said; 'but that is true. Your princess is in truth a princess-the granddaughter of a jed. She might have been the daughter of a jed had I remained in Tjanath.'
How devious are the paths of fate! How strange and unexpected the destinations to which they lead. I had set out upon one of these paths with the intention of marrying Sanoma Tora at the end. Sanoma Tora had her path, she had found only ignominy and disgrace. At the end of mine I had found a princess.
