Tara of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which she had been reclining, stretched her lithe body languidly, and crossed toward the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronze disc depended from the low ceiling. Her carriage was that of health and physical perfection—the effortless harmony of faultless coordination. A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about her body; her black hair was piled high upon her head. With a wooden stick she tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the summons was answered by a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to be greeted similarly by her mistress. ‘Are my father’s guests arriving?’ asked the princess. ‘Yes, Tara of Helium, they come, ‘ replied the slave. ‘I have seen Kantos Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and Djor Kantos, son of Kantos Kan, ‘ she shot a roguish glance at her mistress as she mentioned Djor Kantos’ name, ‘and—oh, there were others, many have come.’ ‘The bath, then, Uthia, ‘ said her mistress. ‘And why, Uthia, ‘ she added, ‘do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djor Kantos?’ The slave girl laughed gaily. ‘It is so plain to all that he worships you, ‘ she replied.
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