Chap­ter VI begins with Cartho­ris and Thu­via advanc­ing across a bat­tle­field that defies all nat­ur­al expec­ta­tions. The dead are gone—no bod­ies, no trace—leaving only a haunt­ed silence where vio­lence once reigned. Cartho­ris, ground­ed in action and rea­son, can­not rec­on­cile what he sees with what he knows. Thu­via shares his con­fu­sion, though her instincts sense some­thing more than just mys­tery. They press for­ward toward the loom­ing city of Lothar, dri­ven by the belief that shel­ter might lie with­in. The desert behind them is far from safe, and ahead, the city walls hold a strange promise of answers. Despite their doubts, they move clos­er, step by step into a realm where noth­ing behaves as it should.

At the city’s edge, dan­ger arrives not in the form of men, but of banths—ferocious beasts feared across Bar­soom. Yet, to Carthoris’s aston­ish­ment, Thu­via meets them not with a weapon, but with calm. Her voice, her pres­ence, tames them. It isn’t con­trol through force, but some­thing more intu­itive. The crea­tures yield, not because they are bro­ken, but because they choose to. Thu­via her­self seems unaware of the source of her pow­er. Cartho­ris remem­bers oth­er moments like this, where her influ­ence calmed chaos. But know­ing the mem­o­ry does­n’t bring under­stand­ing. All they can do is accept what works, even when log­ic fails. The banths move aside, allow­ing pas­sage as if hon­or­ing roy­al­ty, and the pair enters the silent city.

The qui­et that meets them is not reas­sur­ing. It’s the kind that press­es against the skin, thick and watch­ful. Build­ings rise around them—grand, ancient, and eeri­ly pris­tine. No signs of life echo through the streets. Then, like mist form­ing from thought, an army appears before their eyes. Cartho­ris braces for com­bat, but before he can act, the sol­diers van­ish. Not one drop of blood is shed. There is no bat­tle, only dis­be­lief. Thuvia’s eyes widen in aston­ish­ment. The city is not dead—it is some­thing else entire­ly. Their guide, a man of Lothar, steps forth and calm­ly explains: every­thing seen is cre­at­ed by will alone.

These war­riors, he says, are no more real than dreams, but in Lothar, dreams have weight. The Lothar­i­ans mas­tered men­tal pro­jec­tion long ago, using it to defend them­selves against the green hordes who roam out­side their walls. It is not mere­ly illusion—it is war­fare of the mind. Cartho­ris, though trained in tac­tics and steel, real­izes he is in a place where con­vic­tion can sub­sti­tute for mat­ter. Thu­via lis­tens care­ful­ly, see­ing not only pow­er but dan­ger in such skill. If a city can be defend­ed by imag­i­na­tion, what else might be con­trolled that way? Truth, per­haps. Or love. The thought unset­tles her.

They are led deep­er into Lothar, where illu­sions greet them at every turn. A bustling city appears to bloom around them—citizens, mar­kets, and vibrant activ­i­ty. But Cartho­ris begins to notice the rep­e­ti­tions. Move­ments loop, faces flick­er, voic­es echo with no ori­gin. This city, grand as it looks, may not be alive at all. It may only remem­ber being alive. The palace, when they reach it, is no dif­fer­ent. Tow­ers shim­mer, light casts no shad­ow, and guards mate­ri­al­ize as need­ed. It is both mag­nif­i­cent and hol­low, like a song sung with­out breath.

Thu­via steps cau­tious­ly through this world built by thought, her grip on real­i­ty test­ed with each illu­sion. Cartho­ris remains close, his instincts warn­ing him that even though noth­ing is sol­id, dan­ger is real. The illu­sions are not mere distractions—they are tools of con­trol. Those who wield them, like Tario, shape per­cep­tion itself. When they final­ly pre­pare to meet the Jed­dak, Cartho­ris feels the stakes rise. This is no longer just a place of safety—it is a cru­cible. What­ev­er they find in the halls of Tario will deter­mine whether they can trust Lothar at all.

The chap­ter clos­es with unease press­ing down. Lothar is a city where truth is option­al and real­i­ty bends to desire. For Thu­via and Cartho­ris, ground­ed in loy­al­ty and strength, it feels like walk­ing through a dream some­one else con­trols. And yet, with­in this strange city lies a deep­er question—can real­i­ty be rewrit­ten if enough minds believe in it? In Lothar, belief builds walls, cre­ates armies, and masks lone­li­ness. But Cartho­ris knows that belief with­out truth becomes illu­sion. And illu­sions, no mat­ter how strong, must be faced with some­thing real.