CHAPTER VI – Thu­via, Maid of Mars begins as Cartho­ris and Thu­via reach the gates of Lothar, a city hid­den for cen­turies and shroud­ed in silence. No cries rise from the bat­tle­ments, no sen­tries guard its walls, and yet the city remains untouched by war. Just moments before, it had been defend­ed by a phan­tom army—archers who mate­ri­al­ized to repel an advanc­ing force and then van­ished with­out a trace. Thu­via, again demon­strat­ing her unspo­ken pow­er over banths, secures safe pas­sage for her­self and Cartho­ris. The beasts, known for their sav­agery, sub­mit to her as if she were one of their own, echo­ing the bond she once formed in the pres­ence of John Carter.

The mys­te­ri­ous city they now approach seems carved from both stone and illu­sion. Grand struc­tures rise in the dis­tance, gleam­ing under Barsoom’s light, but not a sin­gle sound escapes its gates. Inside, there are signs of opu­lence: pol­ished cor­ri­dors, gold­en orna­men­ta­tion, and lush cham­bers that seem too pris­tine for a place untouched by life. A lone fig­ure appears—Jav, their guide—offering no answers to their imme­di­ate ques­tions, only promis­ing an audi­ence with Tario, the city’s ruler. As they fol­low him, Cartho­ris remains wary, not­ing that even the ground beneath them feels strange, as though mem­o­ry and real­i­ty have blend­ed into one.

Through­out their jour­ney into the heart of Lothar, Cartho­ris is unset­tled by the city’s eerie dual­i­ty. It is filled with ele­gance yet echoes like a tomb. When they final­ly reach Tario’s throne room, what awaits them is not a court of dig­ni­taries, but a soli­tary fig­ure who com­mands with­out sol­diers or coun­cil. Tario wel­comes them with­out sus­pi­cion or fear, despite their sud­den appear­ance in a city long believed to be for­got­ten. His demeanor is calm, but his pres­ence exudes an unnat­ur­al con­trol, one not reliant on phys­i­cal force.

As Cartho­ris speaks, he sens­es that Tario is less inter­est­ed in diplo­ma­cy than he is in study—studying them. He seems fas­ci­nat­ed by Thu­via, not for her beau­ty alone, but for her pres­ence, her real­i­ty. Cartho­ris, pro­tec­tive and alert, observes how quick­ly Tar­i­o’s inter­est veers from neu­tral con­ver­sa­tion to a sub­tle fas­ci­na­tion with Thu­via. Mean­while, Jav offers vague com­men­tary on the city’s strength, sug­gest­ing that Lothar’s defens­es are born not of steel or num­bers, but of thought. They need no armies, for they con­jure war­riors from will and focus, illu­sions so potent that they harm as real blades might—if the ene­my believes them.

Doubt gnaws at Cartho­ris. If these illu­sions only work through belief, then resis­tance should be sim­ple. But Jav insists otherwise—death can be as real as the mind allows it to be, and Lothar’s ene­mies have per­ished on emp­ty plains, impaled by weapons that nev­er touched them. Cartho­ris finds it hard to accept, yet the very walls sur­round­ing him, their vibran­cy and warmth, might be noth­ing more than dreams shaped by cen­turies of prac­tice. Lothar is a city of men­tal mas­tery, not machin­ery. Its cit­i­zens, reduced in num­ber, have ele­vat­ed thought into sur­vival.

Thuvia’s silent strength holds firm even under Tario’s scru­ti­niz­ing gaze. Though unnerved, she refus­es to appear weak. She con­tin­ues to hold Komal—the banth—at bay with­out words, assert­ing a dom­i­nance even Tario seems to find both intrigu­ing and threat­en­ing. The chap­ter ends with a still­ness as tense as the moment before a storm, with Cartho­ris silent­ly won­der­ing if their arrival in Lothar is salvation—or the begin­ning of a deep­er trap.

The bril­liance of this chap­ter lies in its del­i­cate fusion of mys­tery, psy­cho­log­i­cal ten­sion, and sub­tle rev­e­la­tions. It invites read­ers to ques­tion what is real in a world where thought can kill and illu­sions defend a city bet­ter than swords ever could. Thuvia’s bond with crea­tures and Carthoris’s ground­ed sense of hon­or con­trast pow­er­ful­ly with Lothar’s intan­gi­ble defens­es, set­ting up a larg­er con­flict between belief and sub­stance that will shape the tri­als to come.