Under the threat of the guard's sword he knelt in a humble wayUnder the threat of the guard's sword he knelt in a humble way
Under the threat of the guard's sword he knelt in a humble wayUnder the threat of the guard's sword he knelt in a humble way
Thosewho let emotion rule filled early graves, however. A dead Tharn was useless to himself and useless to Dylara—and any such wild charge would be completely suicidal. Dylara seemed in no immediate danger, although it was clear from her actions, as well as the actions of those about her, that she was not sharing that cooking fire as an honored guest.
He fingered the string of his bow at its place about his shoulder. How he would have liked to send her some message that help was near, that soon she would be taken from these men and restored to the arms of one of her own kind. An arrow from out of the darkness into the heart of one of those men near her!
No. To do that would rouse the camp, keep them all awake for the rest of the night. For Tharn's purpose those Ammadians must remain lulled by a sense of security provided by their circle of fires. The quieter the night, the smaller the number of sentries to be posted when the time came for seeking sleeping furs for the night.
Trakor, too, was making good use of his eyes. This was the first party of Ammadians he had ever seen and he was open-mouthed with interest. The strange white skins they wore, the pieces of beautifully shaped leather on their feet, fascinated him and he longed to own such wondrous things. He stared for a long time at Dylara, marveling at her beauty. Even Lanoa, whose beauty paled into nothingness that of every woman of Gerdak's tribe was just another she when compared to this vision of loveliness. The thought made him smile a little sadly. It was the first time he had thought of Lanoa in nearly a moon.
Tharn said, "Remain here, Trakor, while I hunt for food."
The younger man nodded and Tharn slipped silently away. After he was gone Trakor lay down on a branch so situated as to give him an unimpeded view of the scene below and continued to watch....
A slight movement of his support aroused him. Tharn, laden with meat from a fresh kill, came to squat beside him and they filled their bellies with the hot, succulent raw flesh.
The young man wiped his hands and lips free of blood and turned inquiring eyes on his companion. "Have you thought of a way to take her from them, Tharn?"
The cave lord shook his head. "It will depend on where she sleeps and on how many guards are posted. Nothing can be done until the camp is settled for the night. Now we shall sleep."
With Tharn wedged into a tree fork in a neighboring tree, Trakor was left to select his own couch. He made no move toward doing so, however, but continued to lay along that same branch watching the Ammadians. He wondered how Tharn was able to go so calmly to sleep when so much that was new and exciting was taking place. His own weariness was completely forgotten.
An hour passed. Most of the camp was sleeping now. Four guards were moving slowly about the circle of fires; these and a group of five or six warriors talking about the ashes of a cooking fire were the only exceptions. Dylara was sound asleep, wrapped in a bundle of borrowed furs and lying well away from the nearest Ammadian.
A planwas taking shape slowly in Trakor's active mind. Why couldn'therescue Dylara? This was his big chance to show Tharn how well he had profited by the cave lord's teachings. How proud his friend would be when he awakened to find Dylara beside him safe and sound, rescued by the stealth and daring of his protege!
The longer Trakor thought about it, the better it looked. Impatientlyhe glowered at the dawdling warriors about the last fire. Were they to sit there gossiping throughout the night? At any moment Tharn might awake and spoil the whole thing!
Good! That last group was breaking up. One of them went over to the side of the sleeping girl, bent and stared at her, then straightened and called something to his companions. There was a brief sound of coarse laughter, the warrior rejoined his fellows and all sought their sleeping furs.
Another hour inched by. It was an unusually quiet night. Only twice did Trakor hear the voices of the big cats and each time it was from a distance. The darkness was absolute except for the dying flames from the protecting circle of fire below. Heavy clouds, forerunners perhaps of the storm Tharn had forecast, obscured moon and stars.
Those four guards continued their casual pacing. Trakor, watching intently, observed something finally that served to crystallize his plans. At fairly regular intervals those four came together at a point well away from where Dylara lay. Each time they stood in a group for several moments while they exchanged pleasantries, breaking the monotony of standing guard.
With slow caution, lest he arouse Tharn, the young cave man slipped groundward. There he began a slow circling of the clearing, masked from the sentries by heavy foliage. When he reached a spot on a direct line from where Dylara lay, he gently lowered himself bellyflat in the ribbon of grasses between the forest and the protecting wall of fire and began to inch himself forward like a giant snake.
Luckily the grass was high enough to hide him. His greatest danger was that one of those experienced warriors might glimpse the manner in which the grass tops were swaying.
He was near enough now to feel the heat of flames. His heart was pounding mightily and his fingers seemed to be trembling as he dragged himself still closer. Did they tremble with fear, he asked himself? No; it was only excitement that caused him to react so—of this he was certain.
According to his calculations those four guards should be close to another of those brief meetings on the opposite side of the camp. Slowly he lifted his head until he could make out their, and his own, position.
He was a few seconds behind schedule: the four of them were already together and not quite as far away as he would have liked. But in his favor was the fact that he was much closer to where Dylara lay sleeping than he had expected to be.
There was no time for hesitation, no time to bolster his courage. Rising to his feet, his body bent into a deep crouch, Trakor sped with swift silence through a break in the fire wall. Beyond this, five hurried strides brought him beside the sleeping cave princess. He wasted no time in glancing around to learn if his daring move had been witnessed. He could feel the skin crawl at his back as he bent, shoved a fold of the girl's sleeping furs across her face to drown out any involuntary cry, and swung her up into his arms.
He wheeled to flee ... then froze in his tracks at sight of three spears leveled at his naked chest.
Thestifling folds of fur suddenly thrust forcibly against her face awakened Dylara from a sound sleep. So dazed was she by the sudden attack that her paralyzed muscles were unable to resist as she felt herself swung up into a crushing embrace.
Then her momentary inertia snapped and she was on the point of struggling to free herself when the strong arms about her abruptly relaxed their hold and she staggered free.
With her eyes uncovered once more she saw a young warrior of the caves—a youth no older than she—beside her. Straight and tall he stood, menaced by three spears in the hands of three Ammadian fighting men, his strong, handsome, intelligent face reflecting fierce pride and deep chagrin. About his shoulders were looped a heavy blackwood bow, a quiver of stone-tipped arrows and a long grass rope. A flint knife was thrust within the folds of a loin-cloth of panther skin.
He stood there, a barbaric figure, eyeing those three spearheads leveled at his broad chest—eyeing them with a kind of dignified contempt that so reminded Dylara of Tharn, greatest warrior of them all, that she felt quick tears spring to her eyes. How truly magnificent were the men of her own kind when compared with these underdeveloped, almost frail, Ammadians!
Now came Ekbar, captain of Vokal's guards, pushing his way roughly through the press of aroused warriors hemming in both captives. He shoved his tall, square-shouldered body in front of Trakor and took in the situation at a glance.
"Disarm him!" he barked.
Hands tore away bow, arrows, rope and knife. Ekbar moved closer, his deep-set gray eyes moved appraisingly over the youth's splendid frame, and the already surly cast to his countenance deepened under a scowl.
"So, barbarian," he thundered, "you sought to take your mate from us! Only a stupid cave beast would expect to outwit Ammad's warriors. By what name are you called?"
"Trakor," said the youth, his voice emotionless.
"Trakor, eh? Where lie the caves of your tribe?"
"I belong to no tribe."
Without warning, Ekbar brought up a calloused hand and struck the young Cro-Magnard across the face, staggering him. "Another of your lies," he snarled, "and I turn you over to my men as a spear target. Where are your caves?"
Trakor made no attempt to reply. An angry red welt marked his cheek where Ekbar's hand had landed. His eyes were gleaming like sun against ice, but nothing else in his face betrayed the fury and hatred boiling within him. Truly, Trakor had come a long way since that day when Tharn had saved him from Sadu.
"How many came here with you?" Ekbar demanded.
"I came alone."
"Is this girl your mate?"
"No. I have never seen her before."
"Do you expect us to believe you risked certain capture to steal from us a girl you never saw before?"
Trakor shrugged. "You asked me. I do not care whether you believe me."
Ekbar's scowl deepened as he turned to Dylara. "You said you were brought here by Jotan. Was this barbarian one of his slaves?"
Dylara shook her head. "No. Nor have I ever seen him before tonight."
The captain chewed his lip uncertainly. "It is very strange," he complained. "I think both of you are lying. Well, if there are others who hope to take you from us, they will get the same welcome!"
He motioned to two of his men. "Bind this cave beast's arms and legs. Put him and the girl together in the center of the camp and triple the guard. Vokal shall have two new slaves at least!"
Anhour later most of the Ammadian camp was asleep once more. A dozen guards now patrolled the site and the fires were high again with additional fuel.
Dylara lay on her side, covered with sleeping furs to keep out the chill ofdamp earth and night air. Only a few feet away lay Trakor, bound and helpless, his broad back turned to her exactly as they had left him.
It was a good-looking back, she admitted—not yet fully developed since its owner was still quite young, but it was well-formed and muscular nonetheless.
What, she wondered, was the real reason behind his attempt to take her from the Ammadians? Was he a member of some neighboring tribe? Had he come to spy on the men of Ammad, caught sight of her and tried to take her for himself?
She flushed a little at the thought. Not given to false modesty, Dylara knew she was very beautiful. But beauty, it seemed, could be more curse than blessing. It was that beauty which had led Tharn to take her by force from her own people; that beauty which had brought Jotan to her feet and caused him to take her with him on his return to Ammad. And now it appeared this handsome young cave warrior had been drawn into a lifetime of slavery by a single glimpse of her!
Yet she was woman enough to feel a little glow of pride at this tribute to her loveliness. He was young and very attractive—in many ways like Tharn, although his physical development was far short of the latter's.
The thought of Tharn brought an image of his mighty steel-thewed body and god-like face before her mind's eye. Where was he this night? Were his bones dotting the sandy surface of Sephar's arena while Nada, his mother, mourned? Or had he won through against hopeless odds and escaped to return to the caves of his people. She did not know, of course; perhaps she would never know....
Trakor rolled over to face her.
For a long moment the man and the woman stared deep into each other's eyes. Then the youth's lips parted in a slow smile, his strong regular teeth gleaming in the distant light of the fires.
"I am Trakor," he whispered. "You are Dylara!"
Open astonishment showed on her face. "How could you know that?"
She had spoken in her natural voice and alarm flickered in Trakor's eyes as they shifted to look about the silent camp. "Shhh!" he hissed. "Keep your voice down, else they hear and separate us."
Obeying, she said, "But how do you know my name?"
"Tharn told me."
"Tharn!" In spite of Trakor's warning, the word burst from her throat in a single loud exhalation. "But that is im——"
"Shhh!"
A sleepera yard or two away stirred and turned over, while Dylara and Trakor lay unmoving, hardly daring to breathe. Dylara felt her heart thumping wildly while a hundred mixed emotions seemed to be battling within her. Questions, many questions welled up and sought to force her lips apart. At last she could bear it no longer.
"He is alive?" she whispered. "Is he still in Sephar? When did you see him last? Did he send you to find me? How were you able to follow me here?"
Trakor was shaking his head, smiling. "Tharn did not send me. I came here with him. He is in one of the trees bordering this clearing!"
"Ohhh!" Dylara closed her eyes as a wave of weakness seemed to roll over her. Tharn is here! Tharn is here! Elation, thanksgiving and relief swelled her heart almost to the bursting point. No matter now that fifty Ammadians lay between her and the cave lord. Fifty times fifty of them could not prevail against the might and cunning of Tharn!
Suddenly a new thought cut sharply across the flood of elation. Whywas she so happy and thrilled to learn he had sought her out? Had not she, only a few suns ago, decided in favor of Jotan?
But Jotan was dead; the grinning Ekbar had told her so. Now, as then, she marveled at how little the news depressed her. Yet she had brooded many times over the thought that Tharn was dead....
She opened her eyes. "But why did he send you to take me? Has he been hurt?"
Trakor reddened. "It was my idea; I wanted to help him."
He told her the whole story then, how he had met Tharn, the debt he owed the cave lord, their hunt, together, for Dylara—everything. When he came to that part of his story detailing his ill-advised attempt to free Dylara, he stammered a little but got it all out.
Dylara was smiling as he finished. "It was very brave of you to try what you did. And although they caught you and have us both now, we need not worry. Tharn will take us from these people."
"I know that," Trakor said quietly. "It is only that he may think less of me for bungling things this way."
The girl shook her head. "You must know him better than that."
They fell silent as one of the guards sauntered in their direction during his routine inspection of the camp. Dylara, weary from her hours of jungle travel during the day before, fell asleep before the guard was at a safe distance for further conversation with Trakor.
When the youth saw she was sleeping, he lay there for a long time, staring at her loveliness and thinking bitter thoughts of his clumsiness in being taken captive. Tharn, he knew, would be unable to attempt a rescue with so many guards about; but tomorrow night the Ammadians, their suspicions lulled, would doubtless post no more than the usual number of sentries. To Tharn, four of the dull-witted Ammadians would be hardly any problem at all!
Shortlybefore dawn the men of Ammad were filling their bellies and preparing to break camp. When the line of march was being formed, Dylara and Trakor were separated—the girl being placed between two warriors midway along the column; while the young caveman, his arms bound firmly behind his back, was stationed well up toward the front. Ekbar strode back and forth along the line, making certain each man was in his appointed spot, inspecting Trakor's bonds, and cautioning those responsible for both prisoners.
Shortly before Dyta pulled his shining head above the eastern horizon of serrated tree tops, the Ammadian captain barked an order and the double line of warriors got under way.
By mid-morning both forest and jungle began to thin out as the path underfoot lost its level monotony and began to become a steep incline. The air seemed to grow steadily cooler and gradually all underbrush beneath the trees began to thin out, then disappear entirely, leaving an almost park-like appearance to the forest. Even the trees were further apart and more and more often there were stretches of grassland without any trees whatsoever.
Shortly after noon, Ekbar called a halt at the edge of a vast plain covered with a rich green species of grass which seemed to grow no higher than a man's ankles. Here and there on the gently undulating vista of grassland stood trees, usually no more than one or two together. To the south, nearly at the horizon, was a long dark line that Trakor at first took to be clouds but which, later, he was to learn was the beginning of another expanse of forest and jungle.
Food was distributed and eaten, an hour's rest period was announced, andthe Ammadians gathered their strength for the final stage of the journey. From remarks the two prisoners overheard they learned that Ammad lay half a day's march beyond that distant line of trees, and that every man in the group was anxious to put the city's strong walls between him and the hated jungle.
Trakor was beginning to worry. Crossing that vast plain during the heat of day was bound to be a trying experience, especially for the comparatively frail girl. But worse than that, Tharn was going to be placed at a disadvantage in following them. These Ammadians were not complete fools; they would keep a sharp lookout in all directions against possible attack from animals or men; for Tharn to attempt to follow them during daylight hours would mean certain detection. Still, even though the cave lord was forced to wait until darkness before venturing out into the open, he could easily overtake the Ammadians while they were camped for the night.
Allduring the long afternoon which followed, Trakor kept shooting brief glances over his shoulder toward the north, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of his friend. But other than a distant herd or two of grass-eaters, no sign of life appeared.
Night came while the column was still an hour's march from the last barrier of jungle between it and Ammad. At any moment Trakor expected to hear the captain call a halt.
That call never came. Instead the group pushed on until the trees were reached; a brief stop was made near the mouth of a wide trail at that point while gumwood branches were found and ignited, and once more the column took up the march.
After two hours of plodding along the winding game path, flames from the smoking torches casting eerie shadows among the thick foliage and heavy tree boles, Trakor could stand this uncertainty no longer.
"When," he said to the Ammadian warrior next to him, "are we to make camp for the night?"
The man gave him a sidelong glance and a crooked grimace of derision. "I thought you men of the caves were accustomed to walking long distances?"
"I can walk the best of you into the ground!" retorted Trakor. "But when night comes you usually stop and huddle behind fires lest the great cats get you."
The Ammadian scowled. "We are afraid of nothing! But only animals and uncivilized barbarians wander about the jungle at night. We are but a little way from Ammad; it would be senseless to spend a night in the open when the city is so close."
Trakor's heart sank. "Only a little way from Ammad!" The words beat against his mind like the voice of doom. Dylara and he were lost; Tharn could not save them now!
Yet hope did not leave him entirely. His boundless faith and admiration where the cave lord was concerned would not let it die. He caught himself glancing time and again at the low-swaying boughs overhead. Every flickering shadow from the torches was transformed into the lurking figure of his giant friend.
But as the hours passed and nothing happened those last faint glimmerings of hope began to fade and his spirits sank lower and lower.
Ahead of him, Dylara was going through much the same travail. She staggered often now from weariness; for she had been on her feet, except for that brief period at noon, since early morning and she lacked the strength and stamina of the others. She wondered, too, if Tharn would make an attempt at rescuing Trakor and her before Ammad was reached; but the memory of his fearless entrance into Sephar in search of her brought the thought that he might do the same thing this time.
Abruptlythe forest and jungle ended at open ground. Beyond a mile of open ground, flooded by Uda's silver rays, stood the towering stone walls of Ammad.
To the dazed, unbelieving eyes of Trakor it was like a scene from another and wonderful world. In either direction, as far as he could see, rose that sheer, massive man-made wall of gray stone, broken at wide, regular intervals by massive gates of wood. Far beyond the wall he could see mammoth structures of stone at the crest of five small hills. The sides of those hills were lined with other, and smaller buildings of the same material. Lights twinkled from breaks in their walls, an indication that, unlike the cave men, Ammadians did not spend most of the night hours asleep.
Dylara, accustomed to city walls and buildings of stone from her long stay in Sephar, was not so overcome by the scene. Still Ammad's size, even from the small part visible at this point, brought a gasp to her lips. She had thought Sephar wonderful beyond compare, but next to Ammad, it was hardly more than a frontier outpost.
A challenging voice rang out from the shadowy recess shielding the nearest gate and Ekbar's column ground to a halt. Three Ammadian soldiers, their white tunics gleaming under the moon's rays, moved toward them and Vokal's captain advanced to meet them.
After a brief discussion, the three warriors returned to their posts, the twin gates swung wide, Ekbar's command sounded and the column of fifty Ammadians, accompanied by the two prisoners, filed briskly through the opening.
Trakor, looking back over his shoulder, saw the twin gates move slowly, grindingly together, saw the reaches of distant jungle narrow, then disappear as those two sections of heavy planking ground firmly into place.
And in the dull, sodden thud of their meeting, the last flicker of hope was extinguished in Trakor's heart.
Itwas the hour of Jaltor's daily audience. The vast throne room was crowded with men and women from all walks of Ammadian life. Slaves, freedmen, merchants, traders, warriors and noblemen crowded that two-thirds of the room set aside for their use.
At the far end of the hall-like chamber, set off from the heavily crowded section by a line of stalwart guards armed with spears, stood a pyramid-shaped dais, its sides serrated into wide steps. At the flattened apex stood a richly carved, high-backed chair of dark wood. Here sat Jaltor, king of all Ammad, his tremendous, beautifully proportioned body seeming to dwarf not only the chair and its supporting dais but the entire room as well. He was bending forward slightly at the waist, his head turned slightly the better to hear the words a nobleman was droning into his ear. The shuffling of many feet, the buzz of many muted voices from beyond the line of guards formed a backdrop of sound against the message he was receiving.
Because of the ever-present possibility of assassination at the hand of some disgruntled commoner or a hired killer, only the noblemen of Ammad were allowed to pass that spear-bristling line of guards. As a result, the citizenry of the city was split into factions, each faction owing its allegiance to that nobleman situated in its district. The nobleman justifiedthe loyalty of his faction by protecting its members against criminals and vandals both within and without his district and by pleading their side of any dispute that could be settled only by Jaltor, head of the State.
Rivalry between noblemen was strong and usually bitter, although none of this ever appeared on the surface. A nobleman whose influence and power showed signs of weakening found his territory subjected to raids, his followers won away from him by threats and promises. With the loss of influence and power his wealth would dwindle, his guards and warriors would desert to other noblemen, until at last Jaltor must step in and elevate some favorite of his own, or some friend of another noble, into the victim's place.
Against a side wall of the teeming throne room, on this particular afternoon, stood Vokal, nobleman of Ammad. On his smooth, finely featured face was his accustomed air of dreamy disinterest in his surrounds, his soft gray hair was carefully arranged to point up its natural wave, his slender shapely arms were carelessly folded across the chest of his plain white tunic. There was no purple edging on that tunic now; in the palace of Jaltor only the king himself could display that color.
Beneath that serene exterior, however, was no serenity. Vokal was badly worried. Eleven suns had passed since the day word of Heglar's attempt to kill Jaltor had electrified all Ammad. Guards had hustled the old man roughly from the throne room—and from that moment on no one heard of him again.
But he should have been heard of! Four slaves of slaves—the lowest human element in Ammad—should have dragged his traitorous old body through Ammad's streets to be spat upon and reviled by loyal citizens.
And Garlud—what of Garlud? No one had seen him either since that day. Not that his absence caused much speculation—almost none in fact. It was not unusual for Ammad's noblemen to absent themselves from the city for days, even moons, on end. A hunting trip, a visit to friends in other of Ammad's cities—any of several explanations would have accounted for his disappearance.
Thetrue reason should have been his involvement in Heglar's plot to do away with Jaltor. But only Vokal of all Ammad's thousands could know that—and he had no business knowing it. Garlud's affairs were going on smoothly in his absence, in charge of the captain of his guards. By this time, if Vokal's plans had not miscarried, the silvery haired nobleman should have been summoned by Jaltor, told of Garlud's perfidy, and his holdings and position handed to him in view of Jotan's continued absence.
And then there was Rhoa—Heglar's young and beautiful wife ... and Vokal's mistress. He had not seen her since the day her husband had made the attempt on Jaltor's life. This was agreed upon between them for safety's sake; the understanding was that once Heglar's death was known, Vokal could court and win her in the usual manner.
But what had been foreseen as only two or three days of separation had lengthened into eleven and still no word of Heglar's fate. Long before this those thousand tals paid to Heglar should have come back into Vokal's hands, accompanied by Rhoa herself. Vokal was becoming increasingly uneasy about those missing tals; let enough time elapse before he could take Rhoa as mate and she might reconsider, refuse Vokal and keep the thousand tals for herself. There would be nothing he could do about it, either. To threaten her or use force could anger her into betraying him.... Vokal shuddered. Only this morningshe had sent word to him that she was tired of this uncertainty, that something must be done to learn what had happened to her husband.
Another thing: Ekbar and his men should have returned before this—returned with word that Jotan, Garlud's son, was dead and no longer in a position to step into his father's sandals as first ranking nobleman of Ammad. What was delaying the man?
Well, Vokal told himself doggedly, he could wait no longer. There were ways to get at the truth—ways that would not betray his interest in the matter. For instance, there was Sitab, an officer in Jaltor's own palace guard....
But first would come another plan at breaking that wall of silence. This same morning, Vokal had remembered a case involving a merchant whose shop was on the boundary line between Vokal's territory and the neighboring district belonging to Garlud. A moon or so before, one of Vokal's collectors had informed Ekbar that this merchant was claiming allegiance to Garlud, even though his shop was not in the latter's territory.
It was a minor matter and as a rule a nobleman did not complain to Jaltor about these single isolated cases. It was only when there was evidence of some systematic raid by a neighboring nobleman that a complaint was filed. Clearly Garlud had not ordered any such raid, but enough evidence was there at least to bring the matter to Jaltor's attention, thus making it necessary for Garlud to defend himself against the charge.
"Vokal—the noble Vokal." The cry of Jaltor's personal clerk rang out over the packed room. "Approach the Throne and present your plea."
With gentle courtesy Vokal pushed between the press of humanity, passed through the line of armed guards and mounted the steps of Jaltor's dais.
He bowed low before the giant ruler of Ammad. "Greetings, Most-High. Vokal, your loyal subject, begs permission to plead a grievance."
Jaltor gave him a warm and friendly smile. He had always liked Vokal; the nobleman's quiet manner and gentle courtliness were always welcome.
"It is unusual for the noble Vokal tohavea grievance," he said. "That in itself is in your favor. What is troubling you?"
"A matter of a boundary dispute involving a merchant in my territory. It seems he has been 'influenced' into transferring allegiance to another nobleman."
Jaltor nodded his understanding. "Have you been bothered by many such cases involving the same nobleman?"
"No, Most-High," Vokal said. "And I am quite sure Garlud knows nothing of this one. Perhaps one of his collectors is a bit—over zealous. By bringing the matter to Garlud's attention at this time, further incidents can be averted."
Nothingchanged in Jaltor's expression at mention of Garlud's name; Vokal was sure of that. He said, neither too quickly nor too slowly:
"I agree, noble Vokal: this must have happened without Garlud's knowledge. Unfortunately the matter can not be brought to his attention just now, but I shall see to it that he hears about it at the earliest possible moment."
It was an opening Vokal could not resist. "The noble Garlud is not in Ammad at present?"
"I believe not." Jaltor's voice and manner remained unchanged, but something flickered in his eyes—something Vokal did not miss.
"My deepest thanks to you, Most-High," he said with that gracious and gentle air for which he was noted.
"It is always a pleasure to talk with you, Vokal."
It was a dismissal and Vokal, bowing low, withdrew. As he crossed the huge throne-room toward the exit, his thoughts were sharp and incisive.
Something had happened to Garlud. Jaltor's eyes and the brevity of his answer to Vokal's question confirmed that. But what? And why was the nobleman's fate kept such a secret? Did Jaltor suspect Garlud of having accomplices other than old Heglar?
These were questions demanding quick and positive answers. First he must learn what had happened to the missing nobleman. If his death could be verified—and, of course, Heglar's as well—there was a way to make the information open to the public. That done, and Vokal would be free to move up in rank to a place second only to Jaltor himself—as well as being able to marry Rhoa and recover his thousand tals.
A great deal of careful thought must go into his next move. And so Vokal left the palace and returned to his home, where, in the quiet of his private apartment, he would be able to concentrate on these pressing problems.
Whenthe long hour of public audience was over, Jaltor returned to his quarters. His step was quick and purposeful and his dark eyes were alight with an inner excitement.
At the entrance to his apartment, the guard on duty there leaped to attention at his approach. To him Jaltor snapped, "Find Curzad at once and inform him I wish to see him immediately."
The guard saluted and went swiftly off along the corridor.
A clay jug of wine, cooling in a low basin of water on one of the tables of polished wood, caught the monarch's eye. Not bothering to use one of the several goblets standing nearby, Jaltor swung the jug to his lips and took a long, satisfying draught on the contents, wiped his lips on the back of a muscular forearm and began to pace the floor.
A light knock sounded at the door and Curzad, as iron-faced and reserved as ever, came into the room. He was in the act of closing the door behind him when Jaltor said, "Wait. Send the guard out there away. I don't want our conversation overheard, even by the most trustworthy of your men."
Curzad obeyed, then closed the door and came into the room, standing there stiff-backed, waiting further orders.
Jaltor jerked a thumb at a chair. "Sit down, my friend, and help yourself to the wine."
The captain of the palace guards let himself gingerly down into the luxurious depths of soft upholstery and reached for the wine jug and a goblet. Most of Ammad's noblemen would have lifted outraged eyebrows at such familiarity between the world's most powerful monarch and a mere warrior. But Curzad and Jaltor had fought side by side in many a battle and through many a campaign, and each honored and respected the other.
The tall broad-shouldered king dropped into a chair across from Curzad and took up jug and goblet. "Tell me, Curzad, how fares the noble Garlud?"
"As well as in the days he walked Ammad's streets a free man," the captain said in his deep calm voice. "As an old fighting-man, hardship affects him but little."
"Perhaps his cell is too comfortable," Jaltor said, his lips twitching slightly.
"There are no comfortable cells beneath your palace, Most-High. Garlud's least of all. He sits alone and in utter darkness, the only sounds the scurrying feet and squeaking voices of rats. Only the strong mind of a great warrior can endure suchfor very long without cracking."
"Are you suggesting I am too harsh with him?" Jaltor was openly smiling now.
"I am suggesting nothing to Ammad's king."
"It has been eleven suns since I sent my closest friend to languish in those pits," Jaltor said, smiling no longer. "Nor has it been easy for me, Curzad. But I must learn who, if not Garlud, was behind old Heglar's attempt on my life."
He tossed off the wine and put his goblet down on the table top. "Something happened today," he said, "that may be the first crack in this eleven-sun wall of silence. One of Ammad's noblemen brought up Garlud's name to me during the afternoon audience."
Someof the impassiveness in Curzad's expression slipped a little and his fingers whitened on the goblet's stem. He made a sound deep within his massive chest but said nothing.
"It may mean nothing, however," Jaltor went on, "for the way in which it came up was both necessary and natural. To make it even more likely to amount to nothing, the nobleman was Vokal—a man I have never hesitated to trust."
"Garlud once enjoyed a similar distinction," Curzad commented dryly.
Jaltor's eyes flashed. "Do you forget that Garlud was named by a man whose word had never been doubted?"
"I forget nothing, Most-High," was the quiet reply.
A moment's silence followed, then Jaltor said, "Well, a few more days, one way or the other, will not matter. If Vokal is the man we are looking for, he will make another attempt at learning Garlud's whereabouts. So far he is our only lead—other than old Heglar's beautiful mate, Rhoa. Twice she has come to me, asking what has happened to him, and both times I have refused to say. Oddly enough," he added thoughtfully, "she seemed more curious than worried."
"Perhaps it would be wise to have her watched."
The monarch gave a brief snort of laughter. "I am not completely a fool, my friend. Rhoa has been under constant surveillance since the day old Heglar died. Thus far her actions have been above suspicion."
Curzad's shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "Meanwhile," he said, "Garlud's son, Jotan, draws closer to Ammad. Any sun now he and his men may approach its gates."
"Which is one of the reasons I sent for you. Shortly before Dyta brings his light tomorrow, send fifty of your most trusted warriors to intercept and take captive Jotan and his men. Return them to Ammad under cover of darkness and confine them all in the pits. It might be wise to place Jotan in the cell next his father and a trusted warrior in a neighboring cell to listen in on their conversations."
"You'll never trick Garlud so easily."
"No man is perfect, Curzad," observed Jaltor, smiling grimly. "I intend to overlook no possibility in getting to the bottom of this matter."
OnceTharn was satisfied that the column of fifty Ammadians, with Dylara and Trakor in its midst, meant to cut directly across that wide expanse of sun-baked grasses, he set out on a circuitous course to pass them that he might be the first to reach the distant forest beyond. It meant covering a quarter again as much ground, but the advantage made this extra effort worth while.
As he moved across the prairie at a tireless trot, bitter thoughts filled his mind. Last night Dylara had beenalmost within arm's reach and it seemed his long search for her was on the point of ending. Caution, ever a strong attribute of jungle dwellers, had brought on his decision to wait until the camp was settled down for the night before he attempted to wrest her from the Ammadians who held her captive. Had the circumstances demanded it, Tharn would have unhesitatingly charged all fifty of those armed men; but only the inexperienced uses force where stealth will do.
And so Tharn had restrained his impatience, deciding to nap an hour or two while he waited. He had awakened to loud voices and had witnessed, in helpless rage, Ekbar's cross-examination of Trakor and Dylara. His first reaction was anger that Trakor had attempted a deed beyond his still limited prowess, but understanding came at once. It was in this fashion that the boy had sought to show his gratitude to Tharn, and in so doing had alerted the camp—and gotten himself captured in the bargain!
Thus by the impulsive act of a hero-worshiping boy had Tharn's original task become a double one—and doubly difficult to accomplish successfully.
At first he considered entering the camp after another hour or two, but with the trebling of the guard he gave up the idea—for the night at least. There would be other nights—nights when the number of guards would be normal and their behavior the same. Guards, it was well known, were apt to become heavy-eyed and less alert along toward dawn.
All during the following morning Tharn trailed the Ammadians. At first he did so from a position among the branches above them; but along toward mid-morning the trees began to thin out, as well as the undergrowth normally covering the ground between the giant boles, and he was forced to lag further and further behind. When the fifty men reached the prairie's edge and stopped to rest, he managed to work his way close enough to hear conversations among several of the men.
Their talk was filled with eagerness at being close to Ammad once more, and Tharn was aware of a feeling of sharp disappointment. Was it possible this group would reach the city before nightfall? If that were true, his chances of freeing Dylara and Trakor were small indeed.
An hour later Tharn was standing in the shelter of a large tree, his eyes regretfully watching as the entire party forged across that broad stretch of open ground where he might not follow.
Two hours before sunset Tharn reached the wall of jungle and trees. The column of Ammadians were still far out in the grasslands and would need another three hours to reach the game trail where Tharn was standing. The cave lord decided to spend that time in reconnoitering. There was the possibility that Ammad itself lay not too deep within the forest to make it worthwhile for the approaching column to continue its march even after darkness fell.
It was as he had feared. Less than an hour's swift progress through the forest's upper terraces brought him to the edge of a vast clearing, much like the one surrounding Sephar, beyond which rose sheer grey walls of stone. From his elevated position he could see beyond that barrier, and he saw that, except for its far greater size and magnificence, Ammad was not much different from Sephar. But in size alone did Ammad make Sephar seem a small jungle clearing by comparison. In diameter it was at least ten miles and there were five small hills grouped near its center, at the apex of each a magnificent structure. The general layout of streets was much the same as he had found in Sephar, but there were more people on them.
Fornearly an hour Tharn sat high among the concealing foliage of his tree and watched the scene below and before him. Hunting parties well laden with trophies of the hunt entered the clearing from the trail beneath him and the great gates of wood, guarded by Ammadian warriors, swung open to let them through the massive wall. It was a wall much higher and stronger than Sephar had boasted and getting past it was going to take some doing.
Tharn shrugged and turned back to pick up those who were holding Dylara and Trakor. Perhaps, he thought as he moved swiftly along the aerial highway, it would not be necessary for him to pass those walls. Even if those fifty Ammadians did not make camp for tonight, he might still find a way to rob them of their captives. Let them lower their guard for even a moment, let them become only a little careless—and their hands would be empty before their minds had caught up with their eyes!
He arrived at the prairie's edge only a few moments before Ekbar and his men reached the game trail's mouth. Tharn, narrow-eyed and alert, watched them halt and gather gumwood torches, saw these latter ignited and the march resumed. It was as he had feared: they intended to press on until Ammad's walls hemmed them safely in.
Even Tharn's iron-willed reserve broke a little at this last blow. Through the velvety darkness of a semi-tropical night he moved stealthily above them, his fangs bared slightly, his hand hovering often near his blackwood bow and the quiver of arrows.
Several times he saw Trakor's upturned face as the youth sought to pierce the wavering shadows cast by the flaming shadows. He knew well what was passing through Trakor's mind and, despite his own disappointment, he smiled a little. Let the headstrong cave youth worry a little; it would be small payment indeed for the trouble he had caused!
But most often Tharn's eyes went to Dylara. He saw her stagger now and then from sheer physical exhaustion and his heart went out to her. How he would have loved to wrest her from that spear-bristling line of warriors! There was no way to do that, however. A barrage of arrows could have cleared away those men directly around her, but a rope about her wrist had its other end bound about the arm of the man beside her; and even had Tharn leaped down on the heels of his arrows to slash away that rope spears might fell either or both of them.
No, for all his giant strength and agility he was as helpless to aid the girl of his choice as though miles lay between them.
Finally the time came when Tharn realized Ammad was only a short distance ahead. He must resign himself to the unescapable fact that Dylara and Trakor were going to be taken beyond those walls whether he liked the idea or not. This meant his energies and cunning must be diverted to a different channel; and with this in mind the cave lord halted on a broad leafy branch above the column, waiting while the twin lines moved ahead at a snail's pace.
A pair of tall husky Ammadian warriors were last in line. One of them carried a blazing torch, the other had a heavy pack about his shoulders. They plodded along, weariness evident in the lines of bent shoulders and dragging feet. The one with the pack seemed especially tired and every fifty or sixty feet he would pause momentarily to shift his burden to a new position. Each time this happened the distance between him and his companion became a matter of ten or fifteen feet until, pack adjusted, the man hurried forward to join his unheeding partner.
A wry smile touched Tharn's firm lips. With uncanny ease he slipped to the ground and moved silently along behind the wall of undergrowth flanking the trail, his course parallel with the column's rear guard.
A bendin the path was coming up. Already most of the column had made the turn and was out of sight. Quickly Tharn raced ahead until he was at a point no more than ten feet from the turn. Crouching here, concealed by a maze of creepers and brush, he picked up a short length of dead branch and waited.
As the last two Ammadians reached a position directly opposite to the crouching cave lord, Tharn thrust out the branch two or three inches above the path's surface and squarely between the legs of the pack bearer.
The man's swinging foot struck against the unyielding wood and, weighted by the heavy pack and weary from the long hours without rest, he stumbled and fell headlong.
His companion, aroused by the thump of a falling body and a string of curses rising on the night air, turned back and bent to help him up.
"What happened, Posak?"
"What does it look like? Do you think I decided to lie down and rest awhile?"
Still muttering under his breath Posak got shakily to his feet and turned his back on his companion to pick up the heavy pack. When he turned back again, his amazed eyes beheld his friend face down and motionless in the trail and the mightily muscled figure of an almost naked cave man standing over him and holding the torch.
Posak opened his mouth to yell a warning to the others of the column. The cry was never voiced. An iron fist swept from nowhere to crash full against the point of his chin. There was a sharp brittle sound like a branch breaking and Posak sank lifelessly to the ground, his neck snapped cleanly in two.
Quickly Tharn propped the torch of gumwood against a tree bole and dragged the two corpses into the brush. With rapid care he stripped tunic and sandals from one body and donned them. The tunic he found to be tight across his chest but still adequate; the sandals fitted him perfectly.
So quickly had the cave lord acted that by the time he caught up the torch and rounded the bend in the trail, the end of Ekbar's column was no more than a dozen yards away. No one seemed to be looking back of his shoulder in search of the missing pair, a fact probably explained by the sight of open ground directly ahead.
Blazing torch held high, thus leaving his face shadowed, Tharn moved easily along at the rear of the column of Ammadians, across the ribbon of open ground about Ammad's walls, and on through the city gates.
Vokalawakened under the touch of gentle but insistent fingers against his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find one of his personal slaves, a lighted candle in one hand, bending over him.
"What do you want, Adgal?" he demanded, scowling.
"Ekbar has returned, Most-High," the slave replied, cringing. "I told him you were sleeping but he demanded that I arouse you at once."
The nobleman bounded from the bed and caught up his tunic. "Where is he?"
"In the outer chamber, Most-High."
"Good. Tell him I'll be out immediately."
When Vokal entered the wide living room he found the captain of his guards standing at rigid attention just inside the door. The nobleman, his tunic fresh and unwrinkled, histhick grey hair as smoothly brushed as though this were midday instead of the dead of night, strolled to a nearby table, poured out a single glass of wine and sank into a chair. His thin shapely fingers lifted the goblet slowly to his lips, he sipped the liquid as slowly, savoring its bouquet. Finally he put down the goblet and swung his dreamy-eyed gaze to the uncomfortable and self-conscious captain of the guards.
"Well, Ekbar?" he said softly.
"He is dead, Most-High."
"Indeed? You took care of the matter yourself?"
"No, Most-High. He was killed many suns before my men and I came upon his men. Sadu, the lion, slew him."
Vokal stiffened slightly. "How do you know this?"
Ekbar retold, in detail, the story given him by Tykol. For several minutes after he finished Vokal sat there and thought it over while he sipped from his goblet of wine. "... You are sure he was not lying?"
"Yes, Most-High. There were but thirty-seven of them, where once there was fifty, and many wore strips of cloth over wounds left by Sadu's claws. Scouts who knew Jotan by sight reported he was not with the column." He hesitated. "One part of their report I did not understand, however, although it probably is not important."
"Tell it to me."
Ekbar shrugged. "There was a woman with them—a young and very beautiful girl. The scouts say she was very lovely—dark-haired, a pleasing figure and clearly the daughter of some nobleman."
"Why did you not ask this Tykol who she was?"
"I learned about her the following day. By that time Tykol was dead."
Vokal nodded. "The balance of Jotan's men were not aware of being watched?"
"No, Most-High. I took pains to keep that from them. Since Jotan's earlier death was something we had not foreseen, I acted as I thought you would order. Since Jotan is not with them it would be better that they reached Ammad and told of his death under the fangs and claws of Sadu."
"You have acted wisely, Ekbar, and I shall not forget it."
The captain flushed with pleasure. He said, "We did not return empty-handed, noble Vokal. Two cave people fell into our hands—one of them a beautiful young woman who told us some wild story about being Jotan's intended mate."
At Vokal's look of languid interest, Ekbar repeated the story Dylara had told him.
"And you say," Vokal said when the captain finished, "that this cave girl is very beautiful?"
"There is none in all Ammad who is more lovely," Ekbar said, his deep-set eyes glittering.
"How interesting!" Vokal leaned back in his chair, his long, well-kept fingers toying with the stem of his wine goblet. "Where is she now?"
"Both she and the cave man we captured a little later are under guard in the outer corridor, Most-High. I thought you might wish to look them over before they were placed with the other slaves."
"Bring them in, my good Ekbar," murmured Vokal.
Thecaptain saluted stiffly and withdrew. A moment later he was back again followed by the two captives and a second guard.
For several moments the nobleman let his eyes move slowly over the two cave people. The man, he saw, was, despite his youth, a remarkable physical specimen, extraordinarily handsome and evidently intelligent and keen-witted as so many of the cave dwellers were. With the proper attitude toward his new master it wouldnot be long before he rose to the status of a warrior and an end to his position as slave. Judging from the flashing eyes and his air of insolent contempt, it would take a few days of iron-fisted discipline, however, to make him amenable. Well, Ekbar was a past master of that art.
The girl, though, was another matter entirely. Ekbar had not exaggerated in naming her more beautiful than any of Ammad's women—including those of noble birth. Despite her travel-worn tunic and the weariness evident in every line of face and figure, her beauty shone through like Dyta's brilliant rays. A man could lose his heart in that red-gold wealth of softly curling hair falling to her shoulders; he could drown in the depths of those sparkling brown eyes. He smiled a little at these thoughts. What would Rhoa, dark-haired, olive-skinned, beautiful and passionate, think if she knew he was having such thoughts about a wild girl of the caves?
Well, Rhoa need not know. Most noblemen had beautiful slave girls and most noblemen's wives ignored the fact....
Dylara bore his steady gaze with calm indifference. The enforced association with the men of Ammad during the past several moons had taught her a great deal about them; that, plus a native shrewdness, told her she could expect little sympathy and no help from this silver-haired, languid-eyed man whose property she now appeared to be.
"Your name, cave girl?"
The soft, almost caressing voice repelled her. There was something ugly and evil behind it—a reflection of the man's true personality.
She met his gaze unflinching. "I am Dylara."
"What is this wild story you told the captain of my guards—the story that you were the noble Jotan's mate?"
"I was never his mate. I am no man's mate."
"But he wanted you. Why, then, did he not take you?"
"Because, in spite of his being an Ammadian, Jotan was a true nobleman. He sought to win me with kindness and consideration instead of taking me by force."
Deliberately Vokal let his eyes wander over the beautiful lines of her figure. "From your tone I judge that you do not believe all Ammadians would be so considerate. From looking at you I would say he was more stupid than anything else...."
"However, that is no longer important. Jotan is dead—and you now belong to me—to do with as I see fit. You may be sure I will not confuse consideration with stupidity!"
There was no mistaking his meaning. Dylara felt her cheeks burn, but before she could voice the angry retort trembling on her lips, Vokal turned his eyes to the silent and expressionless Ekbar.
"Confine the girl in one of the private rooms in the slave quarters," he said. "As for her companion, put him in with those slaves who work on the palace grounds. Keep me informed as to his general attitude. If he gives you any trouble, have him beaten until he becomes tractable."
Oncepast Ammad's walls. Tharn permitted the rest of Ekbar's column to draw gradually away from him until, to the eye of the casual passerby, he was not a part of that body but only a solitary warrior abroad on some affair of his own.
He would have liked nothing better than to continue on with the column until it passed through the walls of whatever estate they were headed for. But already his luck had held up far beyond what he had originally expected; to remain longer with Ekbar's warriors would have meant risking almost certain discovery that he wasnot one of its original members.
He must keep the column in sight, however, until it reached its goal. Once he knew which of these stone walled estates was to swallow up Dylara and Trakor he would be free to enter in his own way and undertake their rescue.
At this late hour Ammad's streets were nearly deserted. An occasional solitary figure strode along with purposeful steps, and twice small groups of men, staggering and loud-mouthed from too much wine, blundered and weaved along the paved thoroughfares. On these latter occasions Tharn was careful to cross the street to avoid contact, for drunken men were notoriously unpredictable.
At last Ekbar's column ground to a halt outside a wide gate in a high wall of stone midway along one of the streets. Twin lanterns burned from a niche above those gates, their rays glinting on the spear points of four armed guards stationed there.
From the shadows of a wall across the street, Tharn watched as Ekbar held a brief conversation with those four sentries; then the gates swung wide and the column, Dylara and Trakor among its members, disappeared from view.
Tharn voiced a low grunt of approval and satisfaction. Somewhere within the huge sprawling building of four floors looming massively against the night sky was the girl he loved and the young man he had befriended. Within another hour the dwellers of that cliff-like dwelling would have finished welcoming the returning warriors and be back in their beds. Then would Tharn enter in search of their captives.
Inthe interim a general reconnaissance seemed in order. The palace sat squarely atop one of Ammad's low hills amid wide grounds. Here and there behind the encircling wall a tree lifted its crested top, the night's gentle wind stirring its leaves and branches.
Making certain his bow, quiver of arrows, grass rope and flint knife were in their accustomed places, Tharn set out for a leisurely stroll. For several hundred yards the street he followed lay unbroken by any intersecting avenue and in all that length the only life in sight was the group of four guards lounging outside that wide gateway which had swallowed up Dylara and Trakor.
When he reached a position directly opposite those four Tharn was aware that all of them were watching him from across the strip of paving that made up the street itself. At any moment he might be challenged and ordered to a halt.
But the challenge did not come and he passed casually on along the walk. They were behind him now and, unless he turned his head to look back, out of range of his eyes. His ears, however, were busy and soon they caught the sound of voices.
An intersection appeared ahead and unhesitatingly the cave lord cut diagonally across it and moved out of sight of the four sentries. If he expected to find this section of the wall unguarded, however, he was doomed to disappointment. Half way down the block a single lantern sent out feeble rays from a small niche directly above a single gate—a gate guarded by a patrolling sentry.
Because of the comparative narrowness of this street and the high walls on either side, heavy shadows left it in almost total darkness. Tharn, across the street and still a good hundred and fifty yards away, had not yet been observed by that lone sentry.
He might, Tharn realized, be able to pass the man once without arousing undue interest or suspicion. But should he attempt to retrace his steps later on the guard would be almost certain to take some sort of action.It was not that Tharn would be unable to handle the matter if that should happen, but there was always the possibility that others might be aroused by a warning cry.
Stooping, Tharn removed his sandals and, hugging the wall where shadows lay deepest, began a slow, careful advance.
Thirty paces the guard took in each direction before executing a brisk about face and retracing his steps. The leather soles of his sandals made crisp clear rhythmical sounds against the stone underfoot. Each time his measured pacing brought him toward Tharn, the cave lord remained frozen, hugging the wall; when he wheeled and started back Tharn raced lightly ahead, even while he counted off each step the sentry took. On the twenty-ninth pace Tharn would freeze again, then repeat the maneuver.
Finally the man of the caves reached the point where he dared go no further. He was still fifty or sixty feet down the street and another fifteen feet to one side. Hardly daring to breathe, he stood as motionless as the wall at his back until the man finished the routine of thirty paces toward him; then, as he wheeled and started back, Tharn unslipped his bow with unthinkable swiftness, fitted an arrow to its string. Mighty muscles rippled smoothly across that bronzed back as a steady hand bent the stubborn wood, a single musical "twang" sounded against the still air and flint-tipped death flickered for an immeasurable instant between the two men.
True to its target flew Tharn's arrow, the sharp point striking squarely at the juncture of neck and the skull's base. Wide flew the sentry's arms and he fell soundlessly in a crumpled heap, the spear still tightly clutched in one dead hand.
Even while the body was still falling Tharn was bounding toward the now unguarded gate. Unbarring it, he drew the lifeless warrior out of sight beyond, then closed the gate with his back.
Hereat the wall's base was darkness, but a few steps beyond was a moonfilled clearing dotted with carefully spaced bushes and an occasional tree. A curving path of crushed rock led across cropped grass and ended at a wide door of the palace itself.
Although the hour Tharn had alloted himself before entering the palace was not up, there were no signs of life anywhere about the grounds, nor did man-made light gleam through any of the windows on this side of the building. Yet uppermost in Tharn's mind was that sense of caution when caution was possible, and he decided to wait for a while before entering the palace itself.
With a quick soundless rush he crossed the stretch of greensward between him and the nearest tree. A single agile leap took him among its branches and, finding a comfortable fork, he settled himself to wait.
Unexpectedly, it proved a wise move. Hardly was he at rest when a group of six guards, their spear-points and white tunics sharp and clear in the light of Uda, the moon, rounded a far corner of the building.
At first Tharn thought some one had sighted him entering the grounds and given an alarm. He abandoned the idea immediately, however, for the actions and general attitude of the six indicated this was no more than a routine patrol. Evidently Ammad's nobleman had many enemies....
In a way Tharn's choice of a point to break into this palace was an unfortunate one. He would have preferred to enter on the side where Uda's rays did not reach. But four guards instead of one were stationed at that gate and an attempt to pass them would have been foolhardy at best.
Now, indeed, he must wait—wait until he could learn how much time would elapse between appearances of those six guards. He settled himself firmly into the branch's fork, using this period of enforced idleness by attempting to locate some means of ingress in that section of palace wall visible to him.
All windows of the first two floors appeared to be guarded by slender columns of stone. He had seen such forms of protection on some of Sephar's structures and he knew that even his own great strength would be unable to force them.
The windows of the top two floors were shielded only by drapes of soft material, with here and there a balcony dotting the white stone surface. Could he but reach one of the former, entry would be simple. But nowhere on the smooth sheer surface could he make out hand- and foot-holds for that purpose.
Half an hour dragged by. Nobody passed by, no light showed at any of the windows, no sound broke the tomb-like silence. He wondered at the failure of the six-man patrol to appear a second time.
Well, he could not remain in this leafy retreat forever. With a slight shrug of his giant shoulders, Tharn descended to the lower branches, took a long and cautious look around, his ears and nose alert for some sign of life. Nothing.
Dropping to the ground, the cave lord ran lightly toward that corner of the palace around which those six guards had disappeared more than half an hour before. He was within feet of his goal when a sudden chorus of shrill cries from behind him broke the silence.
A single glance over his shoulder told him the story. The ground patrol had chosen this particular moment to reappear!
OnceDylara had been thrust not ungently within a room off a fourth floor corridor and its door barred from the outside, Trakor was turned over to a single guard to be taken to one of the slave dormitories. From the cave youth's appearance of utter hopelessness, the dispirited droop of his shoulders, it was clear all fight had gone out of him since Ammad's gates had closed at his back. He shuffled wearily along the hall ahead of his yawning guard, down a flight of stairs to the third level and along a lengthy corridor, lined with doors and completely deserted at this hour.
At the corridor's far end loomed two massive doors, heavily barred. While Trakor stood passively by, head hanging listlessly, the Ammadian put down his spear and reached with both hands to lift free the broad bar. In so doing he momentarily turned his back to the cave youth—and that momentary lapse spelled his doom.
Steel fingers closed about his throat, a naked leg tripped him up and he was flat on his back before his lips opened to a cry that was never uttered. Blindly the guard sought to reach the knife at his belt; but Trakor, anticipating this, ground a knee into that wrist.
The man's heels hammered spasmodically against the stone in mute agony and fear and his by no means weak body thrashed and bucked. But those fingers only tightened their hold.
Trakor, his face only inches from that of the enemy, saw those fear-filled eyes start from their sockets, saw lips and cheeks turn dark with constricted blood, felt the broad chest beneath his rise and fall wildly as the lungs fought for air.
For several minutes after the Ammadian warrior lay limp and still beneath him Trakor kept his fingers buried in that lifeless throat. Finally he rose shakily to his feet and lookeddown upon the body of his first kill. Exultation filled him, and pride—and a strange sense of sadness....