Sadu, the lion, rounding a bend in the trail, came to an abrupt halt as his eyes fell on the carcass of Bana lying across the path a few yards ahead.
An idle breeze ruffled his heavy mane as he stood there, one great paw half-lifted as though caught in mid-stride. Then, very slowly, impelled solely by curiosity, he moved toward the dead animal.
Suddenly something stirred beyond the bulk of the deer. Sadu froze to immobility again as the dusty blood-stained figure of a half-naked man got to an upright position and faced him.
For a full minute the man and the lion stared woodenly into each other's eyes, across a space of hardly more than a dozen paces.
Sadu's principal emotion was puzzled uncertainty. There was nothing of menace in the attitude of this two-legged creature; neither did it show any indication of being alarmed. Experience had taught the lion to expect one or the other of those reactions upon such meetings as this, and the absence of either was responsible for his own indecision.
As for Tharn, he was experiencing difficulty in seeing clearly. The figure of the giant cat seemed to shimmer in the sunlight; to expand awesomely, then contract almost to nothing. A whirlpool of roaring pain sucked at his mind, drawing the strength from every muscle of his body.
Tharn realized the moment was fast approaching when either he or Sadu must make some move. If the lion's decision was to attack, the empty-handed cave-man would prove easy prey.
Almost at Tharn's feet lay his heavy war-spear. To stoop to retrieve it might precipitate an immediate charge. But that might come anyway, he reasoned, catching him without means of defence.
What followed required only seconds. Tharn crouched, caught up the flint-tipped weapon, and straightened—all in one supple motion. Sadu slid back on his haunches, reared up with fore-legs extended, gave one mighty roar—then turned and in wild flight vanished into the jungle!
It required the better part of an hour for the cave lord to hack a supply of meat from Bana's flank and cache it in a high fork of the nearest tree. The blow from a Sepharian war-club had resulted in a nasty concussion and the constant waves of dizziness and nausea made his movements slow and uncertain.
For two full days he lay on a rude platform of branches in that tree, most of the time in semi-stupor. Twice in that time he risked descent for water from the nearby river.
It was not until morning of the third day that he awoke comparatively clear-headed. For a little while he raced through the branches of neighboring trees, testing the extent of his recovery. And when he discovered that, beyond a dull ache in one side of his head, he was himself once more, he ate the remainder of his stock of deer meat and came down to the trail to pick up the two-day-spoor of Dylara's captors.
That those who had struck him down had also taken his intended mate, Tharn never doubted. She—and he!—had been too well ambushed for escape. What her fate would be after capture depended upon the identity of her abductors.
But when Tharn had picked up those traces not obliterated by the movements of jungle denizens during the two days, he was as much in the dark as before. Never in his own considerable experience had he come upon the prints of sandals before this; nor had he known of a tribe who wore coverings on their feet.
He shrugged. After all,whohad taken Dylara was beside the point. She had been taken; and he must follow, to rescue her if she were still alive—for vengeance if they had slain her.
By noon of the next day Tharn was drawing himself up to the edge of the tableland at almost the same spot from whence Dylara had her first glimpse of Sephar. And when he rose to his feet and saw the city of stone and its great circular wall, he was no less electrified than the girl had been. He, however, felt no dread at the prospect of entering; indeed, his adventurous blood urged him to waste no time in doing so.
As he raced through the trees toward Sephar, his thoughts were of Dylara. Reason insisted that she still lived—a captive behind that grim stone wall. He knew, now, that his love for her was no temporary madness, but an emotion that would rule his life until death claimed him. Her proud, slender figure with its scanty covering of panther skin rose unbidden before him, and he felt a sudden uncomfortable tightness where ribs and belly met. Love was teaching Tharn of other aches than physical bruises....
It was mid-afternoon when he reached the forest's edge nearest to Sephar. Several hundred yards of level open ground lay between the trees and the mighty wall, which evidently encircled the entire city.
From where he crouched on a strong branch high above the ground, he saw two wide gateways not more than fifty yards apart, both of them guarded by parties of armed men. His keen eyes picked out details of their figures and clothing, both of which excited his keenest interest. With its entrances so closely guarded it would be folly to approach closer during the day. While impatient to reach Dylara's side, he was quite aware that any attempt at rescue now would doubtless cost him his own freedom, if not his life, thereby taking from the girl her only hope of escape. He must wait for night to come, hoping the guards would then be withdrawn.
Reminded that he had not eaten since early morning, Tharn swung back through the trees in search of meat. The plains of this valley appeared to abound with grass-eaters; and not long after, a wild horse fell before his careful stalking. Squatting on the body of his kill, he gorged himself on raw flesh, unwilling to chance some unfriendly eye noticing smoke from a fire.
His appetite cared for, the cave-man bathed in the waters of a small stream. He then knelt on the bank, and using the water as a mirror, cut the sprouting beard from his face by means of a small, very sharp bit of flint taken from a pouch of his loin-cloth. Comfort, rather than vanity, was responsible; a bearded face increased the discomfort of a tropical day.
The sun was low in the west by the time he had returned to his former vantage point, and shortly afterward the heavy wooden gates were pulled shut by their guards, who then withdrew into the city.
Now, the grounds about Sephar were deserted, and soon the sun slipped behind the far horizon. Swiftly twilight gave way to darkness, and stars began to glow softly against the bosom of a clear semi-tropical night.
Two hours—three—went by and still Tharn did not leave his station. Somewhere below him an unidentified animal crashed noisily through the thick undergrowth and moved deeper into the black shadows. Far back in the forest a panther screamed shrilly once and was still; to be answered promptly by the thunderous challenge of Sadu, the lion.
Finally the giant white man rose to his feet on the swaying branch and leisurely stretched. Silently and swiftly he slipped to the ground. He paused there for a moment, ears and nose alert for an indication of danger, then set out across the level field toward the towering wall of Sephar—enigmatic city of mystery and peril.
After Vulcar had led the captive cave-girl from the dining room, a general discussion sprang up. Any reference to the cave people, however, was carefully avoided; the subject, for some reason that nobody quite understood, seemed suddenly taboo.
While the others were rapidly drinking themselves into a drunken stupor, Jotan sat as one apart, head bowed in thought. He found it impossible to dismiss the impression given him by the half-naked girl of the caves. She was so different from the usual girl with whom he came in contact—more vital, more alive. There was nothing fragile or clinging about her. He could not help but compare that fine, healthy, well-rounded figure with the pallid, artificial women of his acquaintance. Her clean sparkling eyes, clear tanned skin and graceful posture made those others seem dull and uninviting.
"Jotan!"
The visitor came back to his surroundings with a start.
Urim, his round face flushed from much wine, had called his name.
"Come, man," he laughed, "of what do you dream? A girl in far-off Ammad, perhaps?"
Jotan reddened, but replied calmly enough, "No, my king; no flower ofAmmadholds my heart."
The faint stress he placed on the name of his own country passed unnoticed by all except Alurna.
"'Of Ammad,' you say, Jotan," she cut in. "Perhaps so soon you have found love here in Sephar."
The remark struck too close to home for the man's comfort.
"You read strange meanings in my words, my princess," he said evasively; then suddenly he thrust back his bench and arose.
"O Urim," he said, "my friends and I would like to look about Sephar. Also, if you will have someone show us the quarters we are to use during our visit...."
"Of course," Urim agreed heartily. "The captain of my own guards shall act as your guide."
Vulcar was sent for. When he arrived, Urim bade him heed every wish the three guests might express.
As they passed from the palace into the street beyond, Tamar said softly:
"Whatever possessed you, Jotan, to say such things where others could hear you? A noble of Ammad, raving about some half-clad barbarian girl! What must they think of you!"
Jotan was mid-way between laughter and anger. Tamar's reaction had been so typical, however, that he checked an angry retort. Tamar was so completely the snob, so entirely conscious of class distinction, that his present attitude was not surprising.
"It might be interesting," he admitted.
Tamar was puzzled. "What might?"
"To know what they think."
Tamar sniffed audibly, and moved away to join Javan.
They spent the balance of the afternoon walking about Sephar's streets, viewing the sights. Shortly before dusk Vulcar led them to their quarters in a large building near the juncture of two streets—a building with square windows barred by slender columns of stone. Slaves brought food; and after the three men had eaten, the room was cleared that they might sleep.
Jotan yawned. "Even my bones are weary," he said. "I'm going to bed."
Tamar stood up abruptly. He had been silently rehearsing a certain speech all afternoon, and he was determined to have his say.
"Wait, Jotan," he said. "I'd like to talk to you, first."
Jotan looked at his friend with mock surprise. He knew perfectly well what was coming, and he rather welcomed this opportunity to declare himself and, later, to enlist the aid of his friends.
Javan was regarding them with mild amazement on his good-natured, rather stupid face. He was the least aggressive of the three, usually content to follow the lead of the others.
"All right," Jotan said. "I'm listening."
"I suppose the whole thing doesn't really amount to much." Tamar forced a laugh. "But I think it was wrong for you to carry on the way you did over that cave-girl today. Only the God knows what the nobles of Sephar, and Urim and his daughter, thought of your remarks. Why, anyone would have thought you had fallen in love with the girl!"
Jotan smiled—a slow, easy smile. "I have!" he said.
Tamar stiffened as though he had been struck. His face darkened. "No! Jotan, do you know what you're saying? A naked wild creature in an animal skin! You talk like a fool!
"Javan!" He whirled on the silent one. "Javan, are you going to sit there and let this happen? Help me reason with this madman."
Javan sat with mouth agape. "But I—why—what—"
Jotan leaned back and sighed. "Listen, Tamar," he said placatingly. "We have been friends too long to quarrel over my taste in choosing a mate. Tomorrow I shall ask Urim for the girl."
"Yourmate? I might have known it." In his agitation Tamar began to pace the floor. "We should have stayed in Ammad. I have a good mind to go to Urim and plead with him not to give her to you."
"You shall do nothing of the kind, Tamar," Jotan said quietly. He was no longer smiling. "I will not permit you to interfere in this. This girl is to be my mate. You, as my friend, will help me."
Tamar snorted. "When our friends see her, see her as the mate of noble Jotan, you will wish that Ihadinterfered. A dirty half-wild savage! You will be laughed at, my friend, and the ridicule will soon end your infatuation."
Jotan looked at him with level eyes. "You've said enough, Tamar. Understand this: Tomorrow I shall ask Urim for the cave girl. Now I am going to sleep."
Tamar shrugged and silently turned away. Amidst a deep silence the three men spread their sleeping-furs, extinguished the candles and turned in.
As Tharn neared Sephar's outer wall, Uda, the moon, pushed her shining edge above the trees, causing the Cro-Magnon to increase his pace lest he be seen by some observer from within the city.
He reached the dense shadows of the wall directly in front of one mighty gateway, its barrier of heavy planks seemingly as solid as the stone wall on either side.
Tharn pressed an ear to a crack of the wood. He could hear nothing from beyond. Bending slightly forward, he dug his bare feet into the ground, placed one broad shoulder against the rough surface, and pushed. At first the pressure was gentle; but when the gate did not give, he gradually increased the force until all his superhuman strength strove to loosen the barrier.
But the stubborn wood refused to give way, and Tharn realized he must find another means of entry.
A single glance was enough to convince him that the rim of the wall was beyond leaping distance. It was beginning to dawn on the cave-man that getting into this strange lair was not to be so easy as he had at first expected.
He concluded finally that there was nothing left to do but circle the entire wall in hopes that some way to enter would show itself. Perhaps one of the several gates would have been left carelessly ajar, although he was not trusting enough to have much faith in that possibility.
After covering possibly half a mile, and testing two other gateways without success, his sharp gray eyes spied a broken timber near the top of the wall directly above one of the gates. An end of the plank protruded a foot beyond the sheer surface of rock.
Tharn grinned. Those within might as well have left the gate itself open. Drawing the grass rope from his shoulders, he formed a slip knot at one end, and with his first effort managed to cast the loop about the jagged bit of wood. This done, it was a simple matter to draw himself up to the timber. There he paused to restore the rope about his shoulders, then he cautiously poked his head over the wall and peered into the strange world below.
There was no one in sight. Still smiling confidently, keenly aware that he might never leave this place alive, he lowered himself over the edge, swung momentarily by his hands, then dropped soundlessly to the street below. The first obstacle in the search for Dylara had been overcome.
Slowly and without sound the massive door to Dylara's room swung open, permitting a heavily-laden figure to enter. Placing its burden on the table, the figure closed the door, crossed to the side of the sleeping girl and bent above her, listening to the slow even breathing. Satisfied, the visitor stepped back to the table and, with a coal from an earthen container, ignited the wicks of dishes of animal fat. The soft light revealed the newcomer as a woman.
Quietly she arranged the dishes she had brought, using the low stand as a table. That done, she came to Dylara's side and shook her gently by a shoulder.
The daughter of Majok awakened with a start, blinking the sleep from her eyes. At sight of the other, she sat up in quick alarm.
The woman smiled reassuringly. "You must not be afraid," she said softly. "I am your friend. They sent me here with food for you. See?" She pointed to the dishes.
The words brought a measure of comfort to Dylara's troubled mind. She noticed this woman's speech had in it nothing of the strange accent peculiar to Sephar's inhabitants.
"Who are you?" Dylara asked.
"I am Nada—a slave."
The girl nodded. Who was it this woman reminded her of? "I am Dylara, Nada. Tell me, why is it you speak as do the cave people?"
"I am of the cave people," replied the woman. "There are many of us here. The mountains about Sephar contain the caves of many tribes. Often Sephar's warriors make war on our people and carry many away to become slaves."
Dylara watched her as she spoke. Despite a youthful appearance, she must have been twice the cave-girl's age; about the same height but more fully developed. Her figure, under the simple tunic, was beautifully proportioned; her face the loveliest Dylara had ever seen. There was an indefinable air of breeding and poise in her manner, softened by warm brown eyes and an expression of sympathetic understanding.
Nada endured the close appraisal without self-consciousness. Finally she said: "You must be hungry. Come; sit here and eat."
Dylara obeyed without further urging. Nada watched her in silence until the girl's appetite had been dulled, then said: "How did they happen to get you?"
Dylara told her, briefly. For some obscure reason she could not bring herself to mention Tharn by name. Just the thought of him, falling beneath a Sepharian club, brought a sharp ache to her throat.
There was a far-away expression in Nada's eyes as Dylara finished her story. "I knew a warrior once—one very much like the young man who took you from your father's caves. He was a mighty chief—and my mate. Many summers ago I was captured near our caves as I walked at the jungle's edge. A war party from a strange tribe had crept close to our caves during the night, planning to raid us at dawn. They seized me; but my cries aroused my people, and the war party fled, taking me with them. They lost their way in the darkness, and after many weary marches stumbled across a hunting party from Sephar. In the fight that followed they killed almost all of us, sparing only three—and me. I have been here ever since."
Dylara caught the undercurrent of utter hopelessness in the woman's words, and she felt a sudden rush of sympathy well up within her.
"Tharn was a chief's son," she said. "Had he lived, I am sure he—" She stopped there, stricken into silence by the horror on Nada's face.
The slave woman rose unsteadily from the bed and seized Dylara's hands.
"Tharn—did you sayTharn?"
The girl, shocked by the pain and grief in the face of the woman, could only nod.
"He—is—dead?"
Again Dylara nodded.
Nada swayed and would have fallen had not Dylara held tightly to her wrists. Tears began to squeeze from her closed eyes, to trickle down the drawn white cheeks.
And then Dylara found her voice. "What is it, Nada? What is wrong?"
The woman swallowed with an effort, fighting for control. "I," she whispered, "am Tharn's mate!"
At first, Dylara thought she meant he whom the Sepharians had slain. And then the truth came to her.
The Tharn she had known was Nada's son!
Impulsively she drew the woman down beside her, holding her tightly until the tearing sobs subsided. For a little while there was silence within the room.
Without changing her position, Nada began to speak. "It was my son who was with you. Twelve summers before my capture I bore him; his father gave him his own name. And now he is dead. He is dead."
A draft of air from the window above caused the candle flame to waver, setting the shadows dancing.
Nada sat up and dried her eyes. "I will not cry any more," she said quietly. "Let us talk of other things."
Dylara pressed her hand in quick understanding. "Of course. Tell me, Nada, what will happen to me in Sephar?"
"You are a slave," Nada replied, "and belong to Urim, whose own warriors captured you. Perhaps you will be given certain duties in the palace, or the mate or daughter of some noble may ask for you as a hand-maiden. As a rule they treat us kindly; but if we are troublesome they whip us, or sometimes give us to the priests. That is the worst of all."
"They have gods, then?" Dylara asked.
"Only one, who is both good and evil. If they fall in battle, He has caused it; if they come through untouched, He has helped them."
The Cro-Magnon girl could not grasp this strange contradiction, for she knew certain gods sought to destroy man, while other gods tried to protect him....
"Then I must spend the rest of my life as a slave?" she asked.
"Yes—unless some free man asks for you as a mate. And that may happen because you are very beautiful."
The girl shook her head. "I do not want that," she declared. "I want only to return to my father and people."
"It will be best," Nada said, "to give up that foolish dream. Sometimes cave-men escape from Sephar; the women, never."
She rose, saying: "I must leave you now. The guards will be wondering what has kept me. Tomorrow I will come again."
The two embraced. "Farewell, Nada," whispered the girl. "I shall try to sleep again. Being here does not seem so bad, now that I know you."
Tharn regained his feet quickly after the drop from the wall, and looked about. Failing to detect any cause for immediate alarm, he set out along a broad street, hugging the buildings and keeping well within the shadows. The moon was quite high by now, the strong light flooding the deserted streets and bringing every object into bold relief.
The man of the caves did not have the slightest idea as to how he might locate the girl he loved; he proposed, however, to pit his wit and cunning, together with the stone knife and grass rope against the entire city, if necessary, until he stumbled across a clue of some sort that would bring them together. How he expected to snatch Dylara from her captors and win through to the forest and plains he did not stop to consider—time enough for that when she was found.
Abruptly the street along which he was moving ended, crossed here by another roadway. Down this side street a few yards, and on the opposite side, a huge stone building loomed, its windows barred by slender columns of stone. To Tharn's inexperienced eyes this appeared to be a prison of some sort; and as it was the first of its kind he had noticed, he decided to investigate—that is, if a means of entry could be found. The hope that Dylara might be held behind one of those protected windows spurred him on.
Nonchalantly the mighty figure stepped from the sheltering shadows and leisurely crossed the street. He did not wish to excite suspicion, should any chance onlooker see him, by a sudden dash. Reaching the doorway of the edifice, he glanced sharply about; from all appearances he might have been in a city of the dead.
Delicate fingers, backed by a shrewd, imaginative mind, found the rude wooden latch, and solved its method of operation. Gently he pushed against the door and, not without surprise, felt it yield. Slowly the heavy planks swung inward until a space sufficient to admit his massive frame appeared, then he slid in and closed the door with his back.
The darkness was that of Acheron's pit; his eyes, keen as those of any jungle cat, were helpless to penetrate the blackness through which he moved with infinite stealth, arms outthrust before him, the cool hilt of his flint knife clutched in one muscular hand.
His nose warned him that there were men nearby; but the strangeness of his surroundings confused him as to their actual position.
One step forward he took—another, and yet another; then he trod full on the fingers of an outstretched hand!
The instant Tharn felt his foot press the unseen hand he wheeled soundlessly and sprang to the door. Closing his fingers about the latch, he stood there, waiting. To rush out now would be certain to awaken the disturbed sleeper; otherwise the man might blame the mishap on one of his companions and go back to sleep without investigating further.
He heard a stirring in the darkness.
"Jotan."
In the utter darkness of the room the single word sounded loud as a thunder-clap.
"Jotan," said the voice again.
"Uh?" came an answering grunt.
"Are you awake?"
"I wasn't—until you woke me," said Jotan testily.
"I think somebody stepped on my fingers," the first voice said. "They feel like it, anyway."
"You must have rolled over on them, Javan. Go back to sleep."
Tharn followed the conversation with interest, surprised that he could understand the words. He waited patiently and without panic for the speakers to act or to return to sleep.
"I tell you, my hand was stepped on," Javan insisted.
"What are you two talking about?" broke in a third voice.
"Javan claims someone has been walking on him," explained Jotan. "Make a light; he'll not sleep until we search the place."
Tharn heard one of the men rise and fumble about in a corner of the room. Suddenly a flame sputtered and took hold, lighting the room's interior with a feeble glow.
Waiting no longer, Tharn twisted the latch and tried to draw open the door. But something had gone wrong; he could not stir the heavy planks.
"There!" Javan shouted. "At the door! Didn't I tell—"
With a bound Jotan leaped from his bed and plunged forward, catching Tharn at the knees. The cave-man braced himself, then bent and grasped his attacker about the waist.
Jotan was a strong, agile man. As a rough-and-tumble fighter he had few equals. But when the arms of the intruder encircled his body and tore away his hold as though he were a child, he knew he stood no chance.
The Sepharian gasped aloud as he felt himself swung aloft. He had a swift glimpse of the awe-stricken faces of his friends; then his flying body hurtled across the room to crash against them with sickening force, sending all three to the floor, half-stunned.
Tharn seized the door-latch once more and surged back with all his strength. There followed the sound of splintering wood as latch, bolt and strike were torn away. A second later he had gained the street.
By the time those within were ready to attempt pursuit, the cave-man was a block away, running with the long easy strides of a trained athlete.
As he ran, Tharn drew his knife for any misguided person who might wish to bar his path. He was slowly drawing away from his shouting pursuers, when he caught sight of a second group of warriors not far ahead and coming at a run toward him.
Turning sharply into a side street, Tharn dashed on for a short distance, only to pull up short. The roadway ended here, nor were there streets on either side. Behind him the Sepharians had turned the corner and were bearing down upon him.
Tharn was no stranger to danger or sudden death. Life in the jungles and on the vast plains had little else to offer. Fear and panic were not likely to prolong life; Tharn knew not the meaning of either.
And so it was, that as the angry fighting-men rushed toward him, they were to find no terror-stricken creature at bay. Indeed, so savage was the bearing of their quarry that the Sepharians hesitated, then came to a full stop a few paces away.
They were many, at least a score, but the sight of the Cro-Magnon's brawny frame and rippling muscles gave a dubious aspect to the whole affair; nor was the stone knife in one powerful hand a matter to be lightly dismissed.
It was during this brief armistice that one Lukor, awakened by the tumult outside his windows opened the door of his home with the ill-advised intention of making an investigation.
"I am surprised—" he began; but an instant later he was infinitely more surprised when the impact of a naked shoulder into his stomach flung him against the far corner of the room.
Tharn's jungle-trained ears had caught the sound of a bar being lifted, and so swiftly had he acted that the door was slammed shut and the bar replaced before Jotan, first to recover, could send his weight crashing against the planks.
The moonlight filtering through the latticed windows revealed an open doorway in the opposite wall, and Tharn passed into an inner room. There were no windows here, and he stumbled over various furnishings before he came upon a rude staircase.
Taking three at a time, he bounded up the steps to the chamber above. Below he could hear the impact of bodies against the lattice-work of the windows. His enemies were getting no aid from the dazed Lukor; he had not yet regained his breath or his courage.
Without hesitation, Tharn crossed the room to its single large window and looked down. He was just in time to see the curtain of branches at the window beneath give way and man after man clamber through.
They did not all go in, however; five armed guards took up positions in the street. The Cro-Magnon had hoped to drop to the street as soon as the coast was clear, but now that avenue of escape was closed.
Something must be done, and quickly, Tharn realized, were he to outwit those whose feet were even now pounding on the stairs. Thrusting head and shoulders out the window, he looked up and saw, a few feet away, the roof's edge.
Quickly Tharn balanced himself on the narrow sill, his back to the street. Raising to his tip-toes he reached gingerly up. His finger tips were a full six inches short of the roof's edge!
A lone chance remained: he must jump for it. To fail would plummet him to the street below—to certain capture and possible injury. The sinews of his legs tensed; then he rose upward in a cat-like leap.
There was a second of breathless uncertainty; then his fingers closed on a flat stone surface.
Barely had the dangling feet cleared the upper edge of the aperture when the horde burst through the doorway. Finding no occupant, they dashed to the window and called to the watchers below, only to learn the forest-man had not re-entered the street. A thorough search of the room convinced them the man they sought had left the building, and they blamed the men below for having permitted his escape; in turn to be jeered at as cowards for not searching Lukor's premises more carefully.
It was a puzzled crowd of disgruntled warriors that finally gave up the hunt. Some of the more superstitious were inclined to believe it was no human they sought—an evil spirit, perhaps, that had faded back into nothingness.
While a block away, Tharn, having fled from one roof to another, dropped easily to earth and set out for the huge white palace he had glimpsed from the house-tops.
The Princess Alurna was finding it impossible to sleep. For hours she had lain wide-eyed, tossing fitfully, seeking the rest that would not come. Before her mind's eye persisted the image of Jotan as she had first seen him; in her ears were the sound of his voice and the echo of his laugh.
Why must her thoughts stay with this handsome visitor? Had her imperious heart given way at last?
She tried to thrust out the idea, to submerge it beneath a wave of derision; but to no avail. The image prevailed, calling attention to a splendid body and compelling features.
Finally she rose and went to the low wide window. Kneeling there she rested her arms on the broad sill, looking out over the sleeping streets and buildings, silent and brooding beneath the moon's splendor. Far out beyond the walls surrounding Sephar she could see the dark primeval forest, and she shivered a little although the night was warm. Faintly to her ears, across the stillness came the distant challenge of a lion. Again she shuddered, and brought her gaze back to Sephar's streets. The minutes passed slowly....
Suddenly she half rose in surprise as the almost naked figure of a man bounded from the shadows of a building across from the palace, and, entering the grounds, passed from sight somewhere below.
What did it mean? Was a resident of Sephar entering the palace for some mysterious reason of his own? Hardly. None would be so rash. Then, too, the figure had not been clad in the short tunic, usual dress of all Sepharians.
No; that shadowy figure meant danger. Jumping to her feet she ran to the door and flung it open. At her appearance the two warriors in the corridor sprang hastily forward.
"Get Vulcar at once," she cried. "Someone is trying to get into the palace!"
The moon's liquid rays did not reach the palace wall where Tharn was standing now. The white, smooth stone gleamed dully in the half light.
Moving as only the jungle-wise can move, he began to skirt the building, seeking an opening large enough to admit his giant frame. His bare feet were soundless on the grass; he was but a white shadow of a man.
There was no scarcity of windows, but all were barred by slender columns of stone. To attempt to force them would be a noisy method at best. If he meant to find and rescue Dylara he must resort to stealth and cunning alone. For all his herculean strength he would be helpless against an entire city.
He was nearing one corner of the building when his eyes caught sight of a narrow slit-like break in the stone just above the level of his head. There was no indication of bars, and as it appeared large enough to admit him, he caught the lip and drew himself up and within.
The awful stench that smote his nostrils nearly drove him back to the ground. He had no way of knowing, of course, that he had stumbled across a refuse chute; it was from this vent that waste was thrown into containers below.
Holding his breath, he clambered a short distance along the sloping stone, thrust away a wooden screen and stood upright.
He was in complete darkness. Moving slowly forward, his outthrust hands struck a wooden panel which proved to be a door. A second later he had solved the latch and stepped through.
Here, light came through several windows. He was in the palace kitchens, although his limited experience did not enable him to identify them as such. Across the room was a closed door; he directed his steps toward it.
Silently the door swung open, and the cave-man paused on the threshold of a large room, occupied by a massive table and numerous backless stools.
Tharn took in all that with a single swift glance. Something was moving beyond the hangings screening off the room ahead.
The curtains parted and five guards-men filed into the room. After glancing hastily about, they passed silently through to the kitchens.
As the last one disappeared from view, a disembodied shape merged from beneath the long table and vanished into the room beyond.
Aside from its furnishings it, too, was empty.
On went Tharn, combing each successive chamber for a sign of human life. He was determined not to quit this place until completely satisfied Dylara was held elsewhere. The task, not easy at best, would prove even more difficult with the palace guards on the lookout for an intruder.
Stronger by the minute was the realization that this strange race of people, who were capable of erecting their own caves of stone, who could make strange weapons to throw tiny spears with unbelievable accuracy, whose hands could shape such a variety of articles—were sadly lacking in the qualities without which Tharn could never have arrived at young manhood.
That five men could pass at arm's length from him and yet remain unaware of his nearness, was inconceivable to the man of the caves. Were their noses ornaments, he wondered, that they could not sense a hidden foe? Were their wits so dull they could pass up so obvious a hiding place as he had chosen?
No wonder that they had erected a great wall between them and the jungle! His lip curled with contempt as he pictured an army of them scattering before the charge of Sadu.
By this time he had reached the great hall inside the palace main entrance. A giant skylight high up in the ceiling, its cover removed during the dry season, admitted cold moonlight in a brilliant cascade of light that left no shadows or darkened corners.
From the center of the vast hall rose a gigantic staircase of stone to the second floor. Tharn, reasoning that the palace sleeping quarters would be above, stole warily toward the stairway.
And then a horde of armed men broke unexpectedly from a doorway across the hall, and spying Tharn, bore down upon him, uttering a chorus of exultant yells as they came.
One tremendous bound brought Tharn to the steps, up which he fled with all the speed of Jalok, the panther. Three spears hurled with senseless enthusiasm, fell short of their intended mark. But the shouts of alarm and excitement were fast arousing other inhabitants of the building. From somewhere above, Tharn heard a door slam, followed by the sound of running feet in the upper corridor to his left. Hence the moment he reached the landing he turned right and raced along the still deserted hallway, his naked feet soundless on the bare stone.
Because of the fugitive's silent approach, four guards, who stood facing in the opposite direction, did not hear him as he rounded a turn of the corridor and came toward them. At sight of those backs, Tharn slid to a stop and turned to retrace his steps.
Again he halted. To his quick ears came sounds of footsteps from the hall he had just left. With retreat cut off from both sides, he had but one chance for escape.
Choosing at random one of several doors on either side of the corridor, Tharn pushed it open, and still keeping an eye on the men outside, slipped within a softly lighted room. After gently closing the door, he turned—to stare into the startled eyes of the princess Alurna!
Tharn's first thought was that the girl would cry out in terror at his sudden entrance. Before she could recover her wits he had grasped her about the waist with one arm, at the same time clapping a hand across her lips.
Alurna lay within the circle of that mighty arm, making no effort to free herself. She was desperately afraid, more afraid than she could remember before.
The cave-man found himself on the horns of a dilemma. He had no wish to slay a woman; indeed he knew he could not, no matter what the provocation. On the other hand, were he to free her, she could have the guards here within seconds.
Their eyes met. Tharn was surprised that all trace of fear was masked within the cool gray-green depths, although the rapid pounding of her heart told him she was frightened.
Revealed to him with the quick intuition of a wild creature was something of this girl's true nature. He sensed she could be coldly calculating; that neither qualm nor principle would keep her from furthering her own ends. That, given the chance, she would betray him, he never doubted; but something told him she would never be driven to a rash act through ungovernable hysteria alone.
He removed his hand from her mouth, but held it ready to silence her again.
"What," whispered Alurna, "do you want here?"
Tharn shook his head. Any discussion, now, would be pointless. He must go on. At the far end of the room was a large unbarred opening—a possible avenue of escape.
Hesitating no longer he released the girl, pushed her aside and made for the window.
Alurna, confident now that this nocturnal prowler meant her no harm, remained standing where he had left her. While awaiting his next move, she fell to studying him from across the room.
He was the embodiment of physical perfection; certainly the most beautifully formed male she had ever seen before. The smooth brown body bespoke of suppleness and the nimble agility of a cat, despite banded layers of iron muscles rippling beneath an unclouded skin.
The face, with its frank, grave eyes, impressed her as being both handsome and highly intelligent. There was an air of majestic nobility in his posture and the poise of his well-shaped head that would have aroused envy in the heart of any Sepharian.
A muffled knocking at the door startled her; but before she could respond, the Cro-Magnon slipped past her to lower the bar into place.
Again came the soft, insistent knock. Tharn stepped close beside the princess, pointed at the door and then to her lips, at the same time pressing the point of his knife gently against her side. The meaning was clear; she must send away, unwarned, whoever was outside.
"Who is there?" she called.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, princess," came a muffled reply, "but the man you warned us of is somewhere near here. Have you seen or heard anything more of him?"
Alurna paused for a second, weighing her chances. But the cave-man's cold gaze conquered the temptation.
"No," she said, "I have seen nothing more of him. Go now, that I may sleep."
Tharn heard the man outside move away. Satisfied that he had gained a brief respite from discovery, he returned to the window.
He pinched out the flaming wick in the dish of fat standing on a wooden bracket nearby, to prevent someone in the grounds below seeing him at the window. In the moonlight he could see several groups of warriors about the grounds—patrols, posted to prevent him from leaving the building. But Tharn had no intention of leaving until Dylara was free to go with him.
From the floor above, and not far to his left, there jutted out a tiny balcony, its slender stone columns topped with a balustrade of the same material. As Tharn's eyes lingered there, an idea popped suddenly into his mind.
After placing the bowl of grease on the floor, he tore the bracket from the wall and wrenched one of its supporting wooden rods away. This done, he tied one end of his grass rope to the exact center of the thick cylinder and returned to the window.
Holding the free end of the rope in one hand, he poised the length of wood, spear-fashion, aimed carefully, then launched it toward the stone supports of the balustrade above and to his left.
Like an arrow it sped up and out, to pass cleanly between two of the columns. Hauling in the slack, Tharn felt the rod catch lengthwise above him; and though he tugged with all the strength of his arms, the rope remained secure.
Without a backward glance, the cave-man swung into space, at the same time clambering hand over hand up the swinging strands. As his feet left the ledge, he heard the door of the girl's room fly open and her voice ring out.
The echo of that call had not faded as young Tharn closed a hand on the balcony's rail, pulled himself over and leaped through the window beyond.
The chamber he had entered was dimly lighted by the moon's rays. Its dense shadows might conceal a score of armed foes; but Tharn had no time to exercise caution. Three giant strides served to close the gap between window and doorway. To find the latch required only an instant; and slowly, lest the door squeak a protest, he swung it back sufficiently to look out into the corridor. Finding it empty of life, he stepped out, gently closing the door behind him.
To his right, a short distance down the hall, were two great doors, both closed; to his left, a long stretch of gallery with doors on either side. The sight of these latter held Tharn's attention, for all were barredfrom the outside. Behind one of those barred entrances, he reasoned, might be Dylara.
Stepping quietly to the first he pressed an ear to the crack. Hearing nothing, he lifted the bar with infinite care and looked in.
The room beyond was deserted. He shut the door, replaced the plank and went on to the next. It, too, was empty.
Working his way gradually forward, he had covered perhaps half the hallway and was in the act of lifting another bar from its catches, when the double doors at the far end of the gallery were thrown open and a swarm of soldiers came racing through. Before Tharn could attempt to find cover, he had been seen, and with shouts of satisfaction the men ran toward him.
Realizing he was greatly outnumbered, the man of the caves turned to flee; but to his consternation another group of Sepharians appeared at the corridor's opposite end and, warned by the shouts of their fellows, had caught sight of the giant intruder.
Tharn knew he was trapped! To enter one of the cubicles he had been searching would mean hopeless imprisonment. Once he was within, the enemy had only to slip the bar into place.
It appeared his lone chance for freedom was to cut a way through a living wall of armed men. Once past them, Tharn felt confident they could not overtake him.
Like two angry waves, the Sepharians hurled themselves on the lone Cro-Magnon. But the steel muscles and incredible agility that had brought their owner through encounters with savage dwellers of jungle and plain were not to be so easily subdued as Sephar's warriors had supposed.
Tharn sprang to meet them, charging full into their midst. Catching the nearest foeman about the waist, the cave-man swung him bodily from the floor and hurled him, a screaming projectile of fear, into the faces of his companions.