"It was here we found the dead guards. Where, or in what direction, the Hairy Men took Alurna is not known. Vulcar and his men followed this trail away from Sephar."
The guard detailed to show Tharn the scene of Alurna's capture had told all he knew. To the cave man it more than sufficed; following a trail left less than a sun before would not tax his prowess.
"You have told me enough," Tharn assured him. "Hasten back to your chief and tell him I will return soon—his daughter with me."
The Cro-Magnard, a slight smile touching his lips, watched the retreating figure until it disappeared around a bend of the trail. Even then he did not move, but stood quiet, arms folded across his swelling chest, drawing great draughts of humid air deep into his lungs.
Free! Gone were stone walls, cold floors and barred doors. No longer must he go only where others permitted. There were soft grasses and growing things about him. Overhead was the limitless blue of space; and there was Dyta, the sun, sending golden spears to prick, with welcome heat, the smooth skin of the cave lord.
Siha, the wind, moving in little eddies and gusts, brought to his nostrils a heavy pungent cloying odor belonging only to the jungle; the combined essence of uncounted varieties of plants, together with the comingled scent of endless small life that makes of the jungle a teeming city in itself. Overhead, little Nobar, the monkey, sat on a low-hanging branch and scolded roundly the two-legged creature in the trail below.
Yes, it was good to be free again. Good to know the pure pleasure of unlimited vistas of trees and plains. A vision of his father's caves and the members of his tribe rose before him, bringing the pangs of homesickness. But superimposed on the familiar scene came, unbidden, the lovely face and softly rounded figure of Dylara.
Siha veered sharply and came sweeping at right angles across the path. Tharn stiffened for strong in his nostrils was the scent of Tarlok, the leopard. He was instantly alert—a wary jungle denizen who wheeled and faced upwind, eyes narrowed, the sharp blade of flint ready in his right hand.
The strength of the great cat's scent faded as the creature moved farther away. Whether or not it had caught Tharn's scent did not interest the cave-man, now; a retreating danger ceased to be of interest.
For a few minutes Tharn carefully went over the floor of the trail at the point where the abduction had taken place, as well as the neighboring undergrowth. Soon he found the several hiding places of the Hairy Ones; and a bit later he came upon the delicate footmarks of Alurna within the trail itself. One of these prints was almost obliterated by the broad square mark of a great naked foot; it was here Mog's initial leap had ended beside the girl.
Dropping to hands and knees, Tharn placed sensitive nostrils close to the marks. To that unbelievably keen organ was borne the individual scent spoor of Alurna, as well as that of Mog, the sullen. Immediately there were engraved on Tharn's memory, scent impressions he would recognize among a hundred others for a long time to come.
He found more of Mog's footprints, all leading along the path and away from Sephar. He followed these, increasing his pace when they showed no indication of swerving from the trail. Satisfied that locating Alurna's captor was only a matter of following the path underfoot, Tharn went on. He felt no inclination to hurry. Too long had he been denied freedom from supervision. The sooner he found the missing girl, the sooner he must return to Sephar—even though he and Dylara were to be freed the moment he returned.
As he strolled along, he was reminded of the bow and arrows hanging at his back—these and a stone knife and a grass rope were the weapons he had chosen when preparing to leave Sephar.
The bow, he found, was fashioned from a hard black wood. Its inner surface was nearly flat; the outer quite round. Both ends were gracefully tapered, each notched to hold a string of catgut.
The arrows were made from the same wood as the bow. Their heads were of flint, painstakingly shaped into the likeness of a small leaf, and exceedingly sharp. Each head was fitted snugly into a deep groove, packed about with a clay-like substance and hardened by fire until nearly impossible to loosen. Near the butt of each arrow a thin rounded bit of wood had been inserted to guide its flight.
Bordering the trail some fifty paces ahead, stood a small tree. During some recent storm a lightning bolt had torn a jagged streak in its bole, close to the ground, leaving a strip of white wood gleaming in the sun.
Partly through accident and partly by clear reasoning, Tharn drew the bow with the finished technique of a veteran archer. His left arm, stiffly extended, pointed straight at the selected mark; his right hand, fingers hooked about the string, came smoothly back to a point just below the lobe of his right ear.
There sounded a singing "twang" and a polished bolt flashed in the sunlight, passed the tree's bole by a good foot and disappeared into the foliage.
Tharn ruefully rubbed an angry welt on his left wrist where the bowstring had stung him. He understood, now, why many of Sephar's warriors wore wristbands.
With his knife he hacked off a strip of his loin cloth. This he bound about his left wrist, then took up the bow, his chin set in determined lines.
On his third attempt he hit the mark, sending an arrowhead deep into the center of the white patch.
The cave-man all but shouted aloud. Lovingly he ran his palms over the black wood. No matter what he had suffered at Sepharian hands, they had repaid many times over by disclosing to him the power in a gut-strung branch. Now in truth was he lord of the jungle! He pictured Sadu dead, a few well-placed arrows in his carcass. And shaggy-coated Conta, the cave-bear; of what protection his tough hide against such keen-tipped shafts?
Clearly, Tharn had forgotten the mission that had sent him into the jungle. Everything ceased to exist for him except the bow in his hands and the quiver of arrows at his back. Although he continued on toward the west, his progress was slow and uncertain; for the cave-man was determined to become an expert bowman without delay.
At first he was content to use nothing more difficult than tree trunks as targets; but as he increased in skill his ambition led him to seek more difficult marks.
Nobar, the monkey, industriously occupied in searching the hairs on his belly for dried bits of dead skin, almost fell from his perch in fright as something streaked past his nose with a vicious hiss. With the nimble alacrity of his kind he rocketed thirty feet upward, where, from a swaying vine, he hurled a torrent of verbal abuse at the grinning youth in the trail below.
The hours sped by, but Tharn never noticed. At first he lost almost every arrow he shot, but little by little his skill was increasing. He attempted drawing the bow with either hand; he sought to release a second arrow before the first had struck; he shot at birds on the wing.
Darkness came upon him without warning. Then it was he remembered he had not eaten since morning. An inventory of his supply of arrows revealed only eight remained of the full two dozen he had brought from Sephar.
He would sleep now. In the morning he would find food and water. And he would make his kill with an arrow—of that he was determined. The bow had proved a wonderful toy; when Dyta came Tharn would prove its practical worth....
With the first rays of the morning sun Tharn slid from his arboreal couch and set out at a rapid trot along the trail into the west. An hour later he was crossing the narrow belt of grasses bordering the precipice overlooking a forest-filled valley.
Here he found where Mog and Alurna had started their tortuous descent. Here, too, were signs of the passage of other Neanderthals, and those of Vulcar's searching party.
Before descending the cliff, Tharn turned back to the plain in search of food. Not long after, he had completed a successful stalk of Narjok, the horned deer, and brought it down with a single arrow. After devouring a generous quantity of raw flank-meat, he drank deep of the waters of a small spring and came back to the brink of the precipice.
Tharn went down that vertical cliffside as though it were a broad staircase. At the base he found a tangle of overlapping footsteps leading straight toward a game trail leading into the nearby jungle. Toward its mouth moved the young giant; and so confident was he that Alurna had been carried along this path that only by chance did he keep from losing valuable time.
As the Cro-Magnard neared the trees, the undergrowth parted with a slight rustle, and Gubo, the hyena, slunk deeper into the forest.
At the first sound of disturbed brush, Tharn had pivoted about and with unthinkable quickness unslung his bow and fitted an arrow into place. At sight of cowardly Gubo he smiled and relaxed; but before he turned back to the trail, he saw signs of a recent struggle in the matted grass close by. It might have nothing to do with the business at hand—and, again, it might.
A brief investigation gave him the complete picture. Here, Mog had gone down beneath Sadu; a few paces away were the broken grasses where Alurna had been tossed. He knew, without troubling to look, that Mog's bones were bleaching behind yonder wall of verdure.
Well, the Hairy One was dead; it would save Tharn the task of killing him. Now all that remained was to take the trail of the frightened girl at the place where she had plunged blindly into the dark waste of jungle. She could not have gotten far; and, except for the unlikely chance that one of the big cats had pulled her down, his mission should be finished before nightfall.
Delaying no longer, Tharn took up the trail of the princess, forging rapidly ahead and following with ease the evidence of her hurried flight.
Soon he came to the tiny clearing in which Alurna had spent the previous night. Circling about, he quickly picked up her trail out of the glade, went on across a short stretch of jungle and out onto the banks of a little stream.
Here he found traces of small sandals in the soft mud. That these had not been even partially obliterated by prowling beasts was evidence of the spoor's freshness.
By this time the mid-day heat was at its strongest. Tharn paused long enough to slake his thirst, then set out along the same pathway taken by Alurna not long before.
A half hour later he was moving steadily ahead at a half trot, expecting to come upon the girl at any moment.
Suddenly he came to a full stop, head thrown back, sensitive nostrils searching the light breeze. And then he moved—as lightning moves.
Only the trembling of leaves marked where he had entered the trees overhead.
In the apartment of Pryak, far beneath the temple of the Sepharian god, a number of priests were grouped about a long table. At its head sat the high priest, Pryak; at his right was Orbar, second in command. The balance of the stools were occupied by six under-priests, all stern, silent men of middle-age, with that air of inflexible righteousness which appears to be the hallmark of their kind.
Pryak, his close-set eyes of watery blue blazing with an inner fire, rose from his chair.
"For many moons," he began, choosing his words carefully, "the loyal servants of the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken have been forced to bow to the unjust commands of a hated oppressor. Now the time is at hand to end this oppression. The way has been shown to me by our God; listen closely, for the future of the priesthood in Sephar depends on how faithfully my orders are carried out.
"This is my plan...."
For nearly an hour the high priest spoke without interruption. His cold, crisp sentences seemed to explode in the listeners' faces. Twice, old Cardon, grizzled from passing years of service for his God, half rose from his stool, words of protest forming on his lips. But each time the mad glare of Pryak's eyes gave him pause.
When the high-priest had concluded, he watched the faces of his audience, waiting for his words to sink home. Much depended upon their reaction.
Somehow the very audacity of Pryak's plan seemed to carry weight with the under-priests. Smiles of admiration appeared on several faces; one of the Council chuckled openly. Cardon, alone, seemed unconvinced; but he knew well his chief would brook no interference once he had determined to act.
Pryak was satisfied. "It is agreed, then," he said. "We meet in the Room of the God at the hour named; the others will have their instructions before then and all will be in readiness."
In the palace throne-room, Urim, ruler of Sephar, sat slouched in his chair atop the dais. Despite the grief and worry from loss of his daughter, Urim was determined his duties should not be shirked because of personal sorrow.
The late morning audience was nearly over. Save for a few citizens and a handful of guards attending the king, the hall was empty. In another hour Urim could return to his private quarters.
A guard entered the room and moved directly to the foot of the dais. Head bowed, he waited for permission to speak.
"What is it, Mosark?" Urim asked dully.
"Pryak, Voice of the God, is outside asking for an immediate audience. With him are more than a score of priests."
Urim pursed his lips in surprise. What could have gotten into that gabbling old fool to seek out one who despised him and his kind? Once a year Pryak came to the palace with a group of his attendants to discuss the rites held during the Sacrificial Games. It must be that reason Pryak was here now, although he was much earlier than usual.
Best see him and get it over with. He was very tired; perhaps he could sleep a little during the afternoon. Time passed quickly when spent in sleep; by evening Vulcar should be back, either with Alurna or with word she would never return. This uncertainty of her fate was what he found unbearable; if only he couldknow....
More likely he would get the truth from the barbarian whom Katon had recommended so highly. Everything about that young man emphasized his fitness to cope with the wilderness and its savage life. There was a keen alert mind behind those fine gray eyes—and a body well able to carry out the dictates of that mind.
"What shall I tell him, Urim of Sephar?"
Urim shook off his thoughts. "Bring him in," he said resignedly. "His men, too—let them all in. Except for their wagging tongues they are harmless."
At Pryak's entrance, Urim rose and nodded briefly in formal recognition of the other's office, then sat down again. The high-priest acknowledged the nod as curtly, and came close to the dais.
The balance of the priests spread out in a rough half circle close behind their leader. Urim noticed all were clad in the long, loose-sleeved robes ordinarily worn only during the rainy season. None was armed, it being forbidden for members of the priesthood to bear weapons.
Pryak was quick to notice that which he had foreseen and counted upon: the relaxed watchfulness and lack of discipline among the handful of armed men attending the king. This, he knew, was due to Vulcar's absence from Sephar; had not the hawk-faced captain gone after Alurna, Pryak would have feared to put his plan into execution. Vulcar had always been suspicious of the priesthood; twice he had warned Urim that Pryak was overly ambitious.
"O Urim," began Pryak, "the Games honoring our God begin soon. Before then I mean to show how mistaken you are in your ill-advised interference with the laws of worship. It is I, Pryak, Voice of the God, who shall say how He is to be honored. I must warn you, if you persist in meddling, your God may turn against you and your people, sending sickness to take its toll, and causing your hunters to return empty-handed from the forests.
"Only a sun ago your own daughter was taken by the Hairy Man. Can you say her loss was not due to your—"
The arch-priest was permitted to go no further. Urim's face had grown steadily darker as mixed anger and amazement rendered him speechless. But mention of Alurna brought strength to his tongue.
Voicing a cry of rage, Urim leaped to his feet. His words were loud against the room's sudden hush.
"Silence, mangy son of Gubo! Must my time be wasted by your senseless chatter? I have told you that cruelty has no place in our faith. Too many times have I told you this; if you speak of it again, the God shall have a new 'Voice'—one able to recognize my authority!"
By this time Tidor, the neophyte, had edged his way past the flank of Urim's guards, slipping stealthily from sight behind the frustum. Here he paused, drew a long stone knife from the folds of a sleeve, then stole cautiously up the serrated side of the dais.
Tidor's heart swelled with pride. It was not every young, untried priest who could be relied upon to carry out so important a mission. Pryak had promised him much if he succeeded. Even if half those promises was kept, Tidor would rank high among his fellows.
Crouching low, Tidor clutched his knife tighter within his fingers—then silently and swiftly he sprang!
A swelling cry of horror from the guards halted Urim's ringing words, and he whirled about as a white-clad figure closed upon him. Before he could lift his hands in defense, a slender blade flashed evilly in a brief arc before striking deep into his breast.
Death came instantly to Urim of Sephar; and his body rolled limply down the steps of the dais, nearly upsetting Pryak as it struck the floor.
Tidor's moment of victory was short-lived. One of the guards snatched a knife from his belt and flung it, point-foremost, with all his strength.
Tidor screamed once in pain and terror as the heavy blade sank hilt-deep into his neck. Then his knees gave way and he fell face down across the great chair. Urim was avenged.
And now the momentary paralysis of the guards snapped like an overdrawn bowstring. Seizing their weapons they threw themselves at the priests with the commendable intention of butchering the lot. But in place of an unarmed and fear-stricken group of priests, they were confronted by an orderly band of unflinching men, each with a long knife drawn from the folds of his left sleeve.
The guards skidded to a halt in open-mouthed astonishment at this feat of legerdemain; and Pryak, quick to take advantage of their baffled state, scrambled atop the dais and cried out to gain their attention.
"Hold!" he shouted. "In the name of your God! Heed my words before His wrath falls upon you! Urim is dead because he would be greater than his God. Would you suffer the same fate?"
The guards shifted uncertainly. The words cut through the red curtain of their fury, weakening the resolution to wipe out, in blood, the result of their own negligence. But fear of their God—already strong enough in man to be basic—stiffened their limbs and flooded their hearts with indecision.
Had they a leader, someone to rally them to action, Pryak and his followers would have been dead within seconds. But the wily arch-priest had foreseen that, with Vulcar away, there would be none hardy enough to oppose him in taking the entire city.
"Drop your knives!" Pryak put into his voice all the force and depth he could muster. "Let those who are loyal to their God drop to their knees and ask that He accept them into His service. Delay not, lest He strike you down as unworthy!"
One by one dead Urim's warriors sank to their knees and bowed their heads. Soon there was none within the chamber who remained erect, save Pryak and the Council of Priests. This latter group had huddled together close to the door during the excitement; only after all danger had passed did they resume their habitual expressions of arrogance....
From his elevated position Pryak looked down with mingled elation and disbelief at the many bent backs and lowered heads. Frantically his crafty brain sought for some means of making this triumph final and complete.
An inspiration struck him, then, and he lifted his hands high and turned his face toward the ceiling.
"Let no one move or speak!" he commanded loudly. "The All-powerful is speaking words of wisdom and guidance for my ears, alone. Let there be silence while I receive His message!"
A shiver ran through the kneeling men. The God was actually looking down into this room, seeing all that went on, and doubtless ready to blast anyone foolhardy enough to interrupt His message.
For some minutes Pryak remained as motionless as a figure hewn from stone. Arms and neck must have ached from their unnatural position, but not the tiniest muscle trembled under the strain. At last his arms dropped to his sides and his head resumed its normal position.
"Arise!" he called out; and when the now thoroughly subdued guards and the under-priests had obeyed, he said:
"The God is pleased that unworthy Urim is dead, and suggests his passing serve as warning to others as blind. He commands me to rule in Urim's place, and orders His people to honor their God and make offerings to Him as they did before Urim was king.
"And now let all leaders and subjects of palace and city be told I am king; and at the time of the morning audience, tomorrow, I shall speak to them from the palace courtyard. Go!"
When only the Council of Priests and Pryak, himself, remained in the throne-room, the new ruler gave them their orders.
"The city is ours," he said, "and we shall make its people recognize my power. Each of you will mingle with Sephar's citizens, spreading word of how they will benefit by this change.
"Also you will tell of the lavish Games to start within the next few days—far earlier than usual. Make them understand that even the greatest city of all Ammad has never provided such entertainment as I will give them. When they hear this, they will forget any resentment they may hold toward us; for most of them care not who rules, so long as the Games are exciting.
"Go now, and return here when darkness comes. Orbar, arrange for these bodies to be removed and thrown to the beasts. Report to me when you have done so; there are orders I want given to the palace attendants. For the time being you are to serve as captain of the guards."
For the first time since she had started out that morning, Alurna was beginning to question her opinion of where Sephar lay. She sought to push out the thought lest it became certainty and bring utter panic in its wake.
She forced her mind into other channels. How silent the jungle had become! Somehow its spells of stillness were harder to bear than the most sinister of sounds. Unconsciously she strained her ears for some sound to relieve this feeling of complete loneliness.
Something was moving in the trail behind her!
Alurna was turning, even as her brain received the warning. Standing in the path was Tarlok, the leopard, less than ten paces away.
Stricken dumb with terror, Alurna could only gaze wide-eyed at that sleek, spotted head. The narrowed yellow eyes, the white teeth with four long fangs predominated, the back-curling lips drawn into a grimace of blood-lust, even the somehow ludicrous long white hairs on the upper lip—all were stamped indelibly within her mind.
Tarlok was enjoying himself. The utter fear expressed in every line of his prey's face and body appealed to the cruelty in his nature. Purely as a means of adding to that fear, he made a little half-spring toward the girl.
Voicing a half-mad sob of absolute despair, Alurna sank to her knees and closed her eyes to wait for a horrible death.
There followed an agonizing few moments of silence. Why did death delay? Alurna fought to keep her eyes tight shut; but terror plucked at the lids, forcing them open. Hardly more than a yard away was the cat's sleek, savage head!
And then something hissed through the air between the girl and the beast. Emitting a shrill scream of surprise and anger, Tarlok reared high above the kneeling figure. That awful sound was more than Alurna's taut nerves could withstand, and she toppled forward into merciful unconsciousness....
Her next conscious sensation was that of flying, and she shuddered, believing it the brief delirium preceding death. But as the floating feeling endured, she slowly opened her eyes and saw that she was being borne through the forest top in the arms of a half naked man.
"The leopard?" she said weakly. "What happened? How—"
A slight smile touched the man's strong, finely-shaped lips, lighting up his handsome, tanned face. "Tarlok is dead," he said. "It was very close; my rope caught him just in time."
He halted and placed her in a sitting position on a strong branch, then sat down beside her. "I was beginning to think you would never open your eyes again," he continued. "We have come a long way since I picked you up in the trail."
Alurna was staring intently at him as he talked. "I have seen you somewhere, before."
Again the man smiled. "Yes," he said. "You have seen me before. It was only a few nights ago that I entered your room while the palace guards were hunting me."
"Of course!" Alurna exclaimed. "I remember. But you were caught and sentenced to the Games. Have you escaped from Sephar? And how did you happen to find me?" She broke off, laughing. "Not that I'm sorry youdidfind me. If you hadn't—" She shivered, leaving the sentence unfinished.
"Your father sent me to take you from the Hairy Ones," Tharn explained. "It was Katon's idea."
Whereupon he told of the agreement reached during his talk with Urim. The princess was secretly elated by one particular provision of the pact—the promised return of the Cro-Magnard girl to this man for succeeding in his mission. With Dylara gone, there was no reason why Jotan could not be won by Urim's daughter.
"Will you take me home, now?" she asked.
Tharn nodded. "We will go on until darkness, then sleep in the trees until morning."
He stood upright on the swaying bow, then bent and caught Alurna about the waist and swung her lightly to his back. The girl's arms slipped instinctively about the strong neck, and the young cave lord set off along the leafy avenue he had been following.
The first few minutes of the journey were never to be forgotten by the awed princess. Tharn's path took him high above the ground to where encumbering masses of tangled creepers did not reach. From one slender branch to another the majestic figure raced along with an easy sureness remarkable to behold.
Alurna forgot her fear of the heights, presently, admiration taking its place.
How confidently this god-like creature threaded his way across the network of bending boughs, where a slip might mean an awful death to them both! What splendid thews he possessed, to carry her as though she were a day-old babe!
Occasionally the rays of the sinking sun reached them through breaks in the foliage above, disclosing to the rapt eyes of the princess the horrid depths beneath.
Soon the dizzying bounds from one great tree pinnacle to the next ceased to be breath-taking, and Alurna rested against Tharn's warm shoulder, her nerves calm and relaxed.
Tharn's thoughts were far afield. Soon—another sun, in fact—Dylara and he would be on their way to the caves of Tharn. And Katon would go with them—Katon, his good friend.
The blue-eyed Sepharian and he would hunt in the forests with Barkoo and Korgul and Torbat. Katon would teach them to use the bow. Perhaps his friend would find a mate among the girls of the tribe. Then in truth would they be as blood-brothers!
How wonderful it would be to have such a companion! Always before he had spent much of his time alone, ranging the jungles for the adventures he craved. In all his tribe there had not been one he was drawn to; none he liked and respected enough to adopt as an intimate. Barkoo, of course, came closest to being such; but Barkoo carried far more years than he, and was given to the conservatism of old men.
The others were so far short of his own physical and mental stature. They could not race at break-neck speed through tree tops; they could not scent game from afar; they feared the great cats, unless in the company of many warriors.
It would be different, now. He would teach Katon the forest lore that had made Tharn master of the wild places. They would be always together—inseparable.
Only a few minutes of daylight remained when Tharn and his burden reached the forest's edge near the base of the sheer cliff between them and Sephar. Tharn realized they could not hope to complete the ascent before the light failed; so, selecting a tall tree, he fashioned a rude platform of branches high above the ground and covered it with leaves as a comfortable bed for the princess.
As for himself, he curled in a crotch of the same tree, a few feet beneath her, and, after waiting until she had ceased turning uneasily on her primitive couch, dropped off to sleep.
The sun had barely cleared the eastern horizon when Alurna opened her eyes. For a long moment she gazed blankly at the ceiling of vegetation; then memory returned and she rose to her feet on the lattice of boughs that had served as her bed.
Something of the beauty of the untamed forest came to her as she stood there, drinking in the sea of green through sleep-freshened eyes. An early morning breeze stirred the vast expanse of leaves like an invisible hand; multi-colored birds flashed among the myriad branches and festooned vines, uttering strident cries or now and then surprising her with a burst of melody from some feathered throat. Already familiar were the ever-present troops of sure-footed monkeys, swinging and racing among the tree-top terraces—chattering, scolding, inquisitive.
This, she reflected, was the jungle—gaudy and sparkling and inviting on the surface; grim, and the lurking place of savage horror beneath its glamorous exterior.
There was a soft sound at her back, and she wheeled—to look into the quiet face of the cave-man. In his arms was a quantity of fruits; and Alurna was suddenly aware of being very hungry.
While they ate, seated on the bed of leaves, Alurna chattered continuously, asking many questions, seeking to explore the depths of her rescuer's mind and character. She found herself admiring the utter lack of self-consciousness in his replies and actions, while his habitual reserve and dignity of bearing compelled her respect.
Finally they descended to the ground and crossed the ribbon of grassland to the base of the lofty escarpment. Alurna, looking up at the upper rim so far above, shook her head in wonder.
"I'll never be able to climb it, Tharn," she protested. "How I ever managed to get down it without falling, is more than I know."
"We can not wish ourselves to the top," Tharn pointed out. "Nor is there any point in remaining here. We can at least make the effort."
It required more than an hour for them to gain the upper edge of the plateau. Alurna was helpless to aid him by doing any climbing herself; Tharn literally had to carry her up that vertical slope.
When they stood at last on level ground, the cave-man did not stop to rest. After they had crossed the narrow stretch of plains bordering the forest, Tharn turned to his companion. "I am going to carry you, again," he said. "Hold me about the neck and do not be afraid."
With that, he lifted her easily, and supporting her thus with one arm, took to the trees. With the pathway through the branches lighted by Dyta's powerful rays, and with the knowledge that only a few hours remained before he would reclaim Dylara, Tharn elected to travel swiftly; and when the forest-man hurried, there were few of the jungle folk that could match his speed.
Onward he went, racing along swaying limbs, leaping outward across space to hurtle into the embrace of another tree at the dizzy height of the forest top, his free hand finding, unerringly, some waving bough at the very instant those sure feet came to rest on some strong branch. Now he threaded his way above the hard-packed earth with all the grace and agility of a tight-rope walker, prevented from falling only by an uncanny sense of balance. If handicapped by his burden, none might have guessed it; certainly he could not have moved with greater speed and surety had he been unencumbered.
Alurna lay quiescent within his grasp, looking up at the immobile face so near her own. It was restful to lie against the broad chest, her cheek pillowed on a firm shoulder, and be lulled to drowsiness by the rhythmic sway of this tireless body. A feeling of complete peace gradually suffused her entire being, her eyelids grew languorously heavy, closed of their own volition.... Alurna fell fast asleep.
How long she slept Alurna never knew, but her eyes opened as she felt the arms about her relax their grip and lower her to her feet. There was something almost of roughness in the action, and she looked up at Tharn quickly. To her surprise he was standing with head thrown back, nostrils twitching as he sniffed the wind from the north. His face seemed tense, strangely drawn.
She put a hand on his arm, her white fingers gleaming in sharp contrast to the tanned forearm.
"What has happened, Tharn?" She glanced uneasily about at the surrounding foliage. "Are we nearly to Sephar?"
Tharn was not listening. To his sensitive nostrils the wind was bringing the scent of a lion—and of a girl. The odors were commingled and of equal strength, sufficient evidence to Tharn that the girl might be in danger.
But the scents alone had not brought the tenseness to his face. There was a haunting familiarity to one of them—that of the girl.
And then he was galvanized into action. Whirling, he scooped up the girl and placed her on a thick branch, close to the bole.
"Remain here until I return," he commanded. "I will come back for you."
"But why—" began the princess, then realized she was addressing thin air. Tharn had gone, speeding through the trees into the north.
His mate was in danger! The thought echoed and re-echoed in his mind, even as logic told him it was next to impossible for Dylara to be elsewhere than in Urim's palace. Yet he would stake the evidence of his senses against reason itself—as, indeed, he was doing now.
If his passage through the trees with Alurna had been rapid, he was literally flying now—hurling himself from one branch to another with reckless fury—taking chances he ordinarily would never have considered.
While ever stronger to his nostrils came the scent of Sadu—and of Dylara.
At last he caught sight of her, seated on a fallen log at the edge of a trail, carefully massaging an ankle.
And at the same instant, from his elevated position, he caught sight of Sadu a few paces behind the unheeding daughter of Majok. The beast was lying belly-flat behind a curtain of vines; and even as Tharn discovered him the cat was preparing to spring.
The man of the caves never hesitated. Like a falling stone he plummeted earthward, dropping in front of Sadu as the beast rose in its spring.
Dylara, aroused by crashing foliage, leaped to her feet and whirled about. She cried out awe-struck wonder as she saw the young man who had died beneath a Sepharian club standing between her and an on-rushing lion.
Powerless to move, she watched the Cro-Magnard crouch to meet certain death. In the single instant that elapsed before Sadu reached him, she saw Tharn's hands were empty.
And then her jaw dropped and her eyes flew wide with amazement. Tharn had leaped forward and sent his shoulder crashing into the side of the soaring brute. Sadu, caught off balance, spun sideways and fell heavily. He was up instantly, growling horribly, and in mad frenzy turned upon Tharn.
What Dylara witnessed then was something that was to go down in the folk lore of future generations of the Cro-Magnard people. She saw the clenched fingers of the man swing forward with every ounce of power in that mighty arm, backed by the insane fury of utter desperation.
The iron fist struck Sadu full between the eyes, crushing the skull like a hollow melon and driving splinters of bone into that savage brain.
Dylara, weak with relief, felt her knees buckle as the lion sank lifeless to the ground. Tharn, his knuckles throbbing with pain, jumped forward and caught her about the waist. She turned her face to him, then, and he saw that her eyes were wet with tears.
Her warm red lips, slightly parted, were very near his own. Drawn by an irresistible impulse, Tharn bent his head to meet them. The girl saw the clean, firm mouth come close, yet she did not shrink away. Something was stirring deep within her—something that had never known life before this moment—something she had no time to analyze.
Suddenly she wanted more than anything else to feel that mouth pressed against her own. She lifted her face for Tharn's kiss....
"Dylara!" said a quiet voice.
The man and the girl sprang apart. Facing them, now, was a group of eight Sepharian warriors, a tall, broad-shouldered young man at their head.
Dylara knew the leader at once. It was Jotan. She saw that his expression was very stern, and she knew instinctively that he was thinking of her in Tharn's embrace.
Jotan ignored the cave-man. "We have been searching for you, Dylara," he said quietly. "Come, we shall return to Sephar at once."
Before she could frame a reply, Tharn had stepped in front of her. There followed a tense, electric moment of silence as the two men eyed each other.
"She is mine," Tharn said, without heat. "She goes with me."
Jotan gestured with one hand. In response, seven spears were leveled at the cave-man's naked chest.
"You are wrong, my friend," said the leader. "I am taking her with me. I have nothing against you; you may have your freedom if you go at once. Otherwise, you go back to Sephar as a prisoner. Resist, and my men will kill you."
Tharn was thinking rapidly. To attack eight armed men would be a fool's act. Alurna was waiting for him back there in the jungle. And in Alurna he had that which would put to naught those seven spears.
Let this man take Dylara back to Sephar. Tharn had only to return with the princess Alurna and claim his reward from Urim. That reward was—Dylara! He knew Urim would keep his word, no matter what objections were offered by this man.
"Well?" The word was clipped, cold, impatient.
Without a word Tharn turned and leaped into the branches overhead. He had not dared to offer Dylara an encouraging sign, fearing to arouse the Sepharian's suspicions.
The cave-girl watched him go, disbelief uppermost in her mind. It was not like Tharn to give up so easily. But did she want him not to give up? She had thrilled to his strength, his agility and fearlessness during the encounter with Sadu. No other man could have thus faced the jungle king with empty hands—and lived.
But were such qualities enough? She stole a glance at the handsome young Sepharian. In him was more than mere physical appeal. This man gave an impression of consideration and thoughtfulness. He would never take a girl against her will as Tharn had done. He was of a race that had risen above cave life. His people had learned life could mean more than the hunt—more than sleeping and eating and talking. Would not living be richer, more full, with this man than it could possibly be with Tharn?
Meanwhile, Tharn was speeding back through the trees to join Alurna. Led by his unerring sense of direction he soon entered the tree where he had left her.
She looked up with a relieved smile as he came into view. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten me," she said warmly. "Whatever possessed you to run away like that?"
Tharn had never liked giving long explanations. "It was nothing," he said lightly. "Let us go on."
They descended and walked slowly, side by side, along the trail. Alurna wondered why the cave-man no longer raced ahead as he had done before. But Tharn's purpose was clear in his mind: it would be best, he decided, to let Dylara and the Sepharians enter the city ahead of him.
Nearly two hours later they rounded a bend of the trail and came to a halt. Alurna gave a little cry of happiness. Directly ahead, beyond a brief expanse of open ground stood Sephar's walls. Turning to the silent figure at her side, she caught his arm and, like an eager child, sought to hurry him on.
Nor did Tharn need persuasion. He had stopped only because his ever-present sense of caution bade him go slowly. But the impelling hand at his arm removed the last lingering trace of reluctance.
They were half-way across the clearing before one of several warriors about a gateway spied them and raised a shout that brought a dozen guards from inside the walls. At sight of the cave-man and his companion the entire group came running toward them.
Once more Tharn stopped, hand dropping to the knife at his belt. But the impatient voice of the princess beat down his suspicion.
"No, Tharn, no! Those are my father's men. They come to welcome us."
His fingers relaxed their hold on the knife, but his hand remained close to its hilt. And then they were surrounded by the men of Sephar.
This detail was in charge of Lodorth, a tall, rather fleshy warrior of middle-age, very straight of back and given to the blunt speech of a soldier. Alurna remembered him as once having been stationed at the palace.
"Ah, princess," Lodorth said soberly. "We believed you to be dead or hopelessly lost. I am glad to be first in welcoming you."
Alurna was all smiles. "My father is worried, I know. I must go to him at once, Lodorth."
An expression which the girl could not define passed across the officer's face but he made no reply. Instead he turned to his men.
"Disarm this man and bind his hands!" he ordered, jerking a thumb toward Tharn.
Upon hearing this, the cave-man reached quickly for his knife, but froze as he felt several cold flint spearheads against the skin of his back.
"Disarm him!" barked the leader curtly.
One of the men stepped forward, and with a wary eye cocked toward the motionless figure, plucked the stone blade from Tharn's loin-cloth.
Then Alurna found her tongue.
"You are a fool, Lodorth!" she cried, turning on the captain. "This man saved my life. Give him his knife and show him your respect, or you shall answer to Urim—and to me!"
Lodorth eyed her stolidly. "Pryak is king, now," he said, his face an impassive mask. "Urim is dead!"
Pryak, seated in one of the great rooms of the palace, was deep in conversation with Orbar, his lieutenant. The room, itself, was swarming with white-tunicked priests, their babbling voices adding to the atmosphere of confusion and disorder.
A knock sounded at the door and it was opened to admit three people. As they entered, a sudden hush fell over the milling throng of priests.
Pryak, aroused by the abrupt cessation of sound, looked up questioningly. At sight of the newcomers his eyes opened wide in surprise; then his lips curled in a smile more disturbing than the blackest frown.
"By the God!" he exclaimed, mock pleasure in his tone, "I welcome the daughter of Urim! I was told you were dead, princess—taken from us by the cruel jungle. And now you have come back! I shall enjoy hearing of your adventures."
The thinly veiled contempt in words and tone brought a wave of red across Alurna's pale, grief-stained face. Then she spoke—and her words, barely audible from the choking emotion behind them, carried such hatred and loathing as to hold Pryak petrified on his chair.
"Murderer!" she whispered. "Little man of filth! It was you who caused the death of my father! Who did it for you? How long do you think you can hold Urim's place before somerealman takes your place—and twists your wrinkled neck?"
Pryak, his face livid with rage, leaped from his stool and lifted his hand to strike her into silence.
The blow never found its mark. Tharn, standing near Alurna, and forgotten by the others, had moved almost before Pryak was off the stool.
And so it was that Pryak, Voice of the Great God, found his bony wrist seized by fingers of steel and his swinging arm halted as abruptly as though it had encountered one of the room's stone walls.
Before the startled priest could cry out or his astounded followers interfere, he was snatched bodily from his feet and flung almost the entire length of the chamber.
Four priests were bowled over by the catapulting body; those human cushions were all that saved Pryak from injury.
Tharn went down, then, beneath a horde of fanatical priests. And before they had him bound and helpless, more than one felt the weight of his fists and the strength of his arms. At last they dragged him to his feet and stepped aside as Pryak, rumpled and bruised, came forward.
"For what you have done," he growled hoarsely, "you shall pay in blood and suffering. When the lions hunt you down in the arena during the Games, wild man, remember that you dared to lay hands on Sephar's king."
Tharn laughed in his face. "Better the fangs of Sadu," he gibed, "than the stench of a priest!"
Stung by the taunt, Pryak went white. Unexpectedly, he lashed out with a bony fist, catching the young cave-man flush on the mouth. Tharn's expression did not change under the blow, but something crept into his eyes that made Pryak shrink back in alarm. Then, remembering the captive was bound and helpless, he drew back his arm to strike again.
This time, however, a tall figure stood between him and Tharn—Lodorth, under-officer in Sephar's forces.
"You wish the prisoner taken to the pits, O Voice of the God?" The contempt in Lodorth's tone was poorly concealed.
For a moment Pryak considered ordering the man aside. He hesitated, then nodded assent and turned away.
"And the princess?" Lodorth called after him.
"Leave her here."
"This way," said the soldier to young Tharn, and together they moved toward the exit.
It was clear to Tharn that this warrior was no admirer of the treacherous high priest—a conclusion strengthened by the incident in which Lodorth had saved him from a second blow. He wondered if others in Sephar felt so toward their new ruler.
Presently they reached the entrance to the subterranean cell. Releasing the monstrous bar, Lodorth cut Tharn's bonds and motioned for him to enter.
Once within, Tharn's first thought was that he had been brought to another cell. Instead of the score or so of prisoners he had expected, there were fully a hundred men gathered here. Then he began to pick out familiar faces; and an instant later his doubts were dispelled as Katon came forward to welcome him, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
"Tharn!" he exclaimed joyfully. "I knew you would return. Did you find Alurna?"
"I found her," Tharn admitted ruefully. "But it would have been wiser to leave her at Sephar's gates."
Katon's smile faded. "You are right, my friend. Everything seems to work against us. You and I both have been hurt by this change. Had not Pryak gone completely mad, you and your mate would be starting for home by now, and Urim would have set me free.
"But all that may as well be forgotten, now. Soon the Games begin; our chief worry will be to save our skins."
Tharn looked about at the many strange faces.
"It appears we shall have plenty of company," he observed.
"There are many others besides these," was the reply. "Pryak fears many of Urim's friends and intends using the Games to eliminate them. A room across the hall is filled with at least as many as you see here; and many of those men loved Urim and hate the one who caused his death.
"Pryak hopes to accomplish a double purpose this time. He will gain favor by offering the bloodiest Games ever held; also, he expects to wipe out all who oppose him by sending the opposition itself into the arena.
"I am told," Katon continued, "that many savage beasts are held ready to be sent against us. More than ever, Pryak is determined the final victor shall not be human. Were a man to prove the God's favorite, Sephar's populace might turn to him so strongly as to weaken Pryak's position."
Tharn grinned. "At least we shall have our fill of fighting."
"More than my fill!" retorted his friend, dryly.
Tharn, glancing about the crowded room, uttered a startled ejaculation and pointed toward a figure huddled near one of the walls.
"Who is that?" he asked. "Even with his face hidden in his hands, he seems known to me."
Katon grunted. "And well he should! That, my friend, is Vulcar—once captain of Urim's own guards!"
At Tharn's expression of shocked incredulity, he continued:
"He was brought here, yesterday, with nearly a score of warriors. In all the hours since, he has not spoken—only sits with bowed head. He, once so proud, is now humbled and beaten—crushed by the death of the man he worshipped."
Tharn studied the dejected figure. Courage might dull under such a blow as Vulcar had taken; yet it would still be courage. Experience told him a brave man is brave until death takes him; a coward, while occasionally rising above his weakness, remains a coward. And certainly Vulcar was known to be a man of courage.
From the moment of Tharn's recapture a plan had been taking form in his shrewd mind. He had never been one to accept resignedly what fate appeared to offer. If these other prisoners were ready to die in the arena, that was their affair; certainly he did not intend giving up so easily. Men like themselves had put them in this hole; and what one man could do, another could undo. The worst enemy of his fellows was their patient acceptance of what Pryak had decreed for them. If that viewpoint could only be reversed....
Taking Katon by the arm, he started across the room toward Vulcar.
"What are you—" Katon began, then subsided as the cave-man frowned and shook his head in warning.
When within a few paces of the former captain, Tharn stopped and turned his back, and Katon's, to the unheeding Vulcar.
"I tell you, it seems hard to believe," Tharn began, his voice raised somewhat above its usual pitch, "that none of Urim's friends has courage enough to avenge his death. Why, had I served under him, I—"
"Who says none hopes to avenge Urim?" The quiet words came from behind them.
Turning, they found Vulcar, head lifted and shoulders squared, regarding them fixedly.
The Cro-Magnard simulated surprise to hide his sudden elation. "If I am wrong—" He stopped there, waiting.
"What chance have we to avenge him?" Vulcar demanded, his hawk-like face drawn into lines of helpless fury. "Here we are—thrown into a hole, sentenced to die for the satisfaction of a false God—and to save Pryak from sleepless nights!"
Tharn appeared sympathetic. "Given a chance, however slight, would you take it?"
"Take it?" echoed Vulcar. "Of course! But there is no—"
"Are there others who feel as you?"
"I know of eighteen—those who went with me to search for Urim's daughter. When we returned to Sephar, Pryak's men overpowered us and brought us here. I am almost glad, now, that we did not find Alurna."
"Alurna is in Sephar," Tharn informed him. "I brought her back."
"You?" Vulcar came to his feet in surprise. "How did you get her?"
Briefly, the cave-man told of what had taken place. When he was done, Vulcar stepped forward and placed both hands on Tharn's shoulders.
"My life is yours for what you have done," he said simply. "No matter what happens to her as Pryak's captive, it cannot be so horrible as death in the jungle."
For a moment the three men were silent. Then Tharn said: "Let us sit here where we shall not be overheard.... Katon, what can you tell me of the Games?"
"What do you want to know about them?"
"Everything," Tharn said promptly. "How far are the pits from the arena itself? How many of us are sent into the arena at one time? How, and when, are we given weapons?"
Katon was eyeing him strangely. "Why do you want to know those things?"
"I will explain that after you have answered my questions."
The conversation that followed was carried on in low voices. Katon did most of the talking; from time to time Vulcar added details. Tharn did little more than listen attentively.
At last the cave-man expressed satisfaction. "I think it can be done," he said slowly. "There is one weakness they have not covered."
"Whatcan be done?" Plainly, Katon was puzzled. "What is behind all this, Tharn?"
Tharn leaned forward. "We want two things—and so does every man in this room and the room across the hall. First: freedom. Second: death to Pryak! Are you with me?"
Vulcar made a face. "Either one is beyond our reach. What can a few unarmed men do against all Sephar?"
"What have we to lose?" demanded the Cro-Magnard. "All of us are supposed to die within the arena. If we must accept death, why not do so while trying to escape?"
Katon and Vulcar exchanged glances. It was evident neither had thought of it just that way before.
"What," Vulcar said softly, "do you suggest?"
"To begin with," Tharn said, "it would be wise to have three or four more hear my plan. They in turn can pass the details on to the rest of the prisoners. Those across the hall must be included, and I have an idea how that can be arranged. We shall need every man we can get."
Vulcar said, "Let me pick the four."
Soon the former captain was back, his selections close at his heels. Tharn and Katon rose to meet them.
"These are good men," Vulcar said. "I know them all. They are ready to follow your lead.
"This one—" He indicated a short, squat man with heavy features and much coarse hair on chest, legs and head, "—is Brutan. He likes to fight."
Unexpectedly Brutan grinned. "Yes," he said in a deep, harsh voice, "I like to fight. I will fight anybody. I will fight you!"
Tharn grinned back at him. There was something likeable about this rock-like Sepharian.
"This," continued Vulcar, "is Rotark. He is not afraid to die."
Rotark was tall and very thin, with a long, sorrowful face. "Why should I be afraid?" he asked in lugubrious tones. "There is no pleasure in living. Soon we shall all be dead."
Next, Vulcar jerked a thumb toward a young, very handsome warrior whose tunic was amazingly clean and spotless in contrast to those of the others. His thick blond hair was neatly pushed back from a high, rounded forehead.
"He is Gorlat," said Vulcar. "He does not like to fight, but will do so to keep from being killed. Few men are his equal with a knife."
The blond young man smiled but said nothing.
"Brosan, here, you already know."
Tharn nodded. He remembered that pock-marked face, as well as the unconcerned grin exposing yellowed, broken teeth.
The cave-man came directly to the point.
"We are supposed to die in the arena for the amusement of Pryak and the people of Sephar. To me, that seems wrong. It would be better if Pryak and his priests were the ones to die.
"I think that can be arranged. Listen, and when I am done, let me know what you think of my plan."
They listened closely and without interrupting. And while he awaited their reaction, they looked at one another in silence, while broad smiles began to steal across their faces. Even Rotark's lips twitched in approval.
"Good!" said Brutan the laconic.
"Even though we fail," said Rotark mournfully, "it is worth trying."
Gorlat said nothing, but his smile matched the brilliance of his hair. Katon and Vulcar regarded the cave-man with respect, deeply impressed with the plan he had offered. They realized the force of this barbarian's personality—that intangible requisite of all who would be leaders—had grasped the imagination of these men, winning their loyalty and unstinted support.
"When shall we tell the others?" Brosan asked.
"Go among them now," Tharn advised. "Explain our plan briefly, but cover every point. Warn them not to chance arousing suspicion among the guards. Everything depends upon absolute secrecy."
It was on the following day that the great Games began.
When the door closed behind Tharn and Lodorth, a feeling of loneliness swept over the princess Alurna. She had come to regard the cave-man as her friend—perhaps the only friend left to her in all Sephar. She glanced fearfully at the face of the high-priest and found nothing there to reassure her.
Pryak's expression was stern; but that sternness was a mask to hide an inner perturbation. For there had come to him the realization that in this frail girl lay a vital threat to his newly won power.
He silently cursed his stupidity in receiving her so ungraciously, and silently he thanked his God that he had been prevented from actually striking the princess.
Alurna, he remembered, was more than Urim's daughter; she was niece to the most powerful figure of the known world—Jaltor, king of far-off Ammad, and commander of the greatest force of fighting-men ever assembled. Urim had been Jaltor's brother....
Eventually, Jaltor would learn of his brother's death. As a statesman and ruler, he would understand that Urim's passing was incidental to a change in power and one of the hazards of kinghood.
It was not likely, however, that Jaltor would regard in a similar light an overt slight or actual cruelty to a niece. As a possible threat to Pryak's position as king, Alurna was not to be considered; only a man could rule men. For that reason alone, the high priest had no valid excuse to do her harm.
His course, then, was plain; every effort must be made to win this girl into regarding him as a friend, lest word reach Jaltor that his niece was a mistreated prisoner in Sephar.
The chill faded from Pryak's expression like snow under a hot sun. "I have been wrong, princess," he admitted, with passable humbleness. "As Urim's daughter, you are entitled to every respect and honor. From now on you may depend on being accorded both."
Alurna could hardly believe her ears. What had come over this old man, to change him so quickly and completely?
Her response was instant and characteristic. "I want nothing from you, priest!" she snapped.
Pryak lost his smile, but none of his urbanity. He beckoned to a nearby attendant. "Escort the princess to her rooms," he instructed. "See to it that her every wish is obeyed."
When Alurna had gone, a thoughtful Pryak dropped onto his stool across from Orbar and pursed his lips reflectively.
"There must be some way to dispose of her," he said, "without incurring the wrath of Jaltor."
Orbar grinned evilly. "A knife in the dark...." He let his voice trail off meaningly.
"You are a fool!" growled the new king. "Her uncle and his men would be at our gates within two moons. I dare not risk—"
He broke off as an under-priest came hurriedly from across the room and bowed before him.
"What is it, Baltor?"
"The three nobles of Ammad are here, asking that you see them."
Pryak sighed. Here were others he must treat with deference, lest his failure to do so cause international complications. He was beginning to understand that even an all-powerful monarch must recognize the importance of individuals other than himself. He felt vaguely distressed....
"Bring them to me, here," he said.
A moment later Jotan, Tamar and Javan approached the seated men and bent their heads in formal recognition.
"How may I, king of Sephar and Voice of the God, serve our noble visitors?" asked the arch-priest loftily.
Jotan acted as spokesman. "By granting us permission to set out for Ammad. Already have we delayed longer than was intended. To avoid the rainy season we should like to leave at once."
Pryak thought for a moment. He must not let them go so easily. They might think that he was relieved to be rid of them—that his hospitality was less than Urim's had been.
He said, "Would you start on so perilous a journey without first showing honor to your God? Tomorrow the Games begin. It would be wise to attend the first two days; otherwise misfortune may beset your path to Ammad."
Jotan was shrewd enough to yield. He guessed that Pryak was expecting to strengthen further his position as king by exhibiting the three Ammadians to the crowd as his intimates.
"Agreed," he responded. "I know that Jaltor, my king, will be greatly interested in an account of the lavishness of Sephar's Games."
It was then that Pryak found a solution to his problem!
Jotan, thinking the interview ended, had turned to go.
"Wait, Jotan of Ammad!"
The men from Ammad turned, surprised by the urgency in the high priest's voice. Pryak had risen and was coming toward them.
"There is something you can do for me, Jotan—a small matter, but one that will relieve a rather delicate situation."
"Of course," Jotan said quickly.
"It concerns Alurna—Urim's daughter. She is not happy here. Since her father's ... passing, she seems anxious to leave Sephar.
"It is my thought that she go with you to Ammad. Her uncle, Jaltor, would welcome her, I am sure; and she would be content there. Will you take her with you?"
Jotan saw his chance! Ever since Dylara had been taken from him by Pryak's men a few hours before, Jotan had been at his wits' end for a way to get her back. The guards, learning she was an escaped slave, had taken her from the Ammadians as a matter of course; for, as a slave, she was the property of Sephar's king. Jotan had not demurred, partly because it would have been useless to argue the point with anyone lacking authority to make a decision, and partly because he was confident that Urim, when asked, would give the girl to him.
But upon learning of Urim's death, and of Pryak's seizure of power, Jotan's hopes began to fade. Pryak's reluctance toward granting favors, however trivial, was a matter of common gossip. This, coupled with the fact that the high priest might not be inclined to be overly cordial toward a close friend of the former ruler, decided Jotan against asking for the slave-girl—a decision strengthened by Tamar's logic during a discussion held shortly before the three friends had come to the palace.
Several times during the interview with Pryak, Jotan had been near to blurting out a request that Dylara be given to him. But his pride would not permit the risk of being coldly refused, and each time he had bitten back the words.
But now—now the picture was changed. Pryak had opened the way for a counter-proposal; one the priest could hardly refuse because of his own request.
Jotan hid his elation behind an expressionless face. "I will gladly do as you have asked, Pryak of Ammad. Incidentally, there is a trifling favor you can grant me—if you will."
Tamar, listening, groaned inwardly.
"What is this favor?" asked the priest cautiously.
"I have become interested in one of the palace slave-girls," Jotan told him. "I should like to have her."
The modestness of the request confused Pryak. Somehow, such a petition seemed irrelevant, too petty.
"Of course," he agreed quickly. "I had expected that you would ask for something of more value. Take whichever slave you want—several, if you like."
"Your kindness indicates how generous a king rules Sephar," Jotan said smoothly. "If one of your men will accompany me, I shall give him the necessary instructions."
"Baltor, here, will carry out your orders." Pryak indicated the attendant who had ushered them in.
When they had left the room, Jotan said to the attendant:
"Go at once to the quarters of the female slaves. Instruct the guards there to turn over to you the slave-girl known as Dylara. You will bring her to my quarters."
"I understand, noble Jotan."
"When you have done this, return to the palace and seek out the princess, Alurna. Convey to her my greetings, and say that I wish an audience with her at her convenience.... Is all this clear to you?"
"Yes."
"Good! Report to me when you have finished."