CAME THARN

Once Tharn was satisfied that the column of fifty Ammadians, with Dylara and Trakor in its midst, meant to cut directly across that wide expanse of sun-baked grasses, he set out on a circuitous course to pass them that he might be the first to reach the distant forest beyond. It meant covering a quarter again as much ground, but the advantage made this extra effort worth while.

As he moved across the prairie at a tireless trot, bitter thoughts filled his mind. Last night Dylara had been almost within arm’s reach and it seemed his long search for her was on the point of ending. Caution, ever a strong attribute of jungle dwellers, had brought on his decision to wait until the camp was settled down for the night before he attempted to wrest her from the Ammadians who held her captive. Had the circumstances demanded it, Tharn would have unhesitatingly charged all fifty of those armed men; but only the inexperienced uses force where stealth will do.

And so Tharn had restrained his impatience, deciding to nap an hour or two while he waited. He had awakened to loud voices and had witnessed, in helpless rage, Ekbar’s cross-examination of Trakor and Dylara. His first reaction was anger that Trakor had attempted a deed beyond his still limited prowess, but understanding came at once. It was in this fashion that the boy had sought to show his gratitude to Tharn, and in so doing had alerted the camp and gotten himself captured in the bargain!

Thus by the impulsive act of a hero-worshiping boy had Tharn’s original task become a double one and doubly difficult to accomplish successfully.

At first he considered entering the camp after another hour or two, but with the trebling of the guard he gave up the idea for the night at least. There would be other nights nights when the number of guards would be normal and their behavior the same. Guards, it was well known, were apt to become heavy-eyed and less alert along toward dawn.

All during the following morning Tharn trailed the Ammadians. At first he did so from a position among the branches above them; but along toward mid-morning the trees began to thin out, as well as the undergrowth normally covering the ground between the giant boles, and he was forced to lag further and further behind. When the fifty men reached the prairie’s edge and stopped to rest, he managed to work his way close enough to hear conversations among several of the men.

Their talk was filled with eagerness at being close to Ammad once more, and Tharn was aware of a feeling of sharp disappointment. Was it possible this group would reach the city before nightfall? If that were true, his chances of freeing Dylara and Trakor were small indeed.

An hour later Tharn was standing in the shelter of a large tree, his eyes regretfully watching as the entire party forged across that broad stretch of open ground where he might not follow.

Two hours before sunset Tharn reached the wall of jungle and trees. The column of Ammadians were still far out in the grasslands and would need another three hours to reach the game trail where Tharn was standing. The cave lord decided to spend that time in reconnoitering. There was the possibility that Ammad itself lay not too deep within the forest to make it worthwhile for the approaching column to continue its march even after darkness fell.

It was as he had feared. Less than an hour’s swift progress through the forest’s upper terraces brought him to the edge of a vast clearing, much like the one surrounding Sephar, beyond which rose sheer grey walls of stone. From his elevated position he could see beyond that barrier, and he saw that, except for its far greater size and magnificence, Ammad was not much different from Sephar. But in size alone did Ammad make Sephar seem a small jungle clearing by comparison. In diameter it was at least ten miles and there were five small hills grouped near its center, at the apex of each a magnificent structure. The general layout of streets was much the same as he had found in Sephar, but there were more people on them.

For nearly an hour Tharn sat high among the concealing foliage of his tree and watched the scene below and before him. Hunting parties well laden with trophies of the hunt entered the clearing from the trail beneath him and the great gates of wood, guarded by Ammadian warriors, swung open to let them through the massive wall. It was a wall much higher and stronger than Sephar had boasted and getting past it was going to take some doing.

Tharn shrugged and turned back to pick up those who were holding Dylara and Trakor. Perhaps, he thought as he moved swiftly along the aerial highway, it would not be necessary for him to pass those walls. Even if those fifty Ammadians did not make camp for tonight, he might still find a way to rob them of their captives. Let them lower their guard for even a moment, let them become only a little careless and their hands would be empty before their minds had caught up with their eyes!

He arrived at the prairie’s edge only a few moments before Ekbar and his men reached the game trail’s mouth. Tharn, narrow-eyed and alert, watched them halt and gather gumwood torches, saw these latter ignited and the march resumed. It was as he had feared: they intended to press on until Ammad’s walls hemmed them safely in.

Even Tharn’s iron-willed reserve broke a little at this last blow. Through the velvety darkness of a semi-tropical night he moved stealthily above them, his fangs bared slightly, his hand hovering often near his blackwood bow and the quiver of arrows.

Several times he saw Trakor’s upturned face as the youth sought to pierce the wavering shadows cast by the flaming shadows. He knew well what was passing through Trakor’s mind and, despite his own disappointment, he smiled a little. Let the headstrong cave youth worry a little; it would be small payment indeed for the trouble he had caused!

But most often Tharn’s eyes went to Dylara. He saw her stagger now and then from sheer physical exhaustion and his heart went out to her. How he would have loved to wrest her from that spear-bristling line of warriors! There was no way to do that, however. A barrage of arrows could have cleared away those men directly around her, but a rope about her wrist had its other end bound about the arm of the man beside her; and even had Tharn leaped down on the heels of his arrows to slash away that rope spears might fell either or both of them.

No, for all his giant strength and agility he was as helpless to aid the girl of his choice as though miles lay between them.

Finally the time came when Tharn realized Ammad was only a short distance ahead. He must resign himself to the unescapable fact that Dylara and Trakor were going to be taken beyond those walls whether he liked the idea or not. This meant his energies and cunning must be diverted to a different channel; and with this in mind the cave lord halted on a broad leafy branch above the column, waiting while the twin lines moved ahead at a snail’s pace.

A pair of tall husky Ammadian warriors were last in line. One of them carried a blazing torch, the other had a heavy pack about his shoulders. They plodded along, weariness evident in the lines of bent shoulders and dragging feet. The one with the pack seemed especially tired and every fifty or sixty feet he would pause momentarily to shift his burden to a new position. Each time this happened the distance between him and his companion became a matter of ten or fifteen feet until, pack adjusted, the man hurried forward to join his unheeding partner.

A wry smile touched Tharn’s firm lips. With uncanny ease he slipped to the ground and moved silently along behind the wall of undergrowth flanking the trail, his course parallel with the column’s rear guard.

A bend in the path was coming up. Already most of the column had made the turn and was out of sight. Quickly Tharn raced ahead until he was at a point no more than ten feet from the turn. Crouching here, concealed by a maze of creepers and brush, he picked up a short length of dead branch and waited.

As the last two Ammadians reached a position directly opposite to the crouching cave lord, Tharn thrust out the branch two or three inches above the path’s surface and squarely between the legs of the pack bearer.

The man’s swinging foot struck against the unyielding wood and, weighted by the heavy pack and weary from the long hours without rest, he stumbled and fell headlong.

His companion, aroused by the thump of a falling body and a string of curses rising on the night air, turned back and bent to help him up.

“What happened, Posak?”

“What does it look like? Do you think I decided to lie down and rest awhile?”

Still muttering under his breath Posak got shakily to his feet and turned his back on his companion to pick up the heavy pack. When he turned back again, his amazed eyes beheld his friend face down and motionless in the trail and the mightily muscled figure of an almost naked cave man standing over him and holding the torch.

Posak opened his mouth to yell a warning to the others of the column. The cry was never voiced. An iron fist swept from nowhere to crash full against the point of his chin. There was a sharp brittle sound like a branch breaking and Posak sank lifelessly to the ground, his neck snapped cleanly in two.

Quickly Tharn propped the torch of gumwood against a tree bole and dragged the two corpses into the brush. With rapid care he stripped tunic and sandals from one body and donned them. The tunic he found to be tight across his chest but still adequate; the sandals fitted him perfectly.

So quickly had the cave lord acted that by the time he caught up the torch and rounded the bend in the trail, the end of Ekbar’s column was no more than a dozen yards away. No one seemed to be looking back of his shoulder in search of the missing pair, a fact probably explained by the sight of open ground directly ahead.

Blazing torch held high, thus leaving his face shadowed, Tharn moved easily along at the rear of the column of Ammadians, across the ribbon of open ground about Ammad’s walls, and on through the city gates.

Vokal awakened under the touch of gentle but insistent fingers against his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find one of his personal slaves, a lighted candle in one hand, bending over him.

“What do you want, Adgal?” he demanded, scowling.

“Ekbar has returned, Most-High,” the slave replied, cringing. “I told him you were sleeping but he demanded that I arouse you at once.”

The nobleman bounded from the bed and caught up his tunic. “Where is he?”

“In the outer chamber, Most-High.”

“Good. Tell him I’ll be out immediately.”

When Vokal entered the wide living room he found the captain of his guards standing at rigid attention just inside the door. The nobleman, his tunic fresh and unwrinkled, his thick grey hair as smoothly brushed as though this were midday instead of the dead of night, strolled to a nearby table, poured out a single glass of wine and sank into a chair. His thin shapely fingers lifted the goblet slowly to his lips, he sipped the liquid as slowly, savoring its bouquet. Finally he put down the goblet and swung his dreamy-eyed gaze to the uncomfortable and self-conscious captain of the guards.

“Well, Ekbar?” he said softly.

“He is dead, Most-High.”

“Indeed? You took care of the matter yourself?”

“No, Most-High. He was killed many suns before my men and I came upon his men. Sadu, the lion, slew him.”

Vokal stiffened slightly. “How do you know this?”

Ekbar retold, in detail, the story given him by Tykol. For several minutes after he finished Vokal sat there and thought it over while he sipped from his goblet of wine. “... You are sure he was not lying?”

“Yes, Most-High. There were but thirty-seven of them, where once there was fifty, and many wore strips of cloth over wounds left by Sadu’s claws. Scouts who knew Jotan by sight reported he was not with the column.” He hesitated. “One part of their report I did not understand, however, although it probably is not important.”

“Tell it to me.”

Ekbar shrugged. “There was a woman with them a young and very beautiful girl. The scouts say she was very lovely dark-haired, a pleasing figure and clearly the daughter of some nobleman.”

“Why did you not ask this Tykol who she was?”

“I learned about her the following day. By that time Tykol was dead.”

Vokal nodded. “The balance of Jotan’s men were not aware of being watched?”

“No, Most-High. I took pains to keep that from them. Since Jotan’s earlier death was something we had not foreseen, I acted as I thought you would order. Since Jotan is not with them it would be better that they reached Ammad and told of his death under the fangs and claws of Sadu.”

“You have acted wisely, Ekbar, and I shall not forget it.”

The captain flushed with pleasure. He said, “We did not return empty-handed, noble Vokal. Two cave people fell into our hands one of them a beautiful young woman who told us some wild story about being Jotan’s intended mate.”

At Vokal’s look of languid interest, Ekbar repeated the story Dylara had told him.

“And you say,” Vokal said when the captain finished, “that this cave girl is very beautiful?”

“There is none in all Ammad who is more lovely,” Ekbar said, his deep-set eyes glittering.

“How interesting!” Vokal leaned back in his chair, his long, well-kept fingers toying with the stem of his wine goblet. “Where is she now?”

“Both she and the cave man we captured a little later are under guard in the outer corridor, Most-High. I thought you might wish to look them over before they were placed with the other slaves.”

“Bring them in, my good Ekbar,” murmured Vokal.

The captain saluted stiffly and withdrew. A moment later he was back again followed by the two captives and a second guard.

For several moments the nobleman let his eyes move slowly over the two cave people. The man, he saw, was, despite his youth, a remarkable physical specimen, extraordinarily handsome and evidently intelligent and keen-witted as so many of the cave dwellers were. With the proper attitude toward his new master it would not be long before he rose to the status of a warrior and an end to his position as slave. Judging from the flashing eyes and his air of insolent contempt, it would take a few days of iron-fisted discipline, however, to make him amenable. Well, Ekbar was a past master of that art.

The girl, though, was another matter entirely. Ekbar had not exaggerated in naming her more beautiful than any of Ammad’s women including those of noble birth. Despite her travel-worn tunic and the weariness evident in every line of face and figure, her beauty shone through like Dyta’s brilliant rays. A man could lose his heart in that red-gold wealth of softly curling hair falling to her shoulders; he could drown in the depths of those sparkling brown eyes. He smiled a little at these thoughts. What would Rhoa, dark-haired, olive-skinned, beautiful and passionate, think if she knew he was having such thoughts about a wild girl of the caves?

Well, Rhoa need not know. Most noblemen had beautiful slave girls and most noblemen’s wives ignored the fact....

Dylara bore his steady gaze with calm indifference. The enforced association with the men of Ammad during the past several moons had taught her a great deal about them; that, plus a native shrewdness, told her she could expect little sympathy and no help from this silver-haired, languid-eyed man whose property she now appeared to be.

“Your name, cave girl?”

The soft, almost caressing voice repelled her. There was something ugly and evil behind it a reflection of the man’s true personality.

She met his gaze unflinching. “I am Dylara.”

“What is this wild story you told the captain of my guards the story that you were the noble Jotan’s mate?”

“I was never his mate. I am no man’s mate.”

“But he wanted you. Why, then, did he not take you?”

“Because, in spite of his being an Ammadian, Jotan was a true nobleman. He sought to win me with kindness and consideration instead of taking me by force.”

Deliberately Vokal let his eyes wander over the beautiful lines of her figure. “From your tone I judge that you do not believe all Ammadians would be so considerate. From looking at you I would say he was more stupid than anything else....”

“However, that is no longer important. Jotan is dead and you now belong to me to do with as I see fit. You may be sure I will not confuse consideration with stupidity!”

There was no mistaking his meaning. Dylara felt her cheeks burn, but before she could voice the angry retort trembling on her lips, Vokal turned his eyes to the silent and expressionless Ekbar.

“Confine the girl in one of the private rooms in the slave quarters,” he said. “As for her companion, put him in with those slaves who work on the palace grounds. Keep me informed as to his general attitude. If he gives you any trouble, have him beaten until he becomes tractable.”

Once past Ammad’s walls. Tharn permitted the rest of Ekbar’s column to draw gradually away from him until, to the eye of the casual passerby, he was not a part of that body but only a solitary warrior abroad on some affair of his own.

He would have liked nothing better than to continue on with the column until it passed through the walls of whatever estate they were headed for. But already his luck had held up far beyond what he had originally expected; to remain longer with Ekbar’s warriors would have meant risking almost certain discovery that he was not one of its original members.

He must keep the column in sight, however, until it reached its goal. Once he knew which of these stone walled estates was to swallow up Dylara and Trakor he would be free to enter in his own way and undertake their rescue.

At this late hour Ammad’s streets were nearly deserted. An occasional solitary figure strode along with purposeful steps, and twice small groups of men, staggering and loud-mouthed from too much wine, blundered and weaved along the paved thoroughfares. On these latter occasions Tharn was careful to cross the street to avoid contact, for drunken men were notoriously unpredictable.

At last Ekbar’s column ground to a halt outside a wide gate in a high wall of stone midway along one of the streets. Twin lanterns burned from a niche above those gates, their rays glinting on the spear points of four armed guards stationed there.

From the shadows of a wall across the street, Tharn watched as Ekbar held a brief conversation with those four sentries; then the gates swung wide and the column, Dylara and Trakor among its members, disappeared from view.

Tharn voiced a low grunt of approval and satisfaction. Somewhere within the huge sprawling building of four floors looming massively against the night sky was the girl he loved and the young man he had befriended. Within another hour the dwellers of that cliff-like dwelling would have finished welcoming the returning warriors and be back in their beds. Then would Tharn enter in search of their captives.

In the interim a general reconnaissance seemed in order. The palace sat squarely atop one of Ammad’s low hills amid wide grounds. Here and there behind the encircling wall a tree lifted its crested top, the night’s gentle wind stirring its leaves and branches.

Making certain his bow, quiver of arrows, grass rope and flint knife were in their accustomed places, Tharn set out for a leisurely stroll. For several hundred yards the street he followed lay unbroken by any intersecting avenue and in all that length the only life in sight was the group of four guards lounging outside that wide gateway which had swallowed up Dylara and Trakor.

When he reached a position directly opposite those four Tharn was aware that all of them were watching him from across the strip of paving that made up the street itself. At any moment he might be challenged and ordered to a halt.

But the challenge did not come and he passed casually on along the walk. They were behind him now and, unless he turned his head to look back, out of range of his eyes. His ears, however, were busy and soon they caught the sound of voices.

An intersection appeared ahead and unhesitatingly the cave lord cut diagonally across it and moved out of sight of the four sentries. If he expected to find this section of the wall unguarded, however, he was doomed to disappointment. Half way down the block a single lantern sent out feeble rays from a small niche directly above a single gate a gate guarded by a patrolling sentry.

Because of the comparative narrowness of this street and the high walls on either side, heavy shadows left it in almost total darkness. Tharn, across the street and still a good hundred and fifty yards away, had not yet been observed by that lone sentry.

He might, Tharn realized, be able to pass the man once without arousing undue interest or suspicion. But should he attempt to retrace his steps later on the guard would be almost certain to take some sort of action. It was not that Tharn would be unable to handle the matter if that should happen, but there was always the possibility that others might be aroused by a warning cry.

Stooping, Tharn removed his sandals and, hugging the wall where shadows lay deepest, began a slow, careful advance.

Thirty paces the guard took in each direction before executing a brisk about face and retracing his steps. The leather soles of his sandals made crisp clear rhythmical sounds against the stone underfoot. Each time his measured pacing brought him toward Tharn, the cave lord remained frozen, hugging the wall; when he wheeled and started back Tharn raced lightly ahead, even while he counted off each step the sentry took. On the twenty-ninth pace Tharn would freeze again, then repeat the maneuver.

Finally the man of the caves reached the point where he dared go no further. He was still fifty or sixty feet down the street and another fifteen feet to one side. Hardly daring to breathe, he stood as motionless as the wall at his back until the man finished the routine of thirty paces toward him; then, as he wheeled and started back, Tharn unslipped his bow with unthinkable swiftness, fitted an arrow to its string. Mighty muscles rippled smoothly across that bronzed back as a steady hand bent the stubborn wood, a single musical “twang” sounded against the still air and flint-tipped death flickered for an immeasurable instant between the two men.

True to its target flew Tharn’s arrow, the sharp point striking squarely at the juncture of neck and the skull’s base. Wide flew the sentry’s arms and he fell soundlessly in a crumpled heap, the spear still tightly clutched in one dead hand.

Even while the body was still falling Tharn was bounding toward the now unguarded gate. Unbarring it, he drew the lifeless warrior out of sight beyond, then closed the gate with his back.

Here at the wall’s base was darkness, but a few steps beyond was a moonfilled clearing dotted with carefully spaced bushes and an occasional tree. A curving path of crushed rock led across cropped grass and ended at a wide door of the palace itself.

Although the hour Tharn had alloted himself before entering the palace was not up, there were no signs of life anywhere about the grounds, nor did man-made light gleam through any of the windows on this side of the building. Yet uppermost in Tharn’s mind was that sense of caution when caution was possible, and he decided to wait for a while before entering the palace itself.

With a quick soundless rush he crossed the stretch of greensward between him and the nearest tree. A single agile leap took him among its branches and, finding a comfortable fork, he settled himself to wait.

Unexpectedly, it proved a wise move. Hardly was he at rest when a group of six guards, their spear-points and white tunics sharp and clear in the light of Uda, the moon, rounded a far corner of the building.

At first Tharn thought some one had sighted him entering the grounds and given an alarm. He abandoned the idea immediately, however, for the actions and general attitude of the six indicated this was no more than a routine patrol. Evidently Ammad’s nobleman had many enemies....

In a way Tharn’s choice of a point to break into this palace was an unfortunate one. He would have preferred to enter on the side where Uda’s rays did not reach. But four guards instead of one were stationed at that gate and an attempt to pass them would have been foolhardy at best.

Now, indeed, he must wait wait until he could learn how much time would elapse between appearances of those six guards. He settled himself firmly into the branch’s fork, using this period of enforced idleness by attempting to locate some means of ingress in that section of palace wall visible to him.

All windows of the first two floors appeared to be guarded by slender columns of stone. He had seen such forms of protection on some of Sephar’s structures and he knew that even his own great strength would be unable to force them.

The windows of the top two floors were shielded only by drapes of soft material, with here and there a balcony dotting the white stone surface. Could he but reach one of the former, entry would be simple. But nowhere on the smooth sheer surface could he make out hand- and foot-holds for that purpose.

Half an hour dragged by. Nobody passed by, no light showed at any of the windows, no sound broke the tomb-like silence. He wondered at the failure of the six-man patrol to appear a second time.

Well, he could not remain in this leafy retreat forever. With a slight shrug of his giant shoulders, Tharn descended to the lower branches, took a long and cautious look around, his ears and nose alert for some sign of life. Nothing.

Dropping to the ground, the cave lord ran lightly toward that corner of the palace around which those six guards had disappeared more than half an hour before. He was within feet of his goal when a sudden chorus of shrill cries from behind him broke the silence.

A single glance over his shoulder told him the story. The ground patrol had chosen this particular moment to reappear!

Once Dylara had been thrust not ungently within a room off a fourth floor corridor and its door barred from the outside, Trakor was turned over to a single guard to be taken to one of the slave dormitories. From the cave youth’s appearance of utter hopelessness, the dispirited droop of his shoulders, it was clear all fight had gone out of him since Ammad’s gates had closed at his back. He shuffled wearily along the hall ahead of his yawning guard, down a flight of stairs to the third level and along a lengthy corridor, lined with doors and completely deserted at this hour.

At the corridor’s far end loomed two massive doors, heavily barred. While Trakor stood passively by, head hanging listlessly, the Ammadian put down his spear and reached with both hands to lift free the broad bar. In so doing he momentarily turned his back to the cave youth and that momentary lapse spelled his doom.

Steel fingers closed about his throat, a naked leg tripped him up and he was flat on his back before his lips opened to a cry that was never uttered. Blindly the guard sought to reach the knife at his belt; but Trakor, anticipating this, ground a knee into that wrist.

The man’s heels hammered spasmodically against the stone in mute agony and fear and his by no means weak body thrashed and bucked. But those fingers only tightened their hold.

Trakor, his face only inches from that of the enemy, saw those fear-filled eyes start from their sockets, saw lips and cheeks turn dark with constricted blood, felt the broad chest beneath his rise and fall wildly as the lungs fought for air.

For several minutes after the Ammadian warrior lay limp and still beneath him Trakor kept his fingers buried in that lifeless throat. Finally he rose shakily to his feet and looked down upon the body of his first kill. Exultation filled him, and pride and a strange sense of sadness....

He shook his head briefly as if to clear away such thoughts. Guided by the dim light from candles in wall brackets set at wide intervals along the corridor, he bent and stripped the corpse of its tunic and drew it over his own shoulders. His late foe had been a tall man and the tunic came a bit higher on Trakor’s legs than Ammadian fashion dictated, a grievous matter which he ignored. A keen-edged knife of stone went under the tunic’s belt; the heavy spear he left where the warrior originally had placed it.

Trakor went back along that corridor with long swinging strides, his naked feet soundless against the stone, his head erect, his ears and eyes alert for the slightest sound or movement.

Ascending the same flight of stairs he had descended a few minutes earlier, he paused at the top and looked carefully at the twin lines of closed doors. The seventh on his left; he had counted them off carefully while on his way to the floor below.

For a full minute he stood motionless outside that barred portal, listening for some indication that others were up and about the palace. Then he turned back, lifted the bar and pushed open the door with slow care.

A flicker of motion from within the darkened room caused him to leap sharply back, just in time to keep a heavy wooden chair from caving in his head. Unchecked, the chair struck the floor with a resounding crash, the impact tearing it loose from Dylara’s hands.

By the time she had bent to pick it up for a second try, Trakor was inside and the door closed. He threw out a hand to ward off Dylara’s impromptu club, whispering, “No, Dylara! It is I Trakor!”

A muffled sob of relief and thanksgiving was torn from her throat, then she was in his arms.

At the feel of her body against his, the heady scent of her hair in his nostrils, Trakor felt his heart leap within him and his arms tightened suddenly about the girl’s smooth, softly rounded shoulders.

Then the moment was gone and they drew apart.

“I can’t believe it, Trakor!” Dylara whispered. “How did you manage to get away?”

“There’s no time for that now,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of this place and back to the jungle where we belong. Tharn is out there somewhere and we must find him before he enters Ammad in search of us.”

“But how....”

“I don’t know yet. If we can reach the streets without being seen....” He went to the door, pressed an ear against its planks for a moment, then very gently drew open the heavy section of wood and put his head cautiously out. The corridor, in either direction, was deserted.

“Come,” he whispered, and hand in hand they stole silently toward the head of those stairs Trakor had recently climbed.

From somewhere below them a door slammed heavily and sandaled feet, several pairs of them judging from the sound, approached the base of that same flight of steps.

Without speaking Trakor and Dylara turned and, on tiptoe, raced in the opposite direction. As he ran, Trakor drew his knife in preparation for any enemy who might suddenly loom in their path.

A turn in the corridor brought them to a second flight of steps, down which they raced at full speed. Past landings at the third and second floors they fled, stopping at last in front of a closed door marking the main level of the palace.

“Wait!” Trakor breathed, placing a restraining hand on the girl’s arm.

Silence seemed to press down upon them, a silence so complete they could hear the breath rustling in their nostrils.

With almost exaggerated care Trakor drew back the door. Moonlight streaming in at several stone-barred windows revealed a large hall, its walls hung with rich tapestries and a long wide table, lined with chairs, running almost its entire length.

Dylara, familiar with such scenes from her days in Sephar, said, “The palace dining hall.” She pointed to an open doorway in the opposite wall. “That should lead to the kitchens. No one will be there at this time of night.”

“Good!”

They crossed quickly to the designated opening, along a short narrow hall, through a second doorway and on into a low-ceilinged room whose furnishings bore mute testimony that Dylara’s guess had been right.

“Look!” whispered Dylara, pointing.

Thin lines of moonlight formed a rectangle on the far wall, marking a doorway leading to open air. Quickly Trakor was across the kitchen and straining to lift the heavy bar from its catches.

And in that moment a sudden chorus of deep-throated shouts of alarm from beyond that door reached their ears.