The Return of Tharn

by Howard Browne

  CHAPTER XIV

  AMBUSH

  For a long time after Sitab was gone, Vokal remained seated on a lowbench in the living room of his apartment. Worry was crowding in on hismind, the ambition that had led him into discrediting Garlud was provingitself a curse, and his love for Rhoa, wife of old Heglar, was now aburdensome thing that had cost him a thousand tals and might end upcosting him his life.

  Well, the die was cast now; there was no turning back. Dawn was no morethan two or three hours away; long before Dyta's golden rays floodedAmmad's streets Sitab should have returned with word that Heglar andGarlud were dead. Everything depended on that now--it was still not toolate to recoup, winning back his thousand tals and a higher place inAmmad's society.

  The silver-haired nobleman rose from his chair and reached for thecandle to blow out its flame. A few hour's sleep would make him betterable to face the morrow....

  ... From her place on the narrow balcony of the nobleman's apartment,Dylara watched the candle flame perish under the man's exhalation. Thistime, she thought, I will not wait so long for him to fall asleep. Shewatched him cross the room and disappear from sight into the sleepingquarters beyond, waited for the space of a hundred heartbeats to be surehe would not come into this room again, then very slowly, her heart inher mouth, she began to move with extreme stealth across the floortoward the corridor door.

  The journey seemed to take hours although two minutes were all thatpassed before she reached out to remove the heavy bar Vokal had droppedinto place when his last guest was gone. With trembling fingers she setthe thick length of wood against the stone flooring and slowly swung thedoor open a crack.

  Light gleamed dully from down the corridor. With great care she widenedthe distance between the door's edge and its frame. When the space waslarge enough, she put her head out cautiously and looked along thecorridor.

  Standing there, watching her with wide eyes, was one of the palaceguards!

  Shock held both Dylara and the guard momentarily paralyzed--then Dylara,the first to recover, was into the corridor and running swiftly in theopposite direction.

  Behind her she heard the guard shout a command. But before he could domore, she was around a bend in the corridor and racing toward the stairsshe knew were further along....

  ... Vokal, not yet completely asleep, leaped from his bed at the soundof a sudden hoarse cry from outside his apartment. When he arrived atthe open door--a door he had only moments before barred from inside--hefound a knot of palace guards already assembled there.

  "What has happened?" he demanded sharply.

  The man regularly stationed outside his door explained in a few words.

  Vokal's cheeks paled at the full implication of what had occurred cameto him. Whoever this mystery woman was, she had overheard--_must_ haveoverheard--his conversations with both Rhoa and Sitab. Were she aspy--someone who would go to Jaltor with what she had heard--Vokal was adead man!

  "Find her!" he screamed. "A hundred tals to the man who brings heralive, to me. Death to all of you unless she is found! Go!"

  They went. They went as though the hounds of hell were at their heels.Within seconds every floor of the palace was alight with torches, everyhall crowded with warriors, every room being searched. Guards at thepalace gates were alerted, patrols were set to scouring the groundsbetween palace and outer wall.

  There was no sign of the missing girl.

  * * * * *

  Tharn, sleeping soundly as a man does whose conscience is clear andwhose bed is no more uncomfortable than a hundred others he hasoccupied, awakened suddenly. For a brief moment he lay without moving,his ears searching for some indication of what had awakened him.

  There! The barest whisper of leather against stone from down thecorridor that ran past his cell door. A sandaled foot had made thatsound. Other ears--even the ears of a man already awake--would havemissed what his sleeping brain had caught.

  Soundlessly he left his stone bench and moved to the door. But thedarkness was such that even his unbelievably sharp eyes were helpless topenetrate it. But if his eyes were useless, his ears were not. Fiftyfeet further down the corridor a man was standing; he could hear hisbreathing and the rustle of garments. A few seconds later Tharn's eyescaught a tiny glow of light--a glow that soon swelled to a flickeringlight strong enough for him to see the opposite row of barred celldoors.

  Again came the whisper of sandaled feet. Presently an Ammadian guardcame into view, a heavy spear in one hand, a small torch of flaming woodin the other. The guard was peering into each of the cells across fromTharn, pausing at length at some, passing others quickly. Tharn wonderedat the man's attempt at stealth; since it was impossible for any of theprisoners to get at him, such precautions could serve no evident ends.

  When the man reached a cell almost exactly across from Tharn, the caveman saw him toss something through the opening framing the bars. Heheard the unseen prisoner sigh ... and then the guard raised his spearand inserted its head through the same opening.

  Tharn was on the point of crying out a warning, his reason dictated onlyby a desire to thwart as far as possible the hated symbol of authorityrepresented by this white-tunicked assassin. But in that moment he saw asecond figure steal into the outer periphery of light thrown by thetorch--a figure of a man whom Tharn recognized instantly as one of thosewho had accompanied Jotan on his search for Dylara a few days before.

  As the arm holding the spear tensed to send it plunging into the unseenprisoner, the newcomer leaped cat-like upon the would-be assassin. Therewas a startled cry that echoed along the subterranean hall and the twomen became a squirming knot of arms and legs.

  And then abruptly the threshing figures were still as the second manpressed the blade of a flint knife against the other's thinly clad back.

  "Not a move," growled Tamar, "or you are a dead man!"

  * * * * *

  Now a lovely dark-haired girl came into view, her face revealed by theflickering light of the still burning torch lying on the corridor'sflooring. As she bent to pick up the bit of blazing wood Tharnrecognized her as Urim's daughter, whose life he had saved on a longgone day.

  "What were you up to there?" growled Tamar. "Who are you and what----"

  "_Tamar!_"

  The cry came from behind the barred door from which the young noblemanhad just drawn the cringing Sitab. There, framed in the barred opening,was Jotan!

  Alurna, a faint cry of happiness on her lips, rushed to the door andremoved the heavy bar. Jotan bounded into the narrow hallway, gaveSephar's princess a thankful pat on the back, then turned to Tamar.

  "What's going on here? Who is this guard? How did you find me?"

  "First," Tamar said, "I'm going to find out why this son of Gubo wasabout to send a spear into you!"

  At Jotan's blank expression, Tamar explained what had been about tohappen when he and Alurna arrived. Whereupon Jotan took the tremblingSitab by the front of his tunic and shook him until most of his breathwas gone.

  "Who sent you?" Jotan snarled. "Speak before I strangle you with my barehands!"

  "I dare not tell you! He would kill me!" Sitab cried through chatteringteeth.

  Again Jotan shook him. "But I will cut you into tiny pieces if you donot tell. First I will cut your toes and fingers from your rotten body,then I will dig out your eyes and chop off your----"

  Sitab had fainted.

  Three ringing slaps brought the man back to consciousness. In a voicemade shrill with terror he gave the name of the man who had sent him.

  Tamar and Jotan stared at each other in utter amazement as the name ofVokal fell from those craven lips. Angrily Jotan hurled the shrinkingfigure from him, Sitab fell headlong against the stone wall and lapsedinto a motionless heap of quivering flesh.

  Tamar said, "That's all we need! We can go to Jaltor and tell him whatthis coward has said; then he will free you and your father and putVokal in your place."

  "My fathe
r lives?" cried Jotan. "I thought Jaltor had slain him."

  Quickly Tamar explained what had actually happened. When he hadfinished, Jotan said, "Before we do anything else I must find my father.Help me search these cells, both of you."

  "He may not be on this level," Tamar said. "We could spend hours huntinghim. The thing to do would be to go to Jaltor----"

  But Jotan was already on his way along the corridor, peering in at theoccupant of each.

  * * * * *

  Minutes later there was a sizable group of men freed from the cells andgrouped about Jotan and Tamar. Among them was Garlud, Jotan's father,his gaunt face wreathed in smiles, his strength, sapped by long days ofimprisonment, flowing back at the realization he was free and inpossession of the name of the man who had brought about his downfall.The others were those members of Jotan's party who had accompanied himfrom far-off Sephar, released from their brief imprisonment and readyfor action.

  Tamar said, "And now we can go to Jaltor and tell him what happened!"

  "We shall have to take this man"--Jotan pointed to the fallen andunmoving body of Sitab--"to Jaltor as our only witness againstVokal."

  Garlud said, "It is hard to believe that Vokal is the one behind allthis trouble. We have been friends for many years, all of Ammad loveshim, even Jaltor admires him more than almost any noble of the court."

  "He is behind the plot against us, father," Jotan said sharply. "Therecan be no doubt about it."

  "We shall need overwhelming proof."

  "Our proof lies there." Jotan waved a hand at the motionless bulk nearthe wall. "Get him on his feet, somebody; it's time he told his story toJaltor, king of Ammad!"

  Tamar bent above the fallen man and shook him. "Come! You've rested longenough!"

  But Sitab did not move and Tamar shook him again, harder this time, andrepeated the order. Then suddenly the young noble was kneeling besidethe still form of the guard and placing a hand against the tunic overhis heart.

  In the silence Tamar rose to his feet and met the stricken eyes of hisfriends. "He is dead," he said simply.

  "There dies our proof," Garlud said glumly. "Now it is our word againstVokal's."

  "No!" Jotan swung around to face his father and Tamar. "There is anotherway. We can go to Vokal's palace, pull him from his bed and force him toconfess!"

  "And what of Vokal's loyal guards and warriors?" Garlud said soberly."Do you think they will idly stand aside and permit that?"

  Jotan swept out his hand in a half circle. "Here are fifty men--stalwartwarriors all. And in your own palace, father, are hundreds more. I saylet us go to our own palace, gather together our warriors and march uponVokal!"

  "You forget," Garlud said softly, "that I am regarded as an enemy of theState. As such, my palace and possessions are confiscated and mywarriors stripped of their weapons and confined to quarters."

  "Jotan," said a quiet voice from behind them.

  * * * * *

  The group of men standing about the subterranean corridor beneath thepalace of Jaltor of Ammad, turned as the quiet voice reached their ears.

  Standing at the barred opening of one of the locked cells, the stronghandsome face, visible in the light of the late Sitab's torch, wasTharn, a slight smile on his lips.

  "Who calls my name?" demanded the young noble, stepping nearer the doorof the cell.

  "It is I--Tharn, son of Tharn, the cave man. Have you forgotten thetimes we have met in the past?"

  Recognition dawned in Jotan's expression. "Of course! You are the manwho claimed Dylara belonged to you."

  "And she still belongs to me," Tharn said quietly.

  "She lives?" Even the absence of more than dim light could not hide thesudden hope flaring in the young nobleman's eyes.

  Tharn nodded. "Even now she is held prisoner by the man who has plottedagainst you."

  Jotan stiffened. "You mean Vokal? How do you know this?"

  Tharn, with a few terse words, explained what had taken place at Vokal'spalace only a few short hours before. When he finished, Jotan was readyto start out for that nobleman's palace, alone if necessary, to rescueher. But others of the group remonstrated, pointing out the rashness ofsuch a move. As they stood there arguing the point, Tharn's clear voicebrought them into silence once more.

  "There are too few of you to march against Vokal," he pointed out. "Butall around you are men who are no better than dead as long as theyremain behind bars. Free them, arm them with the weapons of the guardsattached to this wing of Jaltor's palace, and they will march with youto overcome your enemy."

  The idea caught instant hold. Moments later the group of fifty hadswollen to three times that number as cell after cell of the lower threelevels of Jaltor's pits were emptied.

  There were some of the prisoners who held back, preferring to remainbehind bars rather than become involved in a war between noblemen;while others had spent too long below ground to be little more thanempty shells of men.

  It was on the fourth level that they found several rooms furnished asquarters for the guards stationed in this wing of the palace. Anante-room contained a large supply of spears, bows and arrows andknives, but guards were on duty at that point, while a dozen othersslept in the adjoining room.

  After a brief council of war, it was decided that Tharn and Trakor wouldattempt to creep up on the two guards on duty just within the entranceto the arms-room and overpower them without permitting an alarm to begiven. Should they succeed in doing this, it would be a simple matter tobar the only exit to the sleeping quarters, thus effectively keepingJotan's men from being surprised from the rear by Jaltor's warriors.

  While the embryo army waited on the level below, Tharn and young Trakorcrept up the next ramp and moved stealthily toward their goal. Almost atonce Trakor returned, a broad grin creasing his face, and beckoned theothers to join him.

  * * * * *

  They found both guards bound and gagged, the door into the guard'squarters closed and barred, and weapons enough for an army at theirdisposal. With muffled cries of joy the men swept up bows, arrows,spears and knives; and what a few minutes before had been an unarmed mobwas now a small compact army of disciplined men, ready to win amnestyand a nobleman's favor by helping to expose a traitor.

  So great was the excitement, so strong the exultation of them all, thatnone noticed one of the recently freed prisoners detach himself from thegroup and steal back into the corridor. An instant later this man wasfleeing rapidly up the final ramp, on his way to freedom.

  For more than an hour now the palace and grounds of Vokal, nobleman ofAmmad, had been the scene of great activity. Every guard, every servant,scoured the four floors and palace grounds, inch by inch, in search forthe girl who had fled Vokal's room.

  While seemingly everywhere at once, the silver-haired nobleman spurredthem on, his calmness gone, his eyes wild, fear riding him hard. Healone of them all knew what it would mean for him were this girl toescape and find her way to Jaltor with the knowledge she had gainedwhile lurking on the balcony outside his private suite.

  He was standing now in a room on the first floor, giving directions toEkbar, captain of his guards, when one of the warriors pushed throughthe crowded room, a stranger at his heels.

  "Your pardon, Most-High," said the guard, "but this man came to ourgates a moment ago and demanded to see you. He says he has importantinformation that is for your ears alone."

  Vokal, turning to order the man aside, stopped and stared. The strangerwas tall and little more than a skeleton. His hair hung in long strandsto his shoulders and a heavy beard covered his face. Among a race of menwho permitted no hair to mask their countenances, the beard alone madehim worthy of attention.

  "Who are you," Vokal snapped, "and what do you want of me?"

  "I am Tarsal," croaked the stranger, "once guard in your service. Manymoons ago I fought with one of Jaltor's guards and slew him. Since thatday I have been confined in t
he pits of Ammad's king."

  Ekbar, who had been staring at the man closely while he was speaking,nodded. "He tells the truth, Most-High. I recognize him now."

  "What do you want of me?" Vokal said again, his voice shrill withimpatience.

  "I came to warn you," Tarsal said. "Garlud and Jotan, his son, haveescaped from their cells and have gathered together a small army takenfrom Jaltor's pits. They say that it was because of you that Garlud andJotan were imprisoned by Jaltor, and they are coming to capture you andtake you before the king."

  The nobleman's skin turned a dirty white. This was ruin for him! Wildlyhe sought to think of some way by which he could escape Jaltor's wrath,once the truth came out.

  "What are the plans of this mob?" he demanded. "Do they expect to winJaltor's support in the fight against me?"

  "Not that I know of, Most-High. They spoke of stealing from the palaceand marching here to take you captive and bring you before Ammad's kingthat he may hear the truth from your own lips."

  Vokal's brain was working with cold precision. There was a way out,then! Were he and his warriors able to ambush this gang of prison rats,able to wipe them out to the last man, there would be none left alive totell Jaltor what they had hoped to accomplish.

  All thoughts of the mysterious young woman who had raced from hisapartment earlier that night were forgotten as he whirled about toconfront the open-mouthed Ekbar.

  "There is still time," he cried, "to save ourselves. Listen to meclosely, Ekbar, and do exactly as I say!"

  * * * * *

  As the heavily armed force of perhaps one hundred and fifty men enteredone of Ammad's broad avenues no more than two blocks from Vokal'spalace, Jotan called it to a halt while the leaders conferred.

  Five men comprised the leadership of the relatively small army. Theywere Jotan and his father, Tamar, Tharn and young Trakor. Almost fromthe first it was Tharn to whom the others turned for guidance, despitethe fact that he was a complete stranger to Ammad.

  "How many men," Tharn asked, "are likely to be defending Vokal'spalace?"

  "No less than five hundred," Jotan said grimly. "We shall be badlyoutnumbered my friend."

  "We have something on our side worth hundreds of warriors," Tharnobserved. "Surprise is our biggest and best ally. If we can win our wayinto Vokal's palace and reach the quarters of Vokal himself before hisguards are sufficiently alerted to interfere, the fight will be overbefore it begins."

  "And how do you propose this shall be done?"

  Tharn rubbed his chin while his quick mind reviewed the situation. "Ithink," he said finally, "That it would be better if Trakor and I wentahead and removed the guards outside the wall gates. Then our entireforce can enter the grounds themselves and hide in the shrubbery thereuntil a door at the rear of the palace can be unbarred. It might serveus best if Trakor and I go directly to Vokal's room and take him captivebefore we give the signal for the rest of you to enter."

  Garlud was shaking his head. "No. That is risking too much. If the twoof you were captured, the entire palace would be alerted before the restof us could put a foot inside it. Then indeed would we be helpless;Vokal's men could cut us down from the safety of the palace walls."

  The five stood there in the silent sleeping street, stone walls risingsteep and bleak on either side, the entire army behind them hidden fromchance view by the almost total lack of light. There was less than twohours remaining before dawn and they must act quickly or lose theirchief aid: the darkness of the now moonless night.

  It was finally decided that Tharn and Trakor, as a tribute to theirsuperior experience in tracking down the most wary of prey, were theones to remove the guards outside at least two of the gates in Vokal'swall of stone.

  And so it was that the two Cro-Magnards stole away into the darkness,armed with arrows and bow and two good flint knives.

  Half an hour later both were back, reporting success to the otherleaders. "It was almost too easy," Tharn said thoughtfully. "Where therewere four guards at one of the gates earlier tonight, I found butone--and he was sitting with his back to the gate and fast asleep. AfterI slew him I went on to help Trakor, only to learn he had had an almostsimilar experience."

  "It is not uncommon for guards to sleep at their posts," Jotan saidimpatiently. "Let us get started before other of Vokal's guards discoverthe gates are unguarded and rouse the palace defenders."

  "I think we should make sure we are not going blindly into some trap,"Tharn demurred. "This entire thing is suspicious ... too easy."

  But Jotan waved the cave lord into silence. "Can't you understand," hesaid crisply, "that we don't have time for that? I say let's get on withour plan and not spend time worrying about things that will neverhappen."

  In this both Garlud and Tamar agreed, and so Tharn shrugged and said nomore. He was in league with these Ammadians for only one reason: to makeit that much easier for him to snatch Dylara from this strange city andreturn with her to the caves of his own people. What had happened toher, once he and Trakor had fled Vokal's palace earlier that night,leaving her hidden within the building, was something he could not know.But there was no other place in all of Ammad he knew where to look forher, and so he must act in the belief that she still was behind thepalace walls, either hidden there or once more a captive of the rascallynobleman.

  * * * * *

  Less than half an hour later all of Jotan's band of warriors squattedbehind the belt of foliage just within the walls of Vokal's sprawlingpalace. In the dim light of stars they could look out between theinterstices of growing things, seeing the many windowed bulk of stonerising four full floors above the neighboring terrain. No where in allthat vast expanse was there a sign of life. No candle showed its briefflame at any window. Silent and dark and somehow a place of broodingdanger.

  After another whispered conference, Tharn left the other leaders of theband and flitted across the open ground, moving like a black shadowtoward the same doorway through which Trakor had raced to join him onlyan hour or two earlier.

  Those watching him from the shadowy foliage lost sight of him almost atonce; and when, a few moments later, he seemed to rise from the groundalmost under their noses, a startled gasp from a dozen throats made arustling sound against the heavy silence.

  "The door is still unbarred," Tharn reported, frowning. "I am even surernow, noble Jotan, that we are heading straight for a trap set up by thewily Vokal."

  "He could not know our plans," Jotan said impatiently. "It means simplythat they forgot to bar the door after the excitement you and yourfriend caused them earlier. Things are working out well for us."

  Tharn smiled his enigmatic smile and said no more. Quickly the fiveleaders moved among their eager troops, issuing orders down the line.And then, at a single word from Jotan the band of one hundred and fiftyarmed men stepped into the open and started for the palace walls.

  Suddenly the shrill cry of a woman rose against the weighted silence."Back!" the voice screamed from high above them. "Go back! It is atrap!"

  "Dylara!" Tharn shouted, and with great bounding strides he raced towardthe palace. Startled by the shrill shout, puzzled by Tharn's dash intothe jaws of what might be a trap, the hundred and fifty wavereduncertainly, then charged after the racing cave man.

  And as the first wave of Jotan's warriors reached the halfway mark inthe clearing, a hundred flaming branches were hurled from the openwindows into the courtyard beneath, their flames lighting up the entireribbon of open ground and disclosing the pitifully small army to thewaiting warriors of Vokal.

  A rain of arrows, spears and clubs now rained down from those windowsupon the men beneath. Men reeled and fell, some instantly dead, othersbadly wounded. Some of those unhit stopped in their tracks, lookedwildly around, then turned to flee for the safety of the street behindthem.

  And it was then that Vokal's masterful plan was fully unveiled. Fromthose same openings through the stone wall encircling Vokal's estate,cam
e other of that nobleman's warriors, stationed in places ofconcealment outside, their purpose to close off the last avenue ofescape for Jotan's troops.

  * * * * *

  In all this confusion, with death threatening from all sides, Trakor hadeyes only for his friend and companion--Tharn, lord of the caves.

  At first he did not comprehend what lay behind the cave man's mad dashtoward the palace. But when he saw Tharn leap lightly up to catch thesill of one window, then swarm rapidly up toward the second story, heunderstood fully what lay in the giant warrior's mind.

  One of Vokal's warriors leaned from a window directly in Tharn's pathand raised his spear with the obvious intention of burying its head inthe cave man's defenseless body as it hung a full fifteen feet above theground. Trakor, seeing this, fitted an arrow to his bow with unthinkablequickness and sent the flint tipped missile across space and full intothe enemy warrior's exposed chest.

  The heavy spear rolled from an already dead hand and the man fellloosely across the wide sill as Tharn worked his way upward past thelimp body.

  Three more attempts were made by those within to bring down the climbingcave man. On each occasion Trakor, standing like a rock amid a shower ofdeadly weapons that struck every where about him, brought down thewould-be killer.

  Tharn was only a few feet from the roof's edge now, his naked feet andlong-fingered hands finding foot--and hand-holds where Trakor would havesworn none existed.

  Trakor, watching, groaned with sudden fear. Barely visible in theflickering light of torches below, a figure appeared at the roof's edgedirectly above Tharn's rising form. In the figure's hands was a heavyspear and the arm holding it swept aloft preparatory to skewering Tharnon its point.

  Even as Trakor witnessed this, an arrow from his bow was flashing uptoward that menacing warrior. But the combination of bad light, distanceand the necessity for haste was too great a handicap for success, andthe arrow whizzed wide of its mark.

  Again Trakor groaned. There was no time for a second shot. Tharn wasdoomed to die.

  And in that second a slender figure appeared at the roof's edge besidethe would-be assassin and threw itself headlong against him. The manstaggered back under the impact, his spear falling from his hand, thenturned and closed with the newcomer.

  As the two of them teetered there on the thin strip of stone forming theroof's edge, Tharn's strong hands closed about that same edge and herose to his feet. He saw who it was that had saved his life: Dylara,daughter of Majok.

  Even as he raced forward to save the girl he loved from being throwninto the void below, Tharn knew he was too late. Voicing a scream offear, Dylara reeled back and toppled into space!

  As her feet left the roof, Tharn threw himself headlong in a directionparallel with the edge, one arm out-thrust, the other bent to check hisfall. For one agonizing second the reaching hand encountered only air;then his fingers brushed against cloth, closed like a snapped trap, andas his muscular frame crashed against the roof's edge, a sudden jerkagainst his outstretched arm told him he had checked Dylara's fall.

  A heavy sandal thudded home against his ribs, nearly rolling him intothe void and to death on the packed earth below. Before the swingingfoot could strike home a second time, Tharn was on his feet and Dylarawas swung back to safety of the roof.

  As Tharn released the girl, the screaming, clawing figure of his enemyclosed upon him. In the faint light, Tharn saw the other's hair was asilvery white and beneath it was a face once gentle but now transformedinto the mask of a madman.

  * * * * *

  A grim smile touched Tharn's lips as one of his brawny arms snaked outand caught the raving beast that had once been Vokal, third mostpowerful and influential figure in all Ammad. With almost casual easeTharn swung the human form high above his head, then tossed him, ascreaming missile of terror, to the ground below.

  A long eerie wailing cry ended suddenly and the thud of flesh againstearth seemed to jar into silence the tumult filling the grounds of thelate Vokal's palace. In the light of the still burning torches Vokal'slifeless body was clearly visible to the palace defenders.

  In that hushed moment, Jotan took advantage of the miracle that hadsaved the remnants of his fighting force.

  "Vokal is dead!" he shouted. "Vokal the traitor is no more! Lay downyour arms, warriors of the dead Vokal! Lay down your arms that you maywin forgiveness from Jaltor, king of Ammad!"

  A wavering moment of indecision followed as the warriors at the palacewindows stood with raised weapons hesitating to decide one way or theother. And in that moment a brawny figure appeared at one of the openwindows.

  "Death to the invader!" shouted Ekbar, captain of the late Vokal'sguards. "Avenge the noble Vokal! Kill them all!"

  As the last words left his lips a second man appeared beside thecaptain. Before the latter could realize what was taking place a stoneknife flashed in a savage arc, burying its length in his heart.

  Ekbar voiced a single scream of anguish and toppled across the sill andto the ground beneath, dead beside the master he had so faithfullyserved.

  While from that same window a young warrior of that same dead mastersmiled with grim satisfaction. Otar had made sure his bride, the lovelyMarua, would never again be visited by her former suitor.

  With Ekbar died the last of all resistance against Jotan's invadingwarriors. Scores of weapons fell uselessly to the ground and the palacedefenders began to stream from the building, their hands lifted insurrender.

  And it was then that a quiet voice from behind Jotan and his fathersaid:

  "Are the pits of Jaltor so shallow that they may not hold my enemies?"

  The nobleman and his son wheeled about, then stiffened to rigidattention at sight of Jaltor, king of Ammad, standing at the forefrontof a squad of his own guards.