The Return of Tharn

  CHAPTER X

  BEYOND AMMAD'S WALLS

  The stifling folds of fur suddenly thrust forcibly against her faceawakened Dylara from a sound sleep. So dazed was she by the suddenattack that her paralyzed muscles were unable to resist as she feltherself swung up into a crushing embrace.

  Then her momentary inertia snapped and she was on the point ofstruggling to free herself when the strong arms about her abruptlyrelaxed their hold and she staggered free.

  With her eyes uncovered once more she saw a young warrior of thecaves--a youth no older than she--beside her. Straight and tall hestood, menaced by three spears in the hands of three Ammadian fightingmen, his strong, handsome, intelligent face reflecting fierce pride anddeep chagrin. About his shoulders were looped a heavy blackwood bow, aquiver of stone-tipped arrows and a long grass rope. A flint knife wasthrust within the folds of a loin-cloth of panther skin.

  He stood there, a barbaric figure, eyeing those three spearheads leveledat his broad chest--eyeing them with a kind of dignified contempt thatso reminded Dylara of Tharn, greatest warrior of them all, that she feltquick tears spring to her eyes. How truly magnificent were the men ofher own kind when compared with these underdeveloped, almost frail,Ammadians!

  Now came Ekbar, captain of Vokal's guards, pushing his way roughlythrough the press of aroused warriors hemming in both captives. Heshoved his tall, square-shouldered body in front of Trakor and took inthe situation at a glance.

  "Disarm him!" he barked.

  Hands tore away bow, arrows, rope and knife. Ekbar moved closer, hisdeep-set gray eyes moved appraisingly over the youth's splendid frame,and the already surly cast to his countenance deepened under a scowl.

  "So, barbarian," he thundered, "you sought to take your mate from us!Only a stupid cave beast would expect to outwit Ammad's warriors. Bywhat name are you called?"

  "Trakor," said the youth, his voice emotionless.

  "Trakor, eh? Where lie the caves of your tribe?"

  "I belong to no tribe."

  Without warning, Ekbar brought up a calloused hand and struck the youngCro-Magnard across the face, staggering him. "Another of your lies," hesnarled, "and I turn you over to my men as a spear target. Where areyour caves?"

  Trakor made no attempt to reply. An angry red welt marked his cheekwhere Ekbar's hand had landed. His eyes were gleaming like sun againstice, but nothing else in his face betrayed the fury and hatred boilingwithin him. Truly, Trakor had come a long way since that day when Tharnhad saved him from Sadu.

  "How many came here with you?" Ekbar demanded.

  "I came alone."

  "Is this girl your mate?"

  "No. I have never seen her before."

  "Do you expect us to believe you risked certain capture to steal from usa girl you never saw before?"

  Trakor shrugged. "You asked me. I do not care whether you believe me."

  Ekbar's scowl deepened as he turned to Dylara. "You said you werebrought here by Jotan. Was this barbarian one of his slaves?"

  Dylara shook her head. "No. Nor have I ever seen him before tonight."

  The captain chewed his lip uncertainly. "It is very strange," hecomplained. "I think both of you are lying. Well, if there are otherswho hope to take you from us, they will get the same welcome!"

  He motioned to two of his men. "Bind this cave beast's arms and legs.Put him and the girl together in the center of the camp and triple theguard. Vokal shall have two new slaves at least!"

  * * * * *

  An hour later most of the Ammadian camp was asleep once more. A dozenguards now patrolled the site and the fires were high again withadditional fuel.

  Dylara lay on her side, covered with sleeping furs to keep out the chillof damp earth and night air. Only a few feet away lay Trakor, bound andhelpless, his broad back turned to her exactly as they had left him.

  It was a good-looking back, she admitted--not yet fully developed sinceits owner was still quite young, but it was well-formed and muscularnonetheless.

  What, she wondered, was the real reason behind his attempt to take herfrom the Ammadians? Was he a member of some neighboring tribe? Had hecome to spy on the men of Ammad, caught sight of her and tried to takeher for himself?

  She flushed a little at the thought. Not given to false modesty, Dylaraknew she was very beautiful. But beauty, it seemed, could be more cursethan blessing. It was that beauty which had led Tharn to take her byforce from her own people; that beauty which had brought Jotan to herfeet and caused him to take her with him on his return to Ammad. And nowit appeared this handsome young cave warrior had been drawn into alifetime of slavery by a single glimpse of her!

  Yet she was woman enough to feel a little glow of pride at this tributeto her loveliness. He was young and very attractive--in many ways likeTharn, although his physical development was far short of the latter's.

  The thought of Tharn brought an image of his mighty steel-thewed bodyand god-like face before her mind's eye. Where was he this night? Werehis bones dotting the sandy surface of Sephar's arena while Nada, hismother, mourned? Or had he won through against hopeless odds and escapedto return to the caves of his people. She did not know, of course;perhaps she would never know....

  Trakor rolled over to face her.

  For a long moment the man and the woman stared deep into each other'seyes. Then the youth's lips parted in a slow smile, his strong regularteeth gleaming in the distant light of the fires.

  "I am Trakor," he whispered. "You are Dylara!"

  Open astonishment showed on her face. "How could you know that?"

  She had spoken in her natural voice and alarm flickered in Trakor's eyesas they shifted to look about the silent camp. "Shhh!" he hissed. "Keepyour voice down, else they hear and separate us."

  Obeying, she said, "But how do you know my name?"

  "Tharn told me."

  "_Tharn!_" In spite of Trakor's warning, the word burst from her throatin a single loud exhalation. "But that is im----"

  "Shhh!"

  * * * * *

  A sleeper a yard or two away stirred and turned over, while Dylara andTrakor lay unmoving, hardly daring to breathe. Dylara felt her heartthumping wildly while a hundred mixed emotions seemed to be battlingwithin her. Questions, many questions welled up and sought to force herlips apart. At last she could bear it no longer.

  "He is alive?" she whispered. "Is he still in Sephar? When did you seehim last? Did he send you to find me? How were you able to follow mehere?"

  Trakor was shaking his head, smiling. "Tharn did not send me. I camehere with him. He is in one of the trees bordering this clearing!"

  "Ohhh!" Dylara closed her eyes as a wave of weakness seemed to roll overher. Tharn is here! Tharn is here! Elation, thanksgiving and reliefswelled her heart almost to the bursting point. No matter now that fiftyAmmadians lay between her and the cave lord. Fifty times fifty of themcould not prevail against the might and cunning of Tharn!

  Suddenly a new thought cut sharply across the flood of elation. Why wasshe so happy and thrilled to learn he had sought her out? Had not she,only a few suns ago, decided in favor of Jotan?

  But Jotan was dead; the grinning Ekbar had told her so. Now, as then,she marveled at how little the news depressed her. Yet she had broodedmany times over the thought that Tharn was dead....

  She opened her eyes. "But why did he send you to take me? Has he beenhurt?"

  Trakor reddened. "It was my idea; I wanted to help him."

  He told her the whole story then, how he had met Tharn, the debt he owedthe cave lord, their hunt, together, for Dylara--everything. When hecame to that part of his story detailing his ill-advised attempt to freeDylara, he stammered a little but got it all out.

  Dylara was smiling as he finished. "It was very brave of you to try whatyou did. And although they caught you and have us both now, we need notworry. Tharn will take us from these people."

  "I know that," Trakor said quietly.
"It is only that he may think lessof me for bungling things this way."

  The girl shook her head. "You must know him better than that."

  They fell silent as one of the guards sauntered in their directionduring his routine inspection of the camp. Dylara, weary from her hoursof jungle travel during the day before, fell asleep before the guard wasat a safe distance for further conversation with Trakor.

  When the youth saw she was sleeping, he lay there for a long time,staring at her loveliness and thinking bitter thoughts of his clumsinessin being taken captive. Tharn, he knew, would be unable to attempt arescue with so many guards about; but tomorrow night the Ammadians,their suspicions lulled, would doubtless post no more than the usualnumber of sentries. To Tharn, four of the dull-witted Ammadians would behardly any problem at all!

  * * * * *

  Shortly before dawn the men of Ammad were filling their bellies andpreparing to break camp. When the line of march was being formed, Dylaraand Trakor were separated--the girl being placed between two warriorsmidway along the column; while the young caveman, his arms bound firmlybehind his back, was stationed well up toward the front. Ekbar strodeback and forth along the line, making certain each man was in hisappointed spot, inspecting Trakor's bonds, and cautioning thoseresponsible for both prisoners.

  Shortly before Dyta pulled his shining head above the eastern horizon ofserrated tree tops, the Ammadian captain barked an order and the doubleline of warriors got under way.

  By mid-morning both forest and jungle began to thin out as the pathunderfoot lost its level monotony and began to become a steep incline.The air seemed to grow steadily cooler and gradually all underbrushbeneath the trees began to thin out, then disappear entirely, leaving analmost park-like appearance to the forest. Even the trees were furtherapart and more and more often there were stretches of grassland withoutany trees whatsoever.

  Shortly after noon, Ekbar called a halt at the edge of a vast plaincovered with a rich green species of grass which seemed to grow nohigher than a man's ankles. Here and there on the gently undulatingvista of grassland stood trees, usually no more than one or twotogether. To the south, nearly at the horizon, was a long dark line thatTrakor at first took to be clouds but which, later, he was to learn wasthe beginning of another expanse of forest and jungle.

  Food was distributed and eaten, an hour's rest period was announced, andthe Ammadians gathered their strength for the final stage of thejourney. From remarks the two prisoners overheard they learned thatAmmad lay half a day's march beyond that distant line of trees, and thatevery man in the group was anxious to put the city's strong wallsbetween him and the hated jungle.

  Trakor was beginning to worry. Crossing that vast plain during the heatof day was bound to be a trying experience, especially for thecomparatively frail girl. But worse than that, Tharn was going to beplaced at a disadvantage in following them. These Ammadians were notcomplete fools; they would keep a sharp lookout in all directionsagainst possible attack from animals or men; for Tharn to attempt tofollow them during daylight hours would mean certain detection. Still,even though the cave lord was forced to wait until darkness beforeventuring out into the open, he could easily overtake the Ammadianswhile they were camped for the night.

  * * * * *

  All during the long afternoon which followed, Trakor kept shooting briefglances over his shoulder toward the north, half-expecting to catch aglimpse of his friend. But other than a distant herd or two ofgrass-eaters, no sign of life appeared.

  Night came while the column was still an hour's march from the lastbarrier of jungle between it and Ammad. At any moment Trakor expected tohear the captain call a halt.

  That call never came. Instead the group pushed on until the trees werereached; a brief stop was made near the mouth of a wide trail at thatpoint while gumwood branches were found and ignited, and once more thecolumn took up the march.

  After two hours of plodding along the winding game path, flames from thesmoking torches casting eerie shadows among the thick foliage and heavytree boles, Trakor could stand this uncertainty no longer.

  "When," he said to the Ammadian warrior next to him, "are we to makecamp for the night?"

  The man gave him a sidelong glance and a crooked grimace of derision. "Ithought you men of the caves were accustomed to walking long distances?"

  "I can walk the best of you into the ground!" retorted Trakor. "But whennight comes you usually stop and huddle behind fires lest the great catsget you."

  The Ammadian scowled. "We are afraid of nothing! But only animals anduncivilized barbarians wander about the jungle at night. We are but alittle way from Ammad; it would be senseless to spend a night in theopen when the city is so close."

  Trakor's heart sank. "Only a little way from Ammad!" The words beatagainst his mind like the voice of doom. Dylara and he were lost; Tharncould not save them now!

  Yet hope did not leave him entirely. His boundless faith and admirationwhere the cave lord was concerned would not let it die. He caughthimself glancing time and again at the low-swaying boughs overhead.Every flickering shadow from the torches was transformed into thelurking figure of his giant friend.

  But as the hours passed and nothing happened those last faintglimmerings of hope began to fade and his spirits sank lower and lower.

  Ahead of him, Dylara was going through much the same travail. Shestaggered often now from weariness; for she had been on her feet, exceptfor that brief period at noon, since early morning and she lacked thestrength and stamina of the others. She wondered, too, if Tharn wouldmake an attempt at rescuing Trakor and her before Ammad was reached; butthe memory of his fearless entrance into Sephar in search of herbrought the thought that he might do the same thing this time.

  * * * * *

  Abruptly the forest and jungle ended at open ground. Beyond a mile ofopen ground, flooded by Uda's silver rays, stood the towering stonewalls of Ammad.

  To the dazed, unbelieving eyes of Trakor it was like a scene fromanother and wonderful world. In either direction, as far as he couldsee, rose that sheer, massive man-made wall of gray stone, broken atwide, regular intervals by massive gates of wood. Far beyond the wall hecould see mammoth structures of stone at the crest of five small hills.The sides of those hills were lined with other, and smaller buildings ofthe same material. Lights twinkled from breaks in their walls, anindication that, unlike the cave men, Ammadians did not spend most ofthe night hours asleep.

  Dylara, accustomed to city walls and buildings of stone from her longstay in Sephar, was not so overcome by the scene. Still Ammad's size,even from the small part visible at this point, brought a gasp to herlips. She had thought Sephar wonderful beyond compare, but next toAmmad, it was hardly more than a frontier outpost.

  A challenging voice rang out from the shadowy recess shielding thenearest gate and Ekbar's column ground to a halt. Three Ammadiansoldiers, their white tunics gleaming under the moon's rays, movedtoward them and Vokal's captain advanced to meet them.

  After a brief discussion, the three warriors returned to their posts,the twin gates swung wide, Ekbar's command sounded and the column offifty Ammadians, accompanied by the two prisoners, filed briskly throughthe opening.

  Trakor, looking back over his shoulder, saw the twin gates move slowly,grindingly together, saw the reaches of distant jungle narrow, thendisappear as those two sections of heavy planking ground firmly intoplace.

  And in the dull, sodden thud of their meeting, the last flicker of hopewas extinguished in Trakor's heart.

  * * * * *

  It was the hour of Jaltor's daily audience. The vast throne room wascrowded with men and women from all walks of Ammadian life. Slaves,freedmen, merchants, traders, warriors and noblemen crowded thattwo-thirds of the room set aside for their use.

  At the far end of the hall-like chamber, set off from the heavilycrowded section by a line of stalwart guards
armed with spears, stood apyramid-shaped dais, its sides serrated into wide steps. At theflattened apex stood a richly carved, high-backed chair of dark wood.Here sat Jaltor, king of all Ammad, his tremendous, beautifullyproportioned body seeming to dwarf not only the chair and its supportingdais but the entire room as well. He was bending forward slightly at thewaist, his head turned slightly the better to hear the words a noblemanwas droning into his ear. The shuffling of many feet, the buzz of manymuted voices from beyond the line of guards formed a backdrop of soundagainst the message he was receiving.

  Because of the ever-present possibility of assassination at the hand ofsome disgruntled commoner or a hired killer, only the noblemen of Ammadwere allowed to pass that spear-bristling line of guards. As a result,the citizenry of the city was split into factions, each faction owingits allegiance to that nobleman situated in its district. The noblemanjustified the loyalty of his faction by protecting its members againstcriminals and vandals both within and without his district and bypleading their side of any dispute that could be settled only by Jaltor,head of the State.

  Rivalry between noblemen was strong and usually bitter, although none ofthis ever appeared on the surface. A nobleman whose influence and powershowed signs of weakening found his territory subjected to raids, hisfollowers won away from him by threats and promises. With the loss ofinfluence and power his wealth would dwindle, his guards and warriorswould desert to other noblemen, until at last Jaltor must step in andelevate some favorite of his own, or some friend of another noble, intothe victim's place.

  Against a side wall of the teeming throne room, on this particularafternoon, stood Vokal, nobleman of Ammad. On his smooth, finelyfeatured face was his accustomed air of dreamy disinterest in hissurrounds, his soft gray hair was carefully arranged to point up itsnatural wave, his slender shapely arms were carelessly folded across thechest of his plain white tunic. There was no purple edging on that tunicnow; in the palace of Jaltor only the king himself could display thatcolor.

  Beneath that serene exterior, however, was no serenity. Vokal was badlyworried. Eleven suns had passed since the day word of Heglar's attemptto kill Jaltor had electrified all Ammad. Guards had hustled the old manroughly from the throne room--and from that moment on no one heard ofhim again.

  But he should have been heard of! Four slaves of slaves--the lowesthuman element in Ammad--should have dragged his traitorous old bodythrough Ammad's streets to be spat upon and reviled by loyal citizens.

  And Garlud--what of Garlud? No one had seen him either since that day.Not that his absence caused much speculation--almost none in fact. Itwas not unusual for Ammad's noblemen to absent themselves from the cityfor days, even moons, on end. A hunting trip, a visit to friends inother of Ammad's cities--any of several explanations would haveaccounted for his disappearance.

  * * * * *

  The true reason should have been his involvement in Heglar's plot to doaway with Jaltor. But only Vokal of all Ammad's thousands could knowthat--and he had no business knowing it. Garlud's affairs were going onsmoothly in his absence, in charge of the captain of his guards. By thistime, if Vokal's plans had not miscarried, the silvery haired noblemanshould have been summoned by Jaltor, told of Garlud's perfidy, and hisholdings and position handed to him in view of Jotan's continuedabsence.

  And then there was Rhoa--Heglar's young and beautiful wife ... andVokal's mistress. He had not seen her since the day her husband had madethe attempt on Jaltor's life. This was agreed upon between them forsafety's sake; the understanding was that once Heglar's death was known,Vokal could court and win her in the usual manner.

  But what had been foreseen as only two or three days of separation hadlengthened into eleven and still no word of Heglar's fate. Long beforethis those thousand tals paid to Heglar should have come back intoVokal's hands, accompanied by Rhoa herself. Vokal was becomingincreasingly uneasy about those missing tals; let enough time elapsebefore he could take Rhoa as mate and she might reconsider, refuse Vokaland keep the thousand tals for herself. There would be nothing he coulddo about it, either. To threaten her or use force could anger her intobetraying him.... Vokal shuddered. Only this morning she had sent wordto him that she was tired of this uncertainty, that something must bedone to learn what had happened to her husband.

  Another thing: Ekbar and his men should have returned beforethis--returned with word that Jotan, Garlud's son, was dead and nolonger in a position to step into his father's sandals as first rankingnobleman of Ammad. What was delaying the man?

  Well, Vokal told himself doggedly, he could wait no longer. There wereways to get at the truth--ways that would not betray his interest in thematter. For instance, there was Sitab, an officer in Jaltor's own palaceguard....

  But first would come another plan at breaking that wall of silence. Thissame morning, Vokal had remembered a case involving a merchant whoseshop was on the boundary line between Vokal's territory and theneighboring district belonging to Garlud. A moon or so before, one ofVokal's collectors had informed Ekbar that this merchant was claimingallegiance to Garlud, even though his shop was not in the latter'sterritory.

  It was a minor matter and as a rule a nobleman did not complain toJaltor about these single isolated cases. It was only when there wasevidence of some systematic raid by a neighboring nobleman that acomplaint was filed. Clearly Garlud had not ordered any such raid, butenough evidence was there at least to bring the matter to Jaltor'sattention, thus making it necessary for Garlud to defend himself againstthe charge.

  "Vokal--the noble Vokal." The cry of Jaltor's personal clerk rang outover the packed room. "Approach the Throne and present your plea."

  With gentle courtesy Vokal pushed between the press of humanity, passedthrough the line of armed guards and mounted the steps of Jaltor's dais.

  He bowed low before the giant ruler of Ammad. "Greetings, Most-High.Vokal, your loyal subject, begs permission to plead a grievance."

  Jaltor gave him a warm and friendly smile. He had always liked Vokal;the nobleman's quiet manner and gentle courtliness were always welcome.

  "It is unusual for the noble Vokal to _have_ a grievance," he said."That in itself is in your favor. What is troubling you?"

  "A matter of a boundary dispute involving a merchant in my territory. Itseems he has been 'influenced' into transferring allegiance to anothernobleman."

  Jaltor nodded his understanding. "Have you been bothered by many suchcases involving the same nobleman?"

  "No, Most-High," Vokal said. "And I am quite sure Garlud knows nothingof this one. Perhaps one of his collectors is a bit--over zealous. Bybringing the matter to Garlud's attention at this time, furtherincidents can be averted."

  * * * * *

  Nothing changed in Jaltor's expression at mention of Garlud's name;Vokal was sure of that. He said, neither too quickly nor too slowly:

  "I agree, noble Vokal: this must have happened without Garlud'sknowledge. Unfortunately the matter can not be brought to his attentionjust now, but I shall see to it that he hears about it at the earliestpossible moment."

  It was an opening Vokal could not resist. "The noble Garlud is not inAmmad at present?"

  "I believe not." Jaltor's voice and manner remained unchanged, butsomething flickered in his eyes--something Vokal did not miss.

  "My deepest thanks to you, Most-High," he said with that gracious andgentle air for which he was noted.

  "It is always a pleasure to talk with you, Vokal."

  It was a dismissal and Vokal, bowing low, withdrew. As he crossed thehuge throne-room toward the exit, his thoughts were sharp and incisive.

  Something had happened to Garlud. Jaltor's eyes and the brevity of hisanswer to Vokal's question confirmed that. But what? And why was thenobleman's fate kept such a secret? Did Jaltor suspect Garlud of havingaccomplices other than old Heglar?

  These were questions demanding quick and positive answers. First he mustlearn what had happened to the missing
nobleman. If his death could beverified--and, of course, Heglar's as well--there was a way to make theinformation open to the public. That done, and Vokal would be free tomove up in rank to a place second only to Jaltor himself--as well asbeing able to marry Rhoa and recover his thousand tals.

  A great deal of careful thought must go into his next move. And so Vokalleft the palace and returned to his home, where, in the quiet of hisprivate apartment, he would be able to concentrate on these pressingproblems.

  * * * * *

  When the long hour of public audience was over, Jaltor returned to hisquarters. His step was quick and purposeful and his dark eyes werealight with an inner excitement.

  At the entrance to his apartment, the guard on duty there leaped toattention at his approach. To him Jaltor snapped, "Find Curzad at onceand inform him I wish to see him immediately."

  The guard saluted and went swiftly off along the corridor.

  A clay jug of wine, cooling in a low basin of water on one of the tablesof polished wood, caught the monarch's eye. Not bothering to use one ofthe several goblets standing nearby, Jaltor swung the jug to his lipsand took a long, satisfying draught on the contents, wiped his lips onthe back of a muscular forearm and began to pace the floor.

  A light knock sounded at the door and Curzad, as iron-faced and reservedas ever, came into the room. He was in the act of closing the doorbehind him when Jaltor said, "Wait. Send the guard out there away. Idon't want our conversation overheard, even by the most trustworthy ofyour men."

  Curzad obeyed, then closed the door and came into the room, standingthere stiff-backed, waiting further orders.

  Jaltor jerked a thumb at a chair. "Sit down, my friend, and helpyourself to the wine."

  The captain of the palace guards let himself gingerly down into theluxurious depths of soft upholstery and reached for the wine jug and agoblet. Most of Ammad's noblemen would have lifted outraged eyebrows atsuch familiarity between the world's most powerful monarch and a merewarrior. But Curzad and Jaltor had fought side by side in many a battleand through many a campaign, and each honored and respected the other.

  The tall broad-shouldered king dropped into a chair across from Curzadand took up jug and goblet. "Tell me, Curzad, how fares the nobleGarlud?"

  "As well as in the days he walked Ammad's streets a free man," thecaptain said in his deep calm voice. "As an old fighting-man, hardshipaffects him but little."

  "Perhaps his cell is too comfortable," Jaltor said, his lips twitchingslightly.

  "There are no comfortable cells beneath your palace, Most-High. Garlud'sleast of all. He sits alone and in utter darkness, the only sounds thescurrying feet and squeaking voices of rats. Only the strong mind of agreat warrior can endure such for very long without cracking."

  "Are you suggesting I am too harsh with him?" Jaltor was openly smilingnow.

  "I am suggesting nothing to Ammad's king."

  "It has been eleven suns since I sent my closest friend to languish inthose pits," Jaltor said, smiling no longer. "Nor has it been easy forme, Curzad. But I must learn who, if not Garlud, was behind old Heglar'sattempt on my life."

  He tossed off the wine and put his goblet down on the table top."Something happened today," he said, "that may be the first crack inthis eleven-sun wall of silence. One of Ammad's noblemen brought upGarlud's name to me during the afternoon audience."

  * * * * *

  Some of the impassiveness in Curzad's expression slipped a little andhis fingers whitened on the goblet's stem. He made a sound deep withinhis massive chest but said nothing.

  "It may mean nothing, however," Jaltor went on, "for the way in which itcame up was both necessary and natural. To make it even more likely toamount to nothing, the nobleman was Vokal--a man I have never hesitatedto trust."

  "Garlud once enjoyed a similar distinction," Curzad commented dryly.

  Jaltor's eyes flashed. "Do you forget that Garlud was named by a manwhose word had never been doubted?"

  "I forget nothing, Most-High," was the quiet reply.

  A moment's silence followed, then Jaltor said, "Well, a few more days,one way or the other, will not matter. If Vokal is the man we arelooking for, he will make another attempt at learning Garlud'swhereabouts. So far he is our only lead--other than old Heglar'sbeautiful mate, Rhoa. Twice she has come to me, asking what has happenedto him, and both times I have refused to say. Oddly enough," he addedthoughtfully, "she seemed more curious than worried."

  "Perhaps it would be wise to have her watched."

  The monarch gave a brief snort of laughter. "I am not completely a fool,my friend. Rhoa has been under constant surveillance since the day oldHeglar died. Thus far her actions have been above suspicion."

  Curzad's shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "Meanwhile," he said,"Garlud's son, Jotan, draws closer to Ammad. Any sun now he and his menmay approach its gates."

  "Which is one of the reasons I sent for you. Shortly before Dyta bringshis light tomorrow, send fifty of your most trusted warriors tointercept and take captive Jotan and his men. Return them to Ammad undercover of darkness and confine them all in the pits. It might be wise toplace Jotan in the cell next his father and a trusted warrior in aneighboring cell to listen in on their conversations."

  "You'll never trick Garlud so easily."

  "No man is perfect, Curzad," observed Jaltor, smiling grimly. "I intendto overlook no possibility in getting to the bottom of this matter."