Enter—Pryak
Hardly had word of Alurna's disappearance flashed through Sephar, that same morning, than a young under-priest was seeking admittance to the secret chambers of Pryak, high-priest to the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud.
It was no simple matter to gain the subterranean apartment far beneath the temple. Only a chosen few had ever set foot within the holy-of-holies; this young man was not one of them. But his excited manner and the announcement of information "for Pryak alone" had brought him to the very door of the high-priest's suite. But here he was stopped by Orbar, second only to Pryak, himself.
Tidor was no fool. To be first to acquaint his chief with important information could gain him recognition as a loyal and conscientious follower. Men had risen high with such a beginning.
And so when Orbar sought to learn what word Tidor had brought, he was met by the unchanging retort: "I will tell Pryak—none other!"
Finally Orbar began to lose patience. "You may not see the most-high," he snapped. "Tell me what you know and I will pass it on—if it be worth-while repeating. Come, tell me, or I will teach you what it means to cross Orbar!"
Tidor trembled inwardly. He had heard gossip as to the fate of some who had angered Orbar. He was about to blurt out the news, when there came a sudden interruption.
The door to Pryak's apartment banged open and a short, frail-appearing man appeared in the doorway. He was well past middle-age, with sparse graying hair that straggled untidily past the neck line of his tunic. His wrinkled face was twisted in anger, and his shifty, close-set eyes of watery blue glared at the two men before him.
"What means this clamor, Orbar?" he demanded shrilly. "By the God, am I to be disturbed by petty wrangling on my own door-step? Who is this youth?"
Orbar's manner was humble, now. "Tidor, an under-priest, has come with word which he claims is of great importance. I tried to learn from him if the information was worthy of your attention, Most High, but he will tell me nothing."
Pryak turned on the young man. "What is this news?"
Tidor gulped. "O Voice of the God," he said shakily, "I have learned that Alurna, daughter of hated Urim, was stolen yesterday while in the jungle. A roving band of Hairy Men killed her guards and took her.
"An hour ago Vulcar and twenty men left to hunt for her. Urim stays at the palace, sick and miserable, waiting Vulcar's return."
Pryak's scowl had deepened as the youth spoke. "And you call that important? What do I care if that soft-hearted fool loses a worthless daughter? A sound whipping will teach you to—"
Suddenly the high priest fell silent. The anger twisting his features began to fade—replaced by a cunning, scheming expression no less repellent....
"And yet," he said slowly, "we may be able to make use of this information. If I could be sure ... Orbar! Call to my rooms the Council of Priests." He was speaking rapidly, now, his face flushed with excitement. "This may be the day of our deliverance!"
Tharn lay flat on his back on a heap of furs and watched a pattern of sunlight on the wall above his head. Today was his second as a captive, and already his patience was wearing thin. He knew, now, why the other cave-men imprisoned here wore constant expressions of aloof sullenness. To be cooped behind rock walls day after day instead of being free to roam forest and plain as they had done since boyhood, was enough to sour any temper.
He wondered where Katon had been taken. Shortly after the noonday meal, his friend had held a long whispered conversation with two of the guards—a conversation of considerable importance, to judge from Katon's expression. He had said nothing to Tharn about it in the hour between the conference and the arrival of two men who had taken him away.
Tharn gave up trying to find an answer to the puzzle and dozed off. He was awakened a half hour later by the sound of the cell door opening. He raised his head in time to see Katon enter with two palace guards. Without hesitation the three approached Tharn's couch and he rose to meet them.
"Come, Tharn," said Katon hurriedly. "Urim is waiting for you."
The cave man did not move. "Why?" he asked laconically.
"It is my doing," Katon explained impatiently. "I went to him with an idea, and he thinks enough of it to send for you."
Tharn was satisfied. He could trust Katon. Besides, it would be good to quit this dank place—if only for a little while.
Heedless of curious stares from the other prisoners, Tharn and Katon passed from the room, a guard leading the way. And shortly afterward they stopped before the door of Urim's apartment. In response to their knock, a hollow voice bade them enter.
Tharn could hardly credit his eyes at the change in the man who slumped dejectedly on a couch near the far wall. In place of the proud ruler who had ordered him to the pits, was a hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed old man.
At the entrance of Tharn and the others, Urim slowly lifted his head and looked full into the calm gray eyes of the giant savage. Under their quiet, sympathetic expression a gleam of hope flickered into his own tired eyes and he squared his shoulders.
"Have you told this man of your plan?" he asked Katon.
"No, Urim," replied the Sepharian. "I thought you might wish to do so."
Urim transferred his attention to the cave-man. "Yesterday," he said, "my daughter was taken by a band of Hairy Men. What do you know about such men?"
Tharn smiled. "Since I was a little boy I have heard many stories by men who have fought the Hairy Ones. They are slow and clumsy and do not think quickly. The warriors of my tribe do not fear them."
"Good!" Urim exclaimed. "Now I will tell you why I sent for you.
"When Katon, here, was told by one of the guards that Alurna had been taken, he came to me with a suggestion. He thinks that by reason of your wide knowledge of the world outside our walls, you might be able to trail these Hairy Men to their caves and rescue my daughter—if she still lives.
"Do this, and you and your mate shall go free—and Katon, too. But if you fail to return with Alurna within the moon, the life of your mate is forfeit."
Tharn frowned thoughtfully. "If I do not find your daughter, yet return alone, what reward is mine?"
"None! It would be as though you had not set foot beyond Sephar's gates."
"Which means I must take part in the Games; and Dylara remains a slave." The cave-man was thinking aloud.
Then: "I agree, Urim. I will start at once."
Little Nobar, the monkey, awakened Dylara by dropping empty bean pods on her upturned face. She blinked in the sunlight filtering through the leaves, and sat up.
Her first thought was that she was actually free. Yet to be accomplished was the task of learning the direction in which lay the caves of her people, then crossing that distance alone, exposed to many dangers.
Dylara, in her accustomed environment, was a resourceful young woman. The prospect of a long journey—just how long a journey she could only surmise—concerned her far less than had the prospects of a lifetime of slavery in Sephar. All her life she had rubbed elbows with jungle beasts. Since infancy the green wilderness of the forest had been her front yard. Night after night she had gone to sleep with the roars of lions and the hunting squalls of leopards for a lullaby. She had learned to respect and avoid Sadu and Tarlok and Jalok—but not to fear them. She knew they hunted man only when other food was denied them—and that was seldom. She knew that a tall tree was a sure haven from all three; for Sadu could not climb at all, while Jalok and Tarlok would not venture among the smaller limbs able to bear her weight but not theirs.
From the freshly risen sun's position Dylara realized she had slept the entire night on this narrow branch. As she drowsily reviewed the previous day's events, she remembered her injured ankle and bent hurriedly to examine it.
She was relieved to find hardly any swelling there, nor was the damage to strained ligaments so great as she at first had feared. Rising, she tested her weight on the one foot and found that, beyond an occasional twinge, it would support her.
Slowly she worked her way down to earth and stepped into the trail. Here she waited a few minutes, planning her next move. She finally decided to follow the path westward away from Sephar until a cross-trail to the north turned up. Such a route would eventually lead her to the heights from which she had first looked upon Sephar. From that point on, finding the caves of Majok should not be impossible.
She skirted the clearing containing the house of Rydob, walking within the jungle's fringe to avoid being seen by anyone who might be within the building, and soon was traveling due west.
As she moved slowly ahead, limping slightly, she noticed the imprints of monstrous, man-like feet in the dust of the path. At first she examined the marks closely; but her limited woodcraft did not permit their identification, and she gave up trying.
The makers of those strange prints, Urb and his savage band, were plodding westward along the same path only a few hours ahead of the cave-girl.