Reunion
Pryak, seated in one of the great rooms of the palace, was deep in conversation with Orbar, his lieutenant. The room, itself, was swarming with white-tunicked priests, their babbling voices adding to the atmosphere of confusion and disorder.
A knock sounded at the door and it was opened to admit three people. As they entered, a sudden hush fell over the milling throng of priests.
Pryak, aroused by the abrupt cessation of sound, looked up questioningly. At sight of the newcomers his eyes opened wide in surprise; then his lips curled in a smile more disturbing than the blackest frown.
"By the God!" he exclaimed, mock pleasure in his tone, "I welcome the daughter of Urim! I was told you were dead, princess—taken from us by the cruel jungle. And now you have come back! I shall enjoy hearing of your adventures."
The thinly veiled contempt in words and tone brought a wave of red across Alurna's pale, grief-stained face. Then she spoke—and her words, barely audible from the choking emotion behind them, carried such hatred and loathing as to hold Pryak petrified on his chair.
"Murderer!" she whispered. "Little man of filth! It was you who caused the death of my father! Who did it for you? How long do you think you can hold Urim's place before some real man takes your place—and twists your wrinkled neck?"
Pryak, his face livid with rage, leaped from his stool and lifted his hand to strike her into silence.
The blow never found its mark. Tharn, standing near Alurna, and forgotten by the others, had moved almost before Pryak was off the stool.
And so it was that Pryak, Voice of the Great God, found his bony wrist seized by fingers of steel and his swinging arm halted as abruptly as though it had encountered one of the room's stone walls.
Before the startled priest could cry out or his astounded followers interfere, he was snatched bodily from his feet and flung almost the entire length of the chamber.
Four priests were bowled over by the catapulting body; those human cushions were all that saved Pryak from injury.
Tharn went down, then, beneath a horde of fanatical priests. And before they had him bound and helpless, more than one felt the weight of his fists and the strength of his arms. At last they dragged him to his feet and stepped aside as Pryak, rumpled and bruised, came forward.
"For what you have done," he growled hoarsely, "you shall pay in blood and suffering. When the lions hunt you down in the arena during the Games, wild man, remember that you dared to lay hands on Sephar's king."
Tharn laughed in his face. "Better the fangs of Sadu," he gibed, "than the stench of a priest!"
Stung by the taunt, Pryak went white. Unexpectedly, he lashed out with a bony fist, catching the young cave-man flush on the mouth. Tharn's expression did not change under the blow, but something crept into his eyes that made Pryak shrink back in alarm. Then, remembering the captive was bound and helpless, he drew back his arm to strike again.
This time, however, a tall figure stood between him and Tharn—Lodorth, under-officer in Sephar's forces.
"You wish the prisoner taken to the pits, O Voice of the God?" The contempt in Lodorth's tone was poorly concealed.
For a moment Pryak considered ordering the man aside. He hesitated, then nodded assent and turned away.
"And the princess?" Lodorth called after him.
"Leave her here."
"This way," said the soldier to young Tharn, and together they moved toward the exit.
It was clear to Tharn that this warrior was no admirer of the treacherous high priest—a conclusion strengthened by the incident in which Lodorth had saved him from a second blow. He wondered if others in Sephar felt so toward their new ruler.
Presently they reached the entrance to the subterranean cell. Releasing the monstrous bar, Lodorth cut Tharn's bonds and motioned for him to enter.
Once within, Tharn's first thought was that he had been brought to another cell. Instead of the score or so of prisoners he had expected, there were fully a hundred men gathered here. Then he began to pick out familiar faces; and an instant later his doubts were dispelled as Katon came forward to welcome him, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
"Tharn!" he exclaimed joyfully. "I knew you would return. Did you find Alurna?"
"I found her," Tharn admitted ruefully. "But it would have been wiser to leave her at Sephar's gates."
Katon's smile faded. "You are right, my friend. Everything seems to work against us. You and I both have been hurt by this change. Had not Pryak gone completely mad, you and your mate would be starting for home by now, and Urim would have set me free.
"But all that may as well be forgotten, now. Soon the Games begin; our chief worry will be to save our skins."
Tharn looked about at the many strange faces.
"It appears we shall have plenty of company," he observed.
"There are many others besides these," was the reply. "Pryak fears many of Urim's friends and intends using the Games to eliminate them. A room across the hall is filled with at least as many as you see here; and many of those men loved Urim and hate the one who caused his death.
"Pryak hopes to accomplish a double purpose this time. He will gain favor by offering the bloodiest Games ever held; also, he expects to wipe out all who oppose him by sending the opposition itself into the arena.
"I am told," Katon continued, "that many savage beasts are held ready to be sent against us. More than ever, Pryak is determined the final victor shall not be human. Were a man to prove the God's favorite, Sephar's populace might turn to him so strongly as to weaken Pryak's position."
Tharn grinned. "At least we shall have our fill of fighting."
"More than my fill!" retorted his friend, dryly.
Tharn, glancing about the crowded room, uttered a startled ejaculation and pointed toward a figure huddled near one of the walls.
"Who is that?" he asked. "Even with his face hidden in his hands, he seems known to me."
Katon grunted. "And well he should! That, my friend, is Vulcar—once captain of Urim's own guards!"
At Tharn's expression of shocked incredulity, he continued:
"He was brought here, yesterday, with nearly a score of warriors. In all the hours since, he has not spoken—only sits with bowed head. He, once so proud, is now humbled and beaten—crushed by the death of the man he worshipped."
Tharn studied the dejected figure. Courage might dull under such a blow as Vulcar had taken; yet it would still be courage. Experience told him a brave man is brave until death takes him; a coward, while occasionally rising above his weakness, remains a coward. And certainly Vulcar was known to be a man of courage.
From the moment of Tharn's recapture a plan had been taking form in his shrewd mind. He had never been one to accept resignedly what fate appeared to offer. If these other prisoners were ready to die in the arena, that was their affair; certainly he did not intend giving up so easily. Men like themselves had put them in this hole; and what one man could do, another could undo. The worst enemy of his fellows was their patient acceptance of what Pryak had decreed for them. If that viewpoint could only be reversed....
Taking Katon by the arm, he started across the room toward Vulcar.
"What are you—" Katon began, then subsided as the cave-man frowned and shook his head in warning.
When within a few paces of the former captain, Tharn stopped and turned his back, and Katon's, to the unheeding Vulcar.
"I tell you, it seems hard to believe," Tharn began, his voice raised somewhat above its usual pitch, "that none of Urim's friends has courage enough to avenge his death. Why, had I served under him, I—"
"Who says none hopes to avenge Urim?" The quiet words came from behind them.
Turning, they found Vulcar, head lifted and shoulders squared, regarding them fixedly.
The Cro-Magnard simulated surprise to hide his sudden elation. "If I am wrong—" He stopped there, waiting.
"What chance have we to avenge him?" Vulcar demanded, his hawk-like face drawn into lines of helpless fury. "Here we are—thrown into a hole, sentenced to die for the satisfaction of a false God—and to save Pryak from sleepless nights!"
Tharn appeared sympathetic. "Given a chance, however slight, would you take it?"
"Take it?" echoed Vulcar. "Of course! But there is no—"
"Are there others who feel as you?"
"I know of eighteen—those who went with me to search for Urim's daughter. When we returned to Sephar, Pryak's men overpowered us and brought us here. I am almost glad, now, that we did not find Alurna."
"Alurna is in Sephar," Tharn informed him. "I brought her back."
"You?" Vulcar came to his feet in surprise. "How did you get her?"
Briefly, the cave-man told of what had taken place. When he was done, Vulcar stepped forward and placed both hands on Tharn's shoulders.
"My life is yours for what you have done," he said simply. "No matter what happens to her as Pryak's captive, it cannot be so horrible as death in the jungle."
For a moment the three men were silent. Then Tharn said: "Let us sit here where we shall not be overheard.... Katon, what can you tell me of the Games?"
"What do you want to know about them?"
"Everything," Tharn said promptly. "How far are the pits from the arena itself? How many of us are sent into the arena at one time? How, and when, are we given weapons?"
Katon was eyeing him strangely. "Why do you want to know those things?"
"I will explain that after you have answered my questions."
The conversation that followed was carried on in low voices. Katon did most of the talking; from time to time Vulcar added details. Tharn did little more than listen attentively.
At last the cave-man expressed satisfaction. "I think it can be done," he said slowly. "There is one weakness they have not covered."
"What can be done?" Plainly, Katon was puzzled. "What is behind all this, Tharn?"
Tharn leaned forward. "We want two things—and so does every man in this room and the room across the hall. First: freedom. Second: death to Pryak! Are you with me?"
Vulcar made a face. "Either one is beyond our reach. What can a few unarmed men do against all Sephar?"
"What have we to lose?" demanded the Cro-Magnard. "All of us are supposed to die within the arena. If we must accept death, why not do so while trying to escape?"
Katon and Vulcar exchanged glances. It was evident neither had thought of it just that way before.
"What," Vulcar said softly, "do you suggest?"
"To begin with," Tharn said, "it would be wise to have three or four more hear my plan. They in turn can pass the details on to the rest of the prisoners. Those across the hall must be included, and I have an idea how that can be arranged. We shall need every man we can get."
Vulcar said, "Let me pick the four."
Soon the former captain was back, his selections close at his heels. Tharn and Katon rose to meet them.
"These are good men," Vulcar said. "I know them all. They are ready to follow your lead.
"This one—" He indicated a short, squat man with heavy features and much coarse hair on chest, legs and head, "—is Brutan. He likes to fight."
Unexpectedly Brutan grinned. "Yes," he said in a deep, harsh voice, "I like to fight. I will fight anybody. I will fight you!"
Tharn grinned back at him. There was something likeable about this rock-like Sepharian.
"This," continued Vulcar, "is Rotark. He is not afraid to die."
Rotark was tall and very thin, with a long, sorrowful face. "Why should I be afraid?" he asked in lugubrious tones. "There is no pleasure in living. Soon we shall all be dead."
Next, Vulcar jerked a thumb toward a young, very handsome warrior whose tunic was amazingly clean and spotless in contrast to those of the others. His thick blond hair was neatly pushed back from a high, rounded forehead.
"He is Gorlat," said Vulcar. "He does not like to fight, but will do so to keep from being killed. Few men are his equal with a knife."
The blond young man smiled but said nothing.
"Brosan, here, you already know."
Tharn nodded. He remembered that pock-marked face, as well as the unconcerned grin exposing yellowed, broken teeth.
The cave-man came directly to the point.
"We are supposed to die in the arena for the amusement of Pryak and the people of Sephar. To me, that seems wrong. It would be better if Pryak and his priests were the ones to die.
"I think that can be arranged. Listen, and when I am done, let me know what you think of my plan."
They listened closely and without interrupting. And while he awaited their reaction, they looked at one another in silence, while broad smiles began to steal across their faces. Even Rotark's lips twitched in approval.
"Good!" said Brutan the laconic.
"Even though we fail," said Rotark mournfully, "it is worth trying."
Gorlat said nothing, but his smile matched the brilliance of his hair. Katon and Vulcar regarded the cave-man with respect, deeply impressed with the plan he had offered. They realized the force of this barbarian's personality—that intangible requisite of all who would be leaders—had grasped the imagination of these men, winning their loyalty and unstinted support.
"When shall we tell the others?" Brosan asked.
"Go among them now," Tharn advised. "Explain our plan briefly, but cover every point. Warn them not to chance arousing suspicion among the guards. Everything depends upon absolute secrecy."
It was on the following day that the great Games began.
When the door closed behind Tharn and Lodorth, a feeling of loneliness swept over the princess Alurna. She had come to regard the cave-man as her friend—perhaps the only friend left to her in all Sephar. She glanced fearfully at the face of the high-priest and found nothing there to reassure her.
Pryak's expression was stern; but that sternness was a mask to hide an inner perturbation. For there had come to him the realization that in this frail girl lay a vital threat to his newly won power.
He silently cursed his stupidity in receiving her so ungraciously, and silently he thanked his God that he had been prevented from actually striking the princess.
Alurna, he remembered, was more than Urim's daughter; she was niece to the most powerful figure of the known world—Jaltor, king of far-off Ammad, and commander of the greatest force of fighting-men ever assembled. Urim had been Jaltor's brother....
Eventually, Jaltor would learn of his brother's death. As a statesman and ruler, he would understand that Urim's passing was incidental to a change in power and one of the hazards of kinghood.
It was not likely, however, that Jaltor would regard in a similar light an overt slight or actual cruelty to a niece. As a possible threat to Pryak's position as king, Alurna was not to be considered; only a man could rule men. For that reason alone, the high priest had no valid excuse to do her harm.
His course, then, was plain; every effort must be made to win this girl into regarding him as a friend, lest word reach Jaltor that his niece was a mistreated prisoner in Sephar.
The chill faded from Pryak's expression like snow under a hot sun. "I have been wrong, princess," he admitted, with passable humbleness. "As Urim's daughter, you are entitled to every respect and honor. From now on you may depend on being accorded both."
Alurna could hardly believe her ears. What had come over this old man, to change him so quickly and completely?
Her response was instant and characteristic. "I want nothing from you, priest!" she snapped.
Pryak lost his smile, but none of his urbanity. He beckoned to a nearby attendant. "Escort the princess to her rooms," he instructed. "See to it that her every wish is obeyed."
When Alurna had gone, a thoughtful Pryak dropped onto his stool across from Orbar and pursed his lips reflectively.
"There must be some way to dispose of her," he said, "without incurring the wrath of Jaltor."
Orbar grinned evilly. "A knife in the dark...." He let his voice trail off meaningly.
"You are a fool!" growled the new king. "Her uncle and his men would be at our gates within two moons. I dare not risk—"
He broke off as an under-priest came hurriedly from across the room and bowed before him.
"What is it, Baltor?"
"The three nobles of Ammad are here, asking that you see them."
Pryak sighed. Here were others he must treat with deference, lest his failure to do so cause international complications. He was beginning to understand that even an all-powerful monarch must recognize the importance of individuals other than himself. He felt vaguely distressed....
"Bring them to me, here," he said.
A moment later Jotan, Tamar and Javan approached the seated men and bent their heads in formal recognition.
"How may I, king of Sephar and Voice of the God, serve our noble visitors?" asked the arch-priest loftily.
Jotan acted as spokesman. "By granting us permission to set out for Ammad. Already have we delayed longer than was intended. To avoid the rainy season we should like to leave at once."
Pryak thought for a moment. He must not let them go so easily. They might think that he was relieved to be rid of them—that his hospitality was less than Urim's had been.
He said, "Would you start on so perilous a journey without first showing honor to your God? Tomorrow the Games begin. It would be wise to attend the first two days; otherwise misfortune may beset your path to Ammad."
Jotan was shrewd enough to yield. He guessed that Pryak was expecting to strengthen further his position as king by exhibiting the three Ammadians to the crowd as his intimates.
"Agreed," he responded. "I know that Jaltor, my king, will be greatly interested in an account of the lavishness of Sephar's Games."
It was then that Pryak found a solution to his problem!
Jotan, thinking the interview ended, had turned to go.
"Wait, Jotan of Ammad!"
The men from Ammad turned, surprised by the urgency in the high priest's voice. Pryak had risen and was coming toward them.
"There is something you can do for me, Jotan—a small matter, but one that will relieve a rather delicate situation."
"Of course," Jotan said quickly.
"It concerns Alurna—Urim's daughter. She is not happy here. Since her father's ... passing, she seems anxious to leave Sephar.
"It is my thought that she go with you to Ammad. Her uncle, Jaltor, would welcome her, I am sure; and she would be content there. Will you take her with you?"
Jotan saw his chance! Ever since Dylara had been taken from him by Pryak's men a few hours before, Jotan had been at his wits' end for a way to get her back. The guards, learning she was an escaped slave, had taken her from the Ammadians as a matter of course; for, as a slave, she was the property of Sephar's king. Jotan had not demurred, partly because it would have been useless to argue the point with anyone lacking authority to make a decision, and partly because he was confident that Urim, when asked, would give the girl to him.
But upon learning of Urim's death, and of Pryak's seizure of power, Jotan's hopes began to fade. Pryak's reluctance toward granting favors, however trivial, was a matter of common gossip. This, coupled with the fact that the high priest might not be inclined to be overly cordial toward a close friend of the former ruler, decided Jotan against asking for the slave-girl—a decision strengthened by Tamar's logic during a discussion held shortly before the three friends had come to the palace.
Several times during the interview with Pryak, Jotan had been near to blurting out a request that Dylara be given to him. But his pride would not permit the risk of being coldly refused, and each time he had bitten back the words.
But now—now the picture was changed. Pryak had opened the way for a counter-proposal; one the priest could hardly refuse because of his own request.
Jotan hid his elation behind an expressionless face. "I will gladly do as you have asked, Pryak of Ammad. Incidentally, there is a trifling favor you can grant me—if you will."
Tamar, listening, groaned inwardly.
"What is this favor?" asked the priest cautiously.
"I have become interested in one of the palace slave-girls," Jotan told him. "I should like to have her."
The modestness of the request confused Pryak. Somehow, such a petition seemed irrelevant, too petty.
"Of course," he agreed quickly. "I had expected that you would ask for something of more value. Take whichever slave you want—several, if you like."
"Your kindness indicates how generous a king rules Sephar," Jotan said smoothly. "If one of your men will accompany me, I shall give him the necessary instructions."
"Baltor, here, will carry out your orders." Pryak indicated the attendant who had ushered them in.
When they had left the room, Jotan said to the attendant:
"Go at once to the quarters of the female slaves. Instruct the guards there to turn over to you the slave-girl known as Dylara. You will bring her to my quarters."
"I understand, noble Jotan."
"When you have done this, return to the palace and seek out the princess, Alurna. Convey to her my greetings, and say that I wish an audience with her at her convenience.... Is all this clear to you?"
"Yes."
"Good! Report to me when you have finished."