“Well?” demanded The Cid.
“Will you spare the others, too?” he asked.
“Why should I?”
“I shall need their help,” said Tanar. “I do not know all that is necessary to make the weapons and the powder.”
As a matter of fact he knew nothing about the manufacture of either, but he saw here a chance to save his fellow prisoners, or at least to delay their destruction and gain time in which they might find means to escape, nor did he hesitate to deceive The Cid, for is not all fair in war?
“Very well,” said the Korsar chief; “if you and they give me no trouble you shall all live—provided you teach us how to make weapons and powder like your own.”
“We cannot live in the filthy hole in which we are penned,” retorted the Sarian; “neither can we live without food. Soon we shall all sicken and die. We are people of the open air—we cannot be smothered in dark holes filled with vermin and be starved, and live.”
“You shall not be returned to the hole,” said The Cid. “There is no danger that you will escape.”
“And the others?” demanded Tanar.
“They remain where they are!”