"And what is to be done with me?" asked the girl.
"Nemone has decreed Xarator for you," replied Erot. "You are even now lying upon the skins in which you are to be sewn. It is for that purpose that I am here. My good friend Tomos, the councillor, sent me to sew you into the bag; but first let us enjoy together your last night on earth. Be generous, and perhaps I can avert the doom that Nemone will doubtless decree for your father and your lover. She is permitting them to live through tomorrow at least, that they may witness your destruction, for thus runs the kindly mind of sweet Nemone." He laughed harshly. "The hell-cat! May the devil get her in the end!"
"You have not even the decency of gratitude," said Doria contemptuously. "The Queen has lavished favors upon you, given you power and riches; it is inconceivable that one can be so vile an ingrate as you."
Erot laughed. "Tomorrow you will be dead," he said; "so what difference does it make what you think of me? Tonight you shall give me love, though your heart be filled with hate. There is nothing in the world but love and hate, the two most pleasurable emotions that great Thoos has given us; let us enjoy them to the full!" He came and kneeled at her side and took her in his arms, covering her face and lips with kisses. She struggled to repulse him, but in her bonds she was helpless to protect herself.
He was panting with passion as he untied the thongs that secured her ankles. "You are more beautiful than Nemone," he cried huskily as he strained her to him.
A low growl sounded from the direction of the window. Erot raised his face from the soft neck of Doria and looked. He went ashy white as he leaped to his feet and fled toward the door upon the opposite side of the room, his craven heart pounding in terror.
It was early in the morning as the cortège formed that was to accompany the doomed Doria to Xarator, for Xarator lies sixteen miles from the city of Cathne in the mountains at the far end of the valley of Onthar; and the procession could move no faster than the lions drawing the chariot of the Queen would walk, which was not fast. Bred for generations for this purpose, the lions of Cathne had far greater endurance than forest-bred lions, yet it would be well into the night before it could be hoped to make the long journey to Xarator and return; therefore hundreds of slaves bore torches with which to light the homeward journey after night had fallen.
Nemone entered her chariot. She was wrapped in woolen robes and the skins of animals, for the morning air was still chill. At her side walked Tomos, nervous and ill at ease. He knew that M'duze was dead and wondered if he would be next. The Queen's manner was curt and abrupt, filling him with dread, for now there was no M'duze to protect him from the easily aroused wrath of Nemone.
"Where is Tarzan?" she demanded.