Here was no primitive tribesman The man's handsome olive face and dark eyes had the haughty strength and fire and pride of a prince of ancient blood.
Eric Nelson sat up.
"You're no Tibetan," he said sharply, in that language.
"No," answered Shan Kar quickly. His accent was slurred as though spoken in an obscure dialect of Tibetan.
He pointed through the open door at the gray, sunlit mountains in the distance.
"My people dwell there, in a valley called L'Lan. And we men and woman of L'Lan have — enemies."
There was a flicker of emotion in his eyes as he spoke, fierce as a sword-flash. His eyes were, for that moment, fiery and intense, the eyes of a fanatic warrior, of a man with a cause.
"Enemies too powerful for us to conquer with our own forces! We have heard of the white men's new, powerful weapons. So I came to hire such men and weapons to help us in our struggle."
Nelson felt suddenly certain that Shan Kar referred to no mere petty tribal struggle. This man was not playing his game of war for horses, women or conquest, but for something bigger.
Shan Kar shrugged. "I heard of the warlord Yu Chi and came here to make an offer to him. But, before I arrived he was dead in the battle here. But you who remain know the use of such weapons. It you come with me to L'Lan and use them, we can pay you well."