Under the threat of the guard's sword he knelt in a humble way
Those who let emotion rule filled early graves, however. A dead Tharn was useless to himself and useless to Dylara—and any such wild charge would be completely suicidal. Dylara seemed in no immediate danger, although it was clear from her actions, as well as the actions of those about her, that she was not sharing that cooking fire as an honored guest.
He fingered the string of his bow at its place about his shoulder. How he would have liked to send her some message that help was near, that soon she would be taken from these men and restored to the arms of one of her own kind. An arrow from out of the darkness into the heart of one of those men near her!
No. To do that would rouse the camp, keep them all awake for the rest of the night. For Tharn's purpose those Ammadians must remain lulled by a sense of security provided by their circle of fires. The quieter the night, the smaller the number of sentries to be posted when the time came for seeking sleeping furs for the night.
Trakor, too, was making good use of his eyes. This was the first party of Ammadians he had ever seen and he was open-mouthed with interest. The strange white skins they wore, the pieces of beautifully shaped leather on their feet, fascinated him and he longed to own such wondrous things. He stared for a long time at Dylara, marveling at her beauty. Even Lanoa, whose beauty paled into nothingness that of every woman of Gerdak's tribe was just another she when compared to this vision of loveliness. The thought made him smile a little sadly. It was the first time he had thought of Lanoa in nearly a moon.
Tharn said, "Remain here, Trakor, while I hunt for food."