A flicker of motion from within the darkened room caused him to leap sharply back, just in time to keep a heavy wooden chair from caving in his head. Unchecked, the chair struck the floor with a resounding crash, the impact tearing it loose from Dylara's hands.
By the time she had bent to pick it up for a second try, Trakor was inside and the door closed. He threw out a hand to ward off Dylara's impromptu club, whispering, "No, Dylara! It is I—Trakor!"
A muffled sob of relief and thanksgiving was torn from her throat, then she was in his arms.
At the feel of her body against his, the heady scent of her hair in his nostrils, Trakor felt his heart leap within him and his arms tightened suddenly about the girl's smooth, softly rounded shoulders.
Then the moment was gone and they drew apart.
"I can't believe it, Trakor!" Dylara whispered. "How did you manage to get away?"
"There's no time for that now," he said. "We've got to get out of this place and back to the jungle where we belong. Tharn is out there somewhere and we must find him before he enters Ammad in search of us."
"But how...."
"I don't know—yet. If we can reach the streets without being seen...." He went to the door, pressed an ear against its planks for a moment, then very gently drew open the heavy section of wood and put his head cautiously out. The corridor, in either direction, was deserted.
"Come," he whispered, and hand in hand they stole silently toward the head of those stairs Trakor had recently climbed.