His vague reluctance still with him, Tharn permitted the youth to urge him into the open. They were well into the clearing before one of the men about the fires caught sight of them and gave a warning shout.
Instantly a score of warriors caught up their spears and formed a bristling line facing the newcomers, while others piled dry branches on the fires sending flames shooting high to illuminate the scene with almost midday brightness.
"Put down your spears!" cried Tharn's companion, laughing. "It is I—Trakor, son of Kygor. Where are your hunters' eyes that you do not know me?"
But the line of spear heads did not waver. Now, moving from behind the formation of fighting men came Gerdak, chief of the tribe. Short, squat and very ugly was Gerdak. Set nearly flush on his broad sloping shoulders was a bullet-like head, almost hairless as the result of an old scalp infection. Firelight reflected in his pig-like eyes made them glow like burning sparks as he glowered from beneath shaggy brows at the tall stranger at Trakor's side.
"Who is he?" growled the chief, jerking a grimy thumb at the cave lord.
"He is my friend," Trakor said, and there was the beginning of anger in his tone. "His name is Tharn. In all the world there is no greater fighter."
Nothing changed in Gerdak's expression. "He is not one of us. Tell him to go at once or I will kill him!"
Trakor stiffened. Suddenly his anger flamed into the open—flamed with such intensity that he completely forgot the object of his wrath was his own chief.
"YOU will kill him! Ha! There are not fifty among you who could kill him! With only a knife he slew Sadu—leaping upon him as though Sadu were no more than Bana, the deer. He comes among us as my friend—treat him as such!"
As he spoke Trakor, beside himself with the hot anger of the young, had advanced until he was standing directly before the burly chieftain. With his last words the boy so forgot himself as to shake a fist in the other's face.