"Jotan," said a quiet voice from behind them.
The group of men standing about the subterranean corridor beneath the palace of Jaltor of Ammad, turned as the quiet voice reached their ears.
Standing at the barred opening of one of the locked cells, the strong handsome face, visible in the light of the late Sitab's torch, was Tharn, a slight smile on his lips.
"Who calls my name?" demanded the young noble, stepping nearer the door of the cell.
"It is I—Tharn, son of Tharn, the cave man. Have you forgotten the times we have met in the past?"
Recognition dawned in Jotan's expression. "Of course! You are the man who claimed Dylara belonged to you."
"And she still belongs to me," Tharn said quietly.
"She lives?" Even the absence of more than dim light could not hide the sudden hope flaring in the young nobleman's eyes.
Tharn nodded. "Even now she is held prisoner by the man who has plotted against you."