And then her jaw dropped and her eyes flew wide with amazement. Tharn had leaped forward and sent his shoulder crashing into the side of the soaring brute. Sadu, caught off balance, spun sideways and fell heavily. He was up instantly, growling horribly, and in mad frenzy turned upon Tharn.
What Dylara witnessed then was something that was to go down in the folk lore of future generations of the Cro-Magnard people. She saw the clenched fingers of the man swing forward with every ounce of power in that mighty arm, backed by the insane fury of utter desperation.
The iron fist struck Sadu full between the eyes, crushing the skull like a hollow melon and driving splinters of bone into that savage brain.
Dylara, weak with relief, felt her knees buckle as the lion sank lifeless to the ground. Tharn, his knuckles throbbing with pain, jumped forward and caught her about the waist. She turned her face to him, then, and he saw that her eyes were wet with tears.
Her warm red lips, slightly parted, were very near his own. Drawn by an irresistible impulse, Tharn bent his head to meet them. The girl saw the clean, firm mouth come close, yet she did not shrink away. Something was stirring deep within her—something that had never known life before this moment—something she had no time to analyze.
Suddenly she wanted more than anything else to feel that mouth pressed against her own. She lifted her face for Tharn's kiss....
"Dylara!" said a quiet voice.
The man and the girl sprang apart. Facing them, now, was a group of eight Sepharian warriors, a tall, broad-shouldered young man at their head.
Dylara knew the leader at once. It was Jotan. She saw that his expression was very stern, and she knew instinctively that he was thinking of her in Tharn's embrace.