"No, Tharn, no! Those are my father's men. They come to welcome us."
His fingers relaxed their hold on the knife, but his hand remained close to its hilt. And then they were surrounded by the men of Sephar.
This detail was in charge of Lodorth, a tall, rather fleshy warrior of middle-age, very straight of back and given to the blunt speech of a soldier. Alurna remembered him as once having been stationed at the palace.
"Ah, princess," Lodorth said soberly. "We believed you to be dead or hopelessly lost. I am glad to be first in welcoming you."
Alurna was all smiles. "My father is worried, I know. I must go to him at once, Lodorth."
An expression which the girl could not define passed across the officer's face but he made no reply. Instead he turned to his men.
"Disarm this man and bind his hands!" he ordered, jerking a thumb toward Tharn.
Upon hearing this, the cave-man reached quickly for his knife, but froze as he felt several cold flint spearheads against the skin of his back.
"Disarm him!" barked the leader curtly.
One of the men stepped forward, and with a wary eye cocked toward the motionless figure, plucked the stone blade from Tharn's loin-cloth.