Ten minutes, twenty—a half an hour dragged by. From her elevated position Dylara watched the young man, marveling at the indomitable patience that could keep him motionless, waiting. The strong lines of his body appealed vividly to her, although she was quick to insist it was entirely impersonal; she would have been as responsive, she told herself, had it been the figure of Sadu, the lion, crouching there.
Then—although she had heard nothing—she saw Tharn stiffen expectantly. Two full minutes passed. And then, stepping daintily, every sense alert for hidden danger, came sleek Bana—the deer.
Here was food fit for the mate of a chief! The man of the caves tightened his strong fingers about the knife hilt.
On came Bana. Tharn drew his legs beneath him like a great cat.
And then events followed one another in rapid sequence. As the unsuspecting animal drew abreast of him, Tharn, with a long, lithe bound, sprang full on its back, at the same instant driving the stone blade behind Bana's left foreleg and into the heart. The deer stumbled and fell. Dylara dropped from the tree, reaching Tharn's side as he rose from the body of the kill.
As he stood erect, still clutching the reddened blade, an arrow sped through the sunlight and raked a deep groove along his naked side.
At the shock of pain which followed, Tharn whirled about in a movement so rapid that his body seemed to blur. Before he could do more, however, a heavy wooden club flashed from a clump of undergrowth at his back, striking him a terrible blow aside the head. A searing white light seemed to explode before him; then blackness came and he knew no more.