There must have been a hundred of them, fresh and—for priests—eager for battle. They fell upon the revolters from behind, spreading death and consternation in the thinning ranks of those from Sephar's pits.
Encouraged by aid from this wholly unexpected quarter, the palace defenders regained their fading morale and renewed the attack with reckless fury.
The end had come. Bitter was the realization to Tharn who, until now, had been certain nothing could prevent his men from taking Sephar. He smarted under the knowledge that wily old Pryak had outwitted them after all.
He might, under cover of the raging turmoil, have turned his back on friends and supporters to seek out Dylara's cell and escape with her from Sephar. But the thought was gone as it was born; and the Cro-Magnard sought to rally his shaken followers to the task of cutting a pathway back to the street. Once outside, some of them might manage to flee into the jungle—a far cry from their ambitious dream of taking Sephar!
It began to appear, however, that leaving the palace was to be infinitely more difficult than forcing an entrance had been. Again and again his men were repulsed by the white-faced but unflinching priests at the foot of the staircase. Steadily the number of rebels grew less; and while they took more lives than they gave, there were too many to outlast.
Suddenly there rose above the pandemonium within, a chorus of savage cries from outside the open doors. Tharn straightened as though struck by an unseen spear. His eyes went wide with incredulous astonishment bordering on disbelief; then from his powerful lungs broke an answering shout that paled to insignificance the tumult about him.
Swarming into the hall below, came a host of strange, warlike fighting-men, naked except for panther- and leopard-skins about their loins. Splendid, beautifully proportioned barbarians they were, heavy war-spears gripped in powerful right hands, sun-bronzed skins rippling under the play of corded muscles.
At their head was the stalwart figure of a man such as never before had been seen within Sephar's borders. Four inches above six feet he stood, slim of hip and broad of shoulder—a wealth of black hair held from his eyes by a strip of cured snakeskin.
"Father!" burst from Tharn's lips.