"Tharn—my mate!"
An instant later she was caught up in his arms.
Young Tharn looked on in bewilderment, not grasping, at first, the significance of that single word his father had uttered. Then, as the chief turned toward him, an arm about the woman's shoulders, he understood.
Then his arm, too, was about her: and after twelve long years, father, son, and mother were reunited.
None of the three had much to say during the next few minutes. There was an enormous lump in Nada's throat, making speech impossible. She could not take her eyes from the splendid young man who, until a few days ago, she had thought to be dead. He was everything Dylara had said he was. She remembered him as she had last seen him—a straight-backed, sturdy-legged youngster, whose inquisitive nature and complete lack of fear had given her so many anxious moments. Even at that early age he had shown promise of the extraordinary physical development he now possessed.
But her greatest pride and satisfaction came from what she could see in those frank, compelling gray eyes—eyes mirroring a fine, sensitive soul and an equally fine mind.
"Tell me," Nada said at last, "how did you know I was here?"
"I did not know," admitted her mate. "Did you, Tharn?"
Their son shook his head. "I never dreamed you were in Sephar. As a matter of fact, we came here to find a girl—Dylara, my—my mate. We thought she would be with the slaves."