No one said anything for a long moment. The sheer beauty of the girl captive seemingly had struck them dumb.
Jotan broke the silence. "By the God!" he gasped. "Are you jesting? This is no half-wild savage!"
Alurna, her eyes flashing dangerously, turned toward the speaker. The first man ever to attract her, and already raving over some unwashed barbarian who soon was to be a common slave!
"Perhaps you would like to have her as your mate," she said sweetly, but with an ominous note in her tone.
Urim shot a startled glance at his daughter. He had heard that edge to her voice before this, and usually it meant trouble for someone.
Jotan kept his eyes on the prisoner. "She would grace the life of any man," he declared with enthusiasm, totally unaware of Alurna's mounting jealousy.
Tamar, seated next to Jotan, forced a loud laugh. "My friend loves to jest," he announced in a palpable attempt to break the sudden tension. "Pay no attention to him."
Although Dylara understood most of what was being said, she was too upset to follow the conversation itself. She was awed and a little frightened by the undreamed-of magnificence about her. As much as she had hated Tharn, being with him was far better than belonging to those who had her now. But Tharn was dead, stricken down by a slender stick and heavy club.
"Take her to the slave quarters," instructed Urim finally. "Later, I shall decide what is to be done with her."
Dylara was led up two broad flights of stairs and deep within the left wing of the palace, her escort halting at last before massive twin doors. Here, two armed guards raised a heavy timber from its sockets, the doors swung wide, and she was led down a long hall past several small doors on either side of the corridor.