"There!" Javan shouted. "At the door! Didn't I tell—"
With a bound Jotan leaped from his bed and plunged forward, catching Tharn at the knees. The cave-man braced himself, then bent and grasped his attacker about the waist.
Jotan was a strong, agile man. As a rough-and-tumble fighter he had few equals. But when the arms of the intruder encircled his body and tore away his hold as though he were a child, he knew he stood no chance.
The Sepharian gasped aloud as he felt himself swung aloft. He had a swift glimpse of the awe-stricken faces of his friends; then his flying body hurtled across the room to crash against them with sickening force, sending all three to the floor, half-stunned.
Tharn seized the door-latch once more and surged back with all his strength. There followed the sound of splintering wood as latch, bolt and strike were torn away. A second later he had gained the street.
By the time those within were ready to attempt pursuit, the cave-man was a block away, running with the long easy strides of a trained athlete.
As he ran, Tharn drew his knife for any misguided person who might wish to bar his path. He was slowly drawing away from his shouting pursuers, when he caught sight of a second group of warriors not far ahead and coming at a run toward him.
Turning sharply into a side street, Tharn dashed on for a short distance, only to pull up short. The roadway ended here, nor were there streets on either side. Behind him the Sepharians had turned the corner and were bearing down upon him.
Tharn was no stranger to danger or sudden death. Life in the jungles and on the vast plains had little else to offer. Fear and panic were not likely to prolong life; Tharn knew not the meaning of either.