Something must be done, and quickly, Tharn realized, were he to outwit those whose feet were even now pounding on the stairs. Thrusting head and shoulders out the window, he looked up and saw, a few feet away, the roof's edge.
Quickly Tharn balanced himself on the narrow sill, his back to the street. Raising to his tip-toes he reached gingerly up. His finger tips were a full six inches short of the roof's edge!
A lone chance remained: he must jump for it. To fail would plummet him to the street below—to certain capture and possible injury. The sinews of his legs tensed; then he rose upward in a cat-like leap.
There was a second of breathless uncertainty; then his fingers closed on a flat stone surface.
Barely had the dangling feet cleared the upper edge of the aperture when the horde burst through the doorway. Finding no occupant, they dashed to the window and called to the watchers below, only to learn the forest-man had not re-entered the street. A thorough search of the room convinced them the man they sought had left the building, and they blamed the men below for having permitted his escape; in turn to be jeered at as cowards for not searching Lukor's premises more carefully.
It was a puzzled crowd of disgruntled warriors that finally gave up the hunt. Some of the more superstitious were inclined to believe it was no human they sought—an evil spirit, perhaps, that had faded back into nothingness.
While a block away, Tharn, having fled from one roof to another, dropped easily to earth and set out for the huge white palace he had glimpsed from the house-tops.
The Princess Alurna was finding it impossible to sleep. For hours she had lain wide-eyed, tossing fitfully, seeking the rest that would not come. Before her mind's eye persisted the image of Jotan as she had first seen him; in her ears were the sound of his voice and the echo of his laugh.
Why must her thoughts stay with this handsome visitor? Had her imperious heart given way at last?