"No," she said, "I have seen nothing more of him. Go now, that I may sleep."
Tharn heard the man outside move away. Satisfied that he had gained a brief respite from discovery, he returned to the window.
He pinched out the flaming wick in the dish of fat standing on a wooden bracket nearby, to prevent someone in the grounds below seeing him at the window. In the moonlight he could see several groups of warriors about the grounds—patrols, posted to prevent him from leaving the building. But Tharn had no intention of leaving until Dylara was free to go with him.
From the floor above, and not far to his left, there jutted out a tiny balcony, its slender stone columns topped with a balustrade of the same material. As Tharn's eyes lingered there, an idea popped suddenly into his mind.
After placing the bowl of grease on the floor, he tore the bracket from the wall and wrenched one of its supporting wooden rods away. This done, he tied one end of his grass rope to the exact center of the thick cylinder and returned to the window.
Holding the free end of the rope in one hand, he poised the length of wood, spear-fashion, aimed carefully, then launched it toward the stone supports of the balustrade above and to his left.
Like an arrow it sped up and out, to pass cleanly between two of the columns. Hauling in the slack, Tharn felt the rod catch lengthwise above him; and though he tugged with all the strength of his arms, the rope remained secure.
Without a backward glance, the cave-man swung into space, at the same time clambering hand over hand up the swinging strands. As his feet left the ledge, he heard the door of the girl's room fly open and her voice ring out.
The echo of that call had not faded as young Tharn closed a hand on the balcony's rail, pulled himself over and leaped through the window beyond.