An amazing transformation had been made in the appearance of Majok's daughter. The stained animal skin, that once had afforded an inadequate covering, was gone—replaced by a sleeveless tunic that fell from throat to knees. Her luxuriant curls of deep brown were neatly drawn behind her ears; on her feet were strong sandals of leather.
She hesitated slightly at sight of many strange faces, the serried ranks of motionless warriors about Urim's elevated throne, and, finally, the lordly figure of Urim, himself.
Regaining confidence, she walked slowly through the press of Sepharians as they cleared a pathway to the foot of Urim's chair.
Both women and their escorts halted a few paces short of the steps. Three heads were humbly lowered; Dylara alone gazed artlessly up at the monarch.
Urim hid his smile with a casual hand. Were all cave-people so difficult to impress? This savage girl was a beauty, though; the other women of the room certainly suffered by comparison. By the God! If there were not a hundred suitors at her heels before long he would have missed his guess. Even old Uglor, that confirmed misogynist, was staring at her, his heart in his eyes!
"Is this girl in your care, Nada?" he asked.
"She is, O Urim."
"She understands nothing of our customs?"
"That is true."
"She will be of no use, then," observed Urim, "until she has learned them. I think it would be best to keep her apart from the other slaves until then.