How long ago it seemed, now, since he had taken up the trail of those who had attacked his people! And now he was a prisoner of a race whose very existence had been undreamed of a few suns ago. A captive, too, was the girl who had been so abruptly thrust into his life, bringing with her the beauty and pangs of love.
Dylara! Where was she now? Did she believe him dead, a victim of arrow and club? Had she given up all hope of ever seeing again her father and the caves of Majok, to accept tamely the life of a slave?
In spite of having known her only for a short time, he doubted this. There was too much of the haughty pride of a born princess in her to submit tamely to such a fate. Given the chance she would brave the perils of jungle and plain in an effort to locate her own tribe.
As he lay there, motionless, watching sunlight streaming through the opening overhead, the resolve grew strong within him to win Dylara's freedom, and his, from this strange place and its stranger inhabitants. They had him now—but it would take more than a few doors and walls to keep him.
When the door had closed behind Dylara and Nada, Jotan turned to his two companions. He found them staring at him reproachfully.
"And now," Tamer said bitingly, "now that half of Sephar knows you are in love with a slave-girl, perhaps we can pay our respects to Urim, whom we have kept waiting."
Jotan was suddenly conscious of the curious eyes of men and women. Beyond the crowd of Sepharians was Urim on his elevated chair, peering over the heads between him and the three men near the door.
Jotan chuckled a little. "For her I would keep many kings waiting," he said in a low voice. "But you are right, of course. Come."
The three men moved through the crowd. Jotan's arrogant bearing and handsome face drew forth almost as many whispered comments as had the appearance of Tharn earlier that morning.