"Or become prisoner to Kalamita," Bandhor suggested.
Kalamita eyed him. Her own expression was brooding.
"Enough," she said. "Your mind reaches not beyond the sweep of your sword. Go—say to Helmor I appear before him, and—say no more, save that I will make all things plain when I arrive."
Bandhor nodded.
"Nay, and thou canst, thou canst do more than Bandhor," he declared, once more frowning, and stalked hugely from the room.
Kalamita remained seated for some time after his departure, her features cast into lines of consideration, tight lipped, a trifle drawn.
"Now Bel aid me!" she cried, at last rising and lifting her jewel-circled arms in a body-stretching gesture, turned and went swiftly down to where Gor waited with her carriage, and its prancing green-plumed gnuppas. Entering the conveyance, she drew the curtains, and reclined on the padded cushions, her tawny head supported on an arm.
Watching her, Croft sensed that once more her wicked brain was busy with its schemes.
Bandhor met her at the palace and escorted her into a small and sumptuously furnished room. Helmor of Zollaria sat there, his face contorted into an expression of displeasure. As Bandhor and his sister entered, he half rose, and Kalamita sank swiftly to her knees.
"Hail Helmor, emperor and lord," she faltered.