He turned his sombre eyes in my direction.
“I carried the pebbles to my own dwelling,” he returned. “They are beautiful, and when the sun kisses them they borrow its light and glow like fireflies at dusk. I love the pebbles; so I took them, and they are mine.”
This was exasperating to a degree.
“You had no right to do that,” I protested. “Your king has forbidden you to gather the pebbles.”
“I did not gather them; I but took them from the place where the white jackal had placed them.”
“The king will punish you for keeping them!”
“The king? Ah, the king will not know. And we are opposed to the king just now, the Princess Ilalah and myself,” with a queer smile. “But you are strangers, and therefore you do not know that in my forest even Nalig-Nad dare not molest the Master Workman.”
The last words were spoken confidently, and his prompt defiance of the king pleased me.
“Who is this man, Ilalah?” asked Duncan.
“Tcharn is my mother’s cousin,” she replied, with frankness, “and in my mother’s veins flowed the most royal blood of our great ancestors. For this reason Tcharn is a person of consequence among my people. He is called the Arrow-Maker, and forges all the arrow-heads that the Techlas use. No one else is allowed to work in metals, which Tcharn brings from the mountains. In this forest—I do not know exactly where—is his secret work-shop and his dwelling place. Only one thing is forbidden him, under penalty of torture and death: to gather or use the loathsome gold which was at one time the curse of the Techlas. In all else Tcharn is master of the forest, and the people honor and avoid him.”