'Your Majesty!' Pallantides threw himself on his knee beside the fallen giant.
Conan's eyes were open; they blazed up at him with full intelligence and recognition. His lips writhed, but no sound came forth. He seemed unable to move.
Voices sounded without. Pallantides rose swiftly and stepped to the door. The royal squires and one of the knights who guarded the tent stood there.
'We heard a sound within,' said the knight apologetically. 'Is all well with the king?'
Pallantides regarded him searchingly.
'None has entered or left the pavilion this night?'
'None save yourself, my lord,' answered the knight, and Pallantides could not doubt his honesty.
'The king stumbled and dropped his sword,' said Pallantides briefly. 'Return to your post.'
As the knight turned away, the general covertly motioned to the five royal squires, and when they had followed him in, he drew the flap closely. They turned pale at the sight of the king stretched upon the carpet, but Pallantides' quick gesture checked their exclamations.
The general bent over him again, and again Conan made an effort to speak. The veins in his temples and the cords in his neck swelled with his efforts, and he lifted his head clear of the ground. Voice came at last, mumbling and half intelligible.