Warrior of the Dawn Part 8

Dylara obeyed without further urging. Nada watched her in silence until the girl's appet.i.te had been dulled, then said: "How did they happen to get you?"

Dylara told her, briefly. For some obscure reason she could not bring herself to mention Tharn by name. Just the thought of him, falling beneath a Sepharian club, brought a sharp ache to her throat.

There was a far-away expression in Nada's eyes as Dylara finished her story. "I knew a warrior once--one very much like the young man who took you from your father's caves. He was a mighty chief--and my mate. Many summers ago I was captured near our caves as I walked at the jungle's edge. A war party from a strange tribe had crept close to our caves during the night, planning to raid us at dawn. They seized me; but my cries aroused my people, and the war party fled, taking me with them.

They lost their way in the darkness, and after many weary marches stumbled across a hunting party from Sephar. In the fight that followed they killed almost all of us, sparing only three--and me. I have been here ever since."

Dylara caught the undercurrent of utter hopelessness in the woman's words, and she felt a sudden rush of sympathy well up within her.

"Tharn was a chief's son," she said. "Had he lived, I am sure he--" She stopped there, stricken into silence by the horror on Nada's face.

The slave woman rose unsteadily from the bed and seized Dylara's hands.

"Tharn--did you say _Tharn_?"

The girl, shocked by the pain and grief in the face of the woman, could only nod.

"He--is--dead?"

Again Dylara nodded.

Nada swayed and would have fallen had not Dylara held tightly to her wrists. Tears began to squeeze from her closed eyes, to trickle down the drawn white cheeks.

And then Dylara found her voice. "What is it, Nada? What is wrong?"

The woman swallowed with an effort, fighting for control. "I," she whispered, "am Tharn's mate!"

At first, Dylara thought she meant he whom the Sepharians had slain. And then the truth came to her.

The Tharn she had known was Nada's son!

Impulsively she drew the woman down beside her, holding her tightly until the tearing sobs subsided. For a little while there was silence within the room.

Without changing her position, Nada began to speak. "It was my son who was with you. Twelve summers before my capture I bore him; his father gave him his own name. And now he is dead. He is dead."

A draft of air from the window above caused the candle flame to waver, setting the shadows dancing.

Nada sat up and dried her eyes. "I will not cry any more," she said quietly. "Let us talk of other things."

Dylara pressed her hand in quick understanding. "Of course. Tell me, Nada, what will happen to me in Sephar?"

"You are a slave," Nada replied, "and belong to Urim, whose own warriors captured you. Perhaps you will be given certain duties in the palace, or the mate or daughter of some n.o.ble may ask for you as a hand-maiden. As a rule they treat us kindly; but if we are troublesome they whip us, or sometimes give us to the priests. That is the worst of all."

"They have G.o.ds, then?" Dylara asked.

"Only one, who is both good and evil. If they fall in battle, He has caused it; if they come through untouched, He has helped them."

The Cro-Magnon girl could not grasp this strange contradiction, for she knew certain G.o.ds sought to destroy man, while other G.o.ds tried to protect him....

"Then I must spend the rest of my life as a slave?" she asked.

"Yes--unless some free man asks for you as a mate. And that may happen because you are very beautiful."

The girl shook her head. "I do not want that," she declared. "I want only to return to my father and people."

"It will be best," Nada said, "to give up that foolish dream. Sometimes cave-men escape from Sephar; the women, never."

She rose, saying: "I must leave you now. The guards will be wondering what has kept me. Tomorrow I will come again."

The two embraced. "Farewell, Nada," whispered the girl. "I shall try to sleep again. Being here does not seem so bad, now that I know you."

Tharn regained his feet quickly after the drop from the wall, and looked about. Failing to detect any cause for immediate alarm, he set out along a broad street, hugging the buildings and keeping well within the shadows. The moon was quite high by now, the strong light flooding the deserted streets and bringing every object into bold relief.

The man of the caves did not have the slightest idea as to how he might locate the girl he loved; he proposed, however, to pit his wit and cunning, together with the stone knife and gra.s.s rope against the entire city, if necessary, until he stumbled across a clue of some sort that would bring them together. How he expected to s.n.a.t.c.h Dylara from her captors and win through to the forest and plains he did not stop to consider--time enough for that when she was found.

Abruptly the street along which he was moving ended, crossed here by another roadway. Down this side street a few yards, and on the opposite side, a huge stone building loomed, its windows barred by slender columns of stone. To Tharn's inexperienced eyes this appeared to be a prison of some sort; and as it was the first of its kind he had noticed, he decided to investigate--that is, if a means of entry could be found.

The hope that Dylara might be held behind one of those protected windows spurred him on.

Nonchalantly the mighty figure stepped from the sheltering shadows and leisurely crossed the street. He did not wish to excite suspicion, should any chance onlooker see him, by a sudden dash. Reaching the doorway of the edifice, he glanced sharply about; from all appearances he might have been in a city of the dead.

Delicate fingers, backed by a shrewd, imaginative mind, found the rude wooden latch, and solved its method of operation. Gently he pushed against the door and, not without surprise, felt it yield. Slowly the heavy planks swung inward until a s.p.a.ce sufficient to admit his ma.s.sive frame appeared, then he slid in and closed the door with his back.

The darkness was that of Acheron's pit; his eyes, keen as those of any jungle cat, were helpless to penetrate the blackness through which he moved with infinite stealth, arms outthrust before him, the cool hilt of his flint knife clutched in one muscular hand.

His nose warned him that there were men nearby; but the strangeness of his surroundings confused him as to their actual position.

One step forward he took--another, and yet another; then he trod full on the fingers of an outstretched hand!

CHAPTER V

Pursuit

The instant Tharn felt his foot press the unseen hand he wheeled soundlessly and sprang to the door. Closing his fingers about the latch, he stood there, waiting. To rush out now would be certain to awaken the disturbed sleeper; otherwise the man might blame the mishap on one of his companions and go back to sleep without investigating further.

He heard a stirring in the darkness.

"Jotan."

In the utter darkness of the room the single word sounded loud as a thunder-clap.

"Jotan," said the voice again.