tell you it was exciting for a time! They were huge brutes and unbelievably strong. Their spears—crude, barbaric things—were thrown with such force that twice I saw them go entirely through two of our men.

"But, as I say, we repulsed them, losing only four of our party, while over forty of the cave people died. We were not able to take prisoners; they fought too stubbornly to be subdued alive."

Alurna leaned forward eagerly.

"We have many slaves who once were such as you have described," she broke in. "But they do not take kindly to slavery. They often are morose and hate us, and need beatings to be kept in place. Yet their men are strong and fearless—and usually quite handsome."

From his place at the table, Jotan watched the face of the princess as she spoke. She seemed vivid and forceful—much more so that any other woman he had ever met; and her beauty of face and figure was breath-taking. He resolved to become better acquainted with her.

The manner in which Tamar straightened at her last words, showed they had stung him—just why, was not altogether clear to Alurna.

"They are only brutes—animals!" he said heatedly. "They know nothing of such splendor—" he waved an arm to include the room's rich furnishings "—no tables or chairs, no soft covers on their cave floors. There are no walls to protect them from raids by their enemies; no ability in warfare beyond blind courage. They are half-naked savages—nothing more!"

A sudden commotion at the doorway caused the conversation to end here. A short, alert man with a hawk-like face and a distinct military bearing, strode into the room and bowed before Urim.

"Well, Vulcar," greeted the king, without rising, "what are you doing here?"

"I come," replied the warrior, "to report the capture of a young cave-woman. A hunting party slew her mate and captured her a few marches from Sephar."

"Bring her in to us," Urim commanded. "I should like our visitors to see for themselves what cave people are like."

Vulcar bowed again, then returned to the doorway and beckoned to someone outside.

Two Sepharian warriors entered, Dylara between them. She was disheveled and rumpled, the protecting skin of Jalok, the panther, was awry; but her head was unbowed, her shoulders erect, and her glance as haughty as that of the princess, Alurna, herself.

No one said anything for a long moment. The sheer beauty of the girl captive seemingly had struck them dumb.

Jotan broke the silence. "By the God!" he gasped. "Are you jesting? This is no half-wild savage!"

Alurna, her eyes flashing dangerously, turned toward the speaker. The first man ever to attract her, and already raving over some unwashed barbarian who soon was to be a common slave!

"Perhaps you would like to have her as your mate," she said sweetly, but with an ominous note in her tone.

Urim shot a startled glance at his daughter. He had heard that edge to her voice before this, and usually it meant trouble for someone.

Jotan kept his eyes on the prisoner. "She would grace the life of any man," he declared with enthusiasm, totally unaware of Alurna's mounting jealousy.

Tamar, seated next to Jotan, forced a loud laugh. "My friend loves to jest," he announced in a palpable attempt to break the sudden tension. "Pay no attention to him."

Although Dylara understood most of what was being said, she was too upset to follow the conversation itself. She was awed and a little frightened by the undreamed-of magnificence about her. As much as she had hated Tharn, being with him was far better than belonging to those who had her now. But Tharn was dead, stricken down by a slender stick and heavy club.

"Take her to the slave quarters," instructed Urim finally. "Later, I shall decide what is to be done with her."

Dylara was led up two broad flights of stairs and deep within the left wing of the palace, her escort halting at last before massive twin doors. Here, two armed guards raised a heavy timber from its sockets, the doors swung wide, and she was led down a long hall past several small doors on either side of the corridor.

The men stopped before one of these doors, unbarred it, and thrust Dylara into the room beyond. Then the door closed and she heard the bar drop into place.

At first, her eyes were hard put to distinguish objects in the faint light entering through a long narrow, stone-barred opening set high up close to the ceiling. Soon, however, she was able to make out the simple furnishings: a low bed, formed by hairy pelts on a wooden framework; a low bench; a stand, upon which were a large clay bowl and a length of clean, rough cloth; and, on the floor, a soft rug of some woven material unfamiliar to the cave-girl.

Utterly weary, the girl threw herself on the bed. Thoughts of Tharn came unbidden to her mind. How she longed for his confidence-instilling presence! Not that she cared for him in any way; of that she was very certain. It was only that he was one of her own kind; he spoke as she did, clothed himself as she was accustomed to seeing men clothed.

It was unthinkable that he was dead; impossible to believe that that mighty heart had ceased to beat! Yet she had heard the dull impact of wood against bone as the club had felled him, and he had not stirred when the strange men broke from the bushes to seize her.

Yes, he was dead; and Dylara's eyes suddenly brimmed with burning tears. She told herself that her sorrow was not so much from his death as the fact that, without him alive, she could never hope to leave this place.

The show of bravado, maintained before her captors, began to slip away. She was so lonely and afraid here in this grimly beautiful city. What would become of her? And that proud, lovely girl at the table with all those people—why had she looked at Dylara with such frank hatred?

She cried a little, there in the dim light, and still sobbing, fell asleep.