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eled his thoat and galloped back in the direction of the palace. Within the main entrance to The Tower of Jetan lolled a half-dozen warriors. To one of these spoke A-Kor, keeper of the towers. "Fetch Lan-O, the slave girl, and bid her bring food and drink to the upper level of the Thurian tower," then he lifted the half-fainting girl in his arms and bore her along the spiral, inclined runway that led upward within the tower. Somewhere in the long ascent Tara lost consciousness. When it returned she found herself in a large, circular chamber, the stone walls of which were pierced by windows at regular intervals about the entire circumference of the room. She was lying upon a pile of sleeping silks and furs while there knelt above her a young woman who was forcing drops of some cooling beverage between her parched lips. Tara of Helium half rose upon an elbow and looked about. In the first moments of returning consciousness there were swept from the screen of recollection the happenings of many weeks. She thought that she awoke in the palace of The Warlord at Helium. Her brows knit as she scrutinized the strange face bending over her. "Who are you?" she asked, and, "Where is Uthia?" "I am Lan-O the slave girl," replied the other. "I know none by the name of Uthia." Tara of Helium sat erect and looked about her. This rough stone was not the marble of her father's halls. "Where am I?" she asked. "In The Thurian Tower," replied the girl, and then seeing that the other still did not understand she guessed the truth. "You are a prisoner in The Towers of Jetan in the city of Manator," she explained. "You were brought to this chamber, weak and fainting, by A-Kor, Dwar of The Towers of Jetan, who sent me to you with food and drink, for kind is the heart of A-Kor." "I remember, now," said Tara, slowly. "I remember; but where is Turan, my warrior? Did they speak of him?" "I heard naught of another," replied Lan-O; "you alone were brought to the towers. In that you are fortunate, for there be no nobler man in Manator than A-Kor. It is his mother's blood that makes him so. She was a slave girl from Gathol." "Gathol!" exclaimed Tara of Helium. "Lies Gathol close by Manator?" "Not close, yet still the nearest country," replied Lan-O. "About twenty-two degrees* east, it lies." * Approximately 814 Earth Miles. "Gathol!" murmured Tara, "Far Gathol!" "But you are not from Gathol," said the slave girl; "your h
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