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