Jotan was suddenly conscious of the curious eyes of men and women.
Beyond the crowd of Sepharians was Urim on his elevated chair, peering
over the heads between him and the three men near the door.

Jotan chuckled a little. "For her I would keep many kings waiting," he
said in a low voice. "But you are right, of course. Come."

The three men moved through the crowd. Jotan's arrogant bearing and
handsome face drew forth almost as many whispered comments as had the
appearance of Tharn earlier that morning.

At sight of the three visitors, Urim's florid countenance lighted up
with pleasure; and half-rising, he called to them.

"You are welcome, noble guests from Ammad!" he cried. "I had hoped you
would come here, this morning. Come closer; there are many here who have
asked to meet you."

When they had reached the frustum's base, Urim descended and, in turn,
presented various members of his retinue. Introductions were
acknowledged, and there was much small talk.

Jotan's interest in the somewhat lengthy ceremony was purely mechanical.
His thoughts were with the cave-princess he had met at the door; in
fact, he had thought of little else since he had first seen her on the
day before. His determination to ask Urim for her had been strengthened
by the chance meeting, and he resolved to wait no longer; as soon as
these introductions were finished, he would make known to Urim his
wishes.

As he stood there, head and shoulders above the throng about him, a pair
of flashing gray-green eyes watched him intently, eyes that had burned
angrily as they observed the meeting between him and the cave-girl. They
were the eyes of the princess Alurna, who, with her hand-maiden, Anela,
had come into the room by another entrance at the very moment Jotan had
barred Dylara's path. Unobserved, she had witnessed the entire incident,
and her hatred for the lovely captive was intensified a hundred-fold
thereby.

Alurna had slept but little during the night before. After Tharn had
vanished through her window, she had gone back to bed--but not to sleep.
She could not banish thoughts of Jotan; she could not close out the
memory of those flint-like blue eyes that could soften so wonderfully
when their owner smiled.

And so, near morning, she had finally admitted to herself that she loved
this broad-shouldered visitor from a distant land. Her admission brought
with it no peace of mind; for, she told herself furiously, it would
have been b