ded a bend of the trail and came to a
halt. Alurna gave a little cry of happiness. Directly ahead, beyond a
brief expanse of open ground stood Sephar's walls. Turning to the silent
figure at her side, she caught his arm and, like an eager child, sought
to hurry him on.

Nor did Tharn need persuasion. He had stopped only because his
ever-present sense of caution bade him go slowly. But the impelling hand
at his arm removed the last lingering trace of reluctance.

They were half-way across the clearing before one of several warriors
about a gateway spied them and raised a shout that brought a dozen
guards from inside the walls. At sight of the cave-man and his companion
the entire group came running toward them.

Once more Tharn stopped, hand dropping to the knife at his belt. But the
impatient voice of the princess beat down his suspicion.

"No, Tharn, no! Those are my father's men. They come to welcome us."

His fingers relaxed their hold on the knife, but his hand remained close
to its hilt. And then they were surrounded by the men of Sephar.

This detail was in charge of Lodorth, a tall, rather fleshy warrior of
middle-age, very straight of back and given to the blunt speech of a
soldier. Alurna remembered him as once having been stationed at the
palace.

"Ah, princess," Lodorth said soberly. "We believed you to be dead or
hopelessly lost. I am glad to be first in welcoming you."

Alurna was all smiles. "My father is worried, I know. I must go to him
at once, Lodorth."

An expression which the girl could not define passed across the
officer's face but he made no reply. Instead he turned to his men.

"Disarm this man and bind his hands!" he ordered, jerking a thumb toward
Tharn.

Upon hearing this, the cave-man reached quickly for his knife, but froze
as he felt several cold flint spearheads against the skin of his back.

"Disarm him!" barked the leader curtly.

One of the men stepped forward, and with a wary eye cocked toward the
motionless figure, plucked the stone blade from Tharn's loin-cloth.

Then Alurna found her tongue.

"You are a fool, Lodorth!" she cried, turning on the captain. "This man
saved my life. Give him his knife and show him your respect, or you
shall answer to Urim--and to me!"

Lodorth eyed her stolidly. "Pryak is king, now," he said, his face an
impassive mask. "Urim is dead!"

CHAPTER XVII

Reunion

Pryak, seated in one of the great rooms of the palace, was deep