ly drew open the heavy section of wood and put his head
cautiously out. The corridor, in either direction, was deserted.

"Come," he whispered, and hand in hand they stole silently toward the
head of those stairs Trakor had recently climbed.

From somewhere below them a door slammed heavily and sandaled feet,
several pairs of them judging from the sound, approached the base of
that same flight of steps.

Without speaking Trakor and Dylara turned and, on tiptoe, raced in the
opposite direction. As he ran, Trakor drew his knife in preparation for
any enemy who might suddenly loom in their path.

A turn in the corridor brought them to a second flight of steps, down
which they raced at full speed. Past landings at the third and second
floors they fled, stopping at last in front of a closed door marking the
main level of the palace.

"Wait!" Trakor breathed, placing a restraining hand on the girl's arm.

* * * * *

Silence seemed to press down upon them, a silence so complete they could
hear the breath rustling in their nostrils.

With almost exaggerated care Trakor drew back the door. Moonlight
streaming in at several stone-barred windows revealed a large hall, its
walls hung with rich tapestries and a long wide table, lined with
chairs, running almost its entire length.

Dylara, familiar with such scenes from her days in Sephar, said, "The
palace dining hall." She pointed to an open doorway in the opposite
wall. "That should lead to the kitchens. No one will be there at this
time of night."

"Good!"

They crossed quickly to the designated opening, along a short narrow
hall, through a second doorway and on into a low-ceilinged room whose
furnishings bore mute testimony that Dylara's guess had been right.

"Look!" whispered Dylara, pointing.

Thin lines of moonlight formed a rectangle on the far wall, marking a
doorway leading to open air. Quickly Trakor was across the kitchen and
straining to lift the heavy bar from its catches.

And in that moment a sudden chorus of deep-throated shouts of alarm from
beyond that door reached their ears.

CHAPTER XII

NO DEEPER DUNGEON

Jaltor, king of all Ammad, rose from his chair as his four visitors
entered the apartment. Straight and tall he stood, his magnificent body
in its purple-edged tunic seeming to dwarf all else within the room.

No one spoke. Curzad, captain of the palace guards, closed the door
softly and stood wit