Dylara yawned audibly to break the silence. She rolled over and touched the older woman on one arm.

"I don't want to sleep, Nada," she protested. "Let's talk awhile. You promised to tell me about him--Jotan, I mean. I keep thinking about him--how he acted, staring at me the way he did."

Nada smiled, and patted the hand on her arm. She had been thinking of her only son--of him whom she had last seen as a little boy. She had wanted to overcome a strange reluctance to question Dylara about him; what he had been like, if he was big like his father ... little things that meant much to a mother.

"I will do the best I can," she said. "What I say will be only what is repeated among the slaves and guards.

"Jotan's home is in Ammad--about which I have already told you. His father is a n.o.bleman there--one of the most powerful and influential men in that country. Jotan is well liked by all who know him; they say his followers would die in his service and count themselves honored."

"I think I can understand that," said Dylara dreamily. "There is something about him that takes hold of you--awakens your imagination.

Many girls must care a great deal for him."

Nada glanced sharply at her, and was on the point of making some comment, when there came a sudden brief rap at the closed door.

"I wonder who that can be," she said, frowning. Rising, she crossed to the door and drew it open.

A guard in a grayish-white tunic stood at the threshold. Behind him, half-concealed by the shadows of the hall, was a second man.

"Urim," said the guard gruffly, "wishes the slave-girl Dylara brought to him at once."

For some reason this unexpected summons alarmed Nada. "I do not understand. What does he want of her?"

"I forgot to ask him!" retorted the guard sarcastically. He beckoned to Dylara. "Come; I have no time to waste."

The cave-girl approached uneasily, affected more by Nada's concern than the prospect of being brought before Urim.

The guard stepped aside to let her pa.s.s, then turned to leave.

"Wait!" Nada cried. "I am going with you."

The man scowled. "I was not told to bring you," he snapped. "You stay here." He went out, slamming the door.

Dylara, a man at either side, was led down the long corridor and through the double doorway. There they paused while the two men held a brief conversation in whispers too low for the girl to make out their words.

And then the second man approached and took hold of her arm. "You are to come with me," he said. "I am to take you to Urim."

Dylara's skin crawled under the contact. She jerked away. "I do not need to be held."

The dim light hid the man's angry face. "Slaves do as they are told," he reminded her coldly. "Do not forget that."

Grasping her arm roughly, he strode along the hall, the girl beside him.

Shortly afterward they descended the great staircase to the main floor of the palace.

They met no one on the way, the intense heat having sent the palace inhabitants to their beds to rest until early evening.

To Dylara's mingled surprise and alarm, her escort moved straight to the great doorway leading to the palace grounds. Four guards lounging outside the entrance watched them pa.s.s, nodding briefly to the man with her.

They turned into one of the wide streets that led to the city's outer wall.

Dylara fought down a wave of panic. "Where are you taking me?"

The man was quick to sense her fear. He tightened his hold on her arm.

"To Urim," he replied briefly.

"Where is he?"

The Sepharian turned his head and frowned at her. For the first time Dylara noticed the long white scar across his cheek.

"You ask too many questions," he said roughly. "Now keep them to yourself."

A cold hand seemed to close about the girl's heart. She knew, now, that Urim had not sent for her; that she was being led into some horrible danger. Worst of all, there seemed no way to prevent this man from doing as he pleased. The street was deserted; and even should someone appear, an appeal for help would probably be useless.

Soon they reached one of the huge gateways in the wall about Sephar. The warrior drew Dylara to a halt as two guards sauntered in their direction.

"Well, Meltor," said one, a tall, languid man of middle age, "what are you doing out in this heat? And with a girl, too; up to your old tricks, I suppose."

Meltor smiled without humor. "This is something else. If I may speak with you privately...."

Dylara, under the watchful eye of the second guard, watched them step away a few paces and engage in a whispered colloquy. Meltor did most of the talking, speaking earnestly and at length. The other nodded from time to time, appearing properly impressed. Once or twice he glanced with interest at the girl.

Meltor had evidently gained his point. He approached Dylara, now, a triumphant curl at the corners of his mouth.

"We must hurry," was all he said. Together the man and the girl pa.s.sed through the twin gates.

Beyond the open ground Dylara could see the grim forest rising dark and forbidding against the sky. And yet she wondered if it was more to be feared than the city of stone behind them. Danger lurked in the jungle--ah, yes; but it was danger both direct and elemental--not hidden beneath hypocrisy and artifice.

Why had she been taken from Sephar? She was certain this man was not acting in his own behalf; someone else was behind it all--someone who did not want others to know. It could not be Urim. Urim was chief; he need not hide his activities from anybody. Yet who else could it be?

Suddenly a great light burst upon her. Jotan! He was responsible--it could be no other! Because she belonged to Urim he had been forced to have her stolen from the palace and taken to some out-of-the-way spot that he might be with her. This was the answer--the only answer!

Belief became certainty; and with it came indecision. A strange mixture of dread and exultation came over her. Her heart beat faster at thought of meeting the man who had aroused within her an emotion as yet unfathomable. But matters were being brought to a head much too quickly to suit her--she needed more time.

Unconsciously she slowed her steps, pulling back at the grip on her arm.

They were already within the jungle, hidden from Sephar by a bend of the trail underfoot.

Meltor, satisfied that the girl would accompany him peaceably, had relaxed his hold.

Suddenly Dylara twisted free, and before the surprised warrior could interfere, she whirled about and dashed away in the opposite direction.

Meltor wheeled and took up the chase, crying out hoa.r.s.ely for her to stop. But the rage in his voice only spurred on the girl to greater effort.

Along the trail they raced, a few yards apart, their sandaled feet kicking up little puffs of dust and powdered vegetation. The nimble-footed girl was gradually increasing her lead, seeking to gain the bend in the trail with enough time for concealment before Meltor could catch sight of her again.