Wotar gave them instructions, the outer door was opened, and Katon, Rotark and Tharn stepped onto the sands.

From the stands came a full-throated roar of approval. Tharn's fabulous strength and agility they remembered from his initial appearance; the others they also recalled as being exceptional fighting-men.

This morning Tharn was feeling remarkably light-hearted. His supreme self-confidence gave him a.s.surance his plan of escape would come off perfectly when the time was ripe. And certainly he was enjoying himself!

These battles with men and with animals, with death the penalty for any mistake in tactics, were doing much to satisfy that deep love of adventure which was so great a part of him.

The men crossed the arena's entire length, halting a few feet from the eastern wall. Then they turned about and waited, watching silently the wooden door of the distant arms-room.

They had not long to wait. Scarcely had they turned when that door opened and three warriors, each with a bow and three arrows, came out.

They were clothed in white tunics, with legs and feet bare. All were taller than the average Sepharian, with wide shoulders, narrow hips and slender well-formed legs.

"Sephar's three finest bowmen," Katon murmured. "The tallest is Maltor, at one time chief of archers under Jaltor, and probably the greatest man with a bow in our history.

"I had forgotten the report that he would fight in the arena. Since he enlisted in the Games only to display his bowmanship, he may withdraw at any time. Watch him constantly, for he is our greatest danger."

He fell silent then, sudden lines of worry on his face. "Tharn, I remember, now, that you know nothing of fighting with a bow. We must work out some way of covering you."

The cave-man permitted himself a grim smile. "You are wrong," he said quietly. "The bow and I are good friends. I will keep up my end of this fight."

Katon was satisfied. "Good. Now if only we can outwit them....

"Let them shoot first. Watch the fingers of their right hands; when they open on the arrow's haft, jump quickly aside, keeping an arrow ready in your own bow. The moment you regain balance aim quickly and send your first answer.

"Aim always for the belly. A man can shift his head and shoulders much quicker than he can his middle. Besides, his belly is a broader mark.

"Ready now! They are getting close! Tharn--Maltor is for you.

Rotark--see what you can do with the man on his left. The other is mine.

"Ah! they have stopped. They still are too far away to risk a shot.

Being careful, I suppose; they had better be!

"Tharn! Thrust two of your arrows point first in the sand within reach.

Fit the other to your bow. Do the same, Rotark.

"Careful now! They are starting this way again! Maltor is no fool; he is trying to coax us into wasting arrows."

Katon fell silent. His two friends, their bows half drawn, arrow points held downward, stood relaxed, intently gauging the approach of the enemy, now a scant forty paces away.

An absolute silence had enveloped the entire amphitheater as every observer of this tense drama strained his eyes to catch the impending action.

Now Maltor, arrogant and impatient, stepped a pace or two in advance of his companions. Notching an arrow, he nodded over his shoulder to the others, who came up beside him. Three bows were raised in unison; the warriors aimed their shafts carefully, each at a different member of Katon's troupe. The human targets stood at ease, seemingly indifferent to their danger.

And then the scheme the wily Maltor had evolved was flashed on the enemy with a suddenness and brilliancy of execution that would have done much to settle the final outcome--had it succeeded.

A split second before the arrows were released, two of the three archers turned their aim toward the same target as that selected by Maltor.

Immediately three bowstrings tw.a.n.ged as one, sending three flint-tipped shafts with incredible swiftness at a single mark.

To avoid one swiftly flying missile was difficult enough; to dodge three, so cunningly s.p.a.ced that a move to either side would avail naught, was all but impossible. Yet in the flicker of time required for the arrows to reach him, Tharn had acted in the only manner possible to avoid impalement.

Flat on his face dropped the cave-man, the three bolts pa.s.sing inches above his descending head to shatter against the stone wall beyond. As he fell, Katon and Rotark fired their first arrows.

One found a mark. A man screamed suddenly, horribly, and sank to the sand, a wooden shaft protruding from his abdomen. Rotark had followed instructions!

Had Katon's target been less agile there would have been two casualties.

But the man managed to avoid that flashing point by a sideward lunge, keeping his balance with difficulty in the shifting sands.

Meanwhile, Tharn had not remained pa.s.sively in a reclining position. As the opening barrage pa.s.sed over him, he rose to his knees and dispatched his first arrow at the foe Katon had given him.

Maltor was too seasoned a warrior to be caught napping. Even though he had momentarily dismissed Tharn as a source of danger, he had kept an eye on the cave-man. And that precaution enabled him to twist aside barely in time to keep from being struck.

The veteran bowman gasped incredulously as the stone-shod missile whined past. He marvelled that a man's arm could be capable of driving an arrow with such superhuman power.

It was Maltor's last thought in this life.

Even as Tharn released his first arrow, his right hand shot out, s.n.a.t.c.hed a second from its vertical position in the sand, strung it and let go--all within the quiver of an eye-lid. Maltor, still trying to regain balance, was in no position to dodge again.

Those in the stands saw the famed bowman straighten as though jerked upright by an invisible hand. Mouth agape, eyes staring in uncomprehending horror, he remained upright for a long moment, while a red line trickled between the fingers he had clapped to his side. Then he turned in a slow half-circle, his knees buckled; and Maltor sank to the sands, dead where he fell.

So savage had been the force behind Tharn's arrow that head and shaft had pa.s.sed completely through the Sepharian's body.

Rotark, watching, spellbound by the brief drama, was shocked from his inertia when his bow was torn from his grasp and hurled several yards away. One end struck him, in its flight, full across the face and sent him sprawling.

An arrow intended for Rotark's heart had, instead, crashed against the hardwood bow in his hand. The impact cost Rotark two of his teeth; an inch or so either way would have cost him his life.

While the doleful one was still falling, Katon's bow spoke a second time and the last enemy dropped, mortally wounded.

Rotark, gloomier than ever, got unsteadily to his feet, spat out two teeth as an involuntary offering to the G.o.d-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud, picked up his splintered bow and started for the exit.

Katon and Tharn grinned quietly to one another and followed him.

And the thrilled thousands in the stands released at last the breath they unconsciously had been holding for long seconds.

And so the day wore on. Many times during the pa.s.sing hours guards entered the great cell to select men for combat in the arena. Some of those selected returned, others never came back; but survivors outweighed, by far, the losses. The reasons were two: Every man knew that survival, now, would heighten his chance for freedom when the break took place. As a result he fought with determination and daring not possible without hope to feed upon.

Wotar was responsible for the second reason. The director knew from years of handling these Games that spectators thrilled more over duels between men than over those between men and beasts. As a consequence he husbanded his supply of warriors, sending enough of them at one time against the jungle creatures that the latter almost invariably succ.u.mbed before they could do much harm. Only when a man proved an exceptionally able warrior were the odds more nearly even.

About mid-way in that long afternoon, Wotar and his men entered the dungeon and took Tharn, alone, with them. The cave lord looked back as he pa.s.sed through the doorway, in time to catch an expression in Katon's eyes that was very close to being fear. It came to Tharn, then, that should he perish in action, the planned revolt might never take place.

On his leadership depended the hopes of every man in that room.

Once more Tharn found himself in the arms-room. The attendant there looked questioningly at Wotar.