"What means this?" he asked of Orbar. "Does Wotar mean to end the Games with one battle? There are too many men on the sands; send someone to investigate."

Tharn, overhearing, knew he dared wait no longer. Throwing back his head, he sent the hair-raising battle cry of his tribe reverberating throughout the entire structure. As the notes of that horrendous cry rose on the still air, he pivoted about and sent a slender arrow leaping from his bow full at the head of Pryak, king of Sephar!

It is no mean tribute to Pryak's nimbleness to tell that he dodged that arrow. And dodge it he did--falling back into the arms of his retinue as death pa.s.sed a finger's breadth above his spa.r.s.e locks to transfix an unfortunate under-priest.

The cave-man's cry was the awaited signal, releasing all the pent-up hate and fury within the hearts of those who acknowledged him as leader.

As one man, a hundred warriors turned and loosed a shower of arrows at the thin line of guards and priests above them. The instant those flint-tipped messengers were released, those rebels nearest the walls knelt, braced themselves and became living ladders over which their comrades swarmed to gain the seats above.

A living wave of blood-hungry men swarmed into the stands and fell upon the already wavering ranks of defenders. The entire bowl was now a maelstrom of swirling bodies, legs and arms. Panic-stricken spectators, few of them armed, rose from their benches and rushed headlong for the exits, trammeling, pushing, fighting to gain the streets, to escape the raving horde of crazed demons.

And, seemingly everywhere at the same time, Tharn, Katon and Vulcar fought shoulder to shoulder, their knives rising and falling, their spears licking out to take lives and spread further the reign of terror they had fostered.

Twice, Tharn caught sight of Gorlat, blond hair finally disarranged, weaving among the tiers like a cat, his only weapon a long, thin knife.

And as priest after priest sought futilely to keep that long blade from his throat, Tharn knew, now, why Vulcar had said few could equal that young man with such a weapon. How many died that day with throats slit by that knife, only Gorlat knew--and he was never to tell.

It had happened shortly after Tharn had caught his second glimpse of the steadily smiling youth. Gorlat had just made a kill, and as he stood erect, a thrown spear came from nowhere to catch him full in the chest.

Gorlat had staggered back to sink into a sitting position on an empty bench. Dazedly he had raised a hand to wipe away the red stains of his own blood from that once spotless tunic--then slumped back and moved no more.

There were other men of Tharn's force who fell, never to rise again; but for each who died, five enemies went to join him. Bodies of slain priests were everywhere--draped across seats, hanging over the arena wall, lying in the aisles. Warriors loyal to Pryak had died in droves and lay glaring at the sky with sightless eyes.

At last there was none within the amphitheater other than the dead, the wounded, and the blood-splashed figures of the rebels who stood panting from their efforts, their eyes on Tharn and his two lieutenants.

Of those three, Vulcar alone had been wounded. An arrow had creased his shoulder close to his neck, and blood from the cut had stained one side of his chest a fast-darkening crimson. But his eyes were bright with satisfaction and his lips were curled in grim content.

"Urim would have enjoyed this!" he said, and his smile widened. "Now, on to the palace and the temple to clean out the rest of Pryak's men. That done, the city is ours!"

Katon bent and took up a stray spear. "Come, then," he remarked; "if we wait, they will have gotten over their panic and will be that much harder to rout a second time."

Tharn nodded agreement. "First, the palace; then we can invade the temple and take Pryak and his men."

A warrior spoke from the ranks. "Dare we enter the temple?" he asked doubtfully. "If we offend the G.o.d, He may destroy us."

"He is right!" declared another. "Why should we chance angering our G.o.d.

Once the city is ours, Pryak will have to do as we say. Let us not attack the House of the G.o.d."

"Pryak dies!" Vulcar roared, grinding the b.u.t.t of his spear savagely against the stone flooring. "Let the G.o.d be offended--Pryak must die! If the rest of you brave warriors are afraid, I will go alone into the temple and drag out Urim's murderer by the few hairs left on his ugly head!

"Did Pryak's G.o.d save these priests who lie about us, here, their bodies cut by our spears and knives? Did He, seeing Pryak in danger, hide him with His sky-fire? No; they were men like us; and since they deserved to die, they _did_ die! Pryak is next!"

Tharn, listening with silent admiration and approval, thought of something that s.n.a.t.c.hed the half-smile from his lips.

"Where _is_ Pryak?" he asked. "He was here when the fighting started.

How did he and those with him get away?"

The others could furnish nothing toward clearing up this minor mystery.

Nor was there a single body of the missing group in the vicinity.

"Let us go on," suggested Tharn finally. "After the palace is taken, we can set about finding Vulcar's good friend Pryak!"

Still chuckling at the cave-man's sally, the insurgents formed into a column, three abreast, and marched toward a nearby exit that led from the shambles they had created.

CHAPTER XXI

Conclusion

Upon reaching the street, they started for the palace, its white walls gleaming under the mid-morning sun. No citizen of Sephar was abroad; but the marching men were conscious of watching eyes at windows of the buildings on either side.

The palace grounds, too, were deserted as they swept across the palace grounds and dashed against the great double doors. They might as well have sought to force the palace walls so strongly barred were the heavy planks.

As they stood debating their next step, a shower of spears, arrows and clubs fell suddenly upon them from above, killing several before Tharn could give the order to withdraw.

At a safe distance from the windows, Tharn, Vulcar and Katon held a brief council of war, finally agreeing upon a strategic maneuver that held promise of being effective.

Eight warriors left the group, returning with a heavy log, free of branches. This was carried, four men to a side, to within a short distance from the barred entranceway. Now, eight replacements came forward, took up the ma.s.sive tree trunk and started at a run toward the doors, the log's heavy base aimed at a point where the two rough-hewn sections joined.

Within a dozen paces of their objective, they swerved sharply to their left and sent the great timber crashing through the slender stone columns of a large window.

Following the log came those who had carried it, pouring through to the hallway beyond. It was deserted; evidently the defenders were grouped at the upstairs windows, intending to stage their defense from that point.

A second later the palace doors were thrown wide and, notwithstanding a heavy barrage from overhead, the rebels soon over-ran the central hallway.

Halfway up the wide staircase they were met by a withering volley from the upper pa.s.sageway and stairhead. But Tharn raised his voice once more in the awesome war challenge of his people, and which seemed to lift his followers bodily to the top of the steps.

Here, fighting was fast and furious. Although outnumbered at first by four to one, the insurgents made up that handicap by the intensity of their a.s.sault; and slowly but steadily Pryak's loyal troops were being pushed back.

Tharn was in his element! Knife and spear had been cast aside or lost; his only weapons were his mighty hands. Yet his was the most feared figure among the rebels, as was attested to by the mound of strangled and broken guards strewn about him.

Several times he saw Katon battling away close by, a long knife in either hand. Once, an enemy in a badly torn tunic was preparing to drive a knife into his unsuspecting back. Tharn had torn a spear from the fingers of a neighboring comrade and without pausing to judge distance, had thrown it across the hall to pa.s.s half its length into the side of Katon's would-be slayer. The man had fallen, while Katon, unaware of his narrow escape, was finishing the warrior with whom he had been engaged.

Of Vulcar, Brutan and Rotark, Tharn had seen nothing since the battle began. During momentary lulls he had time to wonder how they were faring--if, somewhere in this madhouse of fighting, bellowing men, they were managing to keep their skins whole.

Gradually the palace defenders were weakening, losing heart as their list of casualties grew. Already, the men of Tharn's party had sensed victory was slowly but surely pa.s.sing into their hands.

And then came the unexpected, the one contingency which none of the rebel leaders had forseen.

A ringing shout sounded from the open doorway, and through the gap came priests from the temple of Sephar's G.o.d. Instead of waiting for the freedom-hungry prisoners to take their first objective, then march against the House of G.o.d, the cunning arch priest had sent every man he could muster to reinforce the palace garrison.

There must have been a hundred of them, fresh and--for priests--eager for battle. They fell upon the revolters from behind, spreading death and consternation in the thinning ranks of those from Sephar's pits.