nd
pulled off his sandals. Then he lay down, covered his eyes with one arm
and was soon asleep.

Presently Tamar and Javan finished eating. The latter at once sought his
own couch; but Tamar remained at the table, deep in thought.

Two hours went by, and still Tamar remained there, head bowed in his
hands. The slaves had long since cleared the table and departed, leaving
the three men to themselves.

Abruptly the seated man raised his head, his expression that of one to
whom a momentous idea has come. For a long moment he remained thus, then
got silently to his feet and tip-toed to the door, let himself out and,
despite the withering heat, started briskly toward the palace.

The four guards stationed at the entrance stiffened to attention as he
approached. Tamar halted a few yards away and beckoned to one of them.

"Do you know me?" Tamar asked haughtily.

"Of course!" replied the young warrior humbly. "There is none in all
Sephar who does not know Tamar of Ammad."

"Good. Take me at once to the quarters of the female slaves."

The eagerness in the young man's face was replaced by doubt.

"I am not permit--" he began hesitantly.

Tamar cut him short with a gesture. "Do as I say," he snapped. "The
responsibility will be mine."

The warrior bowed. "Follow me."

They entered the great hall and ascended to the third floor. Outside the
twin doors leading to the slave quarters they were stopped by two guards
on duty there.

Tamar's guide addressed one of them. "Rokor," he said, "this is the
noble Tamar of Ammad. At his command I have brought him here."

Rokor bowed deeply. "It is an honor to meet Urim's guest. How may I
serve you?"

"By taking me to see one of the slave-girls here--the cave-girl,
Dylara."

Something akin to a leer crept into Rokor's expression. "Oh, yes; I know
the one you mean. If you will come with me...."

* * * * *

Tamar dismissed the first guard and followed Rokor through the twin
doors and down the corridor. Halting before one of the numerous doors,
Rokor unbarred and opened it, then stepped aside that Tamar might enter.

A tall slender woman of early middle-age rose from a bed in one corner.
But for her tunic of a slave, the visitor would have taken her for the
mate of some Sepharian noble.

At his appearance, the eager expectant air she had at first assumed,
faded, replaced by one of questioning doubt.

Tamar turned to Rokor. "She is not the o