nothing to do with taking the girl? Would it
be better to remain silent, so that when he did learn she was missing it
would be too late to discover what had become of her?

And then, cutting through the fog of selfishness and snobbery like rays
of the sun through mist, came a new trend of thought, far more worthy of
the real Tamar.

Jotan was his friend! They had fought side by side against a common foe;
they had hunted together, traveled vast distances together, sought
adventure together, gone hungry and cold--together. Ever since boyhood
they had been companions--closer than brothers. And now he, Tamar, was
on the verge of disloyalty to his own best friend!

His eyes blazing, he caught the astonished Nada by an arm.

"_Who_ took her?" he demanded hoarsely. "Where is he, now?"

"It--it was Fordak," Nada stammered, staring wide-eyed at the man's taut
face, "--Fordak and another whose face I could not see."

Tamar let go of her arm, threw open the door and went out. He found
Rokor leaning against the opposite wall, waiting.

The man from Ammad masked his emotions by resuming an air of
indifference.

"Come, Rokor," he said easily, "I am ready to go. The girl I came to see
has been taken to another part of the palace. I have decided not to see
her, after all."

As the two men walked along the corridor, Tamar said, "By the way,
Rokor, do you know a guard called Fordak?"

"Why, yes," Rokor said. "He stands watch at the entrance to the slave
quarters. I, myself, relieved him shortly before you came up."

"Do you know where he can be found at this time of day?"

"Probably in his room, sleeping."

"Will you take me there? I have something for him."

In his eagerness to please the noble visitor from Ammad, Rokor quite
forgot to be curious.

"Gladly," he said. "Come this way."

Tamar was led to the second floor of the palace, and along a corridor
to the wing housing the warriors of Urim. Rokor stopped before a narrow
opening and pounded heavily on a closed door.

"Fordak!" he bellowed; "open up here! You have a visitor."

They heard someone moving about inside, and a second later the door
swung back.

A thick-shouldered man, inclined to fatness about the middle, stood
there, his coarse black hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep.

"Who wants me?" he grunted.

"This is Tamar of Ammad," Rokor explained. "He has something for you."

Tamar interrupted. "You may leave me here, Rokor. I can find my way out
whe