, then crossing that distance alone, exposed to many dangers.

Dylara, in her accustomed environment, was a resourceful young woman.
The prospect of a long journey--just how long a journey she could only
surmise--concerned her far less than had the prospects of a lifetime of
slavery in Sephar. All her life she had rubbed elbows with jungle
beasts. Since infancy the green wilderness of the forest had been her
front yard. Night after night she had gone to sleep with the roars of
lions and the hunting squalls of leopards for a lullaby. She had learned
to respect and avoid Sadu and Tarlok and Jalok--but not to fear them.
She knew they hunted man only when other food was denied them--and that
was seldom. She knew that a tall tree was a sure haven from all three;
for Sadu could not climb at all, while Jalok and Tarlok would not
venture among the smaller limbs able to bear her weight but not theirs.

From the freshly risen sun's position Dylara realized she had slept the
entire night on this narrow branch. As she drowsily reviewed the
previous day's events, she remembered her injured ankle and bent
hurriedly to examine it.

She was relieved to find hardly any swelling there, nor was the damage
to strained ligaments so great as she at first had feared. Rising, she
tested her weight on the one foot and found that, beyond an occasional
twinge, it would support her.

Slowly she worked her way down to earth and stepped into the trail. Here
she waited a few minutes, planning her next move. She finally decided to
follow the path westward away from Sephar until a cross-trail to the
north turned up. Such a route would eventually lead her to the heights
from which she had first looked upon Sephar. From that point on, finding
the caves of Majok should not be impossible.

She skirted the clearing containing the house of Rydob, walking within
the jungle's fringe to avoid being seen by anyone who might be within
the building, and soon was traveling due west.

As she moved slowly ahead, limping slightly, she noticed the imprints of
monstrous, man-like feet in the dust of the path. At first she examined
the marks closely; but her limited woodcraft did not permit their
identification, and she gave up trying.

The makers of those strange prints, Urb and his savage band, were
plodding westward along the same path only a few hours ahead of the
cave-girl.

CHAPTER XIII

Death Stalks the Princess

As Mog, the sullen, shuffled ac