car added details. Tharn did
little more than listen attentively.

At last the cave-man expressed satisfaction. "I think it can be done,"
he said slowly. "There is one weakness they have not covered."

"_What_ can be done?" Plainly, Katon was puzzled. "What is behind all
this, Tharn?"

Tharn leaned forward. "We want two things--and so does every man in this
room and the room across the hall. First: freedom. Second: death to
Pryak! Are you with me?"

Vulcar made a face. "Either one is beyond our reach. What can a few
unarmed men do against all Sephar?"

"What have we to lose?" demanded the Cro-Magnard. "All of us are
supposed to die within the arena. If we must accept death, why not do so
while trying to escape?"

Katon and Vulcar exchanged glances. It was evident neither had thought
of it just that way before.

"What," Vulcar said softly, "do you suggest?"

"To begin with," Tharn said, "it would be wise to have three or four
more hear my plan. They in turn can pass the details on to the rest of
the prisoners. Those across the hall must be included, and I have an
idea how that can be arranged. We shall need every man we can get."

Vulcar said, "Let me pick the four."

Soon the former captain was back, his selections close at his heels.
Tharn and Katon rose to meet them.

"These are good men," Vulcar said. "I know them all. They are ready to
follow your lead.

"This one--" He indicated a short, squat man with heavy features and
much coarse hair on chest, legs and head, "--is Brutan. He likes to
fight."

Unexpectedly Brutan grinned. "Yes," he said in a deep, harsh voice, "I
like to fight. I will fight anybody. I will fight you!"

Tharn grinned back at him. There was something likeable about this
rock-like Sepharian.

"This," continued Vulcar, "is Rotark. He is not afraid to die."

Rotark was tall and very thin, with a long, sorrowful face. "Why should
I be afraid?" he asked in lugubrious tones. "There is no pleasure in
living. Soon we shall all be dead."

Next, Vulcar jerked a thumb toward a young, very handsome warrior whose
tunic was amazingly clean and spotless in contrast to those of the
others. His thick blond hair was neatly pushed back from a high, rounded
forehead.

"He is Gorlat," said Vulcar. "He does not like to fight, but will do so
to keep from being killed. Few men are his equal with a knife."

The blond young man smiled but said nothing.

"Brosan, here, you already know."

Tharn