ple, and the war party fled, taking me with them.
They lost their way in the darkness, and after many weary marches
stumbled across a hunting party from Sephar. In the fight that followed
they killed almost all of us, sparing only three--and me. I have been
here ever since."

Dylara caught the undercurrent of utter hopelessness in the woman's
words, and she felt a sudden rush of sympathy well up within her.

"Tharn was a chief's son," she said. "Had he lived, I am sure he--" She
stopped there, stricken into silence by the horror on Nada's face.

The slave woman rose unsteadily from the bed and seized Dylara's hands.

"Tharn--did you say _Tharn_?"

The girl, shocked by the pain and grief in the face of the woman, could
only nod.

"He--is--dead?"

Again Dylara nodded.

Nada swayed and would have fallen had not Dylara held tightly to her
wrists. Tears began to squeeze from her closed eyes, to trickle down the
drawn white cheeks.

And then Dylara found her voice. "What is it, Nada? What is wrong?"

The woman swallowed with an effort, fighting for control. "I," she
whispered, "am Tharn's mate!"

At first, Dylara thought she meant he whom the Sepharians had slain. And
then the truth came to her.

The Tharn she had known was Nada's son!

Impulsively she drew the woman down beside her, holding her tightly
until the tearing sobs subsided. For a little while there was silence
within the room.

Without changing her position, Nada began to speak. "It was my son who
was with you. Twelve summers before my capture I bore him; his father
gave him his own name. And now he is dead. He is dead."

A draft of air from the window above caused the candle flame to waver,
setting the shadows dancing.

Nada sat up and dried her eyes. "I will not cry any more," she said
quietly. "Let us talk of other things."

Dylara pressed her hand in quick understanding. "Of course. Tell me,
Nada, what will happen to me in Sephar?"

"You are a slave," Nada replied, "and belong to Urim, whose own warriors
captured you. Perhaps you will be given certain duties in the palace, or
the mate or daughter of some noble may ask for you as a hand-maiden. As
a rule they treat us kindly; but if we are troublesome they whip us, or
sometimes give us to the priests. That is the worst of all."

"They have gods, then?" Dylara asked.

"Only one, who is both good and evil. If they fall in battle, He has
caused it; if they come through untouched, He has h