of Women that you may see."

To the Hall of Women they went. It was breath-taking in its richness,
stones worth a nation's ransom sparkling from its domed roof and painted
walls. Here were the matrons and maidens of the Folk, their black forms
veiled in robes of silver net, each cross strand of which was set with a
tiny gem, so that they appeared to be wrapped in glittering scales.

There were not many of them--a hundred perhaps. And a few led by the
hand smaller editions of themselves, who stared at Garin with round
yellow eyes and chewed black fingertips shyly.

The women were intrusted with the finest jewel work, and with pride they
showed the stranger their handiwork. At the far end of the hall was a
wonderous thing in the making. One of the silver nets, which were the
foundations of their robes, was fastened there and three of the women
were putting small rose jewels into each microscopic setting. Here and
there they had varied the pattern with tiny emeralds or flaming opals,
so that the finished portion was a rainbow.

One of the workers smoothed the robe and glanced up at Garin, a gentle
teasing in her voice as she explained:

"This is for the Daughter when she comes to her throne."

The Daughter! What had the Lord of the Folk said? "This youth is fit to
mate with the Daughter." But Urg had said that the Ancient Ones had gone
from Tav.

"Who is the Daughter?" he demanded.

"Thrala of the Light."

"Where is she?"

The woman shivered and there was fear in her eyes. "Thrala lies in the
Caves of Darkness."

"The Caves of Darkness!" Did she mean Thrala was dead? Was he, Garin
Featherstone, to be the victim of some rite of sacrifice which was
designed to unite him with the dead?

Urg touched his arm. "Not so. Thrala has not yet entered the Place of
Ancestors."

"You know my thoughts?"

Urg laughed. "Thoughts are easy to read. Thrala lives. Sera served the
Daughter as handmaiden while she was yet among us. Sera, do you show us
Thrala as she was."

The woman crossed to a wall where there was a mirror such as Urg had
used for his language lesson. She gazed into it and then beckoned the
flyer to stand beside her.

The mirror misted and then he was looking, as if through a window, into
a room with walls and ceiling of rose quartz. On the floor were thick
rugs of silver rose. And a great heap of cushions made a low couch in
the center.

"The inner chamber of the Daughter," Sera announced.

*