Warrior of the Dawn Part 42

Encouraged by aid from this wholly unexpected quarter, the palace defenders regained their fading morale and renewed the attack with reckless fury.

The end had come. Bitter was the realization to Tharn who, until now, had been certain nothing could prevent his men from taking Sephar. He smarted under the knowledge that wily old Pryak had outwitted them after all.

He might, under cover of the raging turmoil, have turned his back on friends and supporters to seek out Dylara's cell and escape with her from Sephar. But the thought was gone as it was born; and the Cro-Magnard sought to rally his shaken followers to the task of cutting a pathway back to the street. Once outside, some of them might manage to flee into the jungle--a far cry from their ambitious dream of taking Sephar!

It began to appear, however, that leaving the palace was to be infinitely more difficult than forcing an entrance had been. Again and again his men were repulsed by the white-faced but unflinching priests at the foot of the staircase. Steadily the number of rebels grew less; and while they took more lives than they gave, there were too many to outlast.

Suddenly there rose above the pandemonium within, a chorus of savage cries from outside the open doors. Tharn straightened as though struck by an unseen spear. His eyes went wide with incredulous astonishment bordering on disbelief; then from his powerful lungs broke an answering shout that paled to insignificance the tumult about him.

Swarming into the hall below, came a host of strange, warlike fighting-men, naked except for panther- and leopard-skins about their loins. Splendid, beautifully proportioned barbarians they were, heavy war-spears gripped in powerful right hands, sun-bronzed skins rippling under the play of corded muscles.

At their head was the stalwart figure of a man such as never before had been seen within Sephar's borders. Four inches above six feet he stood, slim of hip and broad of shoulder--a wealth of black hair held from his eyes by a strip of cured snakeskin.

"Father!" burst from Tharn's lips.

At sound of his cry, the leader of the newcomers looked sharply in his direction.

"Kill!" shouted young Tharn, bringing one hand out in a sweeping gesture toward the frozen ranks of priests.

In response, the Cro-Magnards threw themselves at the white-clad enemy.

At the same time Tharn, the younger, leaped into action, shouting words of instruction and encouragement to his friends.

The end came quickly. Torn at from two sides, the priests broke and fled in all directions, the cave-men in hot pursuit. At sight of this, the original defenders threw down their weapons and surrendered on the spot.

Now came Tharn, the elder, striding forward to greet his son. Behind him crowded others of the tribe, wide smiles on their lips.

"We have searched long for you, my son," said the chief. "At times we were close to giving up; it was not until yesterday that one of us found where you and a girl had followed a game trail leading to this place."

"You could not have arrived at a better time!"

The chief smiled. Katon, watching from the background, marveled at the striking resemblance of father to son when both smiled.

"At first," said the Cro-Magnard leader, "we were almost afraid to leave the jungle's edge. But no one was about the openings in the walls, and as your trail led straight toward one of them, we decided to follow it.

Then, too, all of us were curious to see what manner of people lived in such strange caves.

"No one tried to stop us. In fact, we saw no one at all. I was beginning to wonder if we were the only ones here until we heard sounds of fighting coming from here. The rest you know."

His son nodded. "Soon I shall tell you what I have gone through since I last saw you. But first I have something to do."

He hesitated. How should he go about telling his father? He hoped Dylara would not exhibit that temper of hers the first time she met the chief.

"What must you do?" the chief asked, glancing sharply at the face of his son.

"I have taken a mate!" There--it was out!

His father never batted an eye.

"Where is she?"

"Somewhere in this place. A prisoner, I suppose. Katon, here, may be able to find her. She--she may not seem pleased that I have come for her."

Those last words came out with an effort. But sooner or later his father was bound to learn he had taken a mate by force.

The elder man pursed his lips to keep from smiling. He was shrewd enough to come very close to the true state of affairs. But what of it? His own courtship had been none too easy. Afterward, Nada and he had been closer than words could express. He had never, nor would ever, lose the pain that had come when she had been taken captive by some strange tribe so many years ago.

Katon, at mention of his name, had stepped forward.

"This," Tharn said, "is Katon--my friend."

There was immediate approval in the eyes of both the blue-eyed Sepharian and the Cro-Magnard chief.

"Dylara probably is in the slave quarters," Katon said. "If you will come with me, I will lead you there."

And shortly thereafter, father and son stood before a great door while Katon removed its heavy bar.

They entered a huge, sunlit room crowded with women, young and old, who shrank away from them in alarm.

There was one, however, who did not draw away. Her lovely face was registering astonishment and disbelief--and hope. One hand lifted slowly to her throat as she stared into the eyes of Tharn's father.

Nor was she alone in displaying tangled emotions. Tharn, the elder, was gazing at the woman as though unable to credit the evidence of his own eyes.

And then the man found his voice.

"Nada!" It was more gasp than a word.

"Tharn--my mate!"

An instant later she was caught up in his arms.

Young Tharn looked on in bewilderment, not grasping, at first, the significance of that single word his father had uttered. Then, as the chief turned toward him, an arm about the woman's shoulders, he understood.

Then his arm, too, was about her: and after twelve long years, father, son, and mother were reunited.

None of the three had much to say during the next few minutes. There was an enormous lump in Nada's throat, making speech impossible. She could not take her eyes from the splendid young man who, until a few days ago, she had thought to be dead. He was everything Dylara had said he was. She remembered him as she had last seen him--a straight-backed, st.u.r.dy-legged youngster, whose inquisitive nature and complete lack of fear had given her so many anxious moments. Even at that early age he had shown promise of the extraordinary physical development he now possessed.

But her greatest pride and satisfaction came from what she could see in those frank, compelling gray eyes--eyes mirroring a fine, sensitive soul and an equally fine mind.

"Tell me," Nada said at last, "how did you know I was here?"

"I did not know," admitted her mate. "Did you, Tharn?"

Their son shook his head. "I never dreamed you were in Sephar. As a matter of fact, we came here to find a girl--Dylara, my--my mate. We thought she would be with the slaves."