"I am not from Jahar," I replied. "Look at my metal." "A warrior may change his metal," he replied, gruffly. "This man has not changed his metal," said Tavia. "He is not from Jahar; he is from Hastor, one of the cities of Helium. I am from Jahar." The official looked at her in surprise. "So you admit it!" he cried. "But first I was from Tjanath," said the girl. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "As a little child I was stolen from Tjanath," replied Tavia. "All my life since I have been a slave in the palace of Tul Axtar, Jeddak of Jahar. Only recently I escaped in the same flier upon which we arrived at Tjanath. Near the dead city of Xanator I landed and was captured by the green men of Torquas. This warrior, who is Hadron of Hastor, rescued me from them. Together we came to Tjanath, expecting a friendly reception." "Who are your people in Tjanath?" demanded the official. "I do not know," replied Tavia; "I was very young. I remember practically nothing about my life in Tjanath." "What is your name?" "Tavia." The man's interest in her story, which had seemed wholly perfunctory, seemed suddenly altered and galvanized. "You know nothing about your parents or your family?" he demanded. "Nothing," replied Tavia. He turned to the padwar who was in charge of our escort. "Hold them here until I return," he said, and, rising from his desk, he left the apartment. "He seemed to recognize your name," I said to Tavia. "How could he?" she asked. "Possibly he knew your family," I suggested; "at least his manner suggested that we are going to be given some consideration." "I hope so," she said. "I feel that our troubles are about over, Tavia," I assured her; "and for your sake I shall be very happy." "And you, I suppose," she said, "will endeavor to enlist aid in continuing your search for Sanoma Tora?" "Naturally," I replied. "Could anything less be expected of me?" "No," she admitted in a very low voice. Notwithstanding the fact that something in the demeanor of the official who had interrogated us had raised my hope for our future, I was still conscious of a feeling of depression as our conversation emphasized the near approach of our separation. It seemed as though I had always known Tavia, for the few days that we had been thrown together had brought us very close indeed. I knew that I should miss her sparkling wit, her ready sympathy and the quiet companionship of her silences, and then the beautiful features of Sanoma Tora were projected upon memory's screen and, knowing where my duty lay, I cast vain regrets aside, for love, I knew, was greater than friendship and I loved Sanoma Tora. After a considerable lapse of time the official re-entered the apartment. I searched his face to read the first tidings of good news there, but his expression was inscrutable; however, his first words, addressed to the padwar, were entirely understandable. "Confine the woman in the East Tower," he said, "and send the man to the pits."