Then he was behind the slight rise in the earth that was the opening of the cave. Very slowly now, Gaar moved, feeling his way. He felt the rock beneath his fingers. A few steps more and there was no rock. He turned inward. Hugging the wall he inched forward. There was a shadow, darker then the rest. Lips moved in the darkness, forming soundless words. Gaar's hands reach out, found a throat. The lips stopped moving. Gaar lifted the body, carried it back away from the mouth of the cave. He almost fell down the stone staircase that yawned suddenly at his feet. When Gaar had recovered his poise he went on, taking each step gingerly. He was going down into a darkness that smelled of the dungeon and even worse. Walls grew damp and clammy where he touched them. Slimy things scurried across the floor. The path Gaar was following twisted and turned. Then there was a door. Gaar fumbled in the darkness. The door opened soundlessly. Beyond it was a faint and fitful light that led him onward toward its source. It led him into the room. Gaar knew it was the end of the search. Its bareness told him what he had already suspected. There was no treasure. This was a people that did not believe in jewelled trappings. But the girl was here, in this very room. That was the only thing that mattered. A black-robed figure hid the sarcophagus from Gaar's view. A broad back, wearing the folds of the dark priesthood. The back shifted uneasily, as though feeling eyes upon it, and Gaar caught a glimpse of something white beyond. He stepped forward, light as a giant cat. He took another step and his foot scraped earth. The sound was minute, almost inaudible, but Glendyn heard. He whirled, his hand flashing toward his girdle. Gaar closed the gap between them in a single leap. His left hand caught Glendyn's wrist, forced the knife back. But Glendyn was a tricky one, hard to hold. He shifted, kicked out, and Gaar stumbled. The knife was at his throat now. He knocked it aside, drove his fist upward into a soft belly. Glendyn doubled and his jaw met Gaar's other fist as it came up. There was the splintering of bone. * * * * * Beneath a white, filmy covering she lay, beneath a flimsy veil that pressed gently upon her rounded form. Her limbs were whiter than the veil that covered them. Her hair was black as night. Her lips were redder than in his vision. A thousand sleeps she had slept, and more. Older than the land from which Gaar had come, and yet she was younger than he. He bent forward and pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and yielding. "Wake up," Gaar whispered. Then, louder, "Wake up!" Was she dead? It seemed to him that she stirred, and yet it might have been the flickering light which created an illusion. Now he ran his hand through her hair. His big hands slapped at her cheeks, gently at first and then harder. His voice was insistent, commanding.