Finally, to cover his ignorance, he wrote something in his book, but what it was I did not know; then he looked up at me again. “Are you a doctor?” “Yes,” I replied, and as the officer made the notation in his book, I glanced at Kamlot out of the corner of an eye and winked. “Take them away,” the man now directed, “and be careful of this one,” he added, indicating me; “he is a doctor.” We were taken to the main deck and led forward to the accompaniment of jeers and jibes from the sailors congregated on the deck. I saw the klangan strutting around, their tail feathers erect. When they saw us, they pointed at Kamlot, and I heard them telling some of the sailors that he was the one who had slain the basto with a single sword thrust, a feat which appeared to force their admiration, as well it might have. We were escorted to an open hatch and ordered below into a dark, poorly ventilated hole, where we found several other prisoners. Some of them were Thorans undergoing punishment for infractions of discipline; others were Vepajan captives like ourselves, and among the latter was one who recognized Kamlot and hailed him as we descended into their midst. “Jodades, Kamlot!” he cried, voicing the Amtorian greeting “luck-to-you.” “Ra jodades,” replied Kamlot; “what ill fortune brings Honan here?” “‘Ill fortune’ does not describe it,” replied Honan; “catastrophe would be a better word. The klangan were seeking women as well as men; they saw Duare” (pronounced Doo-ah-ree) “and pursued her; as I sought to protect her they captured me.” “Your sacrifice was not in vain,” said Kamlot; “had you died in the performance of such a duty it would not have been in vain.” “But it was in vain; that is the catastrophe.” “What do you mean?” demanded Kamlot. “I mean that they got her,” replied Honan dejectedly. “They captured Duare!” exclaimed Kamlot in tones of horror. “By the life of the jong, it cannot be.” “I wish it were not,” said Honan. “Where is she? on this ship?” demanded Kamlot. “No; they took her to the other, the larger one.” Kamlot appeared crushed, and I could only attribute his dejection to the hopelessness of a lover who has irretrievably lost his beloved. Our association had not been either sufficiently close nor long to promote confidences, and so I was not surprised that I had never heard him mention the girl, Duare, and, naturally, under the circumstances, I could not question him concerning her. I therefore respected his grief and his silence, and left him to his own sad thoughts.