"The beasts of Ruthar are a myth," had said Bel-Ar, the king. And his soldiers had believed him, had fostered confidence with the thought that the frightful tales that had been told of the strength and fury of the amalocs were mere traditions which had come down from the days of old. Now here before the camp were the beasts, red and awesome and raging--more terrible by far than even tradition had painted them--and among the Children of Ad there was none who had the heart to go out and face them--unless, indeed, it were the king himself. Bel-Ar in his rage would have fronted the overlord of all evil that day had he come against him. So it came about that the ring of Jastla, the chief, found the pressure of assault slackening and falling away. Maeronicans who had been fiercest to meet the sword-blades, now were stumbling over each other's legs in their haste to escape the amalocs. What was left of the ring--barely a score and five of battered men and horses--opened, and through its gap strode Ixstus and paused beside the red banner. CHAPTER X THE GODDESS GLORIAN'S DECREE Zoar quit the straps where he had held and stood on the head of Ixstus. A triumph shone in the eyes of the master of the amalocs, and a smile spread over his mummified old-ivory features as he looked down at Glorian. "Daughter, they told me that I would find you here--in the forefront of the battle," he said. "And so it is. Your zeal for Ruthar has carried you far--so far that Oleric the Learned could not follow, and sent Father Zoar to find you." He laughed in his bell-like tones. "But for the King of Ruthar and these brave men here, you would have had a longer journey, Father Zoar," Glorian replied. "It might have been to the camp of Bel-Ar yonder, or--to the stars. Take me up with you, Zoar, for I am weary." "_Stekkar deen!_" commanded Zoar, and Ixstus looped his trunk and swung Glorian gently to a seat beside his master. Glorian looked around at the little circle of wearied men--so wearied that they reeled in their saddles. She looked at those others, who lay where they had fallen, and to whom the long rest had come. Her eyes filled with tears. "I thought to thank you," she said, "but I find no words splendid enough." Old Jastla lifted his arm in salute. "Lady, to those of us who live, it is sufficient to know that you live also. Those who are dead, died gladly to make it so. We have held our goddess safe, and our king has held himself." And he turned and saluted Polaris.