Oleric fetched Polaris Janess into the space before the throne. The son of the snows advanced with a firm step and halted directly in front of Bel-Ar, where he gazed at the king with steady eyes. Close at his heels came the great dog Rombar. "Why does the man not bow?" inquired Bel-Ar harshly. "Where learned he his manners? And how does it come that he is attended by a sacred dog of Shamar, that seems ready to do battle for him?" In truth, Rombar, who feared not kings, was ready for battle. He stood at the side of Polaris, his hackles raised and a rumbling challenge in his throat. Bel-Ar regarded the pair of them sternly, though many in his court found much to admire in the powerful form and steadfast demeanor of the son of the wilderness. Oleric spoke hastily in English. "Bow, brother; bow to the king; though I fear that 'twill not mend matters," he grumbled. Polaris inclined his head shortly and continued to meet the gaze of the angered king. "His bow is grudging enough," said Bel-Ar to the captain; "but no matter." Just then a tall old man in white and flowing robes came forward to the left of Bel-Ar's seat. He was lean of face, like an ancient hawk, and like a hawk's was his thin, curved beak. His eyes glittered with malice. On his breast, done in gold in the garment he wore, was the likeness of the rising sun, the insignia of the priests of Shamar. Well Polaris knew that shape and face. It was the master chuckler that had disturbed him the night before. "This man is marked by Shamar," the priest said in a high, cracked voice, and regarding Polaris hatefully. "As for the dog, 'tis sent by the god to watch that the man escape not his doom." "Oleric, hold your peace," said Bel-Ar, as the stout captain was about to speak. "And flout not the holy Rhaen, lest it be the worse for you. I will judge." The king paused and ran his eyes over the other prisoners. "He that slew the sacred bull, he shall be given over to the servants of Shamar, to be done with as the god shall will at the feast of years. He that was a king, he shall now serve a greater king. Let him be sent to the harbor, where strong backs are always welcome. The other two young men shall go into my mines. The old one shall be a scullion in my kitchens, as harder work doubtless would kill him. "Take the two women and the slayer of the bull to the prison and keep them fast until Shamar claims them for the feast. The women must die. The law commands that no foreign woman, however fair, shall live in Maeronica. So may the ancient blood never be tainted. I have judged. Let it be so, and so writ down, unless the holy Rhaen, chief servant to Shamar, has other claims." Bel-Ar looked inquiringly at the priest.