“You had many ships’ companies,” replied Tanar; “but I did not see any of them destroying the kingdom of Sari. The army that chased them into the ocean was commanded by my father, under the Emperor.” The Cid scowled. “I have made men walk the plank for less than that,” he growled. “I do not know what you mean,” said Tanar. “You shall,” barked The Cid; “and then, by the beard of the sea god, you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. Hey!” he shouted to one of his officers, “have a prisoner fetched and the plank run out. We’ll show this son of a king who The Cid is and that he is among real men now.” “Why fetch another?” demanded Bohar the Bloody. “This fellow can walk and learn his lesson at the same time.” “But he could not profit by it,” replied The Cid. “Since when did The Cid become a dry nurse to an enemy?” demanded Bohar, with a sneer. Without a word The Cid wheeled and swung an ugly blow to Bohar’s chin, and as the man went down the chief whipped a great pistol from his sash and stood over him, the muzzle pointed at Bohar’s head. “Perhaps that will knock your crooked face straight or bump some brains into your thick head,” roared The Cid. Bohar lay on his back glaring up at his chief. “Who is your master?” demanded The Cid. “You are,” growled Bohar. “Then get up and keep a civil tongue in your head,” ordered The Cid. As Bohar arose he turned a scowling face upon Tanar. It was as though his one good eye had gathered all the hate and rage and venom in the wicked heart of the man and was concentrating them upon the Sarian, the indirect cause of his humiliation, and from that instant Tanar knew that Bohar the Bloody hated him with a personal hatred distinct from any natural antipathy that he might have felt for an alien and an enemy. On the lower deck men were eagerly running a long plank out over the starboard rail and making the inboard end fast to cleats with stout lines. From an opened hatch others were dragging a strapping prisoner from the kingdom of Thuria, who had been captured in the early fighting in the Land of Awful Shadow. The primitive warrior held his head high and showed no terror in the presence of his rough captors. Tanar, looking down upon him from the upper deck, was proud of this fellow man of the Empire. The Cid was watching, too. “That tribe needs taming,” he said. The younger of the two women, both of whom had stepped to the edge of the deck and were looking down upon the scene in the waist, turned to The Cid. “They seem brave men; all of them,” she said. “It is a pity to kill one needlessly.” “Poof! girl,” exclaimed The Cid. “What do you know of such things? It is the blood of your mother that speaks. By the beards of the gods, I would that you had more of your father’s blood in your veins.”