Erect and proud, the Thurian marched fearlessly to his doom. He made no complaint and when he reached the outer end of the plank and his foot found no new place beyond he made no outcry. Just for an instant he drew back his foot and hesitated and then, silently, he leaped far out, and, turning, dove head foremost into the sea. Tanar turned his eyes away and it chanced that he turned them in the direction of the girl. To his surprise he saw that she, too, had refused to look at the last moment and in her face, turned toward his, he saw an expression of suffering. Could it be that this woman of The Cid’s brutal race felt sympathy and sorrow for a suffering enemy? Tanar doubted it. More likely that something she had eaten that day had disagreed with her. “Now,” cried The Cid, “you have seen a man walk the plank and know what I may do with you, if I choose.” Tanar shrugged. “I hope I may be as indifferent to my fate as was my comrade,” he said, “for you certainly got little enough sport out of him.” “If I turn you over to Bohar we shall have sport,” replied The Cid. “He has other means of enlivening a dull day that far surpass the tame exercise on the plank.” The girl turned angrily upon The Cid. “You shall not do that!” she cried. “You promised me that you would not torture any prisoners while I was with the fleet.” “If he behaves I shall not,” said The Cid, “but if he does not I shall turn him over to Bohar the Bloody. Do not forget that I am Chief of Korsar and that even you may be punished if you interfere.” Again the girl laughed. “You can frighten the others, Chief of Korsar,” she said, “but not me.” “If she were mine,” muttered Bohar threateningly, but the girl interrupted him. “I am not, nor ever shall be,” she said. “Do not be too sure of that,” growled The Cid. “I can give you to whom I please; let the matter drop.” He turned to the Sarian prisoner. “What is your name, son of a king?” he asked. “Tanar.” “Listen well, Tanar,” said The Cid impressively. “Our prisoners do not live beyond the time that they be of service to us. Some of you will be kept to exhibit to the people of Korsar, after which they will be of little use to me, but you can purchase life and, perhaps, freedom.” “How?” demanded Tanar. “Your people were armed with weapons far better than ours,” explained The Cid; “your powder was more powerful and more dependable. Half the time ours fails to ignite at the first attempt.” “That must be embarrassing,” remarked Tanar. “It is fatal,” said The Cid. “But what has it to do with me?” asked the prisoner. “If you will teach us how to make better weapons and such powder as your people have you shall be spared and shall have your freedom.” Tanar made no reply—he was thinking—thinking of the supremacy that their superior weapons gave his people—thinking of the fate that lay in store for him and for those poor devils in the dark, foul hole below deck. “Well?” demanded The Cid.