“Will you spare the others, too?” he asked. “Why should I?” “I shall need their help,” said Tanar. “I do not know all that is necessary to make the weapons and the powder.” As a matter of fact he knew nothing about the manufacture of either, but he saw here a chance to save his fellow prisoners, or at least to delay their destruction and gain time in which they might find means to escape, nor did he hesitate to deceive The Cid, for is not all fair in war? “Very well,” said the Korsar chief; “if you and they give me no trouble you shall all live—provided you teach us how to make weapons and powder like your own.” “We cannot live in the filthy hole in which we are penned,” retorted the Sarian; “neither can we live without food. Soon we shall all sicken and die. We are people of the open air—we cannot be smothered in dark holes filled with vermin and be starved, and live.” “You shall not be returned to the hole,” said The Cid. “There is no danger that you will escape.” “And the others?” demanded Tanar. “They remain where they are!” “They will all die, and without them I cannot make powder,” Tanar reminded him. The Cid scowled. “You would have my ship overrun with enemies,” he growled. “They are unarmed.” “Then they certainly would be killed,” said The Cid. “No one would survive long among that pack an’ he were not armed;” he waved a hand contemptuously toward the half naked throng below. “Then leave the hatches off and give them decent air and more and better food.” “I’ll do it,” said The Cid. “Bohar, have the forward hatches removed, place a guard there with orders to kill any prisoner who attempts to come on deck and any of our men who attempts to go below; see, too, that the prisoners get the same rations as our own men.” It was with a feeling of relief that amounted almost to happiness that Tanar saw Bohar depart to carry out the orders of The Cid, for he knew well that his people could not long survive the hideous and unaccustomed confinement and the vile food that had been his lot and theirs since they had been brought aboard the Korsar ship. Presently The Cid went to his cabin and Tanar, left to his own devices, walked to the stern and leaning on the rail gazed into the hazy upcurving distance where lay the land of the Sarians, his land, beyond the haze. Far astern a small boat rose and fell with the great, long billows. Fierce denizens of the deep constantly threatened it, storms menaced it, but on it forged in the wake of the great fleet—a frail and tiny thing made strong and powerful by the wills of three men. But this Tanar did not see, for the mist hid it. He would have been heartened to know that his Emperor was risking his life to save him. As he gazed and dreamed he became conscious of a presence near him, but he did not turn, for who was there upon that ship who might have access to this upper deck, whom he might care to see or speak with?