"Who are you," Vokal snapped, "and what do you want of me?" "I am Tarsal," croaked the stranger, "once guard in your service. Many moons ago I fought with one of Jaltor's guards and slew him. Since that day I have been confined in the pits of Ammad's king." Ekbar, who had been staring at the man closely while he was speaking, nodded. "He tells the truth, Most-High. I recognize him now." "What do you want of me?" Vokal said again, his voice shrill with impatience. "I came to warn you," Tarsal said. "Garlud and Jotan, his son, have escaped from their cells and have gathered together a small army taken from Jaltor's pits. They say that it was because of you that Garlud and Jotan were imprisoned by Jaltor, and they are coming to capture you and take you before the king." The nobleman's skin turned a dirty white. This was ruin for him! Wildly he sought to think of some way by which he could escape Jaltor's wrath, once the truth came out. "What are the plans of this mob?" he demanded. "Do they expect to win Jaltor's support in the fight against me?" "Not that I know of, Most-High. They spoke of stealing from the palace and marching here to take you captive and bring you before Ammad's king that he may hear the truth from your own lips." Vokal's brain was working with cold precision. There was a way out, then! Were he and his warriors able to ambush this gang of prison rats, able to wipe them out to the last man, there would be none left alive to tell Jaltor what they had hoped to accomplish. All thoughts of the mysterious young woman who had raced from his apartment earlier that night were forgotten as he whirled about to confront the open-mouthed Ekbar. "There is still time," he cried, "to save ourselves. Listen to me closely, Ekbar, and do exactly as I say!" * * * * * As the heavily armed force of perhaps one hundred and fifty men entered one of Ammad's broad avenues no more than two blocks from Vokal's palace, Jotan called it to a halt while the leaders conferred. Five men comprised the leadership of the relatively small army. They were Jotan and his father, Tamar, Tharn and young Trakor. Almost from the first it was Tharn to whom the others turned for guidance, despite the fact that he was a complete stranger to Ammad. "How many men," Tharn asked, "are likely to be defending Vokal's palace?" "No less than five hundred," Jotan said grimly. "We shall be badly outnumbered my friend." "We have something on our side worth hundreds of warriors," Tharn observed. "Surprise is our biggest and best ally. If we can win our way into Vokal's palace and reach the quarters of Vokal himself before his guards are sufficiently alerted to interfere, the fight will be over before it begins." "And how do you propose this shall be done?"