* * * * * When the long hour of public audience was over, Jaltor returned to his quarters. His step was quick and purposeful and his dark eyes were alight with an inner excitement. At the entrance to his apartment, the guard on duty there leaped to attention at his approach. To him Jaltor snapped, "Find Curzad at once and inform him I wish to see him immediately." The guard saluted and went swiftly off along the corridor. A clay jug of wine, cooling in a low basin of water on one of the tables of polished wood, caught the monarch's eye. Not bothering to use one of the several goblets standing nearby, Jaltor swung the jug to his lips and took a long, satisfying draught on the contents, wiped his lips on the back of a muscular forearm and began to pace the floor. A light knock sounded at the door and Curzad, as iron-faced and reserved as ever, came into the room. He was in the act of closing the door behind him when Jaltor said, "Wait. Send the guard out there away. I don't want our conversation overheard, even by the most trustworthy of your men." Curzad obeyed, then closed the door and came into the room, standing there stiff-backed, waiting further orders. Jaltor jerked a thumb at a chair. "Sit down, my friend, and help yourself to the wine." The captain of the palace guards let himself gingerly down into the luxurious depths of soft upholstery and reached for the wine jug and a goblet. Most of Ammad's noblemen would have lifted outraged eyebrows at such familiarity between the world's most powerful monarch and a mere warrior. But Curzad and Jaltor had fought side by side in many a battle and through many a campaign, and each honored and respected the other. The tall broad-shouldered king dropped into a chair across from Curzad and took up jug and goblet. "Tell me, Curzad, how fares the noble Garlud?" "As well as in the days he walked Ammad's streets a free man," the captain said in his deep calm voice. "As an old fighting-man, hardship affects him but little." "Perhaps his cell is too comfortable," Jaltor said, his lips twitching slightly. "There are no comfortable cells beneath your palace, Most-High. Garlud's least of all. He sits alone and in utter darkness, the only sounds the scurrying feet and squeaking voices of rats. Only the strong mind of a great warrior can endure such for very long without cracking." "Are you suggesting I am too harsh with him?" Jaltor was openly smiling now. "I am suggesting nothing to Ammad's king." "It has been eleven suns since I sent my closest friend to languish in those pits," Jaltor said, smiling no longer. "Nor has it been easy for me, Curzad. But I must learn who, if not Garlud, was behind old Heglar's attempt on my life."