Alfric thrust, slicing his heart. As the man fell, another swarmed up behind him. He and Alfric faced each other, tableau for one instant of rivering moonlight and whining wind and remotely beating gong. Then the barbarian's long arm shot out, yanked the slave in, and twisted him in an unbreakable wrestler's grip. "Talk!" he hissed into the ear of the writhing creature. "Talk, or I'll break you bone by bone. Why are you here?" "He can't," said Freha. She came up to them, white in the moonlight, her long hair blowing loose about her shoulders. "The Temple breeds these slaves, raises them from birth to utter, fanatical obedience. And--see--" She pointed to the dead man gaping under the window. Stooping over, Alfric saw that he had no tongue. * * * * * The northerner shuddered. With a convulsive movement, he broke the neck of his prisoner and flung the body aside. "What do they want?" he panted. "Why are they after me?" "There is a prophecy--but quick, there will be others. Out, down to the taproom--we must have protection--" "The assassins would hardly be so stupid as to leave us a way out," grunted Alfric. "Any down there who might help us are probably dead or made prisoner now. No doubt these men have friends on guard, just outside the door--men who'll come in pretty soon when these don't come out--" "Aye--that would be the way of the Temple--but where, then, where?" Alfric flung on his kilt, dagger belt, and baldric. "Out the window!" He whipped the girl to him, held her supple body against his, kissed her hard and swift as the swoop of a hunting falkh. "Goodbye, Freha, you have been a wonderful companion. I'll see you again--if I live." "But--you can't leave me!" she gasped. "The slaves will burst through--" "Why should they harm you? They're after me." "They will." He felt her shaking against him. "They will, that's their way--oh!" The door shuddered as a heavy weight was flung against it. "That's they," snarled Alfric. "And the bolt won't hold very long. I'd like to stay and fight, but--Come!" He grabbed his cloak off the floor and buckled it across Freha's slim naked shoulders. "I'll go first--then you jump." He balanced on the window-sill, then leaped. Even as he fell, he wondered at the agility of the slaves who had crawled up the wall. It was of roughset stones, but even so-- He hit the muck and cobblestones of the alley with the silent poise of a jaccur, and turned up to the window. It was just above the pit-black shadows, a square of darkness in the moon-whitened wall. "Come!" he called softly. Freha's body gleamed briefly in the moonlight as she sprang. He caught her in his arms, set her down, and drew his sword. "Let's go," he growled. Then suddenly: "But where? Will the city guards protect us?"