CHAPTER 15

Fear clouded the man's eyes, and he shook his head negatively. "Wroks guard the shaft," he protested, shaking his head. "Always they are there."

"I will kill the wroks," Tarak replied.

Doubt now supplemented the man's fear.

"No man can kill two armed wroks."

Tarak smiled.

"Then," he said looking straight into the warrior's eyes, "We will kill the wroks, and free the men below. Tarak......and Anon, warrior of Neros."

For a moment Anon was silent. Then he too smiled.

"We will die, but for the last few moments I have again felt like a man, and like a warrior. Better to die a warrior than to live as I have lived down here."

"Perhaps we will not die," said Tarak. "Tell me, are there others who will help us?"

Anon shook his head.

"I do not think so. Most of the workers on this level are old and afraid. Lok has always sent the young and strong below, where they could not threaten his power."

"You do not seem old."

"It was necessary to have some younger workers up here, so that the work would be completed on schedule. I told Lok that I had been a baker. Had he known that I had been a warrior, I would have been sent below immediately."

"You have not been to the lower level, then?"

"No, although many who work on this level have spent some time below. Lok will sometimes demand that an old man be sent up, and if a man not sufficiently elderly rides up, he is killed and then thrown back down the shaft. Had I been sent below, I knew I would never again see light. You may think me a coward, but I have heard stories from those who have been below. They would do anything Lok demands. Anything."

Tarak smiled.

"It is often better to wait in such a situation, even at the expense of pride. Now you have waited long enough." He shrugged. "If we cannot obtain help, we shall have to prevail alone. Lead me to the shaft, warrior."

Anon led them through a maze of tunnels and chambers, finally halting near the tunnel which he explained led to the chamber housing the shaft entrance.

Tarak peered along the tunnel and into the chamber, and noted the wroks, large and armed, one standing on each side of the shaft. Nearby a large winch turned, driven by twenty shuffling men, old and ragged, chained to the winch by ankles and wrists. They labored heavily, though the winch was smaller than the one which Tarak had seen on the surface.

The winch was at the moment being used to raise the bucket, and Tarak noted that as it appeared, laden only with dirt, the wroks appeared to lose interest, and turned away, moving to the side of the chamber where they joined an obviously well-fed man, who was eating at that moment, as he sat by a small fire.

The bucket cleared the shaft, and several haggard, emaciated women swung it out over the floor and tipped its contents onto the ground. Then they swung it back out over the hole, and the winch slaves began the process of lowering the bucket down the shaft. After a moment the chain slackened, indicating that the bucket had reached the bottom, and the men relaxed.

"In a few minutes they will raise the bucket again," said Anon. "Then the wroks will again take up their places near the shaft."

Tarak nodded. "When they are at the shaft, we will strike." He then outlined his plan to Anon, who nodded doubtfully, and they waited, watching the wroks. Several ragged, filthy figures hurried past them, eyes to the ground, moving as quickly as their heavy loads would allow, as they transported bags containing the dirt which had been raised from the dark shaft.

In a few moments the chain jerked, and the slaves at the winch began to turn it again. A moment later the wroks lazily arose and once again moved to take up their places at the shaft entrance.

As the wroks reached the edge of the shaft, Tarak strode forth from the tunnel, dragging Anon by the hair.

Anon screamed and struggled, but Tarak merely cuffed him, and laughed.

"One more for the shaft." he said, grinning. "He was too slow."

The wroks' features contorted in a semblance of a grin. They were cruel creatures, and anticipated enjoying the spectacle of throwing a screaming man down into the blackness.

The man who sat at the wall, however, hooked suspiciously at the intruders. He stood up quickly and began to walk in their direction.

Tarak was already at the shaft, though, and picked Anon up by his arms and legs, as if to throw him into the dark hole.

One of the wroks shook his head, and held up a hairy hand. "The bucket is still rising. Wait until it reaches the surface."

Tarak seemed not to hear, however, and swung Anon back over the ground. Instead of pitching him into the shaft, though, he threw the man directly at the wrok on the far side of the hole, knocking the creature backward.

Even as Anon struck the wrok, Tarak was upon the nearer one. The wrok was taken completely by surprise, and Tarak knocked him into the shaft with a swift, powerful thrust of his arms.

The wrok attempted to grab for the edge of the shaft, but the blond giant came down on the work's hand with his foot, and the creature fell from sight. The man who had been sitting by the wall was now running and shouting, but Tarak paid him no attention, for as soon as the wrok dropped from sight, he leaped over the shaft and engaged the second wrok, who had thrown Anon aside and was drawing his sword.

Seeing the man upon him the wrok then left his weapon sheathed, and enraged, met his attacker with his long arms extended and waiting to tear the man apart.

This wrok had killed many men before, and knew how vulnerable they were when unarmed.

Never had he known a man to attack him, for men were weak creatures who fled his approach and groveled before him. He reached for the throat of Tarak, and was surprised that the man did not try to block his huge arms, as so many had tried unsuccessfully in the past.

The wrok's fingers closed about Tarak's neck, and the creature began to grin with anticipation, but as his hands tightened, his look changed to one of consternation, for the bands of thick muscle about the victim's neck would not yield to the force of the work's grip.

Too late the wrok realized that the man had actually intended being drawn forward by the creature's grasp, and before the wrok could loosen its grip Tarak dealt it a terrific blow with his closed fist, backed by the blistering power of his arms and shoulders, striking the wrok on the forehead.

The wrok staggered back, dazed by a blow which would have broken the neck of a man, and before the creature could recover another blow hammered into its throat, crushing the larynx and bursting the blood vessels beneath the skin.

The wrok could not breathe, but its mighty limbs thrashed and grabbed with deadly force, as it rolled on the ground, frothing and gasping.

To those watching the struggle, the man's next move seemed foolhardy, for instead of waiting for the wrok to perish from suffocation, he leaped upon the beast, seemingly impervious to the blows and the clawing of the dying creature, and sought a hold upon its neck. The antagonists rolled about, each trying to kill the other, and finally through the blur of movement Tarak's arms twisted in a swift sideways motion, accompanied by a snapping sound.

Immediately Tarak pulled the sword from the work's scabbard, rising just in time to block the descending blade of the other wrok, who had climbed the chain and emerged from the shaft at the moment Tarak had broken its companion's neck.

The wrok slashed with tremendous force, and looked huge and fierce as it unleashed its attach, but within seconds the creature fell bleeding to the dirt, blood spurting from a gash in its neck almost six inches deep.

The wrok had not fought a man armed with a sword for many years, and the skill of Tarak, combined with the speed and strength which exceeded that even of the wrok, had rendered the battle nothing more than slaughter.

As the wrok fell bleeding, Tarak turned to look for Lok's subordinate, but Anon had already recovered and the two were rolling on the ground, each seeking to end the life of the other. The other man was larger than Anon, and his bulk was far greater than the half-starved slave, but Anon fought like a man possessed...., his body nourished by memories and hates unknown to his adversary.

Tarak moved immediately to aid his companion, but Anon shook his head. This kill was his.

Finally Anon achieved a death grip upon the throat of his former superior, and within another moment he had choked the man to death. He then rose slowly, shaking the dirt from his rags, and smiled at Tarak.

"Well done, warrior of Neros," Tarak said, returning Anon's smile.

Anon looked wonderingly at the two dead wroks, and shook his head.

"It is nothing compared to the killing of these!"

Tarak shrugged.

"How often are these wroks replaced?"

"They will not be relieved for another day. These came yesterday, and normally guard for three days before they are relieved."

"It is enough time," said Tarak.

"Anon, now you must ride the bucket down into the shaft, and tell those below that they may climb the chain. It will be faster than hauling them up a few at a time, and we will use the bucket later for those who are too weak to climb."

Anon looked with loathing at the bucket which now had reached the surface of the chamber, but climbed into it bravely, when it had been unloaded.

Tarak directed the bewildered slaves to lower it once more into the shaft, and called Rela from the tunnel in which she had been hiding. He then searched the wroks until he found the key to the slaves' shackles, and told her to unchain them when the bucket reached the bottom, while he stood guard over the shaft.

The winch slaves remained in their places even after they had been unchained and the bucket lowered to the bottom of the shaft. Their creased, haggard faces seemed not to comprehend the events which were unfolding, and they stared at the ground, as if fearing to move.

Tarak ignored them, for his senses were fully attuned to the tunnels which provided entrance to this chamber. The success of his attempt to free the slaves depended upon the chain and winch being allowed to work freely. Should an intruder be able to overcome Tarak and cut the chain, those trapped below would remain trapped there forever.

Tarak was not about to let that happen. The knives of the dead wroks now nestled firmly in his belt, together with a sword. The other sword he held securely in his right hand.

He heard the ascending man before he saw him; the grunts and curses which accompany heavy work, coupled with slipping, scrambling sounds as arms and legs sought a hold on the large chain.

The man seemed to hesitate in his climb as he neared the top, as if he were afraid to continue.

Tarak peered down the shaft.

"Keep climbing," he called reassuringly. "You will not be harmed."

The climber did not reply, but after a moment he resumed his efforts, and shortly thereafter gingerly poked his head out and looked around, his eyes almost closed with the pain of the unaccustomed light. His gaze finally rested upon Tarak, who reached down with an arm and grasped the man's hand, pulling him free of the shaft.

"Move to the wall and rest," Tarak said to the man. "Let your eyes grow accustomed to the light."

The man looked around, nodding.

"Light! Yes, Light! They will grow accustomed," he laughed, squinting happily.

"To see the light again is life itself."

The man was totally naked, and incredibly thin, with his bones clearly visible beneath his slimy skin. His head and face were hidden partially by a greasy mane of hair and beard, crusted with filth, and many were the festering sores which scarred the loose hide.

"Where is Anon?" asked Tarak.

The man turned toward him.

"He said he would remain below until a hundred of his fellow citizens had climbed the shaft."

Tarak thought Anon was a brave man indeed to stay in the pit even that long, considering his fear of its depths and darkness. How different such a man seemed, from the shuffling figure Tarak had stopped in the dim corridor.

He turned and helped another man out of the shaft. This man reacted similarly at first, and looked nearly identical, to the first.

One after another they climbed from the pit, until the chamber was crowded with men. As they had begun to emerge, Rela had become frightened, and clung to Tarak imploringly. Already the men were beginning to overcome their initial pain, and were helping those around them. Anon emerged finally from the shaft, shuddered, and turned to Tarak.

"It is even worse than I had feared," he said to Tarak.

"The total blackness, the sense of suffocation, and above all the smell." He wrinkled his nostrils in disgust.

"It is good to get back to good light and clean air!"

Tarak laughed. To the barbarian the smell of the chamber, and of all the expanse of the dim chambers, was almost sickening, but to Anon, who had been a prisoner here for a long period of time, the chamber seemed clean and light.

The men arising from the shaft all filled their lungs as if the putrid air was the most fragrant in the world, and Tarak surmised, at least in their world, it undoubtedly was. He handed his sword to Anon, and addressed the men in the chamber.

"I am Tarak. Anon and I have freed you from the pit, and you are under no obligation to anyone. There is yet danger, however, for many wroks still live here, and they are armed. Wait here and continue freeing those imprisoned below, while Anon and I travel to the sewage chamber. We must gather some information about those who control this place, if we are to hope to escape."

He paused, and looked at the circle of faces around him.

"To most of you the thought of escape may seem hopeless. Yet an hour ago I am certain you held the same opinion about escape from the lower pit. You may remain slaves of the wroks, or you may fight. If you choose to fight, many may die, but you will not die as slaves. If an enemy comes, you must fight to protect the safety of the chain, to assure that those below gain the same light and air as you now have. We shall return before long."

Tarak turned to go, and no word was spoken from the hundred men standing and sitting in the chamber, but the look in their eyes assured him that they would fight as never before to secure the release of their fellows.

Rela followed them as they left the chamber, and a number of men took up positions at the entrances.

They departed through one of the tunnels with Anon leading the way, for he had slaved in the pits for years, and was familiar with the tunnels and chambers of his world.

"To enter the refuse chamber it is necessary to cross over the bottomless pit," he said.

"A stone bridge traverses the pit, and it is necessary to cross this bridge to reach the area where the garbage is dumped, and where the wroks live."

"How large is this bridge?" Tarak asked.

"The portion of the pit it crosses is quite narrow, perhaps thirty yards across, and the bridge itself is about five feet wide. A wrok is always stationed at either end of the bridge, while the others sleep or direct the human slaves, who are only allowed to number twenty, on the far side. Slaves often cross the bridge, carrying garbage to be used for food, but at no time do the wroks allow the total number of slaves to exceed twenty, on their side of the bridge."

Anon led Tarak to a spot where the bridge could be seen, and after observing it for awhile, they returned to the shaft chamber, and began organizing the men who waited there.

Tarak asked for twenty volunteers, and every hand in the large chamber shot into the air.

The next day as two wroks emerged from a tunnel into a dimly lit chamber on their way to relieve the guards at the shaft, they were set upon by twenty men, who came from all directions, grabbing their arms and legs, while two armed men moved swiftly in behind them, and drove their swords deeply into the bodies of the beasts. Tarak distributed the swords and knives which the wroks had carried to the men, as well as the knives which he carried in his own belt. Now eight men were armed, four with swords and four with the long knives.

A few men were placed as sentries in the passage leading to the refuse chamber, while the rest returned to join the horde of men who were continually emerging from the shaft. Fully two thousand men had emerged, and more men climbed to the surface constantly.

When their numbers made it impossible to crowd them all into the shaft chamber, they moved in groups to other areas of the pit. Finally Tarak consolidated most of them in the huge chamber into which he had been first lowered, leaving fifty men to guard the shaft chamber, and sending another fifty men back down the shaft with torches to help move those below to the surface.

One of the refuse chamber slaves approached him on the day after the killing of the wrok guards.

"They know something is wrong," he said, "for their men have not returned. They threw several slaves into the pit, and have refused to permit any more slaves to cross the bridge in either direction, keeping only twenty men on the far side to move the garbage. I was sent here to find Lok, and to bring him to the wroks."

Tarak nodded. At least it seemed he did not have to worry about an immediate attack by the wroks. In a way he would have welcomed such an attack, though, since the wroks would have been more vulnerable in the dark passages than in the well protected, well-lighted refuse chamber. He nimbly climbed to the summit of a large boulder, and addressed the assembled slaves of the pits.

"You are now free of the lower pit, but you are still slaves of your city, and of the wroks who control the refuse. No more will they send even rotten food for you to eat. Therefore, we must kill them. They are not invincible, whatever you might think of them. They are powerful, ferocious creatures, well armed and well fed, but they are not numerous, and four have been killed already."

"Many of you are ill, and weak from starvation, and from a variety of other illnesses, but many of you are healthy enough to fight. We must attack quickly, before we are further weakened. Many of you will die, for the wroks are formidable killers, but in the end we will be victorious."

He paused for a long moment, then continued.

"Those who wish to fight, raise your arm."

Three thousand arms shot upward as if triggered by a single thought. Even men who lay helpless and weak from starvation tried to raise their sword arms to the blond figure who stood before them. Tarak looked at his army. Three thousand emaciated, filthy men, weak from work and hunger, who had lived like ascs for years in the eternal blackness of the lower pit.

He smiled as he looked into their eyes, thousands of eyes which had gone unused for so long, and were now filled with a hate and determination of almost tangible substance. He smiled, for he knew that no leader had ever commanded a more noble force.

Tarak talked to the men, explaining his plan, and after he had finished he began leading them toward the chamber of the refuse pit.

He did not wish to delay, for he feared that should the wroks realize the extent and nature of the force that moved against them, they would find a way to destroy the bridge, and thus defeat his army by starvation. On the way to the battleground his men grabbed as many rocks as they could find, and many filled rags with handfuls of dirt.

Tarak saw that he had moved none too soon, for the wroks were already chipping away at the bridge in an attempt to weaken it. Leaving his men, he strode forward, confronting the lone wrok which stood guard on the near side of the bridge.

The wrok glared at him as he approached, and, noting the sword Tarak held, drew his own, and snarled.

"Where are the guards, slave?" the wrok demanded.

"I killed them," Tarak answered. "They were fearful, and tried to run, but I ran them down and killed them, as I kill the ascs I find in the tunnels."

Tarak had hoped his words would infuriate the wrok, and he succeeded, for the creature whirled out its sword and rushed forward with a roar.

The wrok slashed viciously at Tarak's heard, and as the man blocked the sword, the wrok attempted to close with him, reaching for his throat.

Often the wroks fought in this fashion, for while a man might use his superior skill to best a wrok in swordplay, he was never a match for these powerful beasts in hand to hand battle. Many times this wrok had forced the sword of a human opponent back thus, then stepping in and killing the man with his free hand.

For this reason men usually carried a knife rather than a shield when they fought wroks. This blonde man had neither, however, and the beast foamed with anticipation.

Tarak's sword arm, however, was not forced back, and as the wrok began to reach for his throat, the creature felt his own sword being forced back, causing him to lose balance; as the forward momentum of his body was countered by the backward movement of his arm.

The wrok began to fall, and tried to break his fall with his arms, for an instant forgetting the necessity of keeping his sword in front of him.

In that instant Tarak's sword slashed downward in a blurring arc, severing the front half of the wrok's head from its shoulders, sending its blood spurting up in crimson fountains which rose brightly for an instant, then fell to the dirt.

Instantly Tarak left the dying wrok and bounded onto the bridge, while behind him his army came out of the caverns and raced behind, slowing only enough so that two men could pause to pick up the weapons of the dead wrok.

The wroks at the other end of the bridge looked up in surprised rage. Tarak was glad that only two were working there, for he did not care to face more than two of the armed creatures at once.

The success of his plan depended on securing the bridge so that his army could cross it freely. If he was killed, and the wroks moved onto the narrow bridge, it was possible that the powerful creatures could hold it against the men, for only a few would face them at one time, and the wroks, with their ferocity, strength, and balance, might defend it until it could be destroyed.

The speed with which Tarak raced across the bridge disconcerted the wroks, and they stepped back, raising their weapons and shouting for assistance. Even as he closed with them, he could see others reaching for their weapons across the chamber. He dared not look back, but thought that his army must have reached the bridge, and hoped they would be able to cross before the wroks were able to defend it in numbers.

The two wroks he faced saw the men beginning to cross, and hastened to dispatch Tarak, so they could stem the tide of slaves. Tarak was not one to die easily, however, and he fought furiously. Facing two of the creatures was difficult, for they were fast and powerful, and he could not afford to gamble by concentrating on one, for the other would strike him instantly. These were not men, but beasts, and their strength, speed and savagery were far superior to that of men.

Tarak knew he had time on his side, however, so he was able to fight defensively. If he could prevent the wroks from blocking the bridge, his army would soon be across, and then the odds would shift.

The wroks, sensing their dilemma, attacked furiously, but the speed and skill of the barbarian held them back. Finally they separated, with one dashing for the bridge. Tarak seemed to ignore it for an instant, then leaped to intercept the creature.

Before the other wrok could help, Tarak unleashed a blinding attack, and the lone wrok crumpled to the ground at the foot of the bridge.

As he turned to meet the second wrok the first of his army hurtled past him to engage the remaining wroks, who were fast approaching the scene of battle.

The next minutes were filled with slaughter, as the powerful wroks fought to beat back the horde of men who piled across the bridge in waves.

Men fell and flew through the air, dismembered and crushed by the hammering slashes of the wroks. The men held their ground, though, and as they were pushed forward by those behind, they bombarded the creatures with rocks and bags of dirt, blinding the wroks and causing them to miss their targets with increasing frequently.

As the wroks fell, men would leap upon them, tearing weapons from their hands even as the remaining wroks slashed and killed.

Everywhere Tarak fought, killing swiftly, battering and smashing back the wroks with sledgehammer blows.

His eyes blazed brilliant green, and the muscles swelled and rippled beneath his golden skin as he fought like a tarab, that noble killer of the mountains. No wrok could stand before him, and his magnificence savagery motivated the men, who redoubled their efforts and their ferocity.

Within minutes the battle was over. Tarak stood glistening with sweat, and looked around the chamber. The wroks had fought valiantly, leaving more than a hundred men dead, and many more wounded, but now the chamber belonged to the men.

Laughing, the victorious army leaped upon the mounds of stinking sewage and started devouring it, as if it were a royal feast prepared in their honor, within the kitchens of the Palace of Neros.

Suddenly a voice was raised above the rest, and Tarak turned and saw Anon standing on a mound of refuse, shouting for silence.

"Men of Neros!" he shouted, "We are still captives.....but yet we too are free!"

The men cheered, but Anon waved them to silence.

"We are free because a stranger came into the pits. A man of courage and magnificence."

He looked at Tarak, and thousands of heads followed his gaze. "Because of Tarak, I am a man again. I am again a warrior. I have no golden goblet of wine to raise in your honor, but yet I salute you, Tarak. You have given life to Anon, and I now give mine to you."

Anon slowly raised a handful of garbage above his heard, saluting the blond barbarian as if with a golden goblet.

Thousands watched, then silently each man stooped and grabbed a handful of refuse, and repeating Anon's gesture, held it high, facing Tarak.

Men who stood apart from the piles of refuse raised empty hands, saluting the barbaric figure who stood silently, his arms folded across his broad chest.

Tarak, who had suffered most of his life at the hands of men, who had grown up friendless and alone, except for Ama, the slave girl, was moved as he had not known he could be moved. He understood at that moment some of the love which Foss possessed for men under his command.

He looked at the men. Silent, filthy creatures, covered with slime and blood, each raising his hand, offering to Tarak the only thing they possessed. He turned his head, his glance moving from face to face, and finally coming to rest upon Anon, the warrior.

"Your tribute is not the less an honor because of its circumstance, Anon, but rather more, for you give it freely and without hope of favor."

He once again looked around the chamber.

"Men of Neros, I am a stranger to your city, and until now had little respect for its citizens, for they have caused me much pain. Here in the pits I have learned that it is a noble city indeed. I, Tarak, thus salute you, warriors."

He then raised his arms, and the men cheered him, loudly and happily, as if they were not imprisoned far below the surface, and feeding on scraps. Tarak marveled at the resiliency of these men, who not long ago had been scrabbling like ascs in the darkness. Looking about, he saw Rela, who was standing quietly, looking at him with wonder in her eyes. She was beautiful, and Tarak felt himself becoming aroused at the sight of her. He smiled, and then went to her, kissing her lightly, then leading her in the direction of a small tunnel, to the parting laughter of three thousand men.

Anon slashed viciously with his sword in a sideways stroke, then changed direction in mid-swing and the blade swept up toward Tarak's head. The timing was excellent, and only a lightning parry kept the sword from hitting its mark.

Tarak lunged, but Anon had already leaped back, his blade ready to defend and counterattack. This opportunity never came, however, for Tarak followed his lunge with a quick series of thrusts and deft slashes, forcing Anon back, and as he began his retreat Tarak suddenly altered his attack, hammering at his opponent with heavy, slashing blows, left to right and back, always downward.

Anon's arm shook with the force of the strokes, but his sword held, as he moved steadily backward, stepping away from the blows to reduce the shock. He could not recover his momentum, however, and finally leaped back and lowered his sword.

Tarak stopped his advance then, and smiled at the other man.

"Your sword is quick, my friend. I was lucky to avoid it."

Anon laughed, breathing heavily.

"If it is luck, then you seem to have a limitless supply."

He rubbed his arm.

"I think you beat my arm halfway into my shoulder."

Tarak shook his head, still smiling, and Anon moved over to the wall and sat looking across the huge chamber, where hundreds of men clashed with swords.

Two months had passed since Tarak had freed the men from the pit, and during that time many changes had taken place. No longer were the men starved, for the tremendous amounts of garbage and refuse provided an abundant, though not overly appetizing, source of food.

Tarak had organized the men, and they now lived in relative comfort. The quota of dirt was met easily, now that healthy men worked, and only a few hundred men labored at any one time digging dirt and filling the bucket.

Each day they were relieved, and since the total population of the pit was almost thirty-five hundred men, each man was required to spend only a few days each month digging in the pit.

The refuse chamber was maintained by two hundred men, who worked speedily to move the garbage as it fell, before too much dirt could fall upon their food source.

They had also discovered an underground spring, which only the wroks had known about, and in this the refuse could be washed, and the men themselves could bathe.

Only the most edible waste was saved and eaten, the rest being pushed into the pit. This work with refuse of all types was distasteful, but given the number of men it was an infrequent duty, and those who worked the chamber got the best food that day, so there were few complaints.

The spirits of the men had been most lifted, however, when two weeks after the battle more than a score of weapons had fallen into the pit with the other waste.

It was known that garbage was checked above, and only infrequently in the past had weapons or anything valuable made its way into the pit, so the sudden appearance of more than twenty swords caused much excitement. Finally a man found a waterproofed skin tied to one of the swords, and written upon it was the message, "For the prisoner, Tarak."

The man brought the skin to Tarak, who opened it, and read it aloud to the men gathered around him. It said:

"Greetings Tarak, my friend, from a noble friend. We have learned that you had been sent to the pits, and we are some of the few who know the nature and location of your prison. If you are alive, it is likely that you have access of the refuse, and I am hoping this is true. I have arranged to send weapons into the chute leading to the pits, in the hope that you will find some use for them. I will send as many as possible, even though I have no way of knowing with any certainty that anyone will find them, for there is no way you may answer. I shall also try to learn if there is any way to help you escape, but I am afraid it will be difficult. In the meantime, my friend, enjoy the hospitality an fine food of Neros."

A Noble Friend."

Tarak laughed at Karn's closing statement, and sent word throughout the pits that anything strange or unusual which might be found in the refuse was to be brought to him. He also posted the letter, so that all could read its contents, for he knew that it would lift their spirits to know that they had help outside the pits.

Over the next six weeks countless weapons fell into the pit, along with torches, clothes, belts, and ropes. Eventually every man was armed, and some even wore clothes.

The weapons enabled the men to mine for dirt much more quickly than before, and provided an outlet and exercise for the men. Since most of the prisoners had been warriors prior to their incarceration, they were familiar with and loved the sword, and the appearance of this weapon in their prison caused much excitement. Tournaments were staged, and the men practiced daily, drilling and fighting, learning new tactics, and making new friends.

Tarak took part in much of the fighting, for he too had come to admire the weapon, and always was eager to increase his skill.

Much of the time was spent in futile planning, however, for his army was worthless if it could not be utilized. Every inch of the pits were searched, but even Tarak, with all his prowess, could not find a way out.

The shaft down which the garbage fell was large, perhaps ten yards in diameter, and its walls seemed as smooth as glass. Enough food had been dumped into the shaft to reach to the surface many times over, but they had no way to reach the upper end of the shaft, which was more than one hundred and thirty feet above them. Tarak had tried digging up at an angle, but the rock was so hard that even with weapons they were barely able to scratch the surface of the rock.

Tarak considered riding up the dirt shaft in the bucket, but knew that he would be slain instantly by bowmen before he could act.

There seemed to be no way out, but still they kept looking, and their spirits remained high.

During this period Tarak was constantly in the company of Rela, the slave girl, and they grew increasingly fond of each other.

Tarak found her to be a fascinating companion, and she talked much about her home city of Kalnor.

Unlike Neros, Kalnor was a city which provided for relative equality between the sexes, and Rela was a strong, opinionated woman who thought nothing of taking the aggressive role in lovemaking or anything else.

Tarak had never met anyone like her, and her easy laughter and unflagging spirit made the days and weeks pass relatively pleasantly, notwithstanding their confinement.

One day they lay together, talking softly, when she looked at him and said,

"Yes, my Tarak, you will like living in Kalnor. My family has much wealth, and we shall have a fine house."

He looked at her, surprised.

"What do you mean, Rela?"

"I have chosen you as my mate," she said, innocently.

"When we escape from Neros, we shall join the army of Atal Throom, drive Malenot out of Kalnor, and then live in the House of Mir, which is my House."

She smiled sweetly at him.

"You will enjoy Kalnor, and I shall find you work, for my father is a merchant. We shall have many children, and be very happy!"

Tarak stared at her for a moment.

"Rela," he said finally, "It cannot be as you say."

He did not wish to hurt her, for he cared for her deeply, but he was not ready for any such life as she described.

"If I were ready to mate, I would certainly mate with you, but I am young, and have much to see."

He gestured towards himself with his hands.

"You are a girl of noble family, while I am only a poor barbarian, raised in the mountains. I would make you miserable with my barbaric ways."

He was ready for any reaction, but the girl merely shrugged. "Well, I love you, my Tarak, and I will survive until you have changed your mind."

She smiled up into his warm green eyes.

"I too have much to do, my Tarak. I must find my brother, who was sold into slavery. I was searching for him when I was captured by Nerosians."

"He was a child, then?"

"No. He is years older than I, but he is my brother, and I must try to find him."

Tarak teased her.

"Are the men of your family so weak that one cannot survive without his younger sister?"

Her eyes flared instantly, a reflection of her pride.

"My brother has no weakness. He is Kiron of Kalnor, one of the mightiest men on all Aantor!"

Tarak remembered the name with surprise.

"Kiron? Your brother is the Kiron who fought Foss of Neros in the Great Tournament?"

Her eyes glistened.

"Yes, he is my brother. All citizens of Kalnor remember his fight with Foss, for it was one of the greatest ever witnessed in the Tournament."

She made a face at Tarak.

"If Kiron were here now, he would force you to mate with me."

Tarak laughed.

"He must be a mighty warrior, indeed!"

Rela pouted for an instant, then she joined his laughter, and crept into his arms.

"No one, I fear, is that mighty, my Tarak, but you are mine at least until we leave this place."

"Yes, Rela. That much, at least, is true."

Tarak often thought about Rela, and admired the blonde slave girl, who had held up so well under the harsh life she had known since her capture and subsequent reduction into slavery. She was intelligent, brave, beautiful, and had a tireless sense of humor. Whoever mated with Rela would find life neither dull nor serene. He knew he would miss the girl, when their paths parted, but he could not allow himself to become too involved with any one woman, or any one city. For the moment, however, he was more than content to spend his hours with Rela of Kalnor. He began to wonder how easily he might be able to leave her, if and when the opportunity presented itself. Certainly not while she was a slave, and perhaps not until he had returned her to her city.

It was a perplexing problem, and she was becoming an increasingly demanding presence in his life.

Later, as Tarak was cleaning his sword, one of the men working the refuse chamber ran toward him, signaling frantically.

Tarak rushed over to the man, who was breathing heavily from the exertion of running.

"Tarak," the man exclaimed, "a rope has dropped down the shaft, which is apparently secured at the surface, for a man can be seen climbing down into the pit."

Instantly Tarak left the messenger and headed quickly for the refuse chamber, where minutes later he stood watching the descending figure, who had by now almost reached the bottom. Finally the man stood firmly upon the ground, and turned toward the waiting group of men.

Tarak's face lit up in a broad smile, and he leaped forward to embrace the climber, for it was Karn who stood looking at him. Tarak grabbed Karn in his huge hands, lifting him clear of the ground.

"Karn! It is good to see you!"

Karn looked dubiously around him, wrinkling his nostrils.

"I think perhaps I may have acted hastily, for had I known what this place smelled like, I would have been more inclined to leave you down here forever."

Tarak Laughed.

"You will not, I am afraid, become accustomed to it, either."

"I should hope not." commented Karn.

Tarak looked closely at the heavy rope, which stretched upward into the shaft.

"Why did you not send a rope such as this before, and why did you come down personally?"

"It is impossible to secure a rope to anything outside the chute itself, for it would be discovered. If one slides down the chute, however, and if one is fortunate, it is possible to grab one of several huge bars which stretch across the opening, about twenty feet below the surface. They are spaced about five feet apart, and allow free movement of the refuse, while preventing anything too large from falling into the pit. They also serve as a saving device, and more than one man has caught them after falling into the chute, and subsequently been rescued. It is to one of these bars that I anchored the rope. It is of course true that I could have arranged for someone to then throw me a rope, and climbed back up the chute, but events in the city have forced me into hiding anyway, and in addition I wanted to see if you were here."

"What has happened in the city?"

"Jaren and Pusk have been arresting most of the nobility, on grounds of treason. It is of course an overreaction, but they are worried. Foss has raised an army from the forts, and it is rumored that he plans to march upon the city. Jaren scoffs publicly at the idea, but he has alerted the gate watch, and they are ordered to close if anything suspicious occurs. Within the past few days Jaren seems to have gone mad. Even Barkan and Leanna were arrested, no doubt at Pusk's urging. I barely escaped, and decided it was time to see once again my friend, Tarak of the mountains."

"Will Foss move against Jaren?" Tarak asked.

"Yes. In three days, before dawn, Foss will attempt to bring seven thousand men through the gates of Neros. If the gates close, his attempt will fail, for Neros is invincible to assault. We must somehow prevent the Tarkan's forces from closing the great gates!"

Tarak nodded.

"Recently many prisoners have been lowered into the pit. Perhaps some of your family will soon be among us. Come, now, Karn, and I will show you the wondrous pits of Neros."

They left the chamber, and at length discussed their plans of escape. Later that day Tarak and five of his strongest men climbed the rope to the surface, each man hauling another, thinner rope, which was tied to his waist. When they reached the surface, they tied these ropes to the huge bars, then pulled up heavier ropes which were tied to the ends of the thin ropes the men had carried with them. These were also tied securely.

The men stayed at entrance, looking at the stars for a few moments, then descended to the floor of the chamber.

The climb was difficult, for the extra weight was considerable, and they were battered with falling refuse and garbage, and blinded by falling dirt. Near the surface they found it difficult to hang on, since the refuse dumped into the chute was compact and heavy at this point, but as some of it clung to the bars it effectively hid the ropes, so danger of discovery was remote.

After midnight, dumping was sporadic, so Tarak did not anticipate much difficulty.

Karn said that friends of his would be watching the chute each night, so they would have no difficulty climbing from the chute, as long as they were not discovered.

On the second day after Karn's appearance Barkan was lowered into the pit, and he greeted Tarak warmly.

"Pusk has kept Leanna for himself," he said.

"I was relieved at the time, for I did not know what to expect here."

He surveyed the army of men.

"Now I wish she was with us. Besides, it would do her some good to live in this place for a few days."

Barkan, as did Karn and Tarak, smiled at the thought.

Tarak sent word throughout the pits, and gathered his army together. He told them of the events which were occurring upon the surface, and explained that his objective was to aid Foss in his attack upon the city gates.

Since none of those imprisoned within the pits had any love for the Tarkan, and many had served Foss, they were enthusiastic about the coming campaign, and eager to see the surface again.

On the third day thereafter the men cleaned and oiled their weapons, vainly trying to control the excitement which rippled through their ranks.

Tarak was equally tense with anticipation, and talked long and animatedly about the plans they had formulated. They hoped to climb and escape from the chute undetected during the night, and to hide until it was time for Foss to strike. A large portion of Tarak's army would storm the palace, creating as much carnage and confusion as was possible, and hindering effective communication between the Tarkan and his forces.

With a smaller force Tarak would attempt to prevent the closing of the gates, and was to lead fifty of his best warriors in silence to the gates of Neros, for this purpose.

Karn said that he had men secreted outside who would be ready to help in a number of ways, but he was doubtful that more than three thousand men could escape and hide undetected for long. He was equally certain that if such a large body of men were detected moving towards the gates, the gates would be closed and sealed, and any hope of success lost forever.

Shortly before midnight they began climbing the heavy, knotted ropes. The ropes were so strong that one man could begin climbing as soon as the man ahead of him had moved up the rope a few feet, and Tarak was confident that his army would move up the ropes in good time.

He and Karn led the way, and after a few minutes they grasped the large bars, and hauled themselves through, to stand upon the broad bars and wait for outside assistance. Almost immediately several men appeared at the top of the chute, and ropes were thrown down.

They walked their way up the chute grasping the ropes hand over hand, and upon reaching the surface, they stopped, and Karn sent his men out to stand watch.

Men were rapidly climbing out of the chute now, and Tarak turned to Karn.

"The first fifty men are mine, and I must head for the gates. Good Luck, Karn."

He smiled at the Tark. "I shall see you at the palace."

Tarak signaled to his men as they completed their emergence from the chute, and silently they moved along a darkened street toward the gates, while Karn directed those still emerging from the pits into the shadows across the road from the palace wall.

Tarak's men, being Nerosians, knew deserted paths and alleys through which they could move undetected, and they finally approached the great wall two hours later, without having been detected.

At that point they halted, and Tarak conferred with Anon, who had been the first of those he had chosen.

"It will be difficult, my friend," Anon warned, "for the gates of Neros are always staffed with a hundred men on each side, well armed and ready to die rather than let an enemy within the city. It is impossible to fight one's way into the chambers within the walls, for the entrances are constructed so that they can be held successfully against tremendous odds."

Tarak looked at the gates, and the ramp which led down to them. No guard was in sight, and Tarak noted that the opening, through which the top of one of the huge rams which drive the gates could be seen, was not too high to reach with a rope. It appeared to be their only chance.

"We must throw a rope over the end of the ram, on each side," said Tarak, "and then climb up and through the opening. If we surprise them, it may be possible to kill enough of the animals so as to make it difficult to move the rams against the gates."

Anon agreed that it was probably the best of several such suicidal plans, and he led twenty-five men toward the near side of the ramp, while Tarak led the rest toward the far side. Simultaneously two ropes snaked upward and looped over the ends of the two great rams, and immediately Tarak and Anon climbed them, followed by their men.

Tarak grabbed the top of the ram and leaped onto the edge of the opening, his sword drawn, his muscles tensed and fire in his green eyes, as he prepared to leap into the chamber.

Then he stopped short, for thirty bowmen waited in a circle ten yards away, and thirty drawn bows aimed their missiles at his chest.

Quickly he jerked his hear around, and saw that Anon too had halted suddenly on the edge, and was motioning his men to descend. Tarak felt the pangs of defeat claw at his heart, for his plan was ruined. No living thing would pass through that window, and he quickly motioned for his men to drop to the ground and escape. Foss would find the gates of Neros closed to his army, and Karn would battle to his death at the Palace, unsupported in his efforts.

The thought filled Tarak with blinding rage, and snarling, he leaped into the room, desiring only to kill as many of the enemy as was possible before he fell beneath their onslaught of arrows.

As he leaped, he became perplexed, for the bowmen lowered their weapons and began to move away, down the long chamber. He looked around in confusion, and there, standing off to the side, was Abar, examining Tarak with an amused smile upon his face.

"Abar!" cried Tarak. "You are still gate O-Rok?"

"Well, not in those precise terms," Abar explained.

"Jaren replaced me a month ago with another man. I became bored, however, and decided that I could do a much better job than that other fellow, so I came to take the matter up with him earlier today. He became enraged and irrational, and even ordered his men to kill me, but apparently they did not hear him, for no one attempted to stop me as I came up here. I tried very hard to reason with him, but he was so angry that he drew his sword and attacked me."

Abar shook his heard, sadly.

"Poor fellow."

Tarak looked at the former Rok with amazement.

"Where are the gate sentries?"

Abar looked up innocently.

"Well, it seemed to me that the river was flowing dangerously fast tonight, so to protect the bridge I ordered the guard to go out and fasten it securely to the riverbank. It is quite a fine bridge, you know, and it would be unfortunate if it were carried away. Of course, now it cannot be easily retracted, but perhaps tomorrow the river will be less swift, and we can loosen it again."

Tarak smiled at the commander.

"But, Abar, with the bridge secured, and no guards at the gate, is it not possible that an enemy might sneak into the city?"

Abar shook his head.

"Only a fool would have the audacity to attack the city of Neros It is true, or course, that such men have been known to exist, even in the great city of Neros, but certainly it is beyond the realm of possibility that such a man would choose this particular night to attempt to force the gates, especially when the mighty Abar commands the entrance!"

Tarak nodded.

"Yes, as you say, it is beyond the realm of possibility."

"Signal your men to join us," Abar invited, gesturing toward the opening.

"It looks as if tonight will be another dreary time, and we might as well have some wine, and perhaps bread and cheese."

Tarak turned, hiding his laughter, and signaled to his men, and to those of Anon.

In a few minutes all were within the chamber, and Abar passed around skins of wine. Many of Tarak's men found friends among the soldiers of the gate, men who they had not seen for years, and there was quiet laughter and rejoicing.

Little wine passed their lips, though, for the night promised anything but a dreary time.

Two hours before dawn Tarak gathered his men together, and asked them if they wanted to join their comrades near the palace, or wait for Foss and his army.

Abar pointed out that much damage could be done to the wall guards, if surprised by a determined force, which might help give Foss the element of surprise himself in his bid to gain entrance to the city.

Many of the soldiers of Neros, of course, had never served under the Commander, and would fight for Jaren. Others would rally to Foss, once it was learned that it was he who commanded the invaders.

It was impossible to know how the great majority of men would react, however, and this unknown factor might hold the key to victory, or to defeat.

Most warriors had once served under Foss, but years had passed since his command, and the traditions of loyalty to a Tarkan and a city die hard. Most men would find themselves caught in a conflict difficult to resolve, and might be swayed to one side or another by any of a number of factors.

Such as the immediate possibility of success of the invasion. Should Foss falter, Neros' citizens might understandably desert him to the terror of their Tarkan. Initial success by the former Rok, on the other hand, might result in a swelling of his ranks by dissatisfied citizens, and a higher probability of victory.

It was impossible to gauge the directions the people would take, but it was imperative that Foss be given all possible help. Since Abar would not spare any of his men, due to the absolute necessity of holding the gate, Tarak and his men decided to try to remove the sentries from the front walls.

Jaren had staffed the walls with his own men, because of the troubles he had experience with crazed citizens leaping to their deaths. If Tarak's men could kill these sentries, or prevent them from raising an alarm, Foss had a good chance of bringing his army into the city unknown to the palace, and to its occupants.

Abar explained the posting and movements of the guards, and Tarak then led his men through passages cut into the great walls, up to the summit, and out into the faint moonlight.

The walls were about twenty-five feet thick at the top, and resembled a road, bordered by curbs about three feet high and three feet thick on either side. Several sets of steps led from the summit of the wall down into the city at regular intervals, and these steps served as the primary access route, for the inner passages were reserved for warriors manning the gate.

Since the walls were unassailable from without, most of the guards gathered in groups near the steps, waiting for the possibility of someone trying to reach the summit of the walls from within.

Tarak had sent several of his men back out the gate window, with instructions to climb these steps, to draw the attention of the guards.

As his force moved silently down the road at the top of the forward wall, he noticed that the guards' attention had in fact been arrested, and he could hear crude remarks about the fool climbers, from the guards.

No lights were permitted on the wall, so that the vision of the sentries would not be lessened when looking out into the surrounding country, and even though the moon shone faintly, it was quite dark.

Tarak halted his men, and they covered their eyes, for they knew that the climbers would soon light a brightly flaming torch, one for each man, as they neared the summit.

After a moment they heard the consternation and anger in the voices of the guards, and knew that the torches had been lit.

They waited a few seconds, to allow time for the men to douse the torches, and then uncovered their eyes and raced toward the guards, who now could see almost nothing in the near blackness.

Ten guards were stationed at the first section of steps, and ten of Tarak's men leaped upon them, as the rest sped past to search for more.

It was butchery, for the blinded guards had no chance or means to fight the sudden rear attack, and swiftly Tarak's men killed them. Normally a warrior would shun such slaughter, but the stakes were too high for honorable combat, and in addition many of Tarak's men had been arrested, and subsequently sent to the pits, by these very guards.

Tarak had taken twenty men to the north, and Anon had taken twenty to the south, and in the space of less than a half hour the guards for almost a mile on either side of the gates had been eliminated.

His men took positions from which they could surprise any relief which might appear, and rested, waiting for the appearance of Foss and his army.

Tarak looked out from the great walls of Neros into the clear Aantorian night, and for a moment he remembered riding high on the back of the great dyrrn, and the memory warmed him. This was a beautiful country, and from his vantage point he could see shadows of forests and hills, dark but almost alive in the faint glow from above.

Long before he saw anything Tarak smelled the approaching force, and moments later he heard the movement of men, carried up to him on the mild morning breeze. He signaled to Anon, and pointed to a spot directly in front of the gates, where a little hill rose to meet the forest.

Anon looked, and in a moment he spied a shadow small and slightly darker than the rest, emerge and move down the hill. Like a black river it moved, slowly but inexorably toward the stockade. A few cries were heard from that direction, and several men were seen running toward the city, but these men were quickly cut down by the gate guards which Abar had sent to secure the bridge.

The shadow was moving closer now, and Tarak would make out the forms of marching men, led by one who marched well in front of the rest. The column of men was perhaps ten wide, and stretched back into the forest, from which it was still emerging. Though their stride was long and purposeful, Tarak noted that the army moved quietly and in no haste, as if they were merely marching home after a day's maneuvers. They looked fresh and ready for battle.

Up to the gates of the stockade the leader walked, his army following. Silently the gates opened, and he walked through and out onto the bridge.

He crossed, and passed between the men of the gate guard, who stood in two parallel lines leading to the gates, from the bridge. They silently saluted the leader as he passed by them, and down the ramp.

Tarak and his men had left the wall as Foss crossed the bridge, and descended the steps to the gate. As they approached, they noticed a solitary figure waiting at the edge of the ramp inside the city, his sword drawn, barring the entrance.

It was Abar, commander of the gate. The first invader appeared within the gates, moving up the ramp, and stopped, drawing his sword.

Abar looked at Foss silently, and then stepped aside, raising his sword in tribute, and, finally, grinning broadly. Foss returned the gesture silently, and the two men began to march side by side down the broad avenue.

They saw Tarak's men approaching, and stopped, signaling the following army, but Abar spoke then to the To-Rok, and Foss, with a smile of understanding, realized the identity of this force, and saluted the approaching men.

"It is good to see you, my friend," Foss said warmly, clasping Tarak's shoulder.

"Tonight I move against my own city; in many ways against my own beliefs; and your presence will make it more palatable."

Tarak shook his heard.

"I is not a city that you fight this day, Foss, but a tyrant. I have felt the sting of his justice, and shall enjoy aiding you in your cause."

Foss nodded, and once again began moving toward the palace, with Abar to his right, and Tarak to his left, followed by fifty naked warriors of the pit and seven thousand hardened warriors from the Forts of Neros.

The wide avenue which divided Neros yawned emptily before them, and the subdued muffled slapping of their sandals seemed to echo faintly from the buildings on either side.

Foss made no attempt to move furtively, and soon they were spotted by a small patrol, which upon realizing the size of their force hastily withdrew and retreated toward the palace. Windows opened, and citizens looked out, wide-eyed, before shutting and locking their doors and windows.

As the patrol retreated, Foss turned to Tarak.

"I am surprised we have not encountered armed resistance before this. Normally Jaren's men roam the streets in great numbers."

"I think the attention of the army may be directed at the Palace," replied Tarak.

"By now Karn has attacked, and Jaren has no doubt concentrated his men there."

Tarak recounted quickly the events of the last few days for Foss, who nodded, smiling in appreciation.

"Then we must hurry," he said, "or Karn's men will be slaughtered."

He signaled to his army, and began moving at a faster step. As he increased his stride to a smooth, swinging gate he began to sing.

Tarak listened to the deep, throaty ballad, which was immediately taken up by the entire army, and was he felt moved by the ballad.

Such men were these! They sang of heroes, battles, women and death. Of great Tarkans and clashes between the cities of Aantor. And the greatness of Neros echoed in their voices. They sang of her beauty, and of her strength, in tones which rose in triumph to the love they felt for her. Tarak revelled in the power of the songs, and the men seemed to move more surely, more invincibly, as they strode down the broad avenue. More shutters opened, but now they remained open, and from them came the sound of voices joining in the ballad, singing with the invading army the beauty and grandeur of Neros, and the country she controlled as here own.

A few citizens even ventured out, and, raising their knives to the sky, they marched alongside the troops, singing and shouting the name of Foss.

Tarak was deeply impressed, not only with the brilliance of the commander, but with the strength of the men he commanded.

As they marched further, loudly and with pride, Tarak noticed a group of men advancing toward them; men with long pikes, and swords hanging from their belts.

From streets on either side more men joined those advancing, until the street was blocked from side to side with armed men. Most of the opposing force wore green tunics, but their officers were dressed in black, the colors of the palace guard.

Without instruction, Foss's army closed up around him, with bowmen to the side, and pikemen to the front. It was unlikely that the defenders would utilize bowmen in the streets of Neros, but if they did, Foss was ready to respond. Protected by the outer ranks, his bowmen had a clear view of the rooftops and windows.

Once the armies joined, of course, they would discard their bows, and draw their swords.

No enemy bowmen appeared, and as the forces neared, most of Foss's bowmen unstrung and fastened their weapons. Though the enemy occupied the whole width of the street, the invaders remained only ten wide. Foss wanted to reach the palace. Clearing the streets of defenders was of no value to him. His force was organized and trained to push forward mercilessly forward in a narrow wave, with the best warriors in the front and to the outside edges, so that he could fight forward without worrying about his flanks.

Any attempt to attack his sides would meet some of the finest swords of Neros, while those behind pushed forward irresistible, always onward, refusing to be enticed from their formation.

Foss strode on, his army singing its thundering song, and as they prepared to strike, those in the front lowered their pikes to meet those lowered against them. The opposing forces men in a terrible clash of bodies and long pikes.

Men were skewered by the razor lances, and driven back into those who followed.

Screams mingled with the blood which spattered to the dirt, as the armies followed their pikemen and met in savage battle.

The pikemen of Foss had clearly bested their opponents, and only a handful of these had fallen to their opposites.

Now they dropped their pikes and drew their swords, bounding forward into the enemy.

Tarak had once asked Foss about the use of Pikemen, for considering their small numbers they seemed almost useless. Foss had explained that the pike was the traditional weapon with which to open a battle, and never had Neros gone into war behind anything else.

It was an honor to be selected to carry the pike, and the men practiced long hours in its use, so that they might be able to strike the first blow for their city. To defeat the pikemen of the enemy was a psychological victory for an army, and a corresponding defeat for the opposing force.

Now the swordsmen clashed, with Foss, Abar, and Tarak spearheading the invading column. The men who faced them, already disheartened by the defeat of their pikemen, now found themselves fighting men who would not be stopped. Onward into the enemy they pressed, slashing and stabbing.

Tarak's great strength drove his sword arm in flashing strokes, and men fell away before him, their limbs severed, heads spit, and blood spitting from gaping wounds.

The first moment of combat unleashed all the savagery which flowed through his body, and his eyes flared a bright green beneath tawny brows as he battered forward. With his small shield he beat back slashes with such force that attachers lost their balance and went down beneath the feet of the armies.

Skill was important, but in such a battle speed and strength were paramount, and no one could stand before the savage barbarian.

Tarak glanced to the side and saw Foss and Abar fighting furiously; their faces set in grim lines and their swords carving rings of death around those who opposed them.

As new defenders leaped forward to replace their fallen fellows, Tarak saw fear in many of their faces, for these men knew they faced Foss, and Abar, Roks of Neros.

Around Tarak invaders fell to the defenders, but always others would press forward immediately, and always the column cut deeper into the ranks of the defenders. Behind them the column sang as it moved forward, the deep voices of the warriors behind giving strength and endurance to those who battled ahead.

Tarak felt blood oozing from several small wounds, but knew that these were minor, and he doubled his efforts to strike down those who stood before him. His ferocity was so terrible that men tried to back away, bumping into those behind them, and falling helplessly to his onslaught.

He noticed, too, that men were falling back from Foss, and some even dropped their weapons to kneel before him. Foss passed these, telling them to pick up their swords and follow to the sides of his column, which they eagerly did.

Still men tried to pull back, away from the invading leaders, until eventually they had forced those behind them to a halt. Foss them stopped his advance, and immediately the fighting ceased. The defenders seemed unsure, looking back at those pressing them onward, and then at Foss.

One young officer, dressed in green, stepped forward.

"I cannot fight against you, Foss-Pan-Velsor. Nor against you, Abar-Pan-Toromin."

He looked around and spoke to his comrades.

"Men of Neros! We do not fight for our city by fighting these men. Listen to the song they bring. It is a song of the Neros of old. Our Tarkan lags back and lets us die fighting our brothers!" He strode forward.

"I shall fight for Foss."

Several men shouted their approval, and soon most of the defenders saluted Foss as their commander, and parted for him to pass.

The men in black tried to coax their men forward, but were cut down until the survivors had to flee toward the palace.

As Foss passed between the ranks, the former defenders, almost two thousand men, joined in the ballad which Foss's army sang, and Foss himself took up the song again, a heartily smile upon his face, replacing the grim ferocity he had shown while killing those of his own city.

He looked briefly at Tarak, who grinned back at the commander. Then they moved once again toward the palace.

With the defection of the defenders, Foss's strength had swelled to more than nine thousand warriors, and frequently citizens would leave their homes to join the marching army.

The column now swept forward the entire width of the street, with the former defenders marching to each side of the invading column from the forts.

Tarak thought the odds were now quite good. Jaren had upwards of forty thousand men at his command within the city, but many of these were not presently mobilized, and due to the swiftness with which Foss had entered Neros, they were largely unprepared; scattered in small groups, or not on duty at all.

With the palace besieged, it would be difficult to coordinate an attack utilizing the city's army to anything near its full potential.

Even more serious to the Tarkan was the status of the man he faced. Already two thousand men had decided to follow their former rok, after only moments of fighting. The warriors of Neros were not cowards, and their decision was likely to be repeated by many of Jaren's men. The palace guard itself numbered almost ten thousand, and these would be loyal to the Tarkan, but few seasoned warriors were numbered among this recent body, and without help from the regular army they would not likely defeat the battle-hardened men from the Forts of Neros who had followed Foss into the city.

As they neared the palace Foss signaled to his army, and they fell silent. As their voices stilled, Tarak could hear the sounds of battle. They rounded a corner, and before the gates saw thousands of men in pitched combat.

From the manner in which the forces were situated Tarak could see that Karn had tried to force the gates, but had been unsuccessful in making his way through before the guards were able to call for reinforcements in numbers enough to throw his force back.

Now the men of the pits were battling in all directions, for Jaren's men had converged on the palace at the sound of fighting, and Karn was trapped between the gates and the warriors who now surrounded him.

The guard at the gate was composed of Jaren's best warriors, and they were able to withstand the invasion, for only a few of Karn's men could enter the partially closed gates at any one time. These few found themselves far outnumbered, and quickly slaughtered, before their followers could get through to help them.