Turkan, squad commander, or So-Rok, in the armies of Neros, the City of Warriors, watched the silent forest with nervous eyes as he sat astride his lumbering drif.
His head remained still, facing forward, for he did not wish the men following him to discern his discomfort. As So-Rok he was responsible for his squad. He must not show fear, lest their fears increase, or perhaps lose respect for him as commander.
The day was hot, however, and they were far from Neros Fort Nine, far from help, and all too near the great forest wherein lived the savage wroks, and other beasts even more savage.
Squads were rarely attacked, for they possessed little of value, and were formidable prey for most wroks.
Such attacks were not unknown, however, upon such a small force. Usually at least two combined squads patrolled these remote areas, searching for evidence of intrusion by the wroks, or any other enemy.
Such encounters had been infrequent for an extended period, however, and recently his Commander had halved the force which was deemed necessary for such patrols.
Turkan could not find any logical fault with his Commander's decision, but at such times that they were this close to the edge of the forest, his logic became strained, and he wished he had forty men, rather than twenty.
He knew his men were restless, too, and he was careful to project a calm, unruffled exterior. Fortunately, this was made much less difficult by virtue of the fact that they could only watch his back, and not his sweating face.
This solitary stretch of road was the most dangerous, because of its proximity to the silent forest, and he watched and listened to with impatient care, longing for the next several minutes to pass, when they would veer away from the dark forest, following the road once more away from its shadows and out onto the rolling, open plain.
A sudden movement caught his eye, and he started, pulling back involuntarily on the reins of the drif, causing the creature to rear back slightly, and stop.
His men, marching hypnotically, almost marched into the back of the animal, then stopped abruptly, staring forward in shock at the sight which had startled their So-rok.
An almost naked giant of a man walked toward them out of the dense forest growth, his skin burned to a deep bronze by the sun, his long blond hair swirling about his shoulders in the slight breeze, the front hacked off to form crude bangs above his wide-set eyebrows.
The soldiers moved forward to form a rank on either side of their So-Rok, gripping their lances firmly, searching the forest for the slightest evidence of other enemies. A few gripped the hilt of their swords, checking to make certain the weapons would slide easily from the scabbards.
The stranger continued to approach, his hands free of weapons, his stride smooth and liquid, the great leg muscles swelling smoothly with his graceful, powerful steps. A few yards from the drif he halted, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked up at the officer, his face calm, impassive but inquiring.
Turkan was nonplussed at the actions and appearance of the stranger, nearly naked, without apparent companions, yet alive and seemingly oblivious of danger in this distant and dangerous corner of the lands of Neros.
Immediately suspicious, he raised his gaze from the intruder and scanned the edge of the forest with intense scrutiny, his nerves taut with apprehension.
For a full minute he scanned the surrounding darkness, ignoring the tawny savage, but watching him from the corner of his vision.
Tarak remained motionless, observing the officer and the soldiers with interest.
Finally Turkan returned his attention to the apparently solitary man.
He was naked but for a wisp of a stiff leather gathered around his loins, and a leather belt, of the type often worn by the ferocious wroks, from which depended a small pouch, a long knife, and a beautiful sword hilt extending from a finely wrought scabbard, incongruous in comparison to the rest of the man's possessions.
The man's face was hard, with a strong chin, straight nose, and a wide, impassive mouth. A high forehead was partially hidden by the shaggy bangs, and eyes of sparkling green returned Turkan's gaze with extraordinary intensity.
The man's actions, approaching a squad of Neriosian warriors alone, a stranger, were unfathomable, and Turkan's suspicions flamed anew, fired by his nervousness.
He cleared his throat and frowned down at the intruder, his brows contracting as a scowl clouded his rough features.
"State your name and city, and your business in the lands of Neros!"
This was a common salutation given to any stranger, and Turkan voiced it almost without thinking. His voice was deliberately harsh, deliberately threatening, to impress upon the stranger the inferiority of his position, and to place him upon the defensive.
Tarak was surprised at the menace implied by the words and the man's tone, but his expression remained impassive. He looked calmly into the So-Rok's eyes.
"I am Tarak. What is this place you name; Neros?"
Turkan's scowl deepened. His words had not seemed to intimidate the stranger, and his question had gone unanswered.
"I ask again, what is your city?" The tone was bullying.
"I have none." Tarak replied. "I have come from the mountains."
Turkan set his hand upon the hilt of his sword, noting that the stranger watched him carefully, but still without expression.
"You would do well to answer my questions, barbarian. And truthfully. Men do not dwell in the mountains, nor in the forest, nor in the seas. Men dwell in homes; villages; or cities, and there are no cities in the mountains."
Turkan paused to allow this irrefutable truth to sink in, then continued.
"You do not help yourself with lies. I can see that you are not of Neros. You are a stranger. An intruder. Yet you must have a city. Each man has a city, and owes allegiance to that city, even though he may travel through other lands. The peasants belong to a city. The plains belong to a city, as do the forests."
Turkan spread his arms.
"This land, and all who reside here, belong to the city of Neros, the City of Warriors, the greatest city of Aantor."
He pointed a finger at Tarak.
"You are not of Neros. Therefore you may be of an allied city, or of an enemy city. Neros has no allies. Therefore you must be of an enemy city, or at best a neutral city. Now, which city is yours?"
Turkan leaned forward, satisfied that he had settled the matter.
"I am from the mountains," replied Tarak evenly, though he was somewhat taken aback by the antagonism he detected in these men. "I owe no allegiance, nor anything else, to any such city."
Turkan was becoming angry. Was the barbarian mocking him?
"Answer me, barbarian, and this time with the truth, or my warriors will kill you where you stand."
Tarak raised an eyebrow. "Why would they wish to kill me?"
"Because I would order it so!" Turkan's anger increased. "In Neros, all men answer when questioned by a warrior, or they die. Surely you do not wish to die?"
"No," Tarak responded. "I do not wish to die."
"Then you will answer me, for otherwise you will surely die."
Tarak stared up at the burly officer. His face remained impassive, but his green eyes beginning to flare. His expectations had been somewhat dashed by this encounter with men whom he had assumed would be friendly.
"I have spoken the truth." He looked steadily at the So-Rok. "And I do not intend to die." The words were spoken simply.
Turkan's frown deepened, but he mocked the barbarian with his tone. "You are only one. I have twenty men! What will you do if I order them to kill you?"
The So-Rok laughed, but his eyes still flickered toward the shadowy forest, which loomed so close.
Tarak looked at the twenty men, each man ready with lowered lance to obey his so-rok. He returned his attention to Turkan, and shrugged. "I will run for the forest."
Turkan laughed again, and his men joined in, but he quieted them with a raised hand, and taunted the prisoner, as he now considered Tarak to be.
"You would run, rather than die with dignity, as a man; as a warrior? Have you no courage? No honor?" He snorted. "Are you a woman?"
Tarak was baffled.
"Why would I choose to stay and die, when I could run and live?" He was perplexed by the questions, which seemed absurd to him.
So-Rok Turkan was losing patience with the captive. He could see that the man was a fool, and obviously a coward as well. Undoubtedly he was a slave, which would account for his reluctance to acknowledge his city.
Yet there was nothing in the bearing of the man which would seem to support these descriptions, and no explanation as to how he had survived to reach this wild land, most of which was bounded by the Great Western Forest, far from the boundaries of any other city's lands.
Turkan's tone became openly abusive, as he responded to the absurd response of the savage.
"A man dies because he is a man. Men fight and they die, but they do not run away, like children, or women. They fight and they die for pride; in their cities and in themselves. They die, that their city might live. You would not die, gladly, for your city?"
"As I have said, I have no city. I have only myself."
Tarak's tone became somewhat disbelieving. "But if I did live in a city, I could not imagine giving my life for a mere place; a single location, when room and life exists everywhere."
He spread his arms wide, and gazed from one horizon to the other.
The soldiers scowled and shook their heads, while Tarak watched them uncomprehendingly. It was apparent to him that his ideas differed from theirs considerably. Men, or at least these men, were different than he had anticipated.
"As for pride," Tarak continued, watching the So-Rok, "If I am proud it is because I am alive to feel such pride. If I were dead I would be nothing. Not proud. Nor alive."
He shook his head, his tawny locks ruffling like a mane. "It would be foolish to give my life for something which is less valuable than my life, and my life is more valuable than anything, at least to me. Without it, all is lost to me."
The truth of these words was so self-evident that Tarak could not help but wonder at the attitudes of these men. His entire existence had been one savage battle for survival after another. His appreciation of life was absolute. He understood the finality of death, and the immeasurable, finite value of life. He was confused that this obvious truth was not appreciated by supposedly civilized men.
Turkan was furious, for the barbarian's words struck at the very principles upon which Nerosian military life, and all life as he understood it, was based. The barbarian had ridiculed these principles; had as much as called him a fool, and his city's values unimportant.
Neros, City of Warriors; greatest city of Aantor.
Desperately he sought to bring his emotions under control, for he wished to capture the man alive. The barbarian deserved less than a quick death. Alive, he might provide much entertainment before he was killed.
The savage appeared to be well muscled, and moved with an easy grace which indicated speed; however, and he might be able to escape if the Nerosians tried to capture or kill him.
Turkan was also somewhat disturbed by the fire which blazed slightly in the man's strange green eyes. He attempted a softer approach for the moment.
"I have decided I will not have you killed," he said, finally, "If you agree to come with us to the fort."
Tarak looked at him. These men were strange indeed. This fellow did not seem to know whether to kill him or not. Men were certainly interesting. He decided he would go with them, for he wished to learn more of these men and their strange ideas. It was, after all, why ye had left the mountains.
He nodded.
"I shall go with you. I would like to see your city."
"You shall indeed." Turkan was pleased with himself. The man was his now. "First, however, you will give me your weapons."
Tarak shook his head. "I shall keep them."
The So-rok scowled once more. Again he had misjudged the captive.
"You must give them to me," he reasoned, "as a sign of your good will."
"Will you give me your weapons?" asked Tarak.
"Of course not."
"Then I shall keep mine."
Turkan's temper flared, but he controlled it, although with difficulty.
"Very well," he said, finally. "For now you may keep them, but you must come forward and march with my men."
Tarak thought for a second, then nodded, and fell in behind the drif, while Turkan, satisfied at last that the prisoner could not escape, wheeled his mount and continued along the road.
His general feeling of tension eased, for if this lone savage was alive in this area there was little likelihood of any danger from wroks.
The soldiers moved forward around the captive, their attitude scowling, contempt upon their faces; yet none came too close, for respect was mirrored in their expressions, too, for the muscles which swelled beneath the smooth skin, deeply tanned and scarred in scores of places; and for the air of self-confidence, of apparent fearlessness, which emanated from the captive.
A coward he might seem to be; or mental defective; yet the green eyes held no fear, and watched the soldiers with an intensity which was disconcerting.
Turkan turned his head and torso after a moment, observing the placement of his troops, and decided to have some fun with his new captive.
"Now you cannot escape. My men surround you." He chuckled.
Tarak returned his attention to the So-Rok.
"It is true that your men surround me."
"And you cannot escape," insisted Turkan.
"It would be more difficult," agreed Tarak.
Turkan smiled. "Perhaps I shall order them to kill you now."
"Perhaps."
Tarak was continually amazed at this officer's remarks, and decided not to argue further with this strange man.
"Are you not terrified?" queried Turkan, who was enjoying himself, now that he was leaving the forest behind, and was bringing back an exotic prisoner.
"Why would I be terrified?"
Turkan shook his head in exasperation.
"Because if I tell them to kill you, they will do so! At my order. Instantly," he said, thinking that this captive was a fool indeed. Perhaps his prisoner was part wrok, or an imbecile who had been turned loose in the forest.
"Are you going to tell them to kill me?" Tarak asked.
The So-rok hesitated for a moment, then laughed.
"No, I do not think so. They are warriors, more fit for killing other warriors, than for such as you."
Several of his men chuckled.
Tarak shrugged, shaking his head slightly. "Then I am not terrified."
The warriors laughed, obviously at Tarak's expense, yet he could not discern any reason for their behavior. Men were indeed strange creatures, he thought, and he wished Amena were with him, so he could question her about these men and their strange remarks and behaviors. His vision blurred for a brief instant as he thought of her.
Her stories of cities and civilized men had painted a much different view than that which these men appeared to represent. It seemed evident, however, that these men were warriors, apparently far from their city, so Tarak supposed that perhaps Amena was not familiar with such men.
He noted that each soldier wore a sword, which confirmed his previous expectation that the sword was a favorite weapon of men. This pleased him, for he was interested to learn the nature and use of the weapon, which heretofore had seemed of only marginal value to his existence.
Their swords were similar to the one he carried, although much cruder in appearance. Long and of medium thickness, with two cutting edges which ran parallel to each other, approximately two inches apart, the swords began to taper to a point approximately four inches from the tip. They were lighter in weight than the heavy swords of the wroks, and seemed to have been developed for speed and accuracy, rather than to deliver heavy, battering strokes.
Tarak was to learn that swords were available in a great variety of sizes, weights, and shapes, and that the metal from which they were forged, although light, was so strong that rarely was a sword broken in combat.
He attempted on numerous occasions during the march to engage his new companions in conversation, but except for an occasional rude rebuke he encountered only stony silence, so eventually he lapsed into silence himself, and surveyed his surroundings as they marched along in what seemed to him an absurdly slow pace.
Once he looked up into the blue sky, and spied a dark dot high above, which appeared to be a flying creature of some type, although it was too high for accurate identification. His thoughts turned to the great black dyrrn, that mountain killer which had brought him so far, out of the cold grim mountains which were its home.
He smiled as he pictured the beast, and in remembrance he rubbed the painful areas on his chest, still raw from the attentions of the dyrrn's sharp, probing beak.
Undoubtedly the dyrrn was now hunting tasty nir in the far foothills. He wondered if the beast would return to the far valley, and decided that this was probable, for the creature was only half-grown, and not yet capable of challenging an adult dyrrn, or defending a territory of its own in the vast grey expanse of the mountains.
He regarded his own present status with somewhat mixed emotions. He had expected civilized men to be somewhat different than himself, but these men seemed so different that he wondered briefly and with a hint of amusement if they were of a different species.
Even the most aggressive of animals rarely warred upon their own kind, yet this man had threatened him repeatedly with injury and death. Perhaps Brona and Gonor had not been as different from other men as Amena had indicated.
She had been insistent, however, that civilized men were basically good, and she had certainly been a kind person, although, of course, she had been a female.
He was unconcerned. He was not confined in a pit now, with no recourse but to endure whatever assaults or injuries his captors might choose to inflict upon him.
Equally confusing to him were the ideas held by these men. Their apparent notion that a man should sacrifice his life for a city, mere stones, walls, roads, and buildings, seemed incomprehensible. Equally incomprehensible was their expressed idea that a man should fight needlessly, when faced with overwhelming odds, and fight to his death, in the manner of a wounded narg, so that he might gain the respect and approval of the same men who sought under the terms of such unfair odds to kill him.
Tarak could not imagine why one would value the opinion of such deadly assailants, or would seek to gain their approval for anything.
To Tarak, who had battled against odds for years simply to achieve survival, it seemed unbelievable that a rational creature would so willingly lose its life.
Yet it appeared that these men endeavored to do this on a consistent basis, and had incorporated such ideas into some value system.
Undoubtedly they bred in large numbers, for such a sense of values must surely result in the loss of a great many lives.
The more he learned of these men, the more interested he became in continuing his observation of them, and he resolved to learn as much as possible before their seemingly suicidal approach to life threatened his own.
They marched for several hours, through forests and across plains, and eventually as they exited a small forested area, thick with trees except for the narrow path, he noticed a large stockade situated near the center of the grassy plain which bordered the forest.
A high palisade constructed of heavy logs blocked his view of the interior, and a heavy wooden gate stood closed against any potential enemy.
Tarak was wary of any structure which threatened to enclose him, but he was certain that he could scale the palisade with ease, so he willingly followed Turkan toward the stockade.
Turkan led the squad along the road, and as they approached the gate it swung open upon heavy hinges, and they passed within, after which the gate swung closed behind them.
Tarak noted that their entrance attracted some attention, for a number of other soldiers, dressed similarly to those he accompanied, began to gather in a group and stare at him,
Their manner did not appear to be immediately threatening, however, so he ignored them and gazed around at his surroundings.
The stockade was roughly square, with walls which stretched several hundred feet along each side. Along two of the walls, which reached a height of fifteen feet, wooded barracks were situated, two-storied and set against the palisade, which provided the outer, rear wall for each building.
A large building occupied most of the third wall, and he could see that this area appeared to serve as a storage area, with facilities for stabling the animals.
The fourth wall was relatively clear of buildings. A well had been near this wall, and numerous benches, tables, and cooking fires were scattered along the ground near the fourth wall.
This stockade, or Neros Fort Nine as he afterwards learned it was called, housed more than two thousand men, and was one of several such forts which guarded the countryside and the boundaries of the city-state of Neros.
Turkan told Tarak and his men to wait, and disappeared within a centrally located building, one of the few which did not connect with the outer wall, or with any adjacent building.
A few moments later he reappeared, and stopped, standing respectfully as another man, similarly attired in a green tunic, but with three stripes decorating his dark green uniform, emerged from the building and strode purposefully toward the waiting squad. After he had passed, Turkan fell into a measured step behind the man, and followed.
This man was older than Turkan, and not quite as large, but clearly he was a superior being, quite apart from any badge of rank. His creased, tanned face spoke of long years of knowledge and experience, as did the many scars which marked the exposed areas of his body.
His stride was easy, but powerful, and the hard, craggy face did not entirely mask the wisdom and intelligence which flickered within the grey eyes. Those eyes were candid and appraising as he approached, noticing each detail; missing nothing.
This officer wore no helmet, and Tarak noticed that his hair was very dark, though grey at the temples; and close-cropped. His only weapon was a scabbarded sword which hung easily from his wide leather belt.
Although the face was set in lines of granite, born of long battles and many intrigues, the eyes betrayed only polite interest in the newcomer. The man stopped a few paces away, and stood for a long moment in silence, continuing his careful appraisal.
Turkan spoke first.
"This is the prisoner, To-Rok. He looks powerful, but I think he is afraid to fight."
He spat.
"We have nothing to fear from him, To-rok Foss, you may be sure. We captured him easily, for he was afraid, and he was alone."
Foss, To-rok, or commander, of Neros Fort Nine, ignored the words of the So-rok, and resumed his silent inspection of the stranger. Never had he seen so fine a physical specimen of manhood as he discerned in this quiet and strange barbarian.
His military eye traced the smooth outlines of the man's body, noting the wide curves of muscle, which even at rest seemed amost to glide easily beneath the bronzed skin.
The man was quite young, he noted, but his youthful skin was marred by innumerable scars, most of them old, and some large and jagged. Foss knew this man was no stranger to combat, or to pain.
He raised his eyes to those of the stranger, and looked deeply into the clear green eyes which stared back at him.
Eyes which radiated intelligence and which, Foss surmised, were taking their own measure of him.
"I am Foss-Pan-Velsor, To-Rok of Neros, and commander of this Fort," he gestured to the right, then to the left, "which is known as Neros Fort Nine."
His tone harshened slightly.
"So-rok Turkan took you prisoner because, he says, you are afraid to fight. Are you truly a coward?"
Foss was watching the man closely as he spoke, probing for a reaction to his words and his tone. He thought he detected a glint of fire in the man's eyes, but otherwise the captive appeared unmoved by the harsh words. This man was no coward.
"I am Tarak," the man replied.
He looked at Turkan briefly.
"This man took no prisoner. I came with him because I wished to see your city." He looked around. "Surely this is not your city?"
Foss was silent for a moment, waiting and watching, but the man said no more. Certainly the prisoner knew the absurdity of his question, yet his query appeared straightforward and honest.
Turkan started to protest, but Foss silenced him with a gesture.
"You must know of the city of Neros," he said to the barbarian. "City of Warriors, Neros is one of Aantor's greatest cities. Her location, her fame, and her might are known far and wide, as are the locations and strengths of many lesser cities in this part of Aantor. All Aantorian children learn these things, no matter which city is their home."
His tone was slightly incredulous. "Why do you claim not to know that which all men should know?"
Tarak shrugged slightly.
"I was raised in the mountains. I know not the place of my birth, nor my parents. It matters little, however. The mountains and valleys have been my home. I am of no city. Rather am I of the mountains."
"No men live in the mountains," protested Foss, "And the forests and valleys are the haunts of the wroks."
He began to sense the incredulity which had infected Turkan, although the man seemed to speak simply, and seemed not to care how his words were taken.
"The wroks are dull creatures," replied Tarak, "And in the mountains valleys exist which they have never seen."
The watching soldiers were shocked at this brash statement. They knew of the terrible ferocity of the wroks, even when the creatures were caught away from their native forests, and these men could not imagine any man surviving in the desolate, wild forests and valleys which the hairy creatures regarded as their home, and which they dominated with savage terror.
Tarak's statement seemed to be one of bravado, perhaps issued from a nervous and frightened captive eager to impress his captors, and many of he soldiers sniggered, turning comically to each other and imitating the blond prisoner, describing to each other scenarios in which they had, unarmed, killed huge bands of wroks, and chased the survivors deep into the forest, and into secret and beautiful hidden valleys.
Foss, however, was looking steadily into the clear emerald eyes of the stranger, and he realized that this man was simply stating a fact. Foss was impressed and fascinated by this unusual man. He sensed the power and the will which resided behind those eyes, and wondered how Turkan could have been so dull as to think this stranger a coward.
Turkan did not merit the rank of So-rok.
"Turkan tells me that you are his prisoner," he said. "I am not so certain, but in any event you are now the guest of Foss-Pan Velsor."
Turkan and the men ceased their clowning at this unanticipated statement by their commander, and looked on disbelievingly.
"We shall eat soon," continued Foss. "Then I shall find you a place to sleep. Tomorrow we shall talk." A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth.
"I shall sleep outside," Tarak replied, and was silent for a long moment.
"Tomorrow we shall talk." he continued; and grinned, a gesture brought forth as a reply to the first evidence of civility he had yet received from another man.
Foss was startled by the sudden grin, and found himself returning the grin, as if the two men shared a common secret. He smiled openly as he measured the blond savage with the incredible physique and the long, wind-blown hair against the blustering So-Rok, Turkan, who claimed to have captured this savage man.
"Come," he invited, and turned toward the cooking fires.
Tarak followed, surrounded by a watchful group of Nerosian warriors.
Foss led him to an area set aside for the preparation, cooking, and eating of food, and invited him to select his choice from among a variety of cooked meats. He ordered wine to be brought, and watched, to his amazement, as Tarak selected a haunch of raw, bloody meat recently butchered and ready for the fire. Grasping the meat in his huge hands, the stranger hungrily tore a large chunk away with his strong teeth, and began chewing complacently, as blood dribbled down his chin.
"Do you not cook your food?" Foss queried in amazement.
Tarak looked up.
"In the high mountains I often did, if the meat was frozen, but I prefer the warm meat of a fresh kill."
Foss was silent, but a number of the warriors began to laugh, and exclamations of "savage", and "wrok-man" were heard from the crowd, even though it was known that most wroks cooked their food, to the accompaniment of more laughter.
Foss allowed the taunting to continue, for he was interested in the response of the man, but Tarak appeared not to hear, and sat contentedly, devouring his meal with gusto, and drinking the heady wine with obvious pleasure.
Tarak had never experienced anything like this liquid he was now consuming, and thought it was quite delicious.
Foss tried unsuccessfully to draw him out into a conversation, but the monosyllabic responses he generated left him with the impression that Tarak was not one to mix food with discussion. He bid the stranger a pleasant evening, and retired to his hut, unaware of the hundreds of times Tarak had fought savagely for a meal, only to have it then robbed from him by a more formidable predator, orchestrated under the watchful eyes of Gonor. Tarak's His lifelong experience had taught him that food was to be eaten quickly, lest it be lost, and he cast wary glances around him as he ate, while almost inaudible growls accompanied his feast.
Shortly after Foss re-entered his hut Tarak finished his meal, and cleansed his hands and face from a bowl of water which had been placed nearby. He looked around at the gathering of soldiers who stood, watching him with amusement.
He did not join them in their mirth, for he sensed that their laughter was unfriendly, and was directed at him, although he understood nothing of their humor.
It did not matter to him. He was satisfied, with his stomach full and his thirst well slaked by the delicious wine. Evening was approaching, and he could feel the coolness of the night air against his bare skin. Contentedly he stretched his arms and legs, and moved away from the soldiers, walking to a place near the wall which formed the front wall of the palisade.
Happily the snickering men did not follow him, and he lay down upon the grass beneath a small tree, and looked up at the dark branches and patches of evening sky which lay beyond.
Without moving, he lay and listened to the sounds of the fort, contemplating this world of men which he had entered. He seemed unusually drowsy, perhaps caused by the wine, he thought, since he had sensed its unusual effects even while drinking it. Contentment accompanied the drowsiness, however, and he was at peace as he lay and looked up, watching the evening progress into the night, and countless stars steal into the night sky.
Although these men were strange, their apparent leader seemed friendly enough, so Tarak decided he would remain within the fort for the night, rather than seeking a sleeping perch high in a tree. The fort certainly provided a safe sleeping area at ground level, which was a rare occurrance in the savage forest.
Finally he slept, as waking thoughts gave way to dreams and memories.