CHAPTER 22

The great hall of Kalnor was filled with gaily dressed people, and happy laughter echoed throughout the its vast expanse. Thousands were present, and many thousands more thronged the streets outside. The throne sat empty, but the citizens present often glanced to the curtains behind it. The throne was well guarded by several large men, dressed in blue tunics, trimmed in yellow. A party of warriors wearing the green of Neros also stood near the seat of power, and a green cushion lay next to the purple one upon which the Tarkan of Kalnor would sit.

The curtains parted, and three men walked out and toward the throne. At their appearance the hall became totally silent, and all eyes turned toward them. They were Atal Throom, Foss, Tarkan of Neros, and Kiron, Tark of Kalnor.

Kiron took his place at the foot of the throne, and Foss and Atal Throom ascended to the summit, where they sat upon their cushions, as equals. Neither sat upon the throne itself, for there was room for only one to sit there. They sat, and looked out upon the assembled throng, their eyes traveling across the hall and then they nodded, acknowledging the gathered people.

Four days had passed since they had entered Kalnor. The resistance had been considerable, and they had entered none too soon, for immediately they had encountered a considerable body of Malenot's troops, come too late to relieve the gate guard. The fighting had been bloody, but the outcome never in doubt, and by the next day the city had been freed, and the mercenaries killed or sent to the slave pens.

Kalnor was now truly Kalnorian again, and the army of Neros was camped outside her walls. Only Foss's personal guard was within the city, and these men stood proudly now before the throne of Kalnor, watching their Tarkan.

Atal Throom looked out upon his people, and at the man who sat beside him.

Foss returned his gaze, smiling now for a moment, then impassive again. Atal Throom turned to Kiron, who nodded.

Kiron raised his hand.

"I am Kiron-Pan-Cormoran, of Kalnor," he said, and the people began to cheer, but he raised his hand again, and they grew silent.

"I have fought long for this day. For the freedom of Kalnor!" Again the people cheered, and this time he allowed it to continue for a moment, smiling, before he again quieted the assemblage.

"Once were we governed by a council. Now most of these men are dead. Now we must have a Tarkan, until Kalnor again has men for such a council."

He turned to regard the blond figure who sat upon the purple cushion, then turned back to the assemblage. "For many years has Atal Throom preserved the spirit of the old Kalnor, as he wandered through the forests, gathering men, fighting, surviving, suffering the loss of his mate and his only son. Now he has returned, and Kalnor is free."

Kiron paused, and looked out over the people. "As a Tark of Kalnor," he said finally, "I now request Atal Throom, Tark of Kalnor, to accept the Tarkanate!"

Atal Throom sat immobile as pandemonium swept the hall.

The people, drunk with their new freedom, and with their respect for these men who had rescued their city, cheered with tumultuous fervor. Again and again were the names of Atal Throom and Kiron shouted. It was more than obvious that the people applauded Kiron's request. Finally Atal Throom stood, and the hall quieted.

Tall he stood, his blond hair longish, his green eyes piercing as he appraised the audience.

"Until Kalnor is ready again for a council," he said "I shall be your Tarkan."

Again cheers rang out, but Atal raised one arm, and continued.

"I have fought long for this moment, as have you, citizens of Kalnor; as has Kiron-Pan-Cormoran. But today is not for such matters. Today is for gratitude."

He paused, and gestured to Kiron.

"All Kalnor knows this man. He has represented the finest this city offers, both in battle and in spirit. Without him I would not likely stand here. Kiron, at least as much as I, suffered at the hand of Malenot, and Kiron equally deserves the honor he has requested I take. Perhaps he thinks that the rigors of rule are better left to those not wise enough to avoid them."

Laughter rippled throughout the hall at this remark, and Kiron smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"Kiron shall be," continued Atal Throom, "First Tark of Kalnor, with the attendant duties and privileges of that office. This is my first edict as Tarkan, and I expect that it will be accepted." He turned to Kiron.

The Tark, trapped now, replied in the affirmative. "I would be honored, Tarkan, to assume whatever dreary duties that office entails."

Laughter again was heard from the crowd, and the Tarkan nodded, smiling. Then he turned to Foss.

"People of Kalnor, this is Foss-Pan-Velsor, Tarkan of Neros."

Foss nodded to the acclaim which followed, for he was a famous warrior in Kalnor, where he had competed against Kiron in the Tournament that famous day so long ago.

"Foss's city, like ours, has been recently liberated from the rule of a tyrant. Beset by his own problems, he nevertheless consented to aid me in this final quest. He came with his army, and with his friendship and guidance, and I now publicly acknowledge my, and thus Kalnor's, debt to him."

Foss stood, nodding to the citizens of this foreign city who shouted his name, smiling at his guard, who swelled with pride in their crisp green tunics.

"People of Kalnor," he said, "it has been my honor to aid such a man as Atal Throom in this matter, as it was in the past my honor to cross blades with the noble Kiron. For Neros I pledge alliance with your city, and hope that one day I may avenge the defeat I suffered in the Tournament, for Neros now will send many to compete, and her Tarkan is not yet too old to fight."

Kiron smiled, and nodded to the Tarkan of Neros in acceptance of the challenge, while the people cheered their names, remembering and again honoring their battle fought so long ago. Foss bowed once to the hall, and then sat.

Atal Throom rose to his feet. His eyes searched the hall for a moment, then he spoke.

"There is another, to whom Kalnor owes a debt. One whose bravery, honor, and prowess have become legend in two cities. You know of whom I speak. The warrior known as Tarak, who killed Gorkok in the arena."

At the mention of this name there was no cheering. A profound silence stilled the hall, as if each man was remembering again the fight in the arena, for many of those present had witnessed the event. They waited for their Tarkan to continue.

"I have not had the honor of meeting this man formally," the Tarkan continued, "though I am certain I passed him on the road once. From what Foss and Kiron have told me of this warrior, it could have been no other. Only such as he could have turned aside the army of Atal Throom."

He smiled at the memory.

"Kalnor knows of his service in the arena, and at the gates, upon his giant dyrrn. Without this man Malenot would likely stand here today."

Atal Throom paused.

"You should also know that the same man played a large role in the liberation of Neros, and the ascendancy of Foss to the Tarkanate of that city, and personally liberated Kiron from the dungeons of Neros. Although," Atal smiled, "apparently not without a struggle."

Kiron grinned, but said nothing.

"None has seen this man since the day we entered Kalnor," Atal said.

"I have offered rewards to anyone who might have information as to his location, but he has vanished, apparently with the beast that fought so terribly with him. I wish it to be known throughout the lands of Kalnor that should this Tarak come to me he may name his reward, and whatever the price, it will not begin to repay him for the service he had done our city."

"Some of you may know that the name `Tarak' is dear to me for another reason. Had my son lived, I can think of no greater honor to me than to think he would have grown into even a shadow of this man, and in honor of this stranger who came into our struggle so willingly, and left us in freedom, a statue will be erected in the arena, to honor for eternity it's greatest warrior."

The great hall was silent as the people assembled there heard the Tarkan's words, and nodded silently in acquiescence and agreement with his pronouncement.

"My greatest disappointment," Atal Throom continued, "is that I cannot personally thank this man. Perhaps some day I shall have that honor. I shall always remember him, for his service to Kalnor, a city which meant nothing to him."

Atal Throom, Tarkan of Kalnor, lowered his heard in tribute to the barbarian warrior, at the same time raising his arm high in salute, a gesture repeated by the throng assembled in the Hall, excepting none.

One figure, however, in the rear of the Hall, sat immobile. He watched the proceedings impassively, his head and much of his body covered by a colorful robe and hood, common to those Kalnorians attending ceremonial activities. He was a large man, his size apparent even under the concealing robe he wore, but crouched as he was unrecognizable to those more than a few yards distant.

His apparent lack of respect for this hero did not go unnoticed by those around him, and one man, particularly annoyed, churlishly chided the hooded figure, but the man appeared not to notice, and merely continued to watch, his face expressionless in the shadow of the hood, his green eyes calm and pensive.

"The fool has no decency," muttered one man nearby, and a half-smile flickered across the features of Tarak of Kalnor, as he listened to Atal Throom extol his virtues, and to those around him berate him for not taking part in his own adoration.

He had released the dyrrn some miles into the forest, and had made his way back into the city unnoticed, after the fall of the city. Stripping clothing from fallen warriors, he had gone unrecognized and unchallenged, and had since changed clothing once more, so as to attend this ceremony. He had known of the search for himself, but though he greatly desired to see his friends once again, he had possessed a greater desire for the freedom of anonymity, and had spent the better part of the past two days exploring the newly fascinating city of Kalnor.

A loner by nature, he had no desire to be praised, or to be held up to public view and acclaim, and he knew that if his identity should surface, he would be forced to endure considerable suffering as his well-intentioned friends sought to give to him his deserved honors and rewards, no matter how he might protest.

He did wish to meet the Tarkan, Atal Throom, for he had been greatly impressed with this man, as few men he had seen. To approach the Tarkan, however, would be tantamount to subjecting himself to a great deal of public misery, and in his wary nature he had ultimately decided to forgo the opportunity to meet with the Tarkan. Perhaps some day, he thought, I will talk with this man.

Atal Throom looked up, finally, and spoke again to the people.

"Kalnor shall be open again, to all cities, and to all men. Again champions shall come in force to the Tournament, and our commerce shall grow to its former greatness. All the Houses shall flourish. As your Tarkan, my people.....I welcome you back to Kalnor!"

The hall erupted in applause, cheering, and various salutes to the Tarkan, his guests, and the absent Champion. The Tarkan stood for a moment, then turned and left the throne, accompanied by Foss of Neros and the others who had stood by him in this hour. They walked through the Hall toward the main entrance, and the throng of people milled around, shouting and moving out into the streets, overflowing and infecting those outside with their exuberance. Among them walked a tall hooded figure, unnoticeable among so many. With the other he moved out into the streets, to disappear into the reaches of the city.