Three Left Elur

Robert A. Woodley

Horwag, warrior in the employ of Farnus Cervus, looked up from the gaming table at the man who had rushed into the tavern. Horwag's heavy features were stoic; an expression he wore commonly when gambling. His expression was often unreadable except when he was killing or torturing. His eyes, now expressing interest and curiosity, though glazed from wine, could burn with a lustful intensity when dealing death or pain to another.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched the warrior approach. He knew the man well; another of Farnus Cervus' men. Cervus was one of the most powerful and wealthy men in Costus, this diverse city situated on the shores of beautiful Kal, far east of Elur, City of Light.

Horwag frowned slightly, and the messenger stopped his advance, and waited expectantly. Horwag returned his attention to the game. Four others sat around the table; each holding cards which had number values on their hidden faces. Horwag looked at his own cards, his brown eyes flickering down briefly. He took some coins, and threw them into the pot. Then looked to his left.

Varnag, To-Rok of the City Guard, looked inquiringly at the bettor. "Are you bluffing, Horwag?". Varnag's eyes were hard, but they met an ever fiercer gaze.

"I bluff in cards as I bluff in battle," Horwag sneered. "My cards, or my sword, are equally ready to display their values."

Varnag's eyebrows rose. He was a powerful man in Costus, and few would speak thus to him. He looked at Horwag's challenging, insolent stare for a moment, the turned his attention to his own hand. He might call Horwag's cards, but not his lust for killing. The man was the assassin of Cervus. He was feared in all Costus for his killing skills and his lust for cruelty. He feared nothing; even his employer; but he was loyal, and thus a rich man himself, due to the generosity of Farnus Cervus. Merchant, slaver, shipper, warrior, and politician, Cervus had his hands in innumerable ventures, legal and illegal. His power and influence were immense; and his private army of assassins provided him with an additional resource which made him virtually unassailable in Costus.

Varnag routinely terrorized men and women by his very presence, and was a battle-hardened warrior; but he knew that if he took any action which aroused the killing lust of Horwag, the assassin would kill him without a thought; and could do it easily. This was the power of Farnus Cervus, and of Horwag, his assassin, within the port of Costus.

"Bet or Drop!" Horwag snarled. "I have business." He looked up at the messenger, then back at Varnag.

The To-rok hesitated; then threw his hand in. "Take it, then," he snarled.

Horwag chuckled, and looked at the other two players, both merchants. His eyes were ugly; challenging them to bet against him.

The two men each looked down; at each other, then both threw in their hands. They were not men to be hurried; and Horwag was not going to brook delay.

He laughed, as his left arm swept across the table to rake in the coins; his right bringing a mug of wine to his mouth. His eyes glistened with drunkenness and belligerence. "I'm in," He said, throwing a coin into the center of the table, and rising to meet with the messenger. He listened to the whispered message, nodded after a moment, and resumed his seat at the table; but kept his eyes on the door.

The messenger withdrew into the shadows, where he stood silently.

A few moments later the door swung open. Rain swept in with the wind as the three figures ran quickly in, shutting the door quickly behind them.

Only one was a man, and he was large. The men stopped the game to look up at the three travelers, as did the several other patrons of the warm tavern.

The figures turned towards the bar. Varnag could see the man's eyes sweep the room with one circular glance, missing nothing. His eyes caught the light from the huge fireplace, and seemed to reflect the firelight in shimmers of green. His nostrils quivered, as if tasting the air. He threw back the hood of his cloak, and shook his head, flinging drops from wet tawny locks. He turned to his companions, and smiled.

One of them, a beautiful girl, smiled back, and drew back the hood from her cloak as well. Her own blonde hair was wet, but Varnag could see it was as beautiful as the girl herself.

The third member was a small girl, who was removing her cloak. She wore a dirty dress, and carried a long stick. She looked around the tavern with wide eyes.

The Captain noticed the little girl's eyes rested upon the men playing cards for just an instant as they swept the room.

The tavern keeper cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the three newcomers. "If you've money, hang your cloaks on the pegs near the fire. If you've more money, sit and eat. If you've none, turn around and enjoy the night!" He was a large man, and his hands were on his hips as he spoke, his tone demanding.

The large man who had entered took off his cloak, then helped the girl with hers. The little girl took her own off, and they went towards the fire to hang them.

"I'll see your money, first!" barked the tavern keeper. He moved to intercept them, and for a moment he stood between the three and the warm wall near the fire. Then he looked up into the eyes of the man who had entered, and who was walking leisurely towards him, now only a few paces away.

The man, dressed in a stained, wet tunic, had a grim smile upon his lips. He said nothing; just moved forward, his eyes meeting those of the proprietor. Fires were dancing within those eyes. Eager fires, amused and strange, as if hungering for something. They held those of the tavern keeper as the distance between the two men closed. The man's lips parted slightly, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

The tavern keeper halted, and stepped quickly aside, then hurried behind the bar. Sweat beaded upon his skin. He had never seen eyes like that. They had frightened him somehow. He glanced over at Varnag, but the To-rok was smiling at the discomfiture of the innkeeper.

Horwag was staring at the woman, a drunken expression on his face. He had forgotten the game entirely, and was watching her as he drank from his mug.

The newcomers hung their robes, then moved to an empty table near the fire. The man looked up at the tavern keeper. "Bring wine, hot beef, and bread. Lots of it. And drink for the girl." His voice was deep and commanding. He spoke directly at the proprietor, and his tone was not friendly.

Tarak did not like the man, who was ready to turn away travelers on such a night if they were poor. He was cold, and tired, and wet, and he had been listening to Tavane's complaining for the past two hours, as if he could somehow alter the elements. His patience was short. He started to rise, and their reluctant host hurriedly began to fill mugs, and motioned for a serving girl to get food.

Within moments the three travelers were eating ravenously, laughing softly, talking, and drinking, as they soaked in the warmth of the fire's glow. They ignored the others, keeping their voices low, but after only a moment Horwag's bellowing, drunken voice boomed across the tavern.

"Hey!" he shouted, his eyes gleaming. "Come over here, girls!" He took another drink, laughing as the wine dribbled down his chin.

Varnag looked over at him, intending to calm him, but he changed his mind. Horwag was too drunk to reason with. His eyes were ugly as well as lustful. He would as soon kill as love this night. Varnag kept his silence, and turned to look at the three travelers, who had fallen silent.

The large man at the table looked up, turning his gaze upon the men gambling across the room. He was silent as he peered across the smoky, shadowed room, his features immobile as he watched.

His companions were silent, watching him and then turning their own attention to the men across the room. The young woman sat calmly, her blue-green eyes watchful. Her slender brows contracted slightly as she gazed across the room, and no nervousness was evident in her face.

Varnag was puzzled by her nonchalance and her attitude. This was a man's environment, and an often dangerous one. Women were appendages in the taverns of Costus. They accompanied men or served them, and kept their attitudes and mannerisms appropriately discrete. This woman's gaze was bold and disapproving. And fearless. Varnag chuckled. She acted like she was the daughter of a Tarkan, rather than a sleek young girl whose sole protector was vastly outnumbered in a strange tavern in a strange city.

The little girl was equally puzzling. She was smiling, apparently not troubled by this masculine, rough environment, nor the harsh, insulting words which Horwag had spoken. Her eyes were bright and fearless as she watched, and no trace of nervousness was evident in her small stature.

Three such as these should be hiding themselves against an inconspicuous wall, near a concealing pillar, or in a corner. Yet they sat near the warmth of the fire's blaze and boldly stared across a room full of dangerous men and uncaring women, as if their right to be where they were was not susceptible of challenge. Varnag was intrigued.

The tavern grew silent and Horwag wiped his mouth on his dirty sleeve. He too seemed to be nonplused by the unusual demeanor of the three travelers. He had provoked no reaction in them, other than to draw their silent attention. No words came from the three. No pleas, no information; nor did they try to ignore him, as he had anticipated. The insulting words he had intended to utter as they slunk into a stoic attempt to ignore him caught in his throat. Such words, which he so often used to embarrass and humiliate those who feared and futilely attempted to ignore him would sound foolish in the face of the direct gaze he now encountered.

He had made remarks which should have prompted some response, but the response they generated was one Horwag was unfamiliar with, and in his semi-stupor he did not know what to say, so he just looked at the three, and particularly at the face of the large man who was watching him with a gaze which seemed akin to that of a hunting carnivore. Something in that look made the assassin uncomfortable.

Varnag decided to speak up. This matter had somehow become somehow deadly, and he was To-rok of the guard, with peace to preserve. "Horwag!" he bellowed. "Leave them to their food, and show me some coins! You have too many of mine!"

The assassin's mouth moved, and he looked across at the To-rok, then back briefly at the three newcomers, who remained silently immobile. He seemed undecided, but then shook his head slightly, and growled. "I'll see you girls later!" he said loudly, taking a huge drink, and returning his attention to the game.

A few chuckles were heard from the expectant crowd, and heads turned to the three travelers, who simply watched Horwag until he became engrossed in the game, and then began talking among themselves, apparently dismissing the assassin from their thoughts without difficulty.

Tarak signaled to the proprietor, and when the man approached, he rose. "We have mounts tethered in the courtyard. Where can I have them stabled and fed?"

"What kind of mounts?"

"Drajen".

Varnag looked up in surprise, as did many others. Drajen were war creatures, bred for power and speed and fighting ability. It was almost unthinkable for three travelers, including a girl and a young woman, to be riding such fierce beasts. Even warriors found them difficult to control at times.

The tavern keeper stared for a moment. "I have a stable attached to the tavern, but it will not hold Drajen." He paused. "Go up the street, six buildings, and ask for Scoll. He keeps a secure stable there which will hold your mounts."

Tarak nodded. He had filled his belly and the fire had warmed his spirits and his body. His thoughts turned to the wind-swept, stormy courtyard where the three Drajen waited in the pouring rain. Though their steeds were rested, not having been ridden hard in the storm, and were accustomed to any weather, Tarak's feelings for beasts transcended those of most men, and he knew the Drajen would appreciate warmth and food in their own way. He reached for his cloak, and his eyes caught those of Tavane, who was looking up at him.

She smiled, and the firelight danced in her eyes with approval for his thoughtfulness. "They are wet and cold, Tarak, and do need fresh food."

He nodded, smiling down at her silently. He wondered how she had obtained the Drajen. She, a slave girl, had delivered the three magnificent beasts to them outside the walls of Elur several day ago, without explanation. Tarak had never ridden Drajen, but his experiences with them since had made him realize how prized such creatures must be. Their flight from Elur had been swift since that night, thanks to the Drajen, and he hoped Tavane's owner had long ago given up any thoughts of pursuit.

He smiled, watching her eyes. Not that it mattered. No man would again bend Tavane to his will.

"I shall return shortly," he said, and swept his cloak across his shoulders as he strode for the door. Tavane nodded, and Janyla looked briefly up from his plate of food.

The Chomirian was still famished and was pleased that it was Tarak, and not himself, who would care for the needs of the Drajen. Being a small girl had its advantages. He grinned. He was still enjoying the warmth of the fire, and had poured a bit of Tavane's wine into his own cup, to replace the insipid milk he had been served. His thoughts were upon far Chomir, as he sat in this seaport; and also on his own princess who waited so far across the sea.

Horvath had heard the exchange too, and signaled to a man standing nearby. After a few brief words, he returned to the game, but his glance returned frequently to the two girls by the fire, as two men donned cloaks and exited the tavern by the rear door only a moment after Tarak had exited the front.

The wind swept across his body as Tarak walked into the street, driving the rain deep into his clothes. He was drenched in seconds, but ignored the storm as he moved towards the patient Drajen, who were tethered several yards away. The warm fire waited, and soon he would be back within its friendly glow.

Approaching the animals, he made a purring sound, unlike anything which human lips might fashion. Raised with beasts, he had an instinctive understanding of them and their moods. Although his had been violent encounters, he had seen beasts exercise communications and posturing on countless occasions. He related to them naturally, and the Drajen seemed to sense that he was different than other masters they had carried. They were soothed by his sounds, and waited expectantly and without nervousness.

Drajen were temperamental, and hard to control, but the one he had chosen simply stiffened slightly as Tarak vaulted to its broad back.

He was in a hurry, and had decided to ride the beasts to the stable, though it was not far. He reached down and untethered the mounts, and wheeled his own, ignoring the others, who followed as he galloped up the street.

The mounts left two men in their heels who had run out from behind the tavern, swords in their hands. They looked up quickly, rain pelting their faces, and began to run after the departing figures.

Horwag threw in his hand, disgusted. He had lost three in a row, and his mood was ugly. Rising, he made his way to relieve himself in the small back room, shoving forward through the crowd with a scowl. None sought to impede his progress, and a path opened up as if by design in the teeming crowd.

Varnag watched the door to the room, and noticed as Horwag reappeared. His eyes moved immediately to the figures of the two girls near the fire, and instead of returning to the game, he moved arrogantly in their direction. His eyes glanced once toward the front door, but satisfied that no harm threatened, he smiled and approached the girls, who were talking quietly and laughing.

Tarak drew his Drajen to a halt before a structure which had a large door and a post outside. He shouted, and was rewarded to see a heavy-set man appear in the dark doorway.

"I have Drajen to stable." he said.

The man nodded, smiling as he appraised the war beasts in the pouring rain. "So you have. And fine beasts the are. Bring them in." He opened a door, swinging it back, and motioning with his arm.

Tarak smiled. This was a man after his own heart. No discussion of money, nor any hesitation; merely a desire to get the wet Drajen into a warm dry stable.

He rode his Drajen into the darkened interior of the stable, while the others followed, sensing shelter.

The stable was large and well-roofed, with a smell of straw and damp earth permeating. A lantern hung near the center, and several stalls held beasts within their enclosures. Blankets lay ready to wipe down the animals, and it was apparent that this man, Scoll, was one who appreciated and cared well for mounts.

Tarak leaped down, and reached for his pouch, but the man held up his hands.

"Pay when you take them away," he said, his eyes wandering over the Drajen. He bobbed his head in appreciation. "They are truly marvelous."

Tarak nodded. "Can you dry and feed them for me?"

Scoll nodded. "I have a boy who will dry, groom, and feed them." He approached the steeds, crooning his own welcome, and Tarak noted that the Drajen seemed immediately accepting of the stable master. This was a man who understood his charges and his work.

The rearmost Drajen started suddenly, snorting and looking back.

Immediately Tarak tensed, his own senses searching and locating the two men who had slipped into the barn, one to each side of the door. They carried naked swords.

Scoll watched them silently as they approached. He noted that the man who had ridden the Drajen seemed unaffected by their presence. He had tensed; and identified them; and now he waited.

One of the men spoke up. "These are stolen Drajen," he said. "They belong to Farnus Cervus."

Scoll chuckled. It was obvious that the Drajen belonged to the stranger. Drajen were not easily stolen, or ridden, yet they were as pets to the tawny-haired man.

"They are mine," Tarak said.

"Notify Farnus Cervus, Scoll," one of the men directed. "He will send a man to verify ownership." The man turned his attention to Tarak. "Come with us, vagabond. Tonight you will enjoy a cell. Tomorrow, you will leave Costus on foot, or you shall remain as a slave."

The men had often relieved travelers of mounts and other possessions. Few would challenge those employed by Farnus Cervus, and they moved forward confidently. Scoll would not interfere, or he would taste the justice of their employer.

Many such travelers had protested. Most had submitted. A few had put up a tentative resistance. Nearly all possessed the fool's notion that justice would prevail in a city the size of Costus. Many such were slaves now in the house of Farnus Cervus, or in his galleys.

Tarak had no such notions. He only knew that these men were liars and thieves and were threatening him and that which was his. His response to this situation was instinctive and wholly different from anything the men had ever encountered. He attacked the nearest man, his own blade flashing in the light as he leaped forward.

Scoll was later to shake his head as he recounted that night. He had never seen any man move so swiftly. Tarak attacked the first man with such speed and savagery that the man stumbled backward as he brought his sword up in an attempt to block a stroke he had never anticipated.

The man's sword was batted aside with such force that the his eyes widened in shock, and the following stroke sliced across his neck, nearly severing his head.

The other man had stopped, stunned by the attack upon his companion, and before he had regained his composure the tawny giant was leaping at him, a snarl upon his lips. The man attempted to fight, but his strength was no match for the whirling blow which sliced across, and he backed up in terror as his sword fell from a shattered sword arm. An instant later he toppled as Tarak's sword came sweeping back across his body.

It had taken only scant seconds, but two men lay dead in the flickering light of the barn. Two men had sought to bully a wild beast and had suffered the instantaneous fate which is so often visited upon the foolish in such matters.

Tarak sheathed his sword and turned again to Scoll. "The Drajen are mine."

Scoll nodded, smiling. "So they are." He had never seen such violence. Yet the man seemed in control again. He watched as Tarak picked up the men, one across each shoulder, and carried them out into the storm. A few minutes later he had returned.

"I shall be at the tavern down the street."

Scoll nodded, and watched as the giant turned and disappeared into the darkness of the stormy street. Then he called out once, summoning his boy, and reached for a dry blanket.

Tarak moved along the street through the storm, his thoughts hungering for the warmth of the fire and the warm hot juicy mean which awaited him. He had already dismissed the deaths of the two men from his mind. Raised in battle and death, he did not possess those values of civilization which troubled minds when it came to taking lives of other men. To him they were simply enemies to kill. He had gained an intellectual appreciation of how men viewed the rights of other men in his experiences in civilized lands, but he had also gained an appreciation of how corrupt men could be; how unfair in their treatment of other men; and he treated them as enemies to be killed when they sought to harm him.

He had faced two men, and two opponents with swords were always dangerous. In such circumstances it was wise to isolate them and kill them quickly, and he had done so. He had carried their bodies back behind a building and dumped them, so he would not have to bother with explanations as to such matters, and felt that Scoll would be content to forget the matter had ever happened.

Verify ownership. He snarled. His sword and his knowledge were his own verification of ownership.

As the rain pummeled him the image of Tavane intruded into his mind, and his rage evaporated as he smiled broadly into the teeth of the howling wind. What a girl she was! From the first moment he had seen her in the encampment of Ran Vargas he had sensed something different about her. He had known other girls, but he had never felt what he felt when he saw her. That night when he had freed the Tarab, and had kissed her, then been rebuffed by her, was frozen in his memory. He could taste her lips, her sweetness, and his body grew warm even in the chilling rain as he remembered.

"You are for me, Tarak of the Mountains," she had whispered, and time had seemed to suspend them in that instant as they had kissed.

Since then, she had been a good companion, and her enigmatic eyes had marked him with soft glances as they had traveled together, but they had never again kissed. He could not fathom her, or understand her. Nor could he seem to ignore her, and he often found himself watching her as they rode. It had been a good trip, except for the recent weather, and the three had grown close during the journey from Elur. He sensed that Tavane was similarly attracted to him, but unlike other girls he had known, she remained aloof, as if worrying over some problem. He knew that she was concerned about her brother, and about her own escape.

He shrugged. She was her own girl, and the world was full of girls. Still, there was something about her. Her eyes had been so beautiful as she had looked up and thanked him for caring for the Drajen.

As he remembered her eyes he remembered the tavern and the men across the room, and the sudden appearance of the two men at the stable. His smile disappeared, and he broke into a trot as he approached the tavern. Then he heard his name, uttered with a piercing cry.

"Tarak!"

His body reacted like a whip. Adrenalin pumped into his limbs and his thoughts vanished into the depths of a beast which has heard a cry for help from one of its own. Tavane. His Tavane, was in danger. A snarl escaped his lips as he swept toward the tavern. His body was suffused with savage aggression and killing lust as instantaneously as he had ever experienced, and growls bubbled from his throat as he leaped toward the door.

Horwag was still several feet distant from the table when the girls stopped talking and turned to look up at him. He swaggered forward, his temperament ugly. He had hoped to sneak up and surprise them, but it was apparent that they had been cognizant of his approach, and he felt foolish.

"So!" he said, moving to their table. "I have come to visit you girls!"

Tavane looked up at the bearded giant. "Visit elsewhere," she said. Her voice was commanding, fearless.

Several patrons had been watching, and laughter and surprise were heard from the onlookers as she made these remarks to the assassin of Farnus Cervus.

He looked down at her, his mood darkening even further. No one spoke thus to Horwag. Certainly no girl. Yet she sat there and looked up at him, her eyes clear and unafraid, as if she had an army with her instead of a small girl.

Horwag looked at the little girl. She too was watching him. No longer smiling, the little girl was however not displaying any sense of terror. She looked up at him with fierce blue eyes which appraised him the way Horwag had seen warriors appraise him before a battle. He snarled at the girl, to frighten her, and she laughed.

Others laughed too, and Horwag could sense they were laughing at him. He turned around and swept the room, but faces turned away as his eyes moved across the room.

He turned his attention back to Tavane. "I shall visit with you, wench!" he said. "And you shall belong to Horwag!" He turned briefly to the little girl. "Leave us, little girl!"

The girl just looked back at him, and Horwag lifted a hand as if to strike down at her. He anticipated the girl's mother would intervene, but neither of them moved. They just looked at him.

"I will strike her!" He warned, turning threateningly to Tavane.

Tavane shrugged, her eyes never leaving Horwag's face. She had seen the speed of the Chomirian. If this man was one who struck young girls, she thought he would be surprised if he attempted to strike this one.

Horwag was stunned by her indifference, and the child's. He turned his attention back to Tavane. "You are alone here, girl. Your man will not return to protect you!"

She laughed in his face. "You do not know him."

Her response was instinctive, and her laughter genuine. In the short time she had known Tarak she had come to believe anything was possible to her barbarian. She had never imagined such a man could exist. In spite of her disgust with Horwag, she thrilled as she thought of him as "her barbarian". For he was. She could sense that they were somehow bound together. She resisted it and he resisted it but she was beginning to feel herself swept away emotionally into something which she had never anticipated. She had wanted adventure and she was starting to feel like she was losing control entirely. Her body needed no fire for warmth as she thought of him. Waves of pleasure washed over her as his image appeared in her mind.

She was smiling as she looked into the intoxicated eyes of the assassin. Tavane had never known fear, and men trembled before her. Only Karchach, the crippling man, had ever dared to touch her, and he had not know who she was. Tarak had killed him afterwards, and although it had been a shock to her to be so violently handled, her lifetime's experience did not render her easily frightened. She had an indomitable will and the blood of her heroic father and brothers flowed in her veins. She glared back at the assassin.

"Leave us, you fool!" she spat. "Your filthy presence offends this table.!" Her eyes were cold now, blue-green orbs of courage and fire and power. Her voice was low and commanding and fierce.

Jenyla watched her in amazement. He had known Tavane for many days, and had tasted her through one passionate kiss in Elur. He smiled at her. Whatever game she played, she was no slave girl. He had known it then, and he had sensed it in their journey, watching her spar with the huge barbarian. Neither sensed in the other qualities which Jenyla sensed in both. But her demeanor this night erased all doubt as to her qualities. Janyla's own pride swelled at Tavane. What companions he had found!

Now he watched the drunken man, whose jaw had dropped open in astonishment at the rebuke. This was a dangerous man, and Janyla tensed. He had no desire to expose his heritage as a Chomirian. These men would seek to enslave him. He smiled as he watched this encounter, though, for no man would harm Tavane while he, Panthar of the Chomir, yet drew breath into his lungs. His hand brushed his katana and his eyes shone at Tavane's impudent courage and grace. She had not been harmed yet.

Horwag glared in shock at the girl's words. He snarled, but her own eyes grew hard and unyielding. He could sense the crowd watching. Some of them had heard her remarks. They would laugh.

His temper blown, he grabbed violently and seized Tavane by her arm, drawing her close, and reaching for her with his other arm.

She hissed and reached for her knife, but Horwag saw the movement and his free arm slashed across her shoulder, crushing down. The knife dropped from nerveless fingers and her eyes grew wide in pain and anger.

"Tarak!" she howled, as her arm went limp and Horwag grinned with bestial pleasure, drawing her closer. Her cry filled the room. "Tarak!"

Janyla's hands moved suddenly, but stopped as the door crashed open. He turned and saw a green-clad figure bound into the room in a crouch, his eyes instantly sweeping the room and focusing upon the assassin and the girl. The man's cloak swirled though the air as landed, freeing his arms.

"Tavane!" he snarled as he stopped for an instant. "Tavane!" he screamed as he charged the frozen figures locked in astonishment by the fire.

So quickly did he move that Horwag had no chance to release the girl before the barbarian crashed into him. The impact flung his hands free and Tavane staggered aside, her eyes wide as she watched.

Varnag sat in disbelief, astounded by the action. He had never seen a man attack like a wild beast. He had always seen men fight in sequences, feeling each other out, moving only quickly enough to maintain balance. His skin crawled as he listened to the bestial snarls which erupted from the strange warrior.

Tarak needed no such methods. Long ago he had learned that speed and aggression were paramount in fighting and surviving. Even the carnivores were put off-balance by a savage attack. Their timing was unbalanced by such methods, and speed could mean the difference between life and death. His own balance was never flawed. Every muscle was in control as he attacked. Every sense alert to kill or move away from a savage blow. Numerous times he had avoided the slashing claws of a powerful limb which would have killed him as he had attacked a carnivore. Many times he had slammed into such creatures with all his speed and weight and power, stunning them and seeking a death hold simultaneously. He fought as no other man had ever dreamed of fighting; as no other man could possibly fight.

Even as he slammed into the assassin his arms were moving. The man was so slow. Tarak threw the assassin's arms wide as the two figures crashed backwards and dealt him a two-handed backhand blow across the face as they hurtled across the room. He heard the cracking of bones and watched as the man slammed back into the wall, blood flowing from his mouth to mingle with teeth and bone on the floor. Tarak dismissed him and leaped back, his eyes darting for other enemies. He was growling savagely, and saliva was dripping from his lips as he backed towards the fire. He could sense and smell Tavane, and as he reached her he instinctively grabbed her with his huge right arm, and held her close.

"She is mine!" he roared to the world.

His scream echoed through the deathlike silence of the tavern as those within stared open-mouthed at this primal male who has taken his mate and would defend her against all odds. His growls reverberated in the silence. People stopped breathing and held mugs still half-way to their faces. The instant mood in the crowded, smoky environs of the tavern was that of naked fear. Fear for a wild beast which has invaded the sanctity of their world with unreasoning savagery. Those nearest began to slowly back away from the barbarian and the girl.

Varnag sat stunned by the events. He glanced over at the still figure of Horwag, his jaw shattered and blood running out of his ears. The feared assassin of Farnus Cervus was still alive, but perhaps barely, and obviously at the sufferance of this barbaric giant, who seemed to have forgotten the drunken body. Horwag, the bully who routinely intimidated anyone who might enter this tavern, or another. Horwag, who was known for his strength and fighting skills. Varnag shook his head slightly and took a deep breath. He had never seen anything so fast or so violent. Who were these three?

He watched as the breathing began to slow in the man. The girl lay in the cradle of his right arm, looking up at his profile as her breasts rose and fell with her breathing.

He held her effortlessly, and when he had swept the room with his blazing eyes he turned briefly to look down at her.

She was watching him as he turned, and met his savage gaze with her own depth less eyes. She had been outraged and hurt by the brute who had attacked her, and instinctively, instantly she had called for her Tarak. And he had come. So quickly and so savagely. She saw again his image inside the door, his eyes locked upon her, as he had screamed, "Tavane!". Her pain had vanished in that moment as her eyes shone upon her warrior, and fierce triumph had welled up within her as she knew what would happen, what then did happen, as her Tarak took his vengeance upon one who would harm her. Her pride in him was matched only by her satisfaction as he crushed the fool who had dared to harm her. Now she felt the power in his arm; power which could kill so easily yet hold so gently. She felt the hardness of his chest as his muscles stood taut upon his powerful frame. She smelled the warmth of his breath and beneath it his own wet male scent.

Her body was diffused with warmth and satisfaction and pleasure. She looked out upon the tavern patrons with indifference and looked up into the eyes of this strange combination of beast and man who had come into her life and who she realized; who she had realized that night in the pavilion of Ran Vargas; was for her and her alone. Her right arm was still numb, but she grabbed his tunic with her left hand and lifted herself to his face, and kissed him fiercely as his growls subsided into a soft rumbling purr.

"I love you, Tarak!" she whispered, as their lips parted. He was smiling, and her voice grew fierce. "You are for me, my barbarian! You are mine!"

He looked down at her, wonderingly, and his eyes clouded. "And you are mine, Tavane!" Then he kissed her savagely, oblivious to the tavern and the city and the world except as it existed within the passionate kiss of the girl he loved.

Soft laughter was heard within the tavern at this display, and cheers from feminine voices erupted in several places. The fear of a moment before dissipated before this new and timeless human action, and patrons smiled at each other, men and women flirting anew as their own emotions were moved by those of the travelers.

Janyla watched with a wide smile upon his small face. He had watched their love bloom for several days, and wasn't surprised at its emergence. He watched them kiss, and saw the raw power of the man; and the slender femininity of the woman. Yet he had seen her eyes as she had faced the warrior, too; and he knew that her own will was a match for that of the man who held her. He suspected Tarak was entering a battle which he might not win so easily, and his blue eyes shone with fondness as he watched his friends embrace, and thought fleetingly and longingly of his own beloved Janella, the most beautiful of all Chomirian princesses. So long since he had kissed her. So long since he had felt the lash of her fiery tongue!

He glanced around the tavern, alert for any hint of danger, but none threatened. The men at the gaming table sat silently, watching as all were watching the two lovers embrace silently. A few others, however, had expressions on their faces which differed from the rest. At the mention of the name "Tarak" two men had tensed and come to their feet, and were watching the blond giant with interest. At the mention of "Tavane" another man had started in surprise, and now stared at the girl.

This last man was now moving slowly toward the door, and Janyla watched him as he opened the door and disappeared into the storm. The other men had resumed their seats, their faces shadowed by their cloaks, and they were talking quietly, once more relaxed. Janyla dismissed them from his thoughts, and sat back, reaching for his cup of wine.

Varnag was as startled as the others by the change in the strange man's demeanor, but he wasn't moved by the passion. He cared nothing for such matters. Women were to be used, as all things were to be used, and words of love and promise simply tools for a man to utilize. He was amazed at the instantaneous changes which seemed to appear in the barbarian. The man truly reminded Varnag of a beast. He wondered as he watched the two disengage and resume their seats at the table, and smile at the young girl who was laughing at them.

The To-rok sat silently. The fight had been so quick and so unexpected that he was at a loss as to what, if anything, he should do. Horwag had initiated the encounter, and the tavern was full of witnesses, many of whom were smiling as they looked at the sprawled figure of the assassin of Farnus Cervus laying on the floor, blood running from his shattered mouth and nose. Few of them had not felt humiliated, or worse, because of the brutal temper and manner of Horwag, and soft laughter accompanied the smiles of many patrons as they looked at the unconscious assassin, then to the group of three who sat by the fire, the incident apparently forgotten by them.

He looked around at those watching him, his own eyes challenging, and each man lowered his own eyes from the force of Varnag's stare. He looked once again down at the body of Horwag. His drunkenness and injuries would keep him out for hours, and Varnag cared nothing for the assassin's wounds.

The messenger who had spoken to Horwag moved slightly. His hand had closed upon his sword hilt, but only briefly, and with one last look at the assassin he moved quickly to the door and vanished into the stormy night.

As To-rok of the City Guard, Varnag had the authority and duty to investigate such matters, and to keep some semblance of order within Costus. He himself had witnessed this matter, however. There was nothing to investigate, except perhaps to verify the identities of the three travelers, and such matters were not for the To-rok of the City Guard. Moreover, he was somehow reluctant to make personal demands upon that strange man who had accomplished in a few seconds what Varnag would not have believed possible. He thought for a moment, then signaled to one of his men.

The man approached, and after a whispered conversation, left the table and moved across the tavern towards the three.

As he approached their table he cleared his throat, and walked without silence, to insure he was not perceived as a threat. His hands were free of weapons, and he noticed that the three companions were watching him as he approached. He stopped a few feet from the table, and stood silently.

They looked up at him silently. At this distance the beauty of the girl was devastating, even with her damp hair and clothing. She looked up at him with appraising blue-green eyes, unafraid eyes which seemed deathless in their beauty.

He looked at the little girl. She seemed somehow strange, a girl's face but different, with blue eyes which seemed to have lost any trace of childish innocense as she looked boldly back in silent watchful inquiry.

Finally he turned his attention, somewhat reluctantly, to the tawny-haired giant who sat casually at the table, a joint of juicy beef in his fist. He looked at the man's face and saw a strange combination of indifference and suppressed aggression in the man's expression. Wide clear eyes caught the firelight and seemed to dance with flames of green as the man looked up at the guard. Those eyes missed nothing, but were not unfriendly as they made their own appraisal of this new presence at their table. None of them spoke. They merely watched him as he stood there.

"I am Hojan," the guard stated. " So-Rok of the Guard of Costus". He waited for a few seconds, then continued. "For a report which must be filed in connection with the, er, fight which just occurred, I must ask you to state your names and whence you came." His tone was much less demanding than any he had used on any previous inquiry from such a small group. As was his superior, Hojan was still shocked by the violence and savagery which had erupted from this strange blond giant. He waited, his expression one of mild curiosity.

Tarak looked up at the man silently. He was still irritated by such intrusions. He had found the lands of men more than a year ago, and since then had witnessed such brutality and meanness as he would not have believed from his conversations with his dear Amena, the slave girl who had kept him alive and sane as he had matured.

He had made cherished friends among civilized men, but too often he had seen such cruel men as the man who had taunted them. Too often he compared actions of such men with those of the beasts he had fought against his entire life, and found the beasts suffered nothing by comparison. He had been wet and cold and hungry and tired, and had been angered by the tavern keeper. Then he had seen the brute who had touched Tavane. Who had caused her to cry out in pain. He growled as he looked briefly down at the broken assassin. Had he not instinctively left the man to search for other enemies, he would have killed the man. Tavane had cooled his rage, so the man would live.

That the man might have companions with him never entered Tarak's mind. His was the confidence of a lifetime of battling for his very life. Men were easy to kill, and he would kill them if it was necessary. He would kill any who threatened him, or Tavane, or Janyla.

Now he looked up at this new irritation.

Before he could respond he heard Tavane's voice.

"We have traveled from Elur," she said, her voice tired. "I am called Tavane. My husband's name is Tarak, and this is our daughter, Janyla". She gestured towards the small girl as she spoke.

Tarak looked at her, amusement in his eyes now, and Janyla smiled at him across the table. He turned back to the officer, and nodded.

Hojan inspected the woman. He had never seen such a beautiful girl, and suspected that the messenger had seen her beauty earlier, and had entered the tavern to notify Horwag of her presence. The House of Farnus Cervus was always alert for new slaves.

Hojan returned his attention to the man. His confidence had increased somewhat, as the tension of the fight receded, and the group appeared cooperative. Perhaps they did understand authority. His eyes scanned the tattered tunic of the tawny-haired giant. "You wear Nerosian garb, yet are from Elur?"

"I am from the mountains," replied Tarak. Then he returned his attention to his food, and ignored the So-rok.

The guard started to speak, but suddenly thought the better of it. He looked again at the woman, who was watching her husband, and then at the little girl, who looked back at him with intense blue eyes. Something about her wasn't right. The man hesitated, then nodded and returned to his To-rok.

"The man is called Tarak, and the woman Tavane," he reported. "They claim to have traveled from Elur." He shrugged, hoping this would satisfy his commander.

Varnag looked up at the So-rok. He smiled at the man's discomfiture. "Is the man from Elur, or truly a Rok of Neros?"

The man shrugged. "He says he is from the mountains, To-rok".

The To-rok frowned. The mountains? Men did not inhabit the mountains. He noticed his So-rok was embarrassed at this reply, since it was evident he had been reluctant to question the stranger further as to this statement. His attention was distracted momentarily as one of the cloaked men who had been sitting near the three newcomers rose and left the tavern, and now wondered what had been said that might have fostered such interest in yet another patron. Three had left since the fight..

Varnag's interest was aroused. He nodded to his So-rok, dismissing the man, who gratefully moved away to sit with other guardsmen. The To-rok returned to the game, but his eyes kept shifting to the three strangers who still ate and conversed quietly near the fire. He was tempted to investigate, but he was a cautious man, and when such men can't make up their minds, they tend to do nothing, so Varnag returned his attention to the game.

Tavane raised a slim eyebrow as she frowned at Tarak, who was contentedly gnawing the meat from a large bone. "That was horrible!" she whispered. "We don't know any of these people! Are you trying to get us killed?" Her voice was sharp, but her eyes shone with pleasure.

Tarak licked his fingers and wiped them on a scrap of cloth. He looked over at her as he drank from his flagon of wine, and then wiped his mouth in satisfaction. "For you, Tavane, I would surely risk anything."

She laughed and squeezed his leg in delight.

Tarak laughed gently, his eyes dancing with amusement. He was drying out, and his vast appetite had been satisfied by the huge plates of food the serving girl had set before them. He was still a bit shocked by his avowal of love for Tavane, and hers. It made him nervous, a tenseness he had never known, but it also gave him a vast sense of pleasure. He had never felt anything like this..

They were all warm and comfortable now, and their spirits raised from the soggy depths which the weather and their travels had engendered within all of them. Tavane closed her eyes and stretched her body languidly as the fire's heat spread within her, and the wine mellowed her feelings. "We must get a room here," she said. "I can't bear to go back out into that storm."

Tarak nodded, and signaled for the tavern keeper. His manner was friendly, and he reached into his tunic and brought out several coins as the man cautiously approached.

The sight of the money brought a quick smile to the innkeeper's face, and his manner changed instantly to one of a gracious host.

"We'd like a room," Tarak said. One with a stout door." he held out the coins, and watched as the tavern keeper counted out several.

"Take room number twelve, on the second floor," the man said. "It has a locking bar on the inside."

Tarak nodded. "For now, we'll have another plate of meat and bread, and more wine. Have hot water taken to the rooms in an hour."

The innkeeper signaled to a serving girl, and retreated behind the bar, his hands clutching his payment, grateful that he had been paid without requesting it.

The travelers talked quietly near the fire for another hour, and then made their way up the stairs. Their slow movements were indicative of the food, wine, and fatigue which had been companion to the three.

Varnag watched them as they ascended the stairs. Horwag was still unconscious, blood and spittle drooling from his mouth as his head hung slack against the wall. None of the three looked back as they went up the stairs, apparently indifferent to whatever those other occupants of the tavern thought.

The To-rok doubted if the house of Farnus Cervus would look so indifferently upon an altercation which resulted in the humiliation of its prized champion, and Horwag, if and when he awoke, would be out for blood. Varnag shrugged slightly. Power and politics would once again result in spilled blood in squalid Costus. It had always been thus. He smiled, for he was a cruel man, and would profit somehow by the misfortunes of these people. He always did.

Tarak followed his companions into the small upstairs room, closing and bolting the door behind them. The room was clean, though dark, and the sole window was covered by a heavy shutter. Tarak unlatched the shutter, and peered out into the night. The window was too high to reach from the ground, and no trees grew close, so he left it open for the moment. The wind carried the storm away from the window, and the fresh air smelled sweet when compared with the stuffy staleness of the room.

He heard Tavane fussing with a lantern, and as the light grew behind him he closed the heavy shutter once more. He did not like to be silhouetted against the light.

He turned and met the eyes of the girl. Her own were wide and warm, watching him as a Tarab watches its prey. Her mouth was open, her lips parted. Her breathing was audible as she looked at him, and he felt strange with desire and love and yet adrenalin, as if he were facing a formidable foe.

A soft chuckle broke the spell of the moment, and he looked down to see Janyla laughing as he watched the two lovers. "Perhaps I should obtain another room," the Chomirian said.

Tarak smiled, and Tavane blinked and then laughed. "Oh Janyla! I had forgotten you!"

"That was apparent to me, Tavane," the small man agreed, still chuckling. He turned to Tarak. "I'll take the bed near the door."

Two beds occupied the room. One near the door, and one adjacent to the window. They were crude, but seemed clean enough.

Tarak looked down. It would be more comfortable for his smaller companions to share one of the beds, but his senses were filled with the smell of Tavane, and he longed to hold her. He nodded, his eyes shifting to the girl.

Tavane was smiling. "We will fit, dear Tarak."

The three then stored their possessions, and doused the lantern. Janyla and Tavane lay down on the two beds, while Tarak re-opened the window. He loved the wet fresh smell of the storm, and he marveled at the powers of nature unleashed. Kept deep in the bowels of a mountain fortress for most of his life, he had never seen a storm until he had escaped as a grown young man. Each time he experienced such wonders he could not help but marvel at its wonder, so now he stood at the window and watched the fury of the storm batter the surrounding buildings.

The hot water arrived, with a tub. Janyla joined Tarak at the window while Tavane cleaned herself with sounds of feminine approval and pleasure. She chided them and warned them not to turn, laughing softly at the two contrasting figures whose backs she studied. One small and slender; the other huge and broad. Her body was warm with delight and affection for these warriors; and much more.

The were in outer Costus. No walls protected the outer city, though many houses had enclaves which were walled and defensible. Inner Costus was North of them, and protected by high walls, and a guarded gate. Both Inner and Outer Costus joined the sea, but Inner Costus was protected from sea-borne dangers by walls which extended out into beautiful Kal, and sea-chains lay across the channels, ready to be raised if necessary. Outer Costus, forming a semi-circle to the north, west, and south of Inner Costus, carried on the vast majority of the city's trade. Inner Costus was the seat of power. The palace of the Tarkan was there, and the wealth and homes of the Tarks.

At her invitation the men turned back into the room. Tavane lay within the blankets and smiled at them. Janyla bathed next, smiling as Tavane turned her head to the wall, and afterwards Tarak scrubbed his powerful body, then his tunic. Once he turned swiftly and caught Tavane staring. Her faced flushed, and disappeared into the blankets. He grinned at the sight. Afterwards he hung his tunic near the window, next to the dresses of his companions. He smiled again as he turned to the bed, and quietly he raised the blankets and slipped into the bed next to the warm, soft body of his Tavane. His breath quickened as his heart pounded. His senses pricked and pleasure suffused his body as he drank in the fragrance of the girl. He doused the light, and turning towards her he felt her lips rise to meet his own.

Tarak came awake with the smells of early morning. Opening the shutters he looked out upon the freshness of a new day. The sun cast sleepy shadows within the city. The calls of birds carried in the still morning air. He breathed deeply as he looked out upon the city. His eyes drifted to the sleeping figure of Tavane. Her blonde hair was strewn across her body as she lay blissfully upon the bed. He smiled as he watched her. Such a girl he had found!

As if his gaze were tangible, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. She smiled, her own perfect teeth revealed as she raised her head. "I am lonely," she said, reaching one slender arm to him, beckoning him back to the warmth of their bed.

His eyes devoured her. Her smell permeated the room; his own body was covered with her fragrance. His nostrils quivered as he smelled her fresh feminine scent. The smell and sight of her aroused him, but he knew he would never truly know this girl, in all the ways a man may know a woman, until she had become his mate. She was different than any girl he had met. She loved him; he could sense her love; see it in every movement and gesture; but her eyes were proud and fierce. Her gaze told him more clearly than any words could do that she would have him in her own way, her own time; and until that day she would keep from him that which he so fervently desired. His smile broadened. So be it. He was young, but in Tavane he had found something he had never imagined. He shook his head slightly, acknowledging his own impending defeat at her hands.

"Come to bed, Tarak," she ordered. Her eyes were commanding, and full of desire.

"Get up, Tavane," he responded. "Morning is here and we must see to our passage."

She frowned for an instant, then shrugged and threw back the blanket.

Across the room, Janyla watched them, his blue eyes awake and shining. His thoughts drifted to his own land, and to Janella, his princess. She was so like Tavane, though but half her size. He sat up and reached for his dress, smiling as he thought that he would soon be able to discard the garment. Once on a ship he would cast off this role. He flexed his arms, enjoying the growing sense of power he felt as his maleness continued to reassert itself. The drugs Gonor had used to keep him feminine were rapidly disappearing from his body, and surface fat was being replaced with hard lean lines of muscle.

He was happy. So much had changed since Tarak had freed him from the Elurian slaver. His long period of captivity was a fading memory. He had achieved his revenge on the slaver, and he would have it upon those who had first enslaved him. Those were across the sea, and he would find them. They would know the savage justice which Panthar, Prince of the Tarab Clan of the Chomir, would mete out to those who had wronged him and his family.

His own quest was now that of his companions, for chance had decided, by the shining blade of a spinning knife, that the three would travel across the Sea of Kal to his own land. He would tell them of Chomir when they were on board a tall ship, far from these dangerous shores where men were so quick to brutalize and enslave those of his race. The Chomir were loathe to discuss their customs and their land, and Panthar was quiet even for a Chomirian. He had no reluctance to confide in his companions, for he had never met better, but he would wait.

His two comrades were equally full of secrets unshared. The girl was full of nonsense, and her story ludicrous. Yet she was as beautiful as any girl Panthar had seen, and as brave and honorable as any warrior.

The barbarian was as reticent to discuss his own past as were Tavane and himself, but his actions had already spoken volumes for his character, and his prowess was beyond belief.

He longed to hear their own stories, as he would tell them his.

As he stood up Tavane smiled at him. "Good morning, Janyla!" she greeted.

"And to you, Tavane," he smiled back.

Tarak turned from the window, and they discussed their plans. Janyla indicated that ships docked every day from such ports, and that they would be able to find one without much trouble. Their lodging was near the outer portion of Costus, near the forest, so it would be necessary for them to walk through the outer city to the dock areas.

The others nodded, and they dressed and descended the stairs to the tavern's main room. The proprietor noticed them immediately, and as they sat at a table a serving girl approached them with cups of hot drinks and juices. The three ordered eggs and toasted bread and beef, and after the girl had gone they sat and sipped their drinks in silence.

Only a few patrons were present in the Tavern, and although glances were often directed towards the strangers, none approached them while they sat and enjoyed their breakfast.

Tarak signaled the owner, and looked up inquiringly as the man approached.

"What do you know of ships which may be docked?" he asked. "We are seeking passage across Kal, for ourselves and our Drajen." The three had decided to take their fierce mounts with them, if possible. Janyla had indicated that their journey would be made much faster and easier with such beasts, once they had landed across the sea.

The proprietor raised his eyebrows. "The docks of Farnus Cervus are the largest, and several ships lie at anchor there." He frowned. "The man whose body you left half-dead last night is high in the employ of Cervus, however." He looked down into the clear green eyes of his guest. He wondered why he was giving such information to this strange man. It wasn't fear, though this man inspired such feelings. Perhaps it was the way the man had destroyed the hated, swaggering assassin. Perhaps it was the way he had grabbed the girl and challenged the world for her possession. He only knew that he did not want to lie to this man. He looked around and lowered his voice "I would recommend checking with the docks of Jad Hasta", he finished. "His ships travel across Kal, and he is an honest man."

Tarak nodded, his eyes thanking the man, and he reached into his pouch and pulled out a small gem, which he placed on the table. He noted the hungry eyes of the tavern keeper. "We will be back after we have arranged passage. Perhaps you would see that the man who keeps our Drajen is paid from this. You may keep the rest."

The man smiled and nodded. Then he picked up the gem and retreated to the kitchen.

The three finished and left the tavern, turning their steps toward the smell of the sea. They walked for an hour, enjoying the morning sights of the colorful seaport. The smell of salt and fish permeated the air, and peoples of all cities hawked goods and wares in the still-muddy streets of Costus. None of them noticed the slight figures who followed them, two swarthy men who kept pace with the three travelers, but far enough behind so as to avoid notice in the crowded streets.

The first enclave they came to was the vast sprawling dock area of Farnus Cervus. House servants hustled quickly along on the business of their master. Warriors strode boldly along the walkways and paths between large tents, each filled with goods to be shipped or newly received. A warrior hailed them as they walked by.

"If you're looking for a ship, look no farther!" The man shook his head. "The shippers further down are fools and cheats."

Tarak looked at the man. "We seek the compound of Jad Hasta."

The man scowled, and spat. "Jad Hasta is the worst of them."

Tavane's eyes flickered with amusement. "Nevertheless, we prefer his services to anything you might offer."

Tarak looked down at her. Here they were, friendless and alone in the midst of docks and warriors of a powerful merchant Tark, and his Tavane was mocking the services of its owner. He noted the boldness in her eyes, and smiled as he turned back to the man. "Where can we find Jad Hasta?" His own manner was bold now.

The man scowled at the girl's words, but the deep demanding tones of the strange man caused him to tense. He looked intently at the man, who was standing casually next to the young woman. A small girl peered up at him from near the woman. The guard looked both ways, his eyes scanning the area, but these three appeared to be alone. He began an arrogant retort, but changed his mind. For some reason he felt uncomfortable. "Hasta's down the road." He jerked his thumb to indicate direction, then backed up a step.

Tarak nodded, and turned down the road. Tavane followed, her own eyes sweeping back over the guard of Farnus Cervus with an imperial glance.

Jad Hasta's compound was the next they encountered. Not as large as that of Farnus Cervus, but still quite large. Tarak noticed that numerous ships lined the huge docks which extended out into the bay. Hasta's docks were not so numerous as his competitor, but more ships lined those which existed here.

By law in Costus, as in most cities, the city's authority ended at the final twenty feet of dock which led to a vessel. Each ship at the foreign docks was as sovereign as if it were at sea; as safe from attack as if it were docked in their home port. Each ship was an embassy for its city or place of origin or owner.

Or for itself. The Tarkan of Costus sanctioned the allocation of foreign dock space for relatively permanent mooring. Very rich men, and sometimes women, bought huge vessels to dock in such places, vessels which never left the docks, and which were virtual sovereigns, where those who owned them ruled as dictators, immune from any laws so long as what occurred was beyond the last twenty feet of dock or on the ship.

The city guard of Costus in fact defended the sovereignty of the ships, from attack by other ships or from land assault, so long as they remained within the Bay of Costus. Men who were Captains or owners of such ships were as powerful as Tarkans within them. It was a system which had evolved over countless generations of merchants and shippers, and worked profitably for all concerned.

Virtually every type of vice occurred on such ships, and many a person had awakened from a drugged sleep to find himself or herself chained on some Captain's vessel, there to labor as a slave for the rest of his or her life on the ship, or to be perhaps transported across the sea and sold. Slave gangs were always watchful, and knew many ways to elude the city guard, one of whose tasks was to prevent kidnaped citizens from being taken out onto the docks.

Fleet owners such as Farnus Cervus leased space aboard ships to others at high prices; luxurious apartments where a person could keep a slave confined and totally away from the owner's city life. One of Cervus's clients was a noblewoman whose husband had breached her trust and had attempted to leave her for a younger woman. The husband, drugged, had awakened within her private rooms on a Cervus ship. At her request Cervus had emasculated the husband, who since that day had served as her slave boy while she entertained young lovers on the ship. Another wealthy citizen had located and captured the man who had raped his daughter. Now the rapist, chained and similarly devoid of his manhood, was raped by another slave on frequent occasions while the man and his daughter drank wine and watched in their own leased shipboard apartments. Many were such arrangements for those who could afford to purchase their own brand of justice, however unjust it might be.

Tarak was unaware of such matters, nor would he have been concerned had he known. Nothing men did surprised him much. He would deal with those who would stand in his way.

Tavane had heard many tales of Costus, and she was alive with interest as she viewed the scores of vessels, large and small, which lined the huge system of docks and wharves.

Janyla had arrived and lived on one of the ships until he had been sold and transferred to Elur. He had learned of the ships during his captivity. He too scanned the ships with interest, noting the flags and types of vessels. His eyes widened momentarily as he caught sight of one sleek vessel, then they passed on to note the others.

A weatherbeaten sign informed them they were entering the compound of Jad Hasta, and soon thereafter they came to a connected series of wooden buildings, situated near the center of the docks. Three warriors sat nearby, wholooked briefly up as the three travelers walked up the steps and entered a large doorway above which a sign proclaimed it to be the main office of Jad Hasta Dockyards.

Tarak entered first, alert as he always was when entering an enclosed structure. Only one man was present, however, behind a table, watching them.

"Can I help you?" the man inquired. His tone was pleasant. "I am Handal, shipping master of Jad Hasta"

"We wish to purchase passage southeast across Kal," Tarak replied. "For ourselves, and three Drajen."

The man nodded. "We have a ship leaving tomorrow." He named a price, and Tarak looked at Tavane, who shrugged helplessly, and then at Janyla, who shook his head.

Tarak smiled. "Fair enough, I suppose." He reached into his pouch and brought out a handful of stones, and held out his hand to the man, the shipping manager of Jad Hasta. "Pick one which satisfies that sum," he said.

The man looked at the gems for a moment, then picked up a medium sized stone. "This will do," he said, meeting Tarak's eyes. "You may load the Drajen today, and then move into your ship quarters when the beasts are secure."

Tarak looked at the man's face. The man did not flinch or look away. He had the look of a man who had done nothing to be ashamed of; and who had nothing to fear. Tarak nodded, and turned to Tavane. "Give him the information he desires. I will bring the Drajen".

He grabbed her suddenly, kissing her before she could protest. "Take care, Tavane!"

She licked her lips as he let her go and backed away. "I'll be waiting, Tarak."

He too a different route back to the Tavern, for he enjoyed wandering, and felt little urgency. Tavane and Janyla were safe within the confines of the compound of Jad Hasta. The return trip, mounted on a Drajen, would be much faster.

As he approached the vicinity of the tavern he moved off into the forest. Soon he found the place he had marked, and he ascended into the trees. The night before he had halted his party while he secreted most of his gems high within a tree. His natural caution had prompted him to hide the gems before they entered Costus. Now he would retrieve some of those he hed secreted, for he might have need of them. Soon he had found his cache. He divided the gems, leaving two-thirds of them in the tree, and taking the remaining third. He reasoned that what he carried would be more than enough; and he would likely return to Costus should he return from across far Kal. If not, the gems would remain for another day.

Descending, he moved silently into the outer city, and soon came upon the tavern. Bypassing it, he arrived a few minutes later at the stables of Scoll. His senses were alert, but he detected nothing as he came to the large door. Entering, he swept the stables with his eyes. His Drajen were gone.

His eyes flashed as he strode forward. He called out, and his hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword.

An answering shout reached his ears, and a moment later Scoll entered through a small door in the back. He was apologetic. "Farnus Cervus has your mounts." He paused. "He sent twenty warriors. I could do nothing." Shrugging, he finished. "I am fond of Drajen, but I do not die for them."

Tarak regarded the man silently. "The fault is not yours, Scoll." He shook his head. "But I would have them back. Where will they be?"

Scoll smiled faintly. The idea of one man assaulting the private stables of Farnus Cervus to attempt to recover his property was amusing. Still, this man was no ordinary man; and he certainly didn't seem to be joking.

"Cervus has his own fortified stables and estates to the northwest edge of the city, not a mile distant," Scoll responded. "His grounds are miles in area, and walled completely."

Tarak thanked him. "The tavern owner has your pay. Be sure that you get it."

Scoll nodded, and watched as the tawny-haired giant turned and loped away.

Tarak knew without asking that he was approaching the compound of Farnus Cervus. The walled compound stretched as far as he could see. He slowed to a walk as he approached the main gate, and approached two guards who stood on either side of the closed portal. Another guard watched from the top of the wall.

Tarak stopped several paces from the guards. "I have come for my drajen."

The guards looked at him silently. One glanced up to the man watching from above.

"We have no drajen but those owned by Farnus Cervus," the man on the wall said. "Take your inquiry elsewhwere."

Tarak looked up. "I will have my drajen."

The man laughed. "You will have your death if you remain where you stand."

Tarak examined the wall and the gate, measuring distances and height. The top of the wall was too high, even with a running start, for him to reach. Impatience and anger mingled with caution in his mind as he examined the men and the wall and the gate. He knew his action was foolish in coming openly to this place. Farnus Cervus certainly had warriors in sufficient strength to kill him easily if he attempted to break into the compound, and he did not think he could break in, at least not near where he stood, even if given an opportunity. He was angry, however. This Farnus Cervus had already sent men against him. He had taken that which belonged to Tavane. He had done so openly and arrogantly. Tarak's lust for vengeance burned within him. He was ready to fight, and he didn't care if he fought Farnus Cervus or those employed by him. He saw no bowmen; only two guards armed with swords. He would have his drajen or he would have blood.

He looked up once more, his eyes blazing. "Send my drajen out, or send these men against me, for I am here until you do one or the other."

The two guards stared at the strange man. They drew their swords, and separated by a few paces. They smiled briefly, but the smiles fell from their faces as the barbarian turned his green eyes upon them. He had not drawn his own sword, but the violence in his eyes was palpable. They could see the muscles ripple as he shook himself briefly, reminding them of a tarab, that master killing carnivore which ruled the wild lands of Aantor. Fear touched them as they stood and watched this strange barbaric figure.

Tarak was ever alert for the sign of bowmen. At the first sight of such he would retreat, and was confident his speed would take him out of effective range before bows could be brought to bear with accuracy. His anger was rising as frustration settled in. He must be careful. Still, his anger made him stand alone in his challenge to the House of Farnus Cervus. As the reality of his situation set in his rage subsided. He glared at the men, but prepared to turn and leave. He would find another way into the compound of the merchant prince.

As he turned he heard a shout, and looked up at the guards.

"Hold!!" a guard shouted. "Your drajen are just inside. They wait for you." The man smiled. "But you must come in and get them. They are difficult to control."

As the man spoke the heavy doors swung wide, and Tarak noticed a wide passage leading into the compound, open to the sky. The two guards stepped aside, leaving his path free. He heard the wild snort of a drajen, and smelled the musky aroma of the great beasts. They were truly near the gates, but he could not see them.

He smiled grimly. This was certainly a trap; yet it was largely one of his own making. He had been a fool to come so openly. If he fled now, they would lock the drajen away and he would never know where they might be within this fortress. They would wait for him. They waited now, but the drajen were close, and the Tark's men were smiling. They were overconfident. If he could find his mounts he might free them and escape. Other men had tried to kill him. Others had been smug and secure in their numbers.

To think was to act with the tawny giant. He nodded at the guards and started boldly for the entrance. As he passed the two gate guards he glanced briefly at each man, and spoke in a voice only they could hear. "If you follow me, I will kill you."

He moved into the compound, his eyes scanning the tops of the walls, his ears and nostrils alive and questing for the slightest trace of any threat. The drajen were close, beyond the right-hand wall, but he could see no doorway in the passage leading to the right or left. The walls were unbroken as they stretched onward. He quickened his pace slightly. The odor of the drajen was becoming fainter. He was past them now. He heard footsteps from above suddenly, quick stealthy steps; of several men. He heard no clanking of weapons. They were almost certainly bowmen. Only such men could harm him from above.

He cursed himself and immediately began to run; not toward the gates, but inward. Like a tarab he bounded forward, and his sword was in his hands. His eyes flamed in the sunlight with savage aggression as he moved into the fortress.

He heard shouts from behind, and a feathered shaft struck the dirt several feet behind his body. He snarled , and increased his speed. Ahead he saw a door, but it was closed. He noticed designs carved deep into the door as he approached. His senses, honed by a lifetime of survival, immediately measured this potential avenue of escape, and slowing only slightly he leaped upward as he neared the heavy wooden door.

His hands gripped the edges of the carvings, as his feet sought purchase. It was enough. Immediately he swarmed up the door and then leaped to the top of the wall. Turning, he crouched and then flattened as the nearest bowman drew and launched another arrow in his direction. Swiftly he scanned the rooftop, and leaped for a tower corner, diving around it as three feathered missles split the air where he had been an instant before.

He had seen his pursuers. More than a dozen bowmen. He waited, listening, but it was apparent they were stalking him; not rushing blindly into pursuit. The area was too open. He had no chance against such odds here. He saw a gap across the roof; another avenue, and ran for it, keeping the corner of the tower between himself and his enemies.

He reached it in seconds, and leaped down into the corridor as several arrows passed over his head. The corridor was roofed ahead, but behind him he heard the sounds of pursuers, so he ran into the darker shadows of the building, safe for the moment from threat from above, drawing his sword as he ran.

As he entered the roofed area he surprised three guards. Two were bowmen, to his right across a room, and they swiftly drew back the strings of their weapons. Without a thought he whirled his sword and threw it at these new assailants. The whirling blade caught one bowman in the chest and he screamed as the blade bit into his body. Blood gushed from his mouth in a bubbling howl of pain.

Tarak had already drawn back his knife, and this last weapon flew like a flash of spinning light and death across the room to strike the other bowman in the throat.

Both men were down, but the third guard, armed with a sword, moved forward now, and shouted for assistance.

Tarak was unarmed now, and his eyes flashed around the chamber for an avenue of escape. His nostrils caught the scent of fresher air wafting from a corridor to the left, and he leaped toward the doorway. As he ran down the hall he noticed a wide door at the end, a crack of light indicating that the door was partially opened. Trap or not, he had no other way to go. Like a streak he shot toward the light.

As he approached his nostrils quivered with the scent of the jok, carnivores who hunt in packs. The scent of men was heavy as well. He had no time to worry, and his arm threw the door wide open as he bounded through and stopped short, snarling, as he saw a man waiting for him.

***

Pell Jax sat upon the damp, musty stone of the cell floor and stretched his lithe, muscular frame. Chains clinked softly with his movements, and he eyed the manacles on his wrists and ankles grimly. They reminded him that his death was probably near at hand. He had been tricked the night before, in a seaside tavern, a familiar place within territory controlled by Jad Hasta; a place where Pell Jax was at ease, and too comfortable. A feminine cry for help had caught his attention, and he had bounded down a dark hallway, only to find himself stunned to his knees by a blow from a club, then dragged within the blackness of an open door. He had struggled, but another blow had silenced him completely, and for hours. He had awakened to a throbbing head and the knowledge that he was a prisoner.

Of Farnus Cervus, undoubtedly. Pell Jax was the chief assassin of Jad Hasta. Hasta did not order the deaths of blameless men. His assassins were defensive and protective, as assassins went. They permitted Jad Hasta to wage his wars in commerce, rather than by murder. The existence of men such as Farnus Cervus and Horwag made them indispensable. They were in fact assassins, but their prey were the assassins of those who would harm their employer. They sought out and killed such men. The existence of Pell Jax had prevented any death warrant from being purchased by any competitor, for were it known that any man sought Hasta's life, Pell Jax would be turned loose to kill that man and his assassins. None would dare chance such a fate, for Pell Jax was an assassin who had no peer.

He shook his head. He had noticed that the tavern patrons were all strangers, but such had occurred on occasions. Somehow Cervus had apparently achieved the silent capture of an entire public tavern, undoubtedly imprisoning or killing the patrons and replacing them with his people, all for the sole purpose of capturing or killing Jax. And it had worked, where nothing else ever had. Jax curled his lip in a silent snarl. It would never happen again. If he escaped this.

He looked around his prison once more. Dim, solid, and massive, the stone and iron mocked him. There was no escape from this cell. His chance, if it came, would come later. Or perhaps not.

Pell Jax thought of his home, far to the south, touching the extreme southern shores of Kal itself. He had been absent six long years. Six years of adventure; of fighting and loving; of victories and defeats. He smiled.

Travelers called the vast areas south of Kal simply "The Kalands". Rugged ranges of mountains and hills surrounded vast equatorial valleys, filled with jungles, plains, and waterways. The mountains began about fifteen miles South of Kal's most Southern shores and extended southward in range after range. The flat land between the mountains and the sea was prime land, which had been controlled by his people for generations. Now it was theirs no longer.

Tror, the city-state to the East of the Kalands, had invaded with its massive army, and his people had submitted to be conquered. Or they had fled to the mountains and hills; for his people were the Hill People. The South Kal Range was theirs, and even the legions of Tror had failed when they had tried to follow the Hill People into the hills and mountains.

The warriors had laughed at the cowardice of the Hill People, and had treated those who had submitted to jeers and abuse. All were enslaved, and afterwards labored to build a fortress for glorious Tror. A fortress and village which would protect and feed the citizens of Tror in the midst of what had been lands of the Hill People, while those Hill People served them as their slaves.

Pell Jax had been away hunting when the invasion occurred, and upon returning had watched from the forests as the armies of Tror enslaved his people. Jax had then left for the hills, returning a few weeks later. He then mingled with the slaves.

The timidity of the Hill People had caused their conquerors to reconsider their intentions of closely confined slavery. The Hill People did as they were told, and had come to accept the new order of things. They worked much harder when permitted a state of freedom. They were slaves, or peasants, or common labor. It didn't matter.

Pell Jax had sensed the inevitability of the present situation, and had decided to seek his fates far to the North. Ships docked at New Tror, as the emerging fort was named; ships from far places. Jax waited until he learned of one which was bound far to the North. Then he had himself placed in a crate and the crate loaded onto the ship by slave laborers he knew. After a complete day plus several hours at sea he had begun pounding on the crate and yelling.

He had been set free, and had raged about a kidnaping and being drugged. He demanded to be taken back to New Tror. Knowing that the Captain would be extremely reluctant to retrace such a journey for the sake of one man, Pell Jax had been indignant in his demands, knowing that if they actually returned he would be immediately imprisoned by the Trorians at the very least, since Hill people were not permitted to leave New Tror. Jax had been vehement in his complaints, but had permitted himself to be mollified eventually, so that it appeared he was doing the Captain a favor by accepting free passage to the far North. Within a few days, in fact, he seemed to have accepted this quirk of fate, and apologized to the Captain for his previous outburst. Proclaiming a new-found sense of adventure, he even offered the Captain a gold coin as a token of his own contriteness.

The gold coin was of course of far less value than the cost of passage, but Jax thought it was a nice gesture; and of course the Captain was impressed with the number of coins he was permitted to view when the pouch was opened, and thus refused this token of an obviously rich man who might have goods to be shipped one day. Pell smiled at the memory. The Troran army had found no riches when they had overrun the village. Designated members of Hill People had already removed their people's wealth and had escaped. Jax carried but a small percentage of the wealth he had deprived Tror of looting. The rest was in the hills.

Many days later the ship had arrived at Costus, and Pell Jax had decided to visit this Northern City. The ship had continued Northward to Kalnor. Jax had insisted that the Captain retain two gold coins. The journey completed, the gift was more impressive, and the Captain would remember the unexpected generosity of Pell Jax.

And it had been deserved. The Captain had been an honest man and a good captain. Jax had learned that the ship was owned by Jad Hasta, of Costus. Jax was intrigued by the man the Captain described, and thought he might find adventure and/or employment with such a powerful merchant.

Armed with a letter of introduction written by the Captain, Pell Jax had gained acquaintance with Jad Hasta, and each man had been immediately impressed with the other. That had been six years ago, and since that day Jax had served Hasta in several capacities, each successively higher within Hasta's empire. His mind and his abilities, his ever-increasing fighting skills and his cunning had won him a place at Hasta's side. Jax had long since told Hasta the true story of his first journey on Hasta's ship, and had offered countless times to pay the price of that passage, an offer which Hasta always refused with a laugh.

Pell Jax had always been deadly. As a child he had possessed strength and speed markedly superior to most others. The life of the Hill People was a vigorous one. They climbed and ran and played upon the slopes and rocks, learning the life and skills of their people. The Hill People often farmed and lived upon the fertile lands near the sea, but they often lived in the far mountains and hills, safe from the outside world. This rugged life had worked nature's magic upon Pell Jax, and the rough games of youth had honed his competitive skills.

They had been no match for the legions which had slammed into their lands, but the Hill People were warriors, and Pell Jax was one of their best. His talents had increased in his growing role as the right arm of Jad Hasta. He was chained now, but he was not yet dead. Pell Jax would fight when they chose to kill him. With whatever he had, he would fight.

He heard faint sounds from beyond the heavy wooden door. A moment later it swung open, and torchlight flickered into the recesses of his cell.

"On your feet, Jax," the man with the torch ordered.

Jax rose to his feet, and rubbed his arms. The man with the torch was accompanied by six armed men. The moment to fight was not this moment.

The man gestured for Pell Jax to follow, and stepped back into the corridor. Jax ducked his head and left the cell. A length of chain was attached to his own chains, and held by two warriors, who followed immediately behind the prisoner. The torchbearer walked several paces in front.

After several minutes Jax noticed increased light ahead, and soon they entered a walled room in which was set a small window. The torch was placed in a rack, and it's bearer opened the door. One of the guards stooped and removed the chains from the prisoner's legs. Stepping back, he motioned for Jax to pass through.

Jax looked at the man, his gray eyes expressionless. For a moment he stood silently; then he turned his head towards the door, and a moment later stepped through, as the door closed behind him.

He was outside the rear wall of the compound, but a high stone wall stretched away on either side, angling into the forest. Pell Jax knew the wall stretched for more than a mile in either direction, and that Farnus Cervus considered all land therein to be his, and death to trespassers. He looked up along the wall. Behind him Farnus Cervus looked down.

"Greetings, Pell Jax!" The merchant's smile was genuine."You have arrived just in time to watch me run my joks."

Jax had assumed as much. Farnus Cervus often boasted of his hunting joks, half-wild canines, large and swift, which were but slightly different than their wild cousins, and just barely manageable. It was known, but not openly proclaimed, that Farnus Cervus often used humans as prey for his hunts. Cervus was said to follow the joks, riding his own Drajen, so that he could witness the joks tear apart their prey, consuming it even as it tried to fight, on those occasions when the prey was given a head start. 0ften Cervus would have the joks released when the prey was still near to the walls, so he could watch in comfort. Jax saw no Drajen, so his death would take place very quickly after he started to run.

A canvas was drawn suddenly back from a huge cage, and the rabid growls of the imprisoned joks roared through the air. Their dark eyes fixed upon Jax and they strained against the bars of their cage. Four huge beasts, each nearly as heavy as an average man, with huge fangs and long powerful legs. Their ears were flattened back and their teeth dripped saliva as they shivered in anticipation of the kill and at the scent of their prey. Their keeper stood next to the cage, his heavy bald head sweating as he grinned at Jax.

Jax waited for the man to open the cage. He had already decided he would not run. He would die fighting, though he had nothing to fight with.

The man watched him, but did not move. Jax looked up at Cervus, but the merchant said nothing.

A door in the wall banged open then, a different door from that which Jax had passed through. A man leaped out. Unarmed and adorned in a faded green tunic, striped with rank. The man was young, and he stopped abruptly, crouching, his senses obviously testing his environment. His eyes swept quickly around the area, noting everything. They came to rest upon Pell Jax, and the man growled.

Jax responded with a smile, and suddenly the strange man's eyes widened slightly, then he smiled in return. A quick recognition that the two were apparent allies in this grim scenario.

Tarak looked up and his eyes came to rest on the richly garbed master of the compound. "You are Farnus Cervus?" His voice was bold and deep; questioning and demanding. Pell Jax smiled at the manner of this man who was about to die .

"I am he," Cervus answered, chuckling.

"You have my Drajen," Tarak stated. "I am Tarak." He walked towards the cage, above which Farnus Cervus sat upon the high wall. Cervus reclined in a tall chair. Ten armed guards surrounded the Tark.. Those closest drew their swords as Tarak approached the cage, but they were too high to have any fear of him.

Farnus Cervus laughed. "Yes, Nerosian. I have them. And you!" He looked down at the man who stood near the cage. "And soon I will have your girl as my slave." He watched to see the effect of his words, for he had heard of the incident in the tavern, but his captive just stood there looking up, his hair softly sweeping across his cheek with the breeze. Only his eyes seemed to flash at this statement.

Tarak shrugged, and made as if to move away. He crouched suddenly. Then he screamed and leaped across the cage at the keeper.

Jax was stunned, frozen momentarily by the man's terrible scream, as uncanny as a beast's. He started violently, then watched as the barbarian hurtled into the jok keeper. The guard's hand had moved for the cage door, but too late, and he was slammed backward by the force of his assailant.

Tarak snarled as he hit the man. As the keeper's hands swept back to break his fall Tarak drove his right fist into the man's head. He heard bones crack and felt the man go limp as they landed. He leaped up and began to run. He looked up for an instant at Farnus Cervus, then at Pell Jax; then he was off in a burst of speed.

Jax realized immediately what had occurred. The strange man had barely passed him when he too turned and ran for the far forest. He realized, as Tarak had realized instantly, that the jok keeper was their only immediate threat. Tarak had killed him, and now someone would have to come down and release the joks. That might take a moment, perhaps two; and in that time the prey could be far across the plain. He smiled. Cervus would not see this battle, however it ended. He still had little hope of survival. Even if they reached trees, the joks would gather beneath and howl. Then Cervus would come, with bowmen to drive feathered shafts into arms and legs, until the blooded prey fell to the ravenous fangs of the jok pack.

Pell Jax was a swift runner, the swiftest of the hill people, but the strange captive drew easily ahead. The stranger glanced back, then slowed his pace slightly to permit Jax to catch up. They ran together, and the tawny-haired man turned and smiled.

"I am Tarak," he said, his lungs pounding, but not with fatigue.

Jax grinned back, warmed by the gesture of this odd companion. "I am Pell Jax."

Tarak nodded, and kept pace with Jax, who had settled into a bounding lope which was faster than most men could achieve in a dash, but which he could keep up for a long distance. For a few brief moments they ran silently.

Jax heard a screaming howl from behind, and knew that the joks had been set free. They were approaching trees now, dots on the plain, which would increase in number as they reached towards the forest itself. Jax estimated that they would come near the actual forest before they were caught, but not quite. They would still be forced to retreat into trees surrounded by the grassy plain, where Drajen could carry warriors. Had they been able to reach the forest itself, Farnus Cervus might be hesitant to follow, though the joks would certainly do so, and would hunt until they had killed their prey.

Jax shrugged. At least they would not be pulled to shreds within a stone's throw of the walls. He still lived, whereas he should have died a few moments ago. He smiled grimly. He almost looked back, but he sensed that his companion knew exactly where their pursuers were. The man seemed attuned to the ground and the trees and yet everything which occurred behind them. He exuded a brash confidence which raised the assassin's spirits.

Tarak glanced at him as they ran towards a small clump of trees. "They are closing quickly. Run for those trees. You can make them, but do not pass those, for you will not make the next ones. Make noise and keep those which follow you occupied." Then he veered away from Pell Jax, increasing his speed as he drew away to the left, toward open ground.

Pell Jax shouted a warning, but Tarak was gone, sprinting off into the grassy plain. Jax raced for the tree. He sensed that Tarak had spoken truthfully. He knew that looking back might cause him to stumble, or break his stride. He could sense the presence of the joks behind him, or imagined he could. They hunted silently. He knew that if he had not reached the trees before he could hear them it would be too late, for they were far faster than any man. He kept his eyes upon the trees and began to sprint.

As he passed beneath the shade cast by the nearest of the grove he heard the powerful panting of his pursuers. He spied a suitable branch and leaped up, grabbing the stout limb and swinging his lithe body easily up into the lower branches. Howls assailed his ears as the joks roared their rage at seeing him escape. He looked down and saw one of them straining upward along the trunk. A few seconds later it was joined by another; their jaws opening and closing in vicious snaps. He looked out then searching for his companion, and his eyes widened as he watched.

Tarak raced across the grass, his ears pricked as they sought for the sounds of the joks. His senses were far superior than those of Pell Jax. He would not require time to reach a tree after he heard the joks, for he sought no tree. He only needed to know where they were before he was caught. He heard them, finally, and then a frustrated howling off to his right. Pell Jax had made the trees. Two joks ran after him, but they were separated by at least thirty paces. Only scant seconds to a running jok, but long enough to kill them singly. The several minutes of the chase had caused the pack to spread out, the faster in front. As they had been trained, the first two split up when the quarry split, and the second two followed suit.

Tarak had fought joks before. They had incredibly powerful jaws, but no lethal weapons on their limbs. He had no fear of them, unless attacked by a pack. They were pack animals, and their several jaws were the multiple weapons which some solitary animals carried by themselves. The lead creature which hunted him had killed many men. It would be careless, overconfident, sadistic; savagely attacking without fear what it regarded as a helpless creature. He smiled. He had killed the wild cousins of these animals many times. Creatures who were not accustomed to the weaknesses of an unarmed man, and who were therefore more cautious, and thus harder to kill.

He laughed savagely. He felt so alive as he raced with the wind across the grassy turf. Men who set joks on other men, to watch the power of savage nature rend the weakness of pampered men. He himself marveled at the weakness of men. At their slowness, and timidity. Men were born in a strange world and thereafter taught to avoid and fear pain and harm, and they feared them thereafter. The best warriors overcame that fear; forgot about it temporarily in the heat of battle. But it was there beneath, for they were men.

Tarak had no fear of harm or pain. He had grown up with fighting and pain and wounds inflicted by beasts. He knew that to win sometimes meant to suffer painful wounds. He suffered them as he fought, when necessary. But not often. And not today. What was an insurmountable adversary for any other unarmed man was a beast for which Tarak had little concern. He was much larger, stronger, and heavier than the largest jok, and although he could not outrun them, he was at least as fast in close quarters. He possessed five weapons in his teeth and limbs, weapons which could be used with deadly effectiveness against a creature the size of a jok. Weapons which his intelligence knew how to utilize, and which his maturation had taught him to use without thought when necessary.

Adrenalin flushed through his body. His skin prickled. His breathing quickened as he prepared to fight. All the thousands of battles over the thousands of days flashed through his mind in a blink of excitement. He had learned to revel in the primal violence of battle. Something quiet but present within all men had emerged within him as a boy, priming him for battle and conquest, rewarding him with feelings of power and pride in his victories. When he fought he was a beast, but one with a brain which could think. The brain which had made it possible for him to fight two joks in sequence, far from the city, instead of perhaps four all at once, in a place where victory would mean only another form of death.

He did not kill wantonly, but he enjoyed the hunt and the danger, and once he had decided to kill, the beast in him took over and he enjoyed the killing with some savage, primal response. He admired joks, for their fearless savagery, but these had to be killed, and Tarak looked forward to the battle and the killing in some instinctive way he could never articulate.

The lead jok was closing now, and Tarak waited until the beast had landed and started its next leap, then he stopped suddenly, his legs straining as his weight tried to press forward. He sprang back, directly toward the snarling jok. The animal was startled by it's prey's sudden change of direction, but it had already begin its leap. It tried to stop, but the leap was underway, and the efforts to stop it resulted in a half-leap, and a momentary loss of balance as the rear feet of the creature carried forward near the front ones.

Tarak was growling as he leaped forward at the jok, and he uttered a snarling roar as he attacked. The jok was stunned by the animalistic power of the cry and instinctively tried to leap back and away from this large creature which suddenly didn't seem to be such an effortless kill. The jok could not escape, so lunged forward with a slash of it's jaws, but it's timing was off. The lunge was slow and partially a defensive gesture.

Tarak's arm slipped under the lunge easily and his fingers drove deep into the jok's neck. A strangled cry erupted from the creature, and an instant later Tarak's other hand had found it's throat. He yanked the head up, and his left leg slid over the jok's back. He drove his knee to the ground, pinioning the beast's body. Then he pushed the head away and suddenly wrenched it back over his leg. The gurgling cries of the jok rose for an instant, then died away as it's neck snapped.

Tarak paused for a second, as if in thought, and stood in a crouch. Then he raised the body of the jok into the air as he swung his powerful body. It struck the hurtling form of the second jok in the midst of its leap. The animal howled, and the two bodies landed in a heap. The jok leaped up, but strong arms leaped forward and buried powerful fingers in its neck. The jok howled and strained its powerful neck, and tried to break free, but the arms drew it closer to the man whose eyes burned with battle. He was snarling as he lifted the creature into the air, ignoring the paws which scratched feebly against his chest.

Tarak threw the creature to the ground and broke its neck as he had killed the first one. As he felt the bones snap he was looking at the tree of Pell Jax. He could see the two joks beneath the tree. They were looking at him. He walked away. One of the joks moved forward a bit. Tarak began to lope slowly, away from the tree. The jok growled, and looked at its companion; then up at Pell Jax. The barbarian signaled for Pell Jax to be quiet.

The assassin was silent. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. He watched the jok, realizing that Tarak wanted the beast to follow and attack him. Jax wanted the jok to attack too. He realized that these killing beasts were no match for his companion. Tarak had killed two of them effortlessly and skillfully. Those had not been lucky kills.

Tarak screamed then, as of a wounded animal, and he began to limp and run erratically directly away. It was too much for the jok, which growled savagely and bounded in pursuit. Silently it raced after its wounded prey.

Pell Jax watched as the jok overtook the man, and a moment later shook his head slowly again, as Tarak started walking back toward the grove of trees. He was silent as he approached, and the remaining jok snarled in defiance. The deaths of its companions meant nothing to the animal. This was prey to be killed. Before Tarak could reach the shelter of the branches the beast launched its attack. But the man was suddenly hurtling forward, and the jok's timing was lost, as it had been for its fellows. It faced an adversary who was much stronger and whose speed easily eluded the mis-timed lunge of the jaws; and whose implacable relentless hands then closed with fatal intensity upon the creature's throat.

Tarak threw the body aside a moment later, and looked upward. His eyes were still flaming with violence, and the sound of his snarls still reverberated in the quiet of the plain. Pell Jax hesitated a moment before he descended, but the young giant shook his tawny mane and seemed to slough whatever savagery had possessed him for the preceding few moments, and he beckoned the assassin down.

A moment later Pell Jax stood on the ground and looked into the barbarian's eyes. The man's arms were scratched and bleeding, and sweat darkened his clothes. His tunic had even newer rents now. His chest was rising and falling; his arms rippled with the final tensions of immense strength and effort. The green eyes were calmer now, but still flashed with excitement.

Tarak glanced back toward the city, then to the forest. "We should move off this open ground. Farnus Cervus will undoubtedly soon be here, with bowmen."

"Who are you?" Pell Jax queried, his eyes wide. He had seen many terrible and deadly men, but he had never imagined any man such at this.

"I am Tarak, as I said," he smiled. "Only that. If you had wished a titled noble to accompany you, I would gladly have gone on alone."

Jax shook his head, laughing. "No, my friend. Your company, and your name, are more than enough for Pell Jax this day. I thank you. The Hill People owe you life." He watched Tarak's face as he spoke, but the tawny-haired man registered no recognition at this statement. Jax was not surprised. His own lands were far, far to the South.

Moments later they stopped just inside the forest. Tarak told Jax to climb upon his back, and Jax did so clinging to the powerful shoulders of his companion, but not understanding why. Tarak began to climb then, and Jax marveled once again at the strength and balance of this unique man. Soon Tarak was moving through the maze of branches and limbs and vines which exist high above the forest floor. He moved swiftly and without hesitation, though burdened with a large man. A few moments later he stopped in a multiple fork of a huge tree, and told Jax to release his hold. He turned to the assassin.

"We are safe and undetectable here." He pointed to the vines which strangled the tree. If anything happens to me, you can climb down easily."

Jax nodded. "Where are you going?"

"I will travel back to the forest's edge, to see who follows. If any should enter the forest in pursuit, I will kill them and take their weapons and mounts, if possible. "

Jax nodded, smiling. "I believe you will at that." He lay down in the huge area created by the forking and closed his eyes. "Wake me when you have our weapons and travel arranged."

Tarak looked blankly at the man, then smiled suddenly. He instinctively liked Pell Jax. The man was obviously a fighter and his speed and strength and endurance had greatly impressed the barbarian. Such men were good companions, but often their self-esteem caused them to take actions which were foolish. This man had trusted and obeyed Tarak instantly and implicitly, though Tarak could tell this man was one who obeyed few, and commanded naturally. Pell Jax did not question, or bluster, or boast. He seemed to know he was in an environment and a situation in which his companion was the master. He had been hunted and almost killed; he had run and climbed and run more. Yet he was ready to lay back and nap in peaceful bliss, having adopted a sense of humor about a situation which not many moments ago had been deadly.

He swung out onto a limb, then leaped to another. His path was clear and unobstructed by the growth of the forest floor. Here, high above the ground, he could travel in joyous freedom. A few moments later he stood on a branch and looked out upon the plains.

Ten Drajen stood impatiently near the bodies of the four slain joks, while their riders searched in all directions. Farnus Cervus was resplendent in his robes, and with him were three swordsmen and six mounted bowmen.

Tarak was tempted to show himself, to attempt to lure them into the darkness of the forest, but he determined such an action would simply make them suspicious. It was perhaps better that they not know what had happened to the two men.

He could sense the nervousness of Farnus Cervus even at a distance. He wondered if Cervus knew that Tarak had marked him for killing. He could not know that Farnus Cervus had almost forgotten him in his fear of Pell Jax, the man known as the Sword of Costus; the assassin of Jad Hasta. The man who had never failed to kill his prey. The man who Farnus Cervus had laughed at less than an hour ago. The man who was now alive and free.

He watched them examine the joks, then slowly ride away. He was disappointed that none had sought to follow them, but he had expected as much. Farnus Cervus was no fool. Only a moment he watched them before he turned to make his way back to Pell Jax.

The two men emerged from the forest an hour later, not far from the tavern where Tarak had spent the previous night.

He turned to Pell Jax. "I must hasten to the compound of Jad Hasta. I fear for my companions."

Jax nodded. "You should fear for them, my friend." His own eyes grew fierce. "I have other business which needs doing, else I would accompany you." He gripped Tarak's forearm with his own strong hand. "I will never forget you, or what you have done for me this day!" His eyes gleamed. "The Hill People owe you a life." He released his grip and moved silently away, looking back only once, but that one time he flashed a gleaming smile.

Tarak watched him go with feelings of approval and friendship. The man was strange, but he was a man Tarak had liked from the moment he had seen him; and nothing since had done other than to reinforce his feelings about the enigmatic warrior of the Hill People. Tarak shrugged. He had never heard of such a people. He shook his head slightly. What a world this was! So much to see!

He turned his thoughts back to his more immediate concerns. He must get back to Hasta's docks. Tavane was there, and Cervus had already boasted of his intentions as to her.

He made his way silently to the stable of Scoll, and slunk like a shadow into the cool darkness of the buildings. They were deserted, except for Scoll himself, who was working near the far end. Tarak's senses surveyed the stables as he stood quietly for a full two minutes. Then he spoke.

"Scoll!"

The stablemaster started, then turned. A smile creased his face as he recognized the barbarian, and he put down his tools and walked forward.

Tarak was approaching, and a faint smile appeared upon his own features. "I have no Drajen for you to stable."

Scoll grinned. "So I see. What then can I do for you, my friend?"

"I need a sword and a knife," Tarak replied. "And a mount. Any mount."

Scoll nodded, and turning his head he shouted for his boy.

A moment later a lad appeared, and Scoll told him to saddle a wapen, a mount not dissimilar to a drajen, but much smaller and of gentler temperament. "It's all I have, at present."

Tarak nodded. "It is enough."

Scoll handed him a sword and long knife, and Tarak leaped upon the wapen as the beast was led close by the boy.

He turned once, and smiled at stable master. "I will not forget you, Scoll."

Scoll smiled. "As I will never forget you, Tarak. May good fortune ride with you."

Tarak shrugged. Then he smiled again, and turned his mount abruptly. Without another glance backwards, he shook the leather straps and snarled at the wapen, and the beast responded instantly, leaping toward the sunlit door of the stable. Within seconds they were out of sight.

***

Janyla and Tavane both moved to the doorway and watched the faded green tunic recede into the distance.

The Chomirian glanced upward at the girl's face, noting the soft expression in her eyes as she watched. He turned his glance toward the docks, then, carefully examining the vessels once more. A small smile appeared as he noted the ships. He turned back, but Tarak was no longer in sight.

They turned from the doorway and discussed their voyage, asking questions of Hasta's employee. Tavane was excited, for she had never been on such a voyage. Janyla's small eyes gleamed as he thought of his own land across the sea. The shipping master answered their questions courteously, and pointed out the nearest ship, one which was being loaded.

"That one is yours", he said. "If you wish, you may go aboard and secure your quarters."

Tavane nodded, and together she and Janyla walked down to the docks. The ship loomed large and dark above them. Sailors who were loading goods paused and looked down at the two girls, grinning at each other.

Tavane met their stares with her own, and smiled back at them. They were waved aboard, and soon were shown to a cabin. It was small, but solid, and both were pleased with their accommodations and the impending journey. Both lay down upon the simple beds, and the slight rocking motion of the ship soothed Tavane's muscles and made her drowsy.

She smiled at the Chomirian, her eyelids heavy. "I'm sleepy, Janyla."

He smiled back. "Nap then, Tavane. Tarak will find us easily enough." He stretched. "In my life, I've learned to sleep when I can." The Chomirian lay back, his own eyes closing, and within a minute he was asleep.

Tavane watched him, her eyes glistening with fondness for her small companion. She lay back, her own body warm and soft on the simple bed. Her thoughts turned to a recent memory of a tall blonde man with a broad back, walking as if he owned the ground upon which he strode, his figure receding. She smiled in contentment, and her thoughts were still of her warrior as she slipped into her own dreams.

The sounds of fighting and shouting awoke them later. Tavane stirred slowly, her head foggy with sleep, but Janyla awakened instantly. "Stay here, Tavane!" he hissed, and he slipped into the dark narrow hallway.

She rubbed her eyes, and blinked. "Janyla!" she exclaimed, but there was no response.

Leaving the cabin, she climbed the stairs to the deck of the ship. Janyla was crouched near the ship's railing, his eyes focused upon the building of the shipping master. He heard her steps and turned quickly. "Stay down!" he commanded in his soft voice.

She stooped and moved to join him at the rail.

Thirty men surrounded the building. They were engaged in battle with less than a dozen of Hasta's men, and apparently attempting to force their way inside.

Suddenly the shipping master appeared, a sword in his hand.

"Hold!" he commanded. He looked up at the leader of the invaders. "Drogan! What madness brings you from the lair of Farnus Cervus?" Handal was surprised that one of Cervus's prized assassins would be so bold as to invade the compound of Jad Hasta. The compound was never well-defended, since such enclaves were never assaulted. Such an invasion would cause war, and Jad Hasta was a powerful man. And he had Pell Jax.

"No madness, fool. I am here for the girls."

The shipping master's eyes were cold and unafraid. "Pell Jax will learn of this."

Drogan laughed. "He'll learn of it in Hell, for that's where he is by now, Handal."

Handal's eyebrows rose, but his face betrayed no fear. "Perhaps. But I still stand before you. What is it you wish?"

"The girls."

"What girls?"

The assassin sneered. "The girls who were seen entering this compound with the barbarian." His tone threatened. "Where are they?"

Handal shrugged. "Wherever they are is none of your affair, Drogan."

Drogan sneered. "I will have them, fool, whether or not you tell me!" He signaled to his men. "Kill them" He turned back to Handal. "You have seconds to live, if you remain silent."

Handal shrugged, and waited. His few men crouched for battle against the overpowering odds set against them.

Tavane watched and listened. The bravery and loyalty of Hasta's man brought tears to her eyes. They were nothing to him except strangers. Passengers. Yet he was ready to die for them. She would not allow it. Nor would she hide. She rose, her manner regal. "He knows nothing."

The warriors halted, and their eyes swung towards the boat. Drogan smiled.

"Then come here, wench!"

Tavane stiffened, and her eyes grew cold with fury. "Stay here, Janyla," she whispered. "I will deal with these men."

Janyla watched her in amazement. What a fearless girl! "We are together, sweet Tavane," he replied. "Until Tarak returns, Janyla will be with you always." His hands moved, and a bit of the katana came free.

She shrugged slightly, smiling in resignation. "Then let us meet them together."

The two walked boldly down the ramp and approached the building.

Drogan grinned as they approached, and Handal was frowning.

"You should have stayed hidden," he said simply.

"Not when you would die for your loyalty," she replied.

"I will die as easily should these men attempt to harm you, girl."

Drogan sneered. "You would die in any case, fool. I will have the girls and I will have your life; for those are the orders of Farnus Cervus." He moved forward suddenly, his sword a blur. "Kill them!" he shouted. "And take the girls!"

Handal was ready, though, and his own sword met that of the Assassin. He countered, and Drogan stepped back. Another warrior struck from the side, and Handal skipped back, the blade barely missing his side.

His men were fighting now, but the invaders far outnumbered them. Handal glanced at Tavane. "Get to the ship, girl! Tell the sailors to raise the alarm!"

But Drogan's men were too close. Tavane knew they would not escape that way.

Janyla knew it too, and his hand settled upon his katana as he watched several men approach.

Tavane stood straight, her blonde hair caressing her shoulders. "Lay not your hands upon Tavane of Elur," she hissed.

The leading warrior laughed and reached to grab her. Then he stumbled backwards, screaming, for his hand was gone, and blood spurted from the stump. A whistling sound erupted from the small piece of katana sheath as Janyla held it briefly to his lips. Then he had both hands once more around the slender hilt of his weapon.

They all stopped, and stared at the small figure of the little girl. Janyla was crouched in front of Tavane. His eyes were alive with passion and delight. His katana was a blur as it waved back and forth, while drops of blood were flung from the blade as it quivered in the air.

Drogan snarled. "Ah! A Chomirian! Take him! Take them both!"

Several men leaped forward, and the blade of Janyla whipped through the air once more. "Back Tavane!" he shouted. "Back to the ship!"

But she had pulled her knife out and stood with her companion. "No, Janyla. We will stand together."

Drogan's men had killed the few guards, and several had pursued Handal into the small building. The assassin turned to direct the capture of the girl. He signaled for a dozen men to attack, and hurled himself at the Tavane.

She met him, her eyes burning with fury, and struck with her knife.

He was an experienced and powerful warrior, however, and easily avoided her strike. His hand shot forward and powerful fingers clamped down upon her small wrist. He wrenched her arm down, and she screamed and dropped the knife.

The others were assaulting the Chomirian, and he was forced back, his quick movements preventing the warriors from injuring or killing him, but he was now separated from Tavane.

She grimaced at the assassin, but she was helpless. "Run!" she shouted at Janyla. "Tell Tarak to come for me!"

Janyla returned her look. He was a warrior. They had lost. She was right, and though his blood was hot for battle he knew he must escape. He darted forward and attacked with his blade whirring, and as the men drew back slightly he turned and ran for a building a hundred paces distant.

"Get him!" Drogan shouted, and several men instantly took after the small warrior.

Drogan still held Tavane's wrist, and now he threw her to the ground. "In the dirt, slave!" he laughed. "Where you belong."

He kicked her then, but she did not scream again. She looked up at him with such savage hatred that he blinked.

"You will die for this!" she promised..

He laughed, and grabbed her by the hair. Signaling to his men, he strode off, dragging her through the dirt. "You need a lesson, wench!"

She tried to rise and stand, but he kicked her legs out from under her, and started to walk quickly. Again she fell and could not rise, and she was dragged through the dirt while she continually tried to rise and walk. Her head hurt and her pride had never been so wounded. Hatred flared within her.

Drogan just laughed and finally let her rise to her feet, but he kept her head down as he grabbed her hair, and led her out of the compound with her head down near his waist and her body bent over double. She was humiliated as she walked behind the assassin, and the score of warriors who accompanied him laughed loudly and made jokes about her. They walked for more than half an hour, and her back and neck were stiff with pain. He feet hurt, and only her pride kept her silent.

Tavane heard laughter from all the men as they walked, and brooded with silent hatred. Suddenly the laughter stopped, and she heard a voice. A commanding voice which froze her in her tracks.

"Going somewhere?"

Drogan stopped, perplexed. Warriors had suddenly appeared from the intersecting street. At least two hundred in number. Well-armed men who were clearly seasoned warriors. Then he recognized their dark red tunics. Akurian. What were the men of Akur doing in Costus?

Akur was a small city, part of the Empire of Elur, and was situated to the Northwest of Costus, and Southeast of Elur itself.

Never had such a force of armed warriors thus entered Costus to roam free, without escort.

He shifted his attention to the man who had spoken, and his eyes widened at the man's tunic; for the man was a Tark. Elurian royalty. It was impossible. Rich fabric covered the man's tall, powerful body. Richer designs proclaimed his royal rank. Blue eyes gleamed in a dark, cruel face.

The Tark watched him as a tarab watches its prey. The man emanated immense power and authority. His sword was in his hand, and his expression was so furious that Drogan, for all his own prowess, felt a prickle of fear. The man's arms swelled and rippled with power and barely suppressed fervor.

"I am Sarkan Mor," the man said. "Ruler of Akur, and a Tark of Elur."

Drogan's normal bluster faded. "I am honored, Tark."

"I think not, fool," the Tark replied. His voice was like ice.

Drogan signaled his men to the side, and tried to move away from this strange Tark, but Sarkan Mor's men moved around and closed. Their blades were drawn. Their faces brutal.

"What is it that you wish?" Drogan asked. "I am Drogan, and I am high in the house of Farnus Cervus." His tone became hard, for it was apparent that weakness and an attempt to placate were having no effect.

"I wish to look at the girl. Raise her head"

Drogan smiled. "She is a pretty wench, it's true". He jerked Tavane's head up, chuckling. His hands roughly gripped her tousled, dirty hair; but as he looked into her eyes he saw only hatred and triumph there.

He turned back to Sarkan Mor. "Now you have seen her. She belongs to Farnus Cervus. What else do you wish?"

The Tark's face was like a stone. "What I wish," he said slowly, " Is to know why you have your filthy hand entwined in the hair of that girl? For she is my cousin. She is the Princess Tavane, daughter of Jar Kantor, Tarkan of Elur!" His voice was like a whip. "That is what I wish to know, Costian, before I kill you and these others who have so treated the fairest jewel of Aantor!"

Drogan felt suddenly like a leaf caught in a sudden chill wind. Nerveless fingers slid from Tavane's hair, and he trembled as he stood in shock. It was death in any city to assault any member of a Tarkan's family, however slightly. Death. He could not believe it. "It cannot be-----"

"It is," replied the Tark bluntly. He looked at Tavane, who had stepped forward. "Dear Tavane!" A smile appeared briefly upon his dark face.

She nodded at him, but not in obeisance. "I am fine, Sarkan. But my friends are not! We must hasten to the compound of Jad Hasta!" She knew Sarkan Mor would kill the assassin. She was already past that and planning and ordering, for she was Tavane of Elur and men once again trembled before her.

But not her cousin. Sarkan Mor shook his head. "I care nothing for that, cousin. I've heard of these friends and I will deal with them when I find them." His tone was cruel, and she shook her head in protest.

"No!" she protested. "They are true friends! Men who helped me and whom I've deceived."

Sarkan Mor ignored her, and drawing his blade he moved forward towards Drogan. "Protect the Princess!," he told the closest warriors. "But very gently."

Ten warriors quickly surrounded Tavane.

Drogan drew his blade. He was an assassin. This man, Tark or no Tark, was going to meet him man to man. Drogan smiled thinly. He might die, for this man's warriors would avenge him; but he would kill the Tark.

He moved quickly, and his sword swept forward, but suddenly his blade was turned aside and the Tark's own weapon was sliding in.

Drogan moved back quickly, but again Sarkan Mor attacked, and within a few seconds thereafter Drogan knew he had never faced such a swordsman. Shock and surprise and fear and the knowledge of his own impending death chilled him, and thus, sooner than might have been under different circumstances, Sarkan Mor's blade slipped across his arm and blood spurted in a fountain as Drogan's sword slipped from his nerveless fingers. He stared at the huge slash in his forearm, and a second later the Tark's blade slashed across and Drogan's arm was severed and lying in the dirt. He looked across in dazed wonder into the intent, raging eyes of the Tark.

"When your hand touched Tavane of Elur, your arm and your life were destined for the dust", Sarkan Mor snarled, and his sword slashed across once more. Blood spurted from the bloody circular cavity which lay between Drogan's shoulders as his head toppled to the dirt.

He turned to Drogan's warriors.

"We did not touch her!" one of them shouted.

"You did not help her," replied the Tark, and his men surged forward, hatred and blood-lust clouding their features. Within a minute Drogan's men lay lifeless in the dirt.

Sarkan Mor looked at the bodies, and nodded. "Now we shall visit Farnus Cervus."

"No!" pleaded Tavane. "We must go back". She tried to run, but the Tark ordered his men to hold her, and once again she was taken against her will, though this time those who held her did so gingerly, and with nervous glances at her and at their Tark.

Her eyes blazed, but they held her as ordered, and she finally desisted and went willingly, though ever alert for a chance to break free. She would abide by the wishes for Sarkan Mor this moment, for she had no choice; and they made their way towards the center of Costus.

***

Tarak rode without slowing as he entered the compound of Jad Hasta and noticed fallen men near the buildings where he had left Tavane and Janyla. He could sense that something was happening within one nearby. He hurtled his mount towards the door. One man guarded it, and his sword was ready as the wapen swept forward. Tarak could hear the shouts of the men within, and a strange, powerful whistling sound.

He didn't slow his mount as he neared the guard, who was starting to back away a bit from this unusual type of attack. Tarak counted on his speed and strength to save him from any blow the guard might launch; but the guard simply held his weapon as if in a daze, afraid to deliver an offensive blow; ready to defend and counter a sword stroke, and Tarak crashed into the man as he leaped from the wapen, slamming the man back into the wall. The man's head snapped back and struck the hard boards, and he slumped senselessly to the dock.

Tarak dismissed him from his thoughts as he leaped into the darkened structure. Seven large armed men were spread out in a semi-circle, and at its center Janyla stood with his back to the wall. His dress was torn and bloody. His arms held up the swishing death which was the katana, its blade a blur as it bobbed back and forth.

Janyla's eyes were savage with battle lust, shining like blue stars in his small sweaty face. He was smiling as he held a small tube in his mouth; one hollow end of the katana sheath. He blew and the strange whistling sound erupted from the tube once more. It was this which Tarak had heard.

The men had obviously been trying to capture the Chomirian, but one man lay dead near the small man's feet, and two others bled from wounds inflicted by their intended prey. Now they had failed, and it now appeared that they intended to kill Janyla. Tavane was nowhere in sight.

The Chomirian's eyes flashed as they caught sight of his friend. "They took Tavane!" he shouted. "Probably to the Palace of Farnus Cervus! Go if you would catch them!"

The men who surrounded the Chomirian glanced wildly around at this new enemy, and those nearest backed away from Tarak as he surged towards his friend.

"We will find her soon enough," Tarak snarled. "When we have killed these men."

The assassins of Farnus Cervus began to circle. They were still seven, and only two faced them. The began a cautious approach, their tactics determined by long experience in such matters.

Tarak moved away from Janyla, his senses alive with battle, seeking any weakness, readying his every nerve and muscle for instantaneous action and reaction once he had sensed the weakest foe. This would be a difficult battle to win, but he had fought many such battles, and he never considered defeat. He snarled his defiance, and growls erupted from his throat, growls which caused the hair to stand up on the men he faced. They stopped momentarily in their advance.

Then Janyla smiled as he glanced toward the door. "Leave us, Tarak. Tavane needs you now far more than do I."

Tarak followed his glance and noted the silent figures which were slipping into the building. Small figures, no larger than Janyla. Tarak did not need to be told that these were Chomirians.

"Your whistle," he said to Janyla.

Janyla nodded. "A Chomirian warship sits among those at Jad Hasta's docks. Chomirians who will stand with any Chomirian who needs help. It is our way." He gestured toward the door. "Truly, you are needed by Tavane."

Tarak nodded, and moved toward the door. The small warriors let him pass. Fifteen of them had entered the room. Fifteen small men dressed in forest colors. Leathers and green fabrics covered their small muscular limbs. Each had his katana in his hands, and each was smiling.

Tarak looked back at his friend.

Janyla waved briefly. "These Costians are as dead, Tarak. Chomirians do not accept surrender from assassins. Find Tavane and return as soon as possible. The ship leaves tonight, and I must go." He paused. "If you cannot make this ship, I will look for you some day in the lands of the Chomir. If you come, seek Panthar, of the Tarab Clan. Ask for me, for I am known." The small man waved briefly with the flashing tip of his weapon.

Tarak noted the startled looks which flickered suddenly upon the faces of the Chomirians. Then they began to stalk their prey. He nodded. "I will find you,.... Panthar!" He smiled suddenly, his face lighting up as he looked for perhaps the last time at his great small companion. "We will find you!"

Panthar of the Chomir flashed an answering smile. An instant later the doorway was empty, and he turned his attention to the task at hand with reckless, violent, anticipatory joy.

The Wapen was still near the door, and Tarak mounted quickly. The road adjacent to the dockyards ran straight towards the Center of Costus. It was in that direction he rode, for in that direction were the palaces and enclaves of the nobles. He rode quickly, hoping to catch his quarry before he was once again stymied by high walls and heavy doors.

He reached the central section of Costus without encountering the captors, though close to his destination he came upon the bodies of more than a score of men; warriors of the House of Cervus, by their clothing.

They lay in the grim postures of violent death. One body, in finer clothes, lay headless in the dirt. The others sprawled in bloody disarray, each suffering the markings of numerous wounds.

A grim smile touched Tarak's lips. These were the men who had dared to take his Tavane. But who had done this, and why?

He was cautious as he neared the walls of the central enclave. The large gates stood open, for thought it was getting dark, numerous torches lighted the streets and avenues and a constant stream of citizens passed through them in both directions on their business and that of the city's elite who ruled from behind these walls; economically, politically, or militarily.

Leaving the wapen to fend for itself, Tarak moved boldly to the gateway. His sword was sheathed, and he moved with a casual grace past the hinged gates.

A guard looked up briefly as he approached. "State your business".

"I have an important message for Farnus Cervus," he replied.

The guard hesitated, then nodded. It was common for Cervus to hire strange men. "Cervus arrived not an hour since."

Tarak nodded, and moved past the man and into the central city.

Shops abounded here, where wealth was so abundant, lining both sides of the broad avenues. Behind the shops were the walls of the separate houses. Each was fortified and housed its elite owners, as well as numerous warriors, slaves, and employees of the Houses. The center of the city was alive at night with shopkeepers and taverns and restaurants. Patrons were dressed in rich clothing and moved insolently along the streets, while merchants called to them.

Tarak's senses drank in the teeming sights, sounds and smells, but his purpose was fixed. He stopped briefly to purchase a piece of fruit from a vendor, and inquired from the man as to the location of the compound of Farnus Cervus. The man was quick to oblige a customer, and a few seconds later Tarak had the information, and left the man in the middle of his proposed conversation. Quickly he moved toward the center of the enclave. His breathing quickened. His nostrils flared. All the sensations which life had triggered in him as he prepared to fight for his life seethed through his body. His eyes flared with savagery, and more than a few people stared at him and quickly moved to the side as he passed them.

He came to it, then. Set to the left of the avenue, the enclave of Farnus Cervus seemed nearly as large as that of the Tarkan, whose palace was situated to the right of the avenue, stretching away towards the sea.

The walls were high and thick, but the gates stood open as the slaves and servants of Cervus came and went from the House on their master's business.

Two guards stood in the doorway, watching lazily as the traffic moved along the street.

He approached, and was again queried as to his purpose. He repeated the story he had told the previous guards, but he knew this was the time for battle. He was no perceived threat to the city's guards, but those of Cervus would likely be much more careful. He waited for their reaction.

The men straightened, and the superior shook his head. "You will state your name and wait here, peasant. None enter here without permission from Cervus, who are now known to me."

Tarak leaped forward, reaching for the guard. His movement was so quick and unexpected that the man had no chance to defend himself. The barbarian's hand shot out and slammed into the guard's face. His head reeled back with the sound of shattered bone, and he slumped to the dirt.

The other guard stared with wide eyes, and drew his sword, but Tarak had his own blade in his hand, and he attacked savagely. His opponent was a competent swordsman, but he was facing a man whose mastery of the sword had already founded legends, and who was searching for his lost Tavane. In seconds the man slipped to the dust as Tarak bounded into the interior of the House. His sword was in his hand as he moved quickly into the hallways. Screams came from behind him as slave girls recovered from the shock of the brief, savage battle they had witnessed.

The halls were well lit with frequent torches set along the walls, and he moved quickly. He encountered no immediate threat from guards, so sheathed his own weapon and moved as if he had a legitimate purpose. The sounds from the gate dwindled as those of the interior grew in volume. The smell of food assailed his nostrils, and his mouth watered as he tasted the rich aromas.

To the right and ahead, a door opened and a serving girl appeared with huge platters of food. She glanced at him briefly, then moved along the passage.

He followed her down a corridor, until she pushed aside one of two hinged doors and disappeared. As she opened the door, the sounds of dining swelled. He followed her to the door and opened it slightly, peering inside.

The room was large, with tables set along its expanse. His eyes traveled along them. Facing them all, on a raised platform across the room was a large table, richly set. He glanced that way, and his eyes locked, for there sat Farnus Cervus; and next to him a large warrior clad in dark red. Tarak had seen tunics of this color often in Elur. Next to the man Tavane sat unfettered. Her tattered dress was gone. Now she wore a light blue dress of finest silk. She ate as she sat, but her face was a mask of stoicism, without pleasure or animation.

It was what he had come for. She was his. He pressed his chest to the doors, each arm flexed behind one, and suddenly threw them open and bounded within.

"Tavane!" he thundered.

She looked up, and her eyes grew wide. She leaped to her feet. "Tarak!" she cried. "Oh....Tarak!"

Then he was racing across the hall toward her, his sword in his hand and death in his eyes. He made it halfway across before a warrior leaped up, drawing his sword, but Tarak was upon him and cut him down as he raced by.

Another tried to stop him, but Tarak killed him without mercy and leaped upon the last table and into the clear space which separated the rest of the tables from the raised platform which supported the master's table.

Here he stopped, for he was met by a dozen swordsman. Men who did not eat when their nobles ate. Men who are always ready to protect their employers. More than half of these men wore dark red tunics.

He glanced around, but he was effectively blocked, so he snarled and started forward to fight. His sword was a blur and his savage growls erupted and he initiated his attack to rescue his Tavane or die here in the dining room of Farnus Cervus of Costus.

"Hold!" The man seated between Tavane and Cervus was on his feet, his own sword in his hand. At his command, the warriors who had started forward stopped and waited, their swords still raised and blocking any avenue to the raised platform.

Tarak stopped his own advance, and looked up at the man, and at Tavane. His ears listened for a rear approach, but the hall was still and suddenly silent. He quivered with battle lust. His eyes found Tavane's, and he smiled.

Her own were wet, but her own face lit up with joy and love as she looked down at him. Her blue-green eyes shone through her tears with love and pride. "You came for me!"

"I will always come for you, Tavane," he said. "You are mine."

The man next to hear laughed. "Forget her, barbarian!"

Tarak ignored him. "Come with me, Tavane."

She tried to move away from her companion, but he grabbed her arm, though gently. "Let me go!" She cried, turning to him. Her eyes were fierce now, and Tarak watched her carefully. Something was strange here. "You have no power over me, Sarkan!" she commanded. "Take care what you lay your hands on here!"

The man raised an eyebrow, but did not release her. "I merely protect you, Tavane. Whether from others or from yourself."

"You know this man?" Tarak asked her, for it was obvious that she did.

She turned to him. She seemed reluctant to speak, and for several seconds the room was silent. "Yes," she said, finally. "I know him well."

Tarak turned to look at the man. Tall, broad and powerful, his dark handsome figure stood head and shoulders above the girl. His tunic was rich and marked with the designs of power and status. His sword, which had appeared in his hand almost instantly when Tarak had entered the room, he held casually but without a trace of effort, as if it were weightless. This man must be he whom Tavane had escaped in Elur. She had been his slave. Tarak looked into the man's eyes, and saw boldness and aggression there; without a trace of fear, though marred with lines of cruelty; and the disdain too many nobles habitually affected for those who they considered beneath them. Tarak's senses heightened. He did not like this man, and his spirit rose to the unspoken challenge he saw in the man's eyes. He smiled slightly. "Take your hands off Tavane," he commanded.

The man laughed, a harsh sound in the stillness of the dining room. "Fool! Do you think you give the orders here? And to me?" The man's face grew ugly. "I am Sarkan Mor, Ruler of Akur; Tark of great Elur!"

Tarak, replied calmly, but his eyes gleamed. "I don't care who or what you are. If you harm Tavane I will kill you as you stand. She is no longer your slave!"

Sarkan Mor's eyes widened in shock. "Slave?" Then he laughed again, in genuine merriment. "Slave! You think she is my slave?" He laughed again, and Tarak glanced at Tavane. She seemed embarrassed, and dropped her eyes from his questioning gaze.

The Tark shook his head slowly back and forth, chuckling. He released Tavane's arm, but three warriors surrounded her now. Slowly he reached for a goblet, and drank it to the dregs. Wiping his mouth, he looked once more down at the tawny-haired barbarian, then at Tavane. "This fool thinks you are a slave?"

She was silent, but nodded.

He laughed again, and turned his eyes once more to Tarak. "Your slave-girl has deceived you, jok- man." Sarkan Mor signaled and a slave refilled his goblet. He drank once more. "You have taken her from Elur. You have touched her and you have even presumed to kiss her, as I've heard. You have dared to call her your own!" His voice grew intense. "You will die for these acts, as would any peasant who dared to so affront her; for she is not for you, nor for any such as you, even though you know not who or what she is!"

Tarak glanced at Tavane, but she was silent, watching Sarkan Mor. He rested his eyes once more upon the Tark. "I care nothing for your threats, nor do I care if she is a slave."

The Tark laughed again. "Perhaps not. Nor would I care; except that she is my cousin. She is the Jewel of Elur, barbarian! She is the Princess Tavane; the only daughter of Jar Kantor, Tarkan of Elur!"

Tarak was stunned. His mouth hung open for an instant as the Tark's words reached him. He stood silently, a statue as he absorbed the meaning of what he had heard. Then he turned once more to look at Tavane, and there was no escaping the searching stare he directed at her. "Tavane?" he said.

She looked at him then, and though her eyes were wet they were strong and proud and unashamed. She was so beautiful as she stood there, a small figure among the warriors, but she seemed somehow taller than any as she stood, straight and unafraid, and answered him; and though her voice quavered slightly when she started to speak, her strength reasserted itself almost immediately. "It is true, my Tarak." She hesitated slightly, then began again. "It is true. I am the daughter of Jar Kantor." she looked intently into his eyes, but saw only puzzlement there. "I am the Princess Tavane." She smiled then, and her tears began to run. "But know this, my Tarak! Know that I care nothing for the life of a Princess. It is as nothing compared with my love for you!" She shook her head, as if to clear it. "I would say that I am sorry that I lied to you; and to Janyla ---- but I am not sorry! I am not sorry for one second that I lied to you for I have thus met you and stayed with you; and I have loved you! And I will always love you!"

She gazed at him desperately, her eyes blinking and her voice weakening. "Please, Tarak! Please forgive me!"

She saw only warmth there as he finished, and though he was silent for a long moment, digesting her words, she recognized her forgiveness and immeasurable affection in those green eyes.

Then he smiled. "You belong to me, Tavane. Slave or Princess; you belong to me!"

"Enough!" snapped Sarkan Mor. "She returns to the Tarkan, who has set half the armies of Elur and her vassals out in search of her!" His eyes were cruel. "And you die here, barbarian!"

"You dare not kill him!" Tavane warned.

"I will not kill him," replied the Tark. "Though it would please me." He turned to Farnus Cervus, who had watched and listened intently.

"My men will kill him," he stated. "He has caused me a great deal of pain and expense."

"No!" cried Tavane. "Let him go. I will return with you, Sarkan, but he has done nothing! He was taking me to find my brother!"

The Tark sneered. "He has found only death, Tavane."

Varnag, To-Roc of the City Guard, seated near Farnus Cervus, chuckled as he watched and listened. He had known these travelers were unusual, but who could have guessed this! He looked down at the tawny-haired man, and wished he could see the Tark of Akur try to kill this barbarian. His own skin prickled as he recalled the fight in the tavern, and he shivered slightly at the memory and blessed his fortune that he had never wronged this girl, for Sarkan Mor was more powerful than any man in Costus except the Tarkan. His own killing skills were legendary, and at his word Jar Kantor would send the might of Elur itself against any foe.

None had sought to hinder him in his quest to find the girl, from the moment he had appeared in Costus with his warriors. He had stated his purpose and told the guards to move out of the way. And they had moved. Sarkan Mor was on a mission for his Tarkan, and his manner had clearly indicated he would have his way or he would have war. Varnag had heard of Tavane of Elur, and of her father's love for her. He studied her for the hundredth time. She was truly a princess to wage war over.

The doors flew open then, and all faces turned to the entrance. A richly dressed man appeared, his tunic emblazoned with the symbol of the Tarkan of Costus. He was a tribune, and his word carried the power of the Tarkenate.

The tribune was accompanied by a cloaked man, and Varnag recognized him as one of those who had been in the Tavern when the barbarian had destroyed Horwag. One who had taken an interest at the names of the travelers.

Varnag looked back at Tarak, who stood slightly crouched, his sword relaxed but ready..

Sarkan Mor nodded. "You may kill him now. Tavane would not forgive me if I killed him with my own hand"

Tavane's voice was hard. "If he's killed, you will have killed me as well, fool! And if you have him killed I will avenge him myself, Sarkan Mor!"

The Tark shook his head. "You will forget him, Tavane. He is a peasant." He nodded to Farnus Cervus. "Kill him now."

The warriors of Cervus raised their swords, and Tarak tensed, his arms flexing, preparing to fight with this weapon, and the others which had served him so well for so long. His arms and legs and fists and hands and teeth. And his brain and senses. He was hardly a match for several skilled swordsmen in close quarters, but he would kill this Tark, no matter what wounds he suffered. He measured his attackers, and his path, and began to growl. He moved slightly forward, half crouched, his eyes blazing in the torchlight.

"No!"

They looked to see the strange cloaked man move forward. His voice was commanding. He lowered the hood from his cloak, and his grizzled face regarded them with fearless insolence.

"Who is this?" demanded Farnus Cervus.

"He is Gandon," replied the tribune. "A Ranger of Neros."

Sarkon Mor scowled. A Ranger. He had heard of such men. Some cities had groups of such men, who traveled throughout the free lands, observing the treatment accorded to citizens of their city, and providing a touch of security for some who were far from home. They were formidable men, and cloaked with the power of their cities, or so he had heard. His patience was short. Whatever their interests, they had no power here, nor any business bothering Tarks in their own lands. He turned to the man.

"We have no need of you, Nerosian."

The man shrugged. "I've come for the man known as Tarak."

Sarkon Mor laughed. Farnus Cervus had forty men in the room. His own troops numbered more than two dozen, and hundreds in taverns and pleasure houses nearby the enclave of Farnus Cervus "Forget him. And leave, lest you forget your own life."

"Release him!" demanded the Nerosian.

"What is he to you?"

"He is a Rok of Neros."

"What?" demanded Sarkon Mor. "He is a barbarian. And far too young for such a rank!" He noted the tattered stripes of rank upon Tarak's torn and faded tunic, and shook his head in disgust.

"He is a Rok of Neros," repeated the Ranger.

"This is absurd!" Farnus Cervus hissed. He turned to his men. "Kill the barbarian! Then kill the Nerosian!"

Tavane looked up with wide eyes. She noticed Tarak had calmed slightly, and was watching the Nerosian. She too noticed once again his faded tunic, with the stripes of a Rok. She called to him. "You told me a friend gave you that tunic!" she cried.

Tarak looked at her and shrugged. "Well, he was the Tarkan."

She stared at him helplessly, and now Sarkon Mor frowned. "You claim to be a friend of the Tarkan of Neros?"

Tarak ignored him, and looked at the Ranger. "Your presence is welcome, Ranger And your sword."

The Ranger didn't hesitate, drawing his sword in a flash. The man smiled, and his eyes gleamed as his hand closed upon the hilt of the weapon. The sword flashed with the reflections of torchlight as Gandon swirled it briefly, testing its balance. Then he sheathed the weapon. He looked up at the Tark, and his eyes were eager. He strode through the crowd, accompanied by the tribune. None sought to bar the way of the Tarkan's tribune, and both men strode without hindrance and stepped onto the platform.

Tarak flushed with pleasure, and memories of his Nerosian friends surfaced in his thoughts. Anon, from the pits; and Karn, son of Barkan of Neros! Abar. Rok of all the Armies of Neros. And Foss. Foss, Tarkan of the City of Warriors. Foss, who was Tarak's first friend, and his best friend. Foss, who had gained a new youth and a new purpose from his chance encounter and subsequent friendship with the barbarian who had emerged from the mountains and the forests.

How many times he had fought with Foss and the others at his side. Once again he stood allied with a warrior garbed in the dark green of the Northern lands!

Sarkan Mor turned to await them, and nodded to Cervus.

"Kill the barbarian!" screamed Farnus Cervus.

"No." It was the tribune. His voice carried the authority of the Tarkan of Costus.

Sarkon Mor ignored him. "You have no power over me, tribune. I doubt your Tarkan will risk war over this prisoner." He turned to Farnus Cervus. "Hold your men." Then he signaled his own warriors to attack.

"I doubt you will risk war either, Tark," snapped Gandon. "Else you are a fool!"

The Tark turned to the Ranger in rage. "You threaten me, Nerosian?"

The Ranger laughed roughly. "No. I promise you, Tark." He continued, his voice savage and aggressive, his manner arrogant. "Kill me, Elurian fool, if you dare. Kill us both. Gandon the Ranger, and Tarak, Rok of Neros. Kill us now!."

His eyes were hard. "But know," he went on, "that what occurs here this night is known to other Nerosian Rangers who watch and wait. Know that in this matter and in this room there is only the one way, and that way is my way!"

He moved forward, his posture straight, his gaze boring into the startled eyes of the Tark. "Know that if I do not leave this place, unharmed, with my Rok, that one day this year or next year the armies of Neros will descend upon your little vassal city and destroy it such that no stone will stand upon another. Know that you will be hunted and killed and your family will be hunted like vermin and your power will end forever, as will your life. There will be nothing left of you but a faded memory and nothing left of your city but rubble."

Gandon strode forward, his hand clenching the hilt of his long knife. Muscles rippled in his arms. His face was set as if in granite and his eyes flashed with power and aggression and fearlessness. "Such is the power and will of Foss, Tarkan of Neros, and such is his trust in his Rangers and his fondness for his Roks!"

"And for this man," he continued as he gestured to Tarak, "Foss would himself lead his armies and take your fool's head as his prize."

He walked forward insolently to stand directly in front of the Tark, well within striking distance of Sarkon Mor and his warriors. "Decide, Sarkon Mor!"

The Tark was livid with rage. The Nerosian's arrogance was beyond belief. He silently cursed all Nerosians, and tried to imagine killing the Ranger. He wanted to order his death, and that of the barbarian. He wanted to kill the man himself. He also, however, recognized the naked arrogance of truth, and he raged silently. The Ranger was obviously simply stating a brutal fact. A fact of power and honor and loyalty. A fact of a warlike heritage and a love of battle.

As incredible as it seemed, this tawny beast-man was apparently a Rok of Neros itself, though such a thing was unimaginable. For some reason, whatever the truth, the barbarian was being protected by this Ranger, and such protection was apparently without rational limits. Rangers did not bluff. Nor did the armies of Neros. This was known to all cities. Sarkon Mor saw the death and destruction of himself and everything he held dear, and he bitterly submitted to the wishes of the lone Ranger of Neros.

"Take your Rok!" he said. "But Tavane returns with me!" He looked at Tarak. "You will never have her, barbarian!"

"He already has me, cousin!" snapped Tavane. Her eyes were fierce with pride and loyalty. "As you have lost this day any affections of mine."

Sarkon Mor glared at her, but her gaze was unyielding as her blue-green eyes bored into his own. He shifted his eyes from her face. She was the daughter of Jar Kantor, Tarkan of Elur, and there were limits beyond which even Sarkon Mor could not cross in his treatment of her. His attention was diverted by the barbarian's voice.

"I will return for her one day," Tarak said, looking into the eyes of the Elurian Tark. "She is mine! For now I must follow my Chomirian friend, and Tavane is safer with you than with me, even were it possible for me to take her from you."

His eyes blazed with savagery. "But when I come for her again, do not hinder me; or her, Elurian, for then I shall kill any who stands in my way, be he Tark or Tarkan!"

He turned to Tavane. "Wait for me, fair Tavane! I must find Janyla as we pledged. We will then look for your brother!"

"I will wait a bit," she replied. "But if you do not come, I shall follow you!" Her voice was filled with drive and love and fierce pride.

"My Tavane!" he laughed. "But fear not, for I will come for you one day!" His suffering was forgotten. He looked at the brave Nerosian Ranger, and felt warm with the friendship of the man and with the loyalty of his Nerosian bond. He was in love with Tavane, and though he must leave her he did so knowing she was much safer with her family than with him. His cause now was to aid Janyla; or Panthar of the Chomir, of the Tarab clan.

He shook his head slowly, and his tawny hair caressed his bronzed shoulders. His slave girl was the daughter of a Tarkan! He tossed his head again and smiled at her where she stood surrounded by the Tark's warriors. She smiled back, and her eyes were moist with tears and love, as beautiful and wet as the shallows of Kal. She blew him a kiss, and he turned to the Ranger.

"Thank you, Gandon of Neros," he said.

"It is my honor and pleasure, Rok," replied Gandon. "And it will be my pleasure to travel to Neros and inform my Tarkan of your good health," he continued. "All Rangers have explicit orders to do such, should any ever encounter you or hear of you."

Tarak smiled, thinking of the grizzled Tarkan of Neros. "Tell Foss that I wish him well, when you see him."

"That I shall do." replied the Ranger.

Tarak took one more long look at his beloved, then the two men turned abruptly and left the chamber, as those who blocked their path hurriedly made way.

Boldly the two men strode through the halls of the House and out into the avenues of Central Costus. They continued along the streets and passed into the outer city without incident.

Tarak stopped and turned to his companion. "I must leave you now, Gandon. A good friend needs my help, and I must try to find him before his ship sails."

The Ranger halted and turned. "You know that Cervus will try to kill you."

"Of course".

Gandon nodded. "I would travel with you while you are in Costus, though I of course cannot protect you from the unmarked assassins which Cervus will certainly send in pursuit."

Tarak shook his head. "No, Gandon. You have done enough, though I would like to fight at the side of a Nerosian warrior once more." He turned toward the sea. "Cervus will find me harder to kill than he might imagine."

The Ranger laughed roughly. "As did Jaren. As did Gorkok. And so many others."

Memories invaded the tawny giant, spurred by Gandon's words. He smiled. "Tavane is safe, and beyond my reach for now. My quest is across the sea, and I need not walk into the trap of another in this city." He turned back to the Ranger. "Go now, Gandon. Take with you my words of greeting to my friends. Tell them all that I still think of them."

The two men faced each other for a long moment. Gandon gripped Tarak by the forearm. "Goodbye, Rok."

Tarak nodded. "And to you, Ranger." He turned then and loped away into the darkness, as Gandon the Ranger watched him fade into a recent memory.

The grizzled veteran of hundreds of battles stood looking off into the darkness. He knew what Tarak meant to his Tarkan; and to his city. He felt proud to have met this young wild barbarian, who had become a legend in two great cities. He waited for long minutes; then he turned west, toward the city's edge, and moved away into the darkness.

***

The diners sat in silence as the doors swung shut behind the two Nerosian warriors; each with his own thoughts.

Farnus Cervus was livid with rage. The barbarian had cost him immensely. His prized assassin was still disabled. His joks dead, as were several of his men. He had lost the drajen, for Tavane had suspected he might have taken them, and had asked him point-blank if he held her drajen. She had looked at him as a Tarkana looks at a slave, and her voice had been challenging. Sarkan Mor had watched as he answered her, and Farnus Cervus had decided instantly that to lie was to gamble with stakes too high to imagine. He had acknowledged his possession of the beasts, indicating that his men had brought them to him mistakenly, and that he had cared for them until he learned of their owner.

The girl's eyes had taken their measure of his lie, and his own had shifted away from her perfect face. Sarkan Mor's mouth had turned up in a half-smile; but they could do nothing to prove otherwise, and the beasts were theirs again. Royal Drajen, bred for speed and fighting ability and power. They were magnificent; obviously superior to any owned by Cervus, and he hated to lose them, but he had no choice. The power of Elur was vast, and a word from Jar Kantor to Olsus Stor, Tarkan of Costus, might cost Cervus his life. He had learned of what Sarkan Mor had done to the men who had captured his cousin, and he knew his own life was not entirely safe from this Elurian Tark.

Now he seethed with vengeance, blaming his misfortunes upon the strange man known only as Tarak, ignoring the fact that his misfortunes arose from his own actions and those of his men. He motioned for a nearby warrior, and whispered into the man's ear. His face was grim as he ordered the immediate execution of the barbarian, and smiled once more at the thought of the hundred warriors who would depart his House within minutes to hunt the Nerosian down. His best men would lead them, all garbed as common folk. None would trace the killing back to Farnus, or dare to try.

Sarkan Mor was angry almost beyond measure. Never had he been spoken to as the Ranger had spoken to him. Never had he backed down from any man. Only Jar Kantor himself had the right and powere to command the Ruler of Akur. He glanced at Tavane, but she returned his glance with her own measured stare. She hated him this night, and the Tark was concerned that her hate might not dissipate. He had never seen her like this. Her love for the barbarian was beyond belief. Yet it was there, and now her regal eyes bored into his with a drive which made him uncomfortable. Their fire reminded him in some slight respect of the green eyes of the tawny-haired man who had stood before them a few minutes ago.

Sarkan Mor had never seen such savagery in a man's eyes; nor such eagerness. The Tark knew he himself was a striking figure, and his fighting skills and presence had never failed to cause any adversary to hesitate if potential battle was imminent. The Nerosian, however, had looked at him as if he were meat on the hoof. As if the strange man's sole purpose in life at that moment was to attack and kill him. Sarkan Mor had met those eyes fearlessly. He feared nothing. Yet the man had made him feel a tenseness he had rarely experienced.

He shrugged. Life dealt one some strange hands. He had rescued Tavane, and Jar Kantor would reward him well, though Sarkan Mor desired no reward other than the safety of his cousin, for he loved Tavane as did all of her family. As did all Elur.

Tavane just sat and thought of her Tarak. She wished she was with him, but she knew Sarkan Mor would never let her go. Nor would her father. She accepted the inevitable, and smiled as images of her warrior danced within her memories. He was alive. He would come for her one day!

"There are other matters to discuss," the tribune said, intruding into the thoughts of those at the table. "Olsus Stor desires your presence this night in the Palace of the Tarkan." He turned to Sarkan Mor and Tavane. "He wishes to greet you and extend the welcome of Costus to you both."

Sarkan Mor nodded. "We are honored."

Tavane reclined her head slightly.

The tribune turned to Cervus. "You are invited too."

Cervus bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "At once?"

The tribune nodded. "Yes. The Tarkan awaits you. One more thing, Farnus Cervus," he added. "Pell Jax has given formal notice that he has severed ties with Jad Hasta."

Cervus paled. This meant only one thing. Hasta could not be drawn into a war because of any action of Pell Jax, who now had no master. Who acted only for himself. It meant Pell Jax intended to kill an important man.

The Tarkan's invitation lost its allure in that instant. Farnus Cervus wished only to remain in his House, which was now heavily guarded and shut against the city. He could not refuse the invitation of the Tarkan, however. Invitations from Olsus Stor were commands. He looked up at the tribune. "I am ready."

The three of them rose and accompanied the tribune from the dining room and into the hall. Two of the Tarkan's Guard waited, and turned to lead them to the front of the House. Sarkan Mor's warriors followed the group. When the exited the front gates, the Tark ordered his men to exit the central city and wait for him in outer Costus, near the gates. He would find them in taverns when he needed them. It was an insult to bring warriors with one when already guarded by a Tarkan's warriors, however few; and Sarkan Mor was warrior enough himself to protect the Princess.

They crossed the shadowed central square and were approaching the Palace when a voice called out from behind.

"Sarkan Mor!"

The turned to see one of the Tark's warriors trotting towards them. The man was obviously in a hurry. "Wait, my Tark!" the man called. "I need to speak to you about Farnus Cervus."

The Akurian stopped. "Go with the tribune, Tavane. We will see what my warrior wishes. It must be important for him to bother me at this time. I will catch up with you." He turned to Cervus. "Is there something you have kept from me?"

Cervus shook his head. "No. Nothing." He watched the red-clad Akurian approach, wondering if the truth of any of his own actions had somehow become known to his guest's warriors. He noticed the flickering torches. They seemed not to cast as much light this night. He scanned the walls and streetsWeren't there usually more of them lighted? Something was wrong here.

He turned back to the approaching man, who was very close now. Suddenly Farnus Cevus broke into a cold sweat, for he knew who this was! He started to shout, but it was too late. The warrior's sword was in his hand, and Farnus Cervus looked into the level eyes of Pell Jax.

"What is this?" queried Sarkan Mor.

"It is none of your affair, Akurian!" Jax responded. "Stay back, and you will stay alive."

Sarkan Mor scowled, and Cervus started to shout, but Jax was upon him and he barely had time to draw his own sword. Fear raced through him as he raised his weapon to block the first stroke of the Sword of Costus.

Sarkan Mor's own weapon was in his hand now, and he started forward, but the fight was over so quickly that as he moved forward he was suddenly staring at the strange warrior over the bleeding, dying, jerking body of Farnus Cervus.

The assassin glanced up at the Tark, then again down at his prey. "Thus is your reward, Cervus. Thus do you pay for what you have done; and what you have attempted."

Cervus squealed in pain as he lay in the avenue. Blood gushed from his chest.

"You have killed my dinner companion," Sarkan Mor stated. "Now you will join him." He moved forward, his eyes gleaming. He loved fighting and killing, and he had seen this man dispose of Cervus as a butcher disposes of a slab of meat. His own prowess felt challenged somehow. And this man had masqueraded as one of his own men. It was enough to kill for.

Jax stood relaxed. "I have no quarrel with you, Tark. But if you wish to quarrel, I am here. I am Pell Jax."

Sarkan Mor's eyes widened momentarily. Pell Jax! He had heard of this man many times. His breathing quickened, and adrenalin flushed through his system. He was alive as he could rarely be. This would truly be an opponent worthy of his own skill!

"I am Sarkan Mor, assassin. I wish to quarrel."

Jax smiled, and suddenly the two men were one as they both attacked. Their blades split the air in a blur. Metal crashed upon metal, and lightning strokes were delivered and countered and blocked. Firelight gleamed and flashed as its light caught the whirling blades, and the ringing of the swords shattered the darkness.

For two minutes the men fought, each trying to kill the other. Muscles rippled and bodies crashed and sprang and twisted.

Then they backed away and measured each other. Each bled from minor cuts, but neither was seriously injured. Their chests heaved from their efforts. Sweat gleamed upon arms of knotted cords of muscle.

Shouts broke the silent moment. "What is going on!"

Jax pricked up his ears. Men were approaching from the House of Cervus.

"Sarkan!" It was Tavane's voice, calling from the gateway of the Tarkan's Palace. "Where are you?"

Both men looked at each other with new respect. A warrior's respect for another warrior. "I must go, Sarkan Mor," Pell Jax stated.

The Tark nodded. "And I, too."

Jax smiled. "We shall meet again."

"Yes. I look forward to that day."

Pell Jax grinned widely. Then his sword was sheathed in a lightning movement, and he was gone into the darkness.

Several warriors rushed forward into the flickering light. They stared at the body of their employer, and looked into the dardkness. "Who was that?" one queried.

"That was Pell Jax," replied the Tark. "A warrior."

The leader of the men shouted for his men to chase the assassin, and for the horns to sound signaling all men of Cervus to do the same. Cervus had long instructed his employees that if he should die, a certain sound should ring, which would tell his assassins that they were to find and kill Pell Jax and Jad Hasta, no matter the cost. Hasta was protected now, for the proclamation of Pell Jax removed any right of retribution against his former employer, by law of the Tarkan. Jax himself was fair game, and his assassins would hunt him down in numbers and strength and determination like they had never before hunted any man. Any sole traveler this night might be killed. Certainly all would be detained. It was a signal for killing.

Sarkan Mor listened to the horns, and instinctively knew what they signaled. He shrugged, and hoped the assassin would escape. He hoped to meet him one day and finish this fight. He heard Tavane's questioning voice again, and shouted to her that he was on his way. Once more he looked into the darkness, then turned toward the Palace of the Tarkan.

Tarak was still far from the docks when he heard the sounds of horns behind him, emanating from central Costus. He stopped and looked back. A message was being sent out across the city, though he did not know its meaning.

He heard answering horns from ahead; the direction of the docks of Cervus, and the shouting of many men. His own knowledge of Cervus convinced him that this signal was related to his own presence, and he assumed that the warriors he heard gathering were doing so to hunt him. Apparently a great number of men were gathering, for he heard shouts and the sounds of weapons. He was not close enough to see them in the darkness, for few torches burned in the streets, but he could hear the commotion plainly.

I was late now, and he stood undecided and considered his course of action. Almost surely Janya's ship had departed the docks of Jad Hasta. Such ships would tend to navigate the narrow waterways before complete darkness descended. Tarak's eyes burned with defeat, for he had promised to help his friend. He did not fear for the Chomirian. Jan - Panthar could take care of himself. Yet Tarak had promised him, and though his failure was due to no fault of his own, he felt sad.

Sadness was no excuse for foolishness, however. Although he thought he could easily elude these warriors and find Hasta's compound, it would be preferable to do so early the next day, when he could chance finding a ship which would depart as soon as possible. No one would be present at this time to give him such information. He would hide for the night, perhaps in the forest; and return to the compound at first light.

He turned away and loped towards the edge of the city, near where they had first entered Costus. It was unlikely he would encounter warriors in that direction; certainly not in such large numbers.

Within minutes he heard the sounds of battle ahead, though of only a few men. He decreased his speed as he approached, but kept to the sides of the street, and moved in and out of shadows. As he neared an intersection he saw four figures. Two men were fighting against one, while another man, a bowman, stood back, his arrow ready for instant release.

The voices of the men carried to Tarak as he slowly crept into the intersection.

"We have you now!" growled one huge warrior.

His opponent laughed. "You have nothing, fool."

Tarak recognized the voice instantly, and his knowledge was confirmed as the scent of the fighters reached his sensitive nostrils. Stealth was abandoned as he streaked into the intersection, but none heard him as he approached.

The bowman was his first foe. The man held back, ready to kill the victim should either of the bowman's companions be disabled or slain. He had no clear shot in a two-on-one engagement, but he was ready should the odds change.

Tarak's knife was in his hand. He did not hesitate. This man might turn at any moment. His arm came up and his wrist sent the spinning shaft forward like a streak.

The bowman cried out in one garbled shriek as the knife buried itself in his neck. He slumped to the pavement without further sound.

The shriek caught the attention of the fighters, and all three men backed up as they turned their heads. A moment later Tarak walked into the dim, flickering light. "Pell Jax," he grinned.

The assassin smiled. "Tarak! You always seem to be where you are most welcome!"

The attackers glared at the newcomer, but their eyes were frightened. The bowman had been their insurance. These men had heard an approaching figure and had lain in ambush. They had heard the horns, and when they recognized Pell Jax they had sprung forward, following an arrow launched an instant before at the famed assassin.

Jax had heard them, however, and had ducked instinctively. The arrow had missed, and the battle had begun. Both attackers were prized assassins themselves. Two of Cervus's finest swordsmen. They had been tense, however, even at two to one, for they knew whom they fought. Their bowman was there to back them, however, constantly circling, and their victim had to be concerned with fighting two men as well as keeping them between himself and the silent killer who waited with his deadly shaft. Jax had held them off, but they fought defensively, for time was on their side. Jax could not escape, and soon others would arrive.

Another had arrived, but somehow not one they had expected. In one killing instant of time their killer was dead and they now faced two swordsmen. And one of them was Pell Jax.

"Use the bow, Tarak!" Jax urged. "These men are superb swordsmen. Cervus had no finer." Jax was concerned, for no measure of fighting skills would avail Tarak against such armed killers if he had little experience fighting with the sword; and he appeared too wild to have gained experience with the weapon.

Tarak smiled. "The bow lies in the dust, and my journey has been long. I'll fight with the sword, Pell Jax."

The nearer of the two assassins of Cervus turned to meet him, his own weapon circling slowly. A vicious smile was upon his lips. He called to his companion over his shoulder. "Try to live for a few seconds, Ragur! I will kill this young fool and together we will take the assassin. He bragged as he strode forward. " I am Grosh! Jax knows me well, peasant! He knows me because I am a champion of the sword. This year I won over all of the assassins of the great Farnus Cervus!" His blade whirled at the barbarian, but Tarak moved to the side and dealt the assassin a huge stroke. The man blocked it an moved away, his eyes wide.

Jax was watching them. He had intended to put all his efforts into killing his own adversary, but the calm words of his friend had been tinged with amusement. Jax was intrigued, despite the seriousness of the situation. His opponent desired only to fight defensively, and so they both stood a few paces apart and watched, one eye upon each other.

Tarak's foe spat. "A lucky stroke, boy, but your luck will be short-lived, for I am a champion!"

Tarak grinned, and prepared to do something he had never imagined doing. He prepared to act like a foolish man. He felt wonderful in the flickering torchlight. Shadows blinked on and off in the small intersection, as torchlight flared with the breeze which stole through the night. He was in his element. The darkness was his friend, and his senses assured him that no other were near. He would soon be free within the forest. He had found Pell Jax; a man who had piqued his interest and immediately gained his trust. He was pleased that he was once again able to extend his own friendship to the man.

He was alive and refreshed and his senses were filled with the sounds and smells of the night and with the impending battle. He loved to fight, and he loved to fight with the sword. His Tavane was safe and Janyla was gone and he had no immediate concerns or worries. He would find his way across the sea to his friend as the fates would permit.

He looked at his adversary. He faced a powerful, deadly man. A champion. Yet a cruel, braggart of a killer. Adrenalin pumped through him, and his muscles quivered. Killing lust began to claim him and the love of battle and victory which had sustained him throughout his life. He felt totally alive and totally happy. But the man's words and the presence of Jax caused him to feel something in addition. He felt like having some fun.

"You are truly a champion?" he queried.

"Yes!" the man replied. "A champion of assassins!"

Tarak's eyebrows rose. " I am impressed, Costian."

"You should be!" the man snarled.

"Yet your blow did not strike me," Tarak said.

"The next one will, jok!" the man snarled.

"Perhaps," Tarak replied. "Or perhaps it did not strike because I, too, have been a champion."

The man scowled. "You, boy?"

Jax was smiling now. Tarak seemed to be enjoying himself. His eyes were dancing in the flickering light. He stood half-crouched, steady, but his muscles were taught and he was ready. The assassin wondered what new surprises his friend might hold for him this night.

"Yes," Tarak said. "I too have won a tournament."

"Hah!" the man spat. "A tournament for boys? Or peasants."

Tarak looked directly into the assassin's eyes. "Have you ever heard of a man known as Gorkok?"

The guard nodded. "Who has not? He has ruled the Great Tournament of Kalnor for many years, though I have heard that he was beaten this year in the Tournament, and is dead. He is the finest sword on all Aantor. Or was, if truly he is dead, as they say. It is hard to believe." His companion nodded. The fame of the hulking Champion had spread far across the lands, and many were the men who had returned to these cities after watching him kill over the years.

"He is dead," Jax interjected. "I have spoken to a few who were there." Jax looked once again at the barbarian. He noted with new appreciation the faded tunic; the long, tawny hair; the strange green eyes. Memories of conversations sprang into his mind. Conversations with other swordsmen who had witnessed the Great Tournament. Men who had described a young, wild, tawny-haired man who moved like a beast. A man with dazzling green eyes and a faded green garment. Jax stared and his mouth dropped open. And he laughed. He looked at his own opponent and he stepped back a pace and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Tarak's opponent scowled. "Who killed him, then, in the tournament?"

"I did," Tarak replied.

The asssassin's eyes bulged as the sound of Pell Jax's laughter rose ever higher. "You?"

"I am the Champion of the Great Tournament," Tarak said. "It is the Master Sword of Kalnor that you face this night, assassin." He grinned again, feeling foolish in his boast, but somehow he was in such a good mood that he could excuse such man-like behavior. His eyes sparkled.

The man shook his head, "You are not ----"

"I am he."

Jax could see that the assassin was sweating now. Tarak's statement seemed incredible, but something in his voice spoke of simple truth and fact; and Jax could sense it and so could the assassin.

The man looked across at the flashing eyes of the young giant. He could see fun in those eyes; but he could see something else there. He could see fire and lust and a flaming desire to kill. The man's words were nothing, for each man held a sword and steel, not words, would settle matters of life and death this night. And perhaps for that reason the assassin knew that the young barbarian spoke the truth; and that the assassin's own life was going to end in the next few moments. His killing and his raping and his drinking were going to end here in the flickering shadows on these hard streets. He looked into the eyes of his enemy and he saw his own death reflected in those eyes.

Jax watched as the assassin stepped back defensively. Now both of the assassins would try to survive, rather than to kill. His own opponent shouted for help. Jax stepped forward and attacked, and the man's shouts ceased as he turned his attention to his own immediate survival. He had no breath to waste on words as he was attacked by Pell Jax, the Sword of Costus.

Tarak attacked his own foe, his every sense alive and pulsating with energy and happiness. Savagely he went after the assassin, and learned immediately that he did face a superb swordsman. Both men thrust and cut and slashed and blocked for several seconds. Then Tarak increased the power of his blows, and began to hammer at his enemy. His immense strength began to unleash into the sword as it seemed to come alive of its own accord, impossibly quick; shatteringly powerful.

Tarak snarled as his strokes slammed into the defense of his foe. His growls erupted in the joy of battle. His killing instincts surged throughout his being. He had never been defeated. Thus he had survived. Then he had met Foss, and in a few brief minutes with wooden swords he had suffered his first defeat. He would never forget it; and from that day his one desire was to master this weapon which had mastered him. And he had done so. His immeasurable power and speed and savagery and youth and desire had joined with the skill and teaching and ability of Foss of Neros; had joined with life and death and battle and more killing and fighting. He had fought Kiron of Kalnor; and finally he had fought and killed Gorkok in the dirt of the Arena of Kalnor. He had swept over and through his enemies and their talents until he knew that none could stand before him with this weapon; and he had killed Brona as he knew he would kill him. He loved fighting with the sword, as he had loved few things in his young life.

The assassin backed away as his strokes whirled and slashed in, and the man's eyes grew wide in fright. Never had he seen or experienced such power and speed and skill, and the truth of Tarak's boast settled into his nerves as he realized he was truly going to die. His arm was tiring so quickly. He barely managed to block the next blurred stroke, and pain shot through him from the force of contact. His arm tingled and he tried to turn and run, but another blur swept into his vision, and he screamed as his sword arm was cut nearly in half. He watched the blood spurt and glanced up just in time to see the tip of Tarak's sword come streaking forward.

Jax looked up from the body of his own opponent just as Tarak's sword slipped into the throat of the assassin. He saw the man crumple, and watched as Tarak drew the blade back out and wiped it on the dead man's tunic.

Both men looked at each other, and both grinned, as only men who are accustomed to life and death can smile at such a time.

Jax shook his head. "You are a man unlike any I have ever know, my friend. You hold secrets within you which I find hard to accept even when I see them with my own eyes and know that they are true."

Tarak shook his head. "We all have our secrets, Pell Jax." He looked up then, at the stars, and shook his head. His hair swirled about him. He stood poised over his dead opponent like a tarab poised over its prey. Torchlight flickered upon his sculpted arms and legs, the sheen of sweat reflecting the firelight as it danced across his body. He listened and his nostrils quivered as they sought what lurked in the darkness. His eyes gleamed in the starlight as he stretched like some wild carnivore.

Jax stood mesmerized by this strange young man.

Tarak turned then, and he was still smiling. "We are alone here, but we should leave this place, for others will come. Many men search for something this night."

"The search for me," replied the assassin. "Tonight I killed Farnus Cervus."

Tarak laughed. " Ah! Thank you, Pell Jax! Now I have nothing left undone here."

"And I too have nothing, Tarak," replied Jax. "And I must leave, for the Tarkan shall seek me for killing a man who was under the protection of a Tarkan's summons. Shall we travel together?"

Tarak thought for a few seconds. "I seek a ship, for my quest continues across the Sea of Kal."

"I have thought for some time of seeking my own way across the sea," Jax replied. "But we cannot enter any docks. All will be well guarded by morning. There is another way, however."

Tarak looked at the assassin with raised brows. "Which is...?"

"I have friends South of the City," Jax said. "Men who have small craft. I can surely persuade one to sail us out beyond the city. It is likely that one of Hasta's ships will be anchored there, waiting for morning. Where such a ship might be bound is a matter of fortune, but we need to find such a ship soon, for once they reach Costus they will learn of my deed and probably that a Tarkan's Warrant has been issued for my arrest." He paused for a few seconds. "I would not ask a Captain of Hasta to ignore such a warrant, for men talk and it might mean ruin or worse for such a man; though I know many would take such a risk for me. It would be preferable to find a ship which has departed the docks and whose Captain is unaware of happenings within Costus, however. One which has docked near Costus on its way elsewhere, or which recently left the city, and is anchored for the night before departing across the sea." He looked up. "I can easily arrange our passage, and pay for it, though we must go where the ship goes."

"I can pay my way," Tarak said. "And I shall go with you, Pell Jax."

Jax nodded. He too felt exhilarated by the events of the day and by the fight. His own senses were alive and he was excited by the prospect of new adventure and travels across broad Kal. He had been in one place long enough. Costus was not his home, though he would remember her well, and the friends he had made there. Yet he felt flushed with energy and excitement. His new young friend seemed to generate some of it with his youth and fire and his enigmatic, hidden, seeminly impossible past. He turned to the young tawny giant. "Let us go."

Tarak nodded, and silently the men turned and loped away towards the city's Southern edge. Seconds later the streets were empty as the firelight played across the bodies of the fallen assassins.

***

Tarak stood on the foredeck of the tall ship and watched the thousands of stars sparkle in the sky above the darkness of the calm sea. He looked shoreward, but he could see nothing, for they were miles from Costus. The salt-laden breeze ruffled his hair as he stood and looked upon Nature's nightly wonder.

Jax had found his friends easily, some miles South of Costus, and more than a few had volunteered to sail the assassin out to meet the anchored ships. The journey had been exhilarating to the young giant, who had never been on a boat, and he soft movement of the deck beneath his feet was another new and pleasurable experience. They had arrived less than an hour since. This had been the only Hasta ship at anchor, and though it was headed far across Kal, it was bound to the South, not the Southeast. Jax had brightened when he had learned of the destination, for the ship was bound for New Tror. Jax was going home.

Tarak had been disappointed, for his own quest was SouthEast, but he could not change the facts, so he did not brood over them. Instead he shared a bit of the excitement he could see in Pell Jax, for the man was obviously happy. He was going home. Whatever home had become, it was still home.

Tarak breathed deeply of the clean salty air. He had never known a home. Only a prison. Yet he had gained something of a home in far Neros, City of Warriors. And he had Tavane! In some respects he would always think of home as wherever Tavane might be, until he returned for her. And he would return for her, no matter where he went.

And he would find Janyla. Panthar of the Chomir. No matter the cost, he would keep his promise to his small warrior friend. He smiled as he thought of the fiery Chomirian, who certainly had his own secrets. The name Panthar of the Tarab Clan had startled Chomirian warriors on the docks of Jad Hasta. Tarak shook his head. His Tavane was a Princess! What would he find when he found Panthar?

Pell Jax appeared on the deck, and joined the barbarian at the ship's rail. Jax was unlike any man Tarak had ever met. The assassin seemed to take life as a lark, notwithstanding his own profession and fighting skills.

"I hope you enjoy New Tror, my friend," Jax said.

Jax had already described some of the facts which led to his own decision to leave that Southern City.

"Well," Tarak replied. "I feel confident that your own stature as one of the escaped slaves there will insure that we have an enjoyable time.

Jax laughed. "I will do my best, Tarak." He shook his head slightly. "But slavery is a transitory state. Perhaps the time has come for a change in New Tror."

Tarak smiled. "Perhaps."

The two men were silent then, as they stood together and watched the silent beauty of the night. The wind swept across the ship, ruffling their clothing and their hair, caressing them with a promise of adventure as each thought his own thoughts, and as the night deepened and the stars covered the heavens an hour later they still stood in silence beneath the beautiful sky of Aantor.

The End.