'Very well,' said the Korsar chief; 'if you and they give me no trouble you shall all live—provided you teach us how to make weapons and powder like your own.'
'We cannot live in the filthy hole in which we are penned,' retorted the Sarian; 'neither can we live without food. Soon we shall all sicken and die. We are people of the open air—we cannot be smothered in dark holes filled with vermin and be starved, and live.'
'You shall not be returned to the hole,' said The Cid. 'There is no danger that you will escape.'
'And the others?' demanded Tanar.
'They remain where they are!'
'They will all die, and without them I cannot make powder,' Tanar reminded him.
The Cid scowled. 'You would have my ship overrun with enemies,' he growled.
'They are unarmed.'
'Then they certainly would be killed,' said The Cid. 'No one would survive long among that pack an' he were not armed,' he waved a hand contemptuously toward the half-naked throng below.
'Then leave the hatches off and give them decent air and more and better food.'
'I'll do it,' said The Cid. 'Bohar, have the forward hatches removed, place a guard there with orders to kill any prisoner who attempts to come on deck and any of our men who attempts to go below; see, too, that the prisoners get the same rations as our own men.'
It was with a feeling of relief that amounted almost to happiness that Tanar saw Bohar depart to carry out the orders of The Cid, for he knew well that his people could not long survive the hideous and unaccustomed confinement and the vile food that had been his lot and theirs since they had been brought aboard the Korsar ship. Presently The Cid went to his cabin and Tanar, left to his own devices, walked to the stern and leaning on the rail gazed into the hazy upcurving distance where lay the land of the Sarians, his land, beyond the haze.
Far astern a small boat rose and fell with the great, long billows. Fierce denizens of the deep constantly threatened it, storms menaced it, but on it forged in the wake of the great fleet—a frail and tiny thing made strong and powerful by the wills of three men.
But this Tanar did not see, for the mist hid it. He would have been heartened to know that his Emperor was risking his life to save him.
As he gazed and dreamed he became conscious of a presence near him, but he did not turn, for who was there upon that ship who might have access to this upper deck, whom he might care to see or speak with?
Presently he heard a voice at his elbow, a low, golden voice that brought him around facing its owner. It was the girl.
'You are looking back toward your own country?' she said.
'Yes.'
'You will never see it again,' she said, a note of sadness in her voice, as though she understood his feelings and sympathized.
'Perhaps not, but why should you care? I am an enemy.'
'I do not know why I should care,' replied the girl. 'What is your name?'
'Tanar.'
'Is that all?'
'I am called Tanar the Fleet One.'
'Why?'
'Because in all Sari none can outdistance me.'
'Sari—is that the name of your country?'
'Yes.'
'What is it like?'
'It is a high plateau among the mountains. It is a very lovely country, with leaping rivers and great trees. It is filled with game. We hunt the great ryth there and the tarag for meat and for sport and there are countless lesser animals that give us food and clothing.'
'Have you no enemies? You are not a warlike people as are the Korsars.'
'We defeated the warlike Korsars,' he reminded her.
'I would not speak of that too often,' she said. 'The tempers of the Korsars are short and they love to kill.'
'Why do you not kill me then?' he demanded. 'You have a knife and a pistol in your sash, like the others.'
The girl only smiled.
'Perhaps you are not a Korsar,' he exclaimed. 'You were captured as I was and are a prisoner.'
'I am no prisoner,' she replied.
'But you are not a Korsar,' he insisted.
'Ask The Cid—he will doubtless cutlass you for your impertinence; but why do you think I am not a Korsar?'
'You are too beautiful and too fine,' he replied. 'You have shown sympathy and that is a finer sentiment far beyond their mental capability. They are—'
'Be careful, enemy; perhaps I am a Korsar!'
'I do not believe it,' said Tanar.
'Then keep your beliefs to yourself, prisoner,' retorted the girl in a haughty tone.
'What is this?' demanded a rough voice behind Tanar. 'What has this thing said to you, Stellara?'
Tanar wheeled to face Bohar the Bloody.
'I questioned that she was of the same race as you,' snapped Tanar before the girl could reply. 'It is inconceivable that one so beautiful could be tainted by the blood of Korsar.'
His face flaming with rage, Bohar laid a hand upon one of his knives and stepped truculently toward the Sarian. 'It is death to insult the daughter of The Cid,' he cried, whipping the knife from his sash and striking a wicked blow at Tanar.
The Sarian, light of foot, trained from childhood in the defensive as well as offensive use of edged weapons, stepped quickly to one side and then as quickly in again and once more Bohar the Bloody sprawled upon the deck to a well-delivered blow.
Bohar was fairly foaming at the mouth with rage as he jerked his heavy pistol from his gaudy sash and aiming it at Tanar's chest from where he lay upon the deck, pulled the trigger. At the same instant the girl sprang forward as though to prevent the slaying of the prisoner.
It all happened so quickly that Tanar scarcely knew the sequence of events, but what he did know was that the powder failed to ignite, and then he laughed.
'You had better wait until I have taught you how to make powder that will burn before you try to murder me, Bohar,' he said.
The Bloody One scrambled to his feet and Tanar stood ready to receive the expected charge, but the girl stepped between them with an imperious gesture.
'Enough of this!' she cried. 'It is The Cid's wish that this man live. Would you like to have The Cid know that you tried to pistol him, Bohar?'
The Bloody One stood glaring at Tanar for several seconds, then he wheeled and strode away without a word. 'It would seem that Bohar does not like me,' said Tanar, smiling.
'He dislikes nearly every one,' said Stellara, 'but he hates you—now.'
'Because I knocked him down, I suppose. I cannot blame him.'
'That is not the real reason,' said the girl.
'What is, then?'
She hesitated and then she laughed. 'He is jealous. Bohar wants me for his mate.'
'But why should he be jealous of me?'
Stellara looked Tanar up and down and then she laughed again. 'I do not know,' she said. 'You are not much of a man beside our huge Korsars—with your beardless face and your small waist. It would take two of you to make one of them.'
To Tanar her tone implied thinly veiled contempt and it piqued him, but why it should he did not know and that annoyed him, too. What was she but the savage daughter of a savage, boorish Korsar?
