the commendation of the jeddak.  Those who were mounted gave up their thoats to slaves as all must be on foot for this ceremony.  Directly beneath the royal enclosure are the gates to one of the tunnels that, passing beneath the seats, give ingress or egress to or from the Field.  Before this gate the party halted while O-Tar looked down upon them from above.  Val Dor and Floran, passing quietly ahead of the others, went directly to the gates, where they were hidden from those who occupied the enclosure with O-Tar.  The Keeper of the Towers may have noticed them, but so occupied was he with the formality of presenting the victorious Chief to the jeddak that he paid no attention to them.

“I bring you, O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, U-Kal of Manataj,” he cried in a loud voice that might be heard by as many as possible, “victor over the Orange in the second of the Jeddak’s Games of the four hundred and thirty-third year of O-Tar, and the slave woman Tara and the slave woman Lan-O that you may bestow these, the stakes, upon U-Kal.”

As he spoke, a little, wrinkled, old man peered over the rail of the enclosure down upon the three who stood directly behind The Keeper, and strained his weak and watery eyes in an effort to satisfy the curiosity of old age in a matter of no particular import, for what were two slaves and a common warrior from Manataj to any who sat with O-Tar the jeddak?

“U-Kal of Manataj,” said O-Tar, “you have deserved the stakes.  Seldom have we looked upon more noble swordplay.  And you tire of Manataj there be always here in the city of Manator a place for you in The Jeddak’s Guard.”

While the jeddak was speaking the little, old man, failing clearly to discern the features of the Black Chief, reached into his pocket-pouch and drew forth a pair of thick-lensed spectacles, which he placed upon his nose.  For a moment he scrutinized Gahan closely, then he leaped to his feet and addressing O-Tar pointed a shaking finger it Gahan.  As he rose Tara of Helium clutched the Black Chief’s arm.

“Turan!” she whispered.  “It is I-Gos, whom I thought to have slain in the pits of O-Tar.  It is I-Gos and he recognizes you and will—­”

But what I-Gos would do was already transpiring.  In his falsetto voice he fairly screamed:  “It is the slave Turan who stole the woman Tara from your throne room, O-Tar.  He desecrated the dead chief I-Mal and wears his harness now!”

Instantly all was pandemonium.  Warriors drew their swords and leaped to their feet.  Gahan’s victorious players rushed forward in a body, sweeping The Keeper of the Towers from his feet.  Val Dor and Floran threw open the gates beneath the royal enclosure, opening the tunnel that led to the avenue in the city beyond the Towers.  Gahan, surrounded by his men, drew Tara and Lan-O into the passageway, and at a rapid pace the party sought to reach the opposite end of the tunnel before their escape could be cut off.  They were successful and when they emerged into the city the sun had set and darkness had come, relieved only by an antiquated and ineffective lighting system, which cast but a pale glow over the shadowy streets.