Marching Sands
the circlet of bronze about her slim throat. She was his! He had won her from Gela. And—miraculously—she was content to have his arm about her. Of course he could not urge the claim of this barbaric ritual on her—if they ever won free from Sungan. For the moment, however, he joyed in the thought that he had fought for and won the woman he loved. The new menace, voiced by the messenger, slipped from his mind. He saw only the girl.
Then he realized that she was blushing hotly.
"Please," she whispered, "I—I must get my clothes. This dress is not—I don't want to wear it."
"It's mighty becoming," he said, laughingly.
He spoke haphazard, his triumph still strong upon him.
"Oh!" She smiled back. "Now that you are my—master, they'll let me change to my own things, won't they? I'll run back to Bassalor Danek's house."
He saw that she was disturbed by the multitude. But the lines about his mouth hardened. His arm tightened about her.
"You won't leave me—now," he whispered. Then he saw sudden alarm in her eyes. "We're in trouble, as usual. I'll send a woman for your clothes." He spoke lightly, trying to reassure her. "Here's Timur"
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