things where there are not so many to listen, lord from outside?" she murmured.
"Sure, that's what we need—a little more quiet," Clark said sleepily. "My head, too—feels funny——"
"Come with me," she whispered softly. "I will take you where it is quiet—and where you can tell me all those things."
Her soft hand under his elbow impelled him to his feet. Clark swayed unsteadily, blinking owlishly over the torchlit hall and the noisy, riotous feasters. His dulled gaze was really keenly alert. He perceived that Shinn and Link Wilson were at the height of merriment with their Red neighbors, and that Morrow was still drinking heavily. But Blacky Cain was still alert, could be depended on to watch the others.
None of the feasters, in the din of laughter, clinking goblets and shouting voices, noticed as Clark Stannard stumbled out of the hall with Yala half supporting him. Yet Clark glimpsed Thargo looking keenly after them.
He stumbled with the princess of K'Lamm down shadowy stone halls, and finally into a great chamber which breathed of femininity. Silken hangings of yellow were on the walls, in the soft light of low-burning torches. Across the room was a low, soft silken couch, and above it a great window looked across the starlit roofs of K'Lamm.
Yala spoke a few soft words, and the two submissive-looking girls who had hurried forward, hastily withdrew. The Red princess led Clark to the couch, and as he sat down unsteadily, looking heavily about, she poured more of the black wine from a flagon in the room.
She drank also, her dark eyes looking over the rim of the glass with an expression that, despite himself, stirred his blood. Then she held the glass to his lips, her fingertips caressing his cheek.
"Drink with me to our—friendship," she murmured.
Clark drank. His brain seemed to float inside his skull as the additional alcohol leaped into his blood, but every fiber in him was taut and alert. He blinked at Yala as though she was hard for him to see. She came temptingly closer to him.
"Does the wine make me look—more beautiful?" she asked provocatively. Her arms went softly around his neck.
"Don't need wine for that," muttered Clark. He set his lips against her half-opened ones, his hands tightening on her bare, perfumed shoulders.
He knew the kiss was as feigned on her part as on his own. But for all that, it was none the less wildly thrilling. Then as she drew back a little from his embrace, eyes searching his dazed-looking face, Yala asked him seductively:
"Lord, tell me—am I more beautiful than the Dordonan girl you took captive—Lurain?"
"Much—much more beautiful," stammered Clark, his eyelids drooping, "She's just—little wildcat."
"Has Lurain asked you and your men to help Dordona in the coming war?" Yala asked him swiftly. "Has she made any offers to get you to ally yourselves with Dordona?"
Now, Clark knew suddenly, he had discovered the reason for this subtle temptation by Yala. Thargo was suspicious! Suspicious that Clark might have agreed with the Dordonan girl to aid her people, that he might be intending to betray K'Lamm! Thargo had had this girl, one capable of tempting an angel, get him intoxicated to question him.
"Lurain has not asked me to help Dordona," Clark said thickly, his eyes closing, his body swaying sleepily against Yala. "I—wouldn't listen to her if she
