ing raging as she recognized him, and her slim silken figure struggled in his grasp with wildcat fury.
Khal Kan was rough and fast. He got the silken bonds around her hands and feet, and then drew a breath of relief.
"Now we ride for Jotan, my sweet," he whispered mockingly to her as he picked up her helpless figure.
Golden Wings' black eyes blazed into his own, and he laughed.
He kissed her eyelids. "This will have to serve as proof of my affections until we can take this damned gag off, my dear," he mocked.
HER firm body writhed furiously in his grasp as he went out into the starry night. Silently, bearing the girl easily, he made his way through the sleeping camp.
Stamping shadows loomed up at the camp edge, awaiting him. Brusul and Zoor had horses, and the little spy handed Khal Kan a stolen sword.
"You have the girl!" Zoor sniggered. "Even I could not make a theft so daring—to steal the drylanders' princess out of their own camp!"
"We haven't got her out yet, and it's far to Jotan," snarled Brusul. "Let's get out of here."
Khal Kan vaulted into the saddle and drew Golden Wings' struggling silken figure across the saddle-bow. They walked their horses softly eastward till they were out of earshot of the camp, and then they spurred into a gallop.
The cold dawn wind whistled past Khal Kan's face. Far ahead, the black bulk of the Dragals loomed against the paling sky.
He took the gag from Golden Wings' mouth. In the growing light, the cold anger of the girl's face flared at him.
"Dog of Jotan!" she panted. "You'll be staked out in the desert to die the sun-death, for this crime."
"I didn't free your mouth for words, my dear," replied Khal Kan. "But for this"
Her lips writhed under his kiss. His laughter pealed bade on the wind as he straightened again in the saddle.
Golden Wings sobbed with rage. "You'll not be killed at once," she promised breathlessly. "It will take time to think up a death appropriate for you. Even the sun-death would be too easy."
"That's the way I like to hear a girl talk," applauded Khal Kan. "Hell take these wenches who are all softness and whimpers. We'll get along, my pet."
They were still far from the first ridges of the Dragals when the crimson sun came up to light their way. Brusul turned his battered face back to stare across the ocher sands, and then swore and pointed to a remote, low wisp of dust back on the western horizon.
"There they come! They're following our tracks, curse them!"
"We can lose them when we reach the mountains," Khal Kan called easily. "Faster!"
"You'll never reach the Dragals," taunted Golden Wings, eyes sparkling now. "My father's horses are swift, Jotan dogs!"
They spurred on. The first low red ridges of the Dragals seemed tantalizingly far away. The sun was rising higher, and its blistering heat had already dispelled the coolness of dawn.
The crimson orb hung almost directly overhead, and they were still hours from the ridges, when Zoor's pony tripped and went down. It rolled with a broken neck as the little man darted nimbly from the saddle.
Khal Kan reined up and came riding back. The dust-cloud of their pursuers was ominously big and close.
"Ride on!" Zoor cried, his wizened face unperturbed. "You can make the ridges without me."
