said Milo simply. He drew aside the strap of his leathern tunic, baring his heart. “Strike, but first suffer thy slave to release thee from this tomb.”

“Release? Tomb? What talk is this?” gasped Dolores, her dagger held poised aloft, her lips quivering.

“A tomb it is if thy servant falls, Sultana. None save I can open the great door. Close it? Yes, any might close it. Come, I will lead thee out of this awful presence; then at the gate thou shalt send Milo to his master who loved him.”

Slowly Dolores slipped her dagger into the sheath, and her face was bowed in confusion. All her life, the giant slave had tended her, guarded her steps and her sleep, taught her the exercises that had made her feared by all the turbulent