NO DEEPER DUNGEON
Jaltor, king of all Ammad, rose from his chair as his four visitors
entered the apartment. Straight and tall he stood, his magnificent body
in its purple-edged tunic seeming to dwarf all else within the room.
No one spoke. Curzad, captain of the palace guards, closed the door
softly and stood with his back against it, arms folded and his rugged
features empty of all expression.
It was Jotan, son of Garlud, who was the first to speak. The anger that
showed in his burning eyes and the thrust of his chin thickened his
words until they were more nearly a growl.
"What means this, Jaltor? Why was my party intercepted outside Ammad's
walls and dragged here in secrecy? Why are we thus treated like common
criminals? I demand an explanation!"
"You may request an explanation, Jotan," Jaltor said calmly. "As Ammad's
king I answer no man's demands."
In the strained silence following his words, Jaltor's gaze moved on to
where Alurna, daughter of Urim and princess of Sephar, stood staring at
him in wonder and uncertainty. His expression softened and when he spoke
his voice had lost completely its former edge.
"Curzad has told me of your father's death. We have both suffered a
great loss, for Urim was my brother--my only brother. Later I should
like to know the details of his passing; but first I wish to explain my
reasons for what has happened tonight."
There were mixed emotions evident in the expressions of his listeners.
Tamar was clearly worried and puzzled, Javan appeared even more dazed
and uncomprehending than usual, while Jotan was close to bursting with
outright anger and injured pride.
Jaltor indicated chairs with a wave of his hand. "Be seated, please.
This may take some time."
They obeyed in silence, and even though sitting none of them was
relaxed. Jaltor remained on his feet, legs spread, his keen eyes somber.
"A little less than half a moon ago," Jaltor began, "an attempt was made
to assassinate me. The reason it was not successful lay in the peculiar
clumsiness of the assassin. He was captured immediately and put to
torture in an effort to learn the names of others, if any, involved in
the plot. He was an old man, strangely enough, and before he died he
told me who had hired him."
"I don't see," Jotan burst out, "what this has to do with any of us.
Certainly we are not involved."
"The name he gave," Jaltor went on, as though there had been no
interruption, "was Garlud!"
In the sudden, shocked silence that followed the measured tread of a
guard in the corridor outside came clearly through the closed door.
"I don't believe it!" Jotan shouted. He leaped from his chair to face
the monarch. "Ever since I can remember you and my father were the
closest of friends!"
"And long before that Jotan," Jaltor said quietly.
"Yet because some common killer gave his name, you believe such an
impossible story? My father could have no reason for wanting you dead.
What have you done to him?"
* * * * *
Jaltor ignored the last question. He said in the same quiet voice: "Not
a common killer, Jotan. It was old Heglar who so named your father."
The young Ammadian nobleman fell back a pace in complete amazement. "Old
Heglar? Why, he wouldn't...." His voice trailed off.
"Exactly. Heglar would not lie."
Jotan lifted a shaking hand to rub his forehead in a kind of dazed
helplessness that struck to the heart of every person in the room. "No,"
he said, his voice suddenly loud, "I do not believe it. Where is my
father? Let me talk to him."
"Where," Jaltor said coldly, "would apt to be any man who plotted the
death of Ammad's king?"
Slowly Jotan's hand fell from before his eyes as the meaning of those
chill words came home to him. "You--you _killed_ him? Garlud? My father?
Your friend?"
Nothing altered in Jaltor's sober expression--and in that Jotan read his
answer. With a strangely inarticulate snarl he launched himself at the
king, seeking to lock his fingers in that deeply tanned neck.
Curzad leaped from his place at the door, brushing past the paralyzed
onlookers, and reached out to engulf the crazed young nobleman in his
strong arms. Jotan, helpless in that iron grip was borne back, tears of
rage and frustration streaming from his eyes.
Jaltor raised a steady hand to his bruised throat, his expression
unchanged. "Confine him in the pits, Curzad. Later I shall decide what
is to be done with him."
Tamar started up from his chair in angry protest. "What kind of justice
is this?" he cried. "Will you send a man to his death because grief
causes him to----" He stopped there, stricken into abrupt silence by what
he saw in the ruler's eyes.
It took the combined efforts of Curzad and two of the corridor guards to
subdue Jotan sufficiently to get him out of the room and on his way to
the pits. When the room was quiet again, Jaltor dropped into an empty
chair across from Alurna and the two young noblemen.
"Now," he said, "I can tell you the whole story."
And tell them he did, from start to finish. "So you see," he summed up,
"why Jotan must be kept captive. Had I told him the truth nothing would
have satisfied him until his father was freed and another method used to
force the real accomplice into the open. When this unknown conspirator
learns that Jotan's party has returned from Sephar, apparently without
Jotan himself, he is going to be more puzzled than ever. A puzzled man
makes mistakes--which is what we want him to do."
Alurna shuddered. "But the pits! If they are like the ones beneath
Sephar, you are punishing terribly two men who are innocent of
wrongdoing."
"You must understand," Jaltor reminded her, "that the possibility exists
that Garlud is guilty. I have lived long enough to know that ambition
can drive the noblest of men to ignoble acts. Old Heglar's dying words
cannot be lightly dismissed."
"You," he continued, nodding to Tamar and Javan, "are free to return to
your homes. Should anyone ask what has happened to the leader of your
party, tell him that--well, that the lions got him. That will fit in
with what happened during the night that you were attacked by Sadu."
The two young noblemen rose to leave, greatly relieved by Jaltor's
explanation, but still concerned. After they were gone, the monarch said
to Alurna:
"I know you must be worn out from your long journey from Sephar. But sit
there a little longer, if you will, and tell me the circumstances of my
brother's death."
* * * * *
It required the better part of an hour for the dark-haired princess to
relate what had taken place in Sephar nearly three moons before. She
spoke often of Jotan during the account, and the tenderness in her eyes
at mention of his name told Ammad's king more than she realized. And
when she told of Dylara's disappearance and the possibility that Sadu
had devoured her, Jaltor caught the unconscious satisfaction in her
tone.
For a little while after she had finished, Jaltor sat staring
thoughtfully into his wine goblet. Then: "Urim's mistake was to coddle
that rascally high priest. In Ammad the priesthood is no problem
at all; we keep them few in numbers and with no power to create
unrest. Long ago I put a stop to the Games honoring the
God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud.... Perhaps some day I shall find
a means of avenging the cowardly assassination of Urim, your father and
my brother."
He smiled gravely into her eyes. "Do not worry about Jotan, my princess.
Soon, I hope, he will be free again and you shall have your chance to
win him."
Alurna's gray-green eyes flashed momentarily ... and then she too
smiled. "Ammad's king is a wise and understanding man," she murmured.
Jaltor straightened and put down his goblet. "And now I shall show you
to the suite of rooms which I ordered made ready for your use. Come."
* * * * *
For a long time after the slave woman detailed to serve her had gone,
Alurna lay wide-eyed on the soft bed. Moonlight through the room's wide
window formed a solid square on the floor, and in its ghostly radiance
the furnishings seemed shadowy and unreal.
It was the first bed she had been in for a long, long time and sleep
should have come to her the moment she touched the pillow. But too many
thoughts raced through her mind to permit sleep--thoughts jumbled and
confused.
Ever since Jotan had rejoined the main body of his men after his
unsuccessful search for Dylara, he had been moody and distraught. Those
warriors who had accompanied him and Tamar on the hunt seemed
confident--out of Jotan's hearing!--that the jungle had gotten her, just
as it had claimed the lives of countless others.
And now that the way was clear to win him, Alurna slipped easily into a
new role--a role of silent understanding and ready sympathy. Slowly and
unconsciously Jotan had begun to respond to treatment. It might take
several moons, she realized, before he would begin to look upon her as a
desirable woman in addition to a warmhearted and friendly companion.
But she could wait--for many moons if necessary.
Now the intrigue of some unknown enemy of Jotan's father had given the
young nobleman new worries. If only there was some way to help him--some
method by which she might earn his gratitude. Gratitude, she knew, was
an excellent base on which to build romance.
Somewhere in the bowels of this very building Jotan and his father lay
in dark, damp cells, put there on the orders of her own uncle. As king
of Ammad and brother of her father he was entitled to her loyalty and
respect. But when it came to the point of choosing between Jaltor and
Jotan ... there was no doubt in her mind as to her ultimate decision!
As she lay there on her back, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the ceiling
beams, a plan began to shape itself in her mind--a plan which, as
details took concrete form, brought a faint smile to her lips.
And still smiling, Alurna fell asleep....
* * * * *
As the Ammadian patrol bore down upon him with leveled spears, Tharn's
blackwood bow seemed to leap into his hands and two arrows flashed
across the intervening space. Two of the warriors toppled and died under
those flint arrow heads, but before the cave lord could release a third
he was forced to leap hastily aside to prevent impalement by three
thrown spears. So narrow the distance now that his bow was useless, and
so he tore his knife from its place at its belt and, with the silent
ferocity of a charging lion, hurled himself upon the remaining four
guards.
Two more of the Ammadians collapsed in death, their heads almost severed
as polished flint tore into their throats. The remaining pair, upon
seeing that and hearing the bestial snarls issuing from that broad
chest, drew back sharply, wavering on the verge of outright flight.
Tharn, sensing their indecision, tensed to renew his charge and put them
to rout.
A cacophony of loud shouts from behind him told of the arrival of
reinforcements. There were eight of them this time, still a good thirty
yards away but fast approaching.
Instantly Tharn, his knife sweeping high for a thrust, lunged at the
remaining two warriors who turned and fled a short distance before
circling back to join the second group. Tharn stopped, caught up his bow
and brought down three more of the enemy as he began a slow withdrawal.
Lights were beginning to show from some of the palace windows; at any
moment an arrow from above might strike him down.
Suddenly a door in the palace wall burst open and a white-tunicked
figure came bounding across the lawn toward him. Tharn's bow was on its
way into position to send an arrow leaping to meet this new attack when
a familiar voice called out his name.
"Trakor!" Tharn shouted, astonished.
The boy bent while still running and caught up a spear from beside the
body of one of Tharn's victims. Hardly had he reached the cave lord's
side when a third group of palace guards appeared on the scene from
behind them.
Cut off in two directions by enemies, blocked in another by the palace
itself, Tharn chose the only possible avenue of escape.
"To the wall!" he shouted, then wheeled and raced across the greensward
with long flashing strides, Trakor close at his heels.
Angling in sharply from two directions, the Ammadians sought to
overtake them. Several spears were hurled but the distance was too
great.
Trakor, seeing the high walls, knew it would be impossible to scale them
in the few moments before the Ammadians arrived. But his faith in the
cave lord remained unshaken; if a way to freedom could be found, Tharn
would find it!
* * * * *
While still a few feet short of the wall, Tharn swerved sharply to the
left, crashed through a thick growth of bushes and paused in front of a
small gate. Even as Trakor was about to point out the futility of trying
to force a way through those stubborn planks, Tharn drew open the
barrier and leaped through.
Trakor, stricken dumb with astonishment at this new development,
followed him into the street as Tharn slammed shut the gate and dropped
its bar into place a split second before a heavy shoulder thudded
against its opposite side.
What promised to be at least a breathing space died in its infancy as a
full dozen of the white-tunicked fighting men of Vokal's guard appeared
at the juncture of streets to their left, and catching sight of them,
came tearing along the pavement in their direction.
"This way," Tharn said, and the two cave men raced into the night.
For nearly a quarter-hour the two Cro-Magnards fled through the black
labyrinth of Ammad's streets, twisting and turning to throw off pursuit.
Twice they encountered patrols from other estates along their erratic
pathway, but an arrow or two from Tharn's deadly bow drove them off.
Finally the two men slowed to a walk, their feet soundless against the
stone surface of a narrow street between two walls in which no gates
were visible. For the moment at least, it appeared their hunters had
lost them, thus giving them a chance to gauge their present position.
Judging from the way this particular street slanted upward ahead of them
they were on one of Ammad's hills. Further along a huge building loomed
against the night sky from squarely across their path--a building larger
and higher than any they had seen thus far.
"Dylara is back there," Trakor said abruptly.
Tharn nodded without looking around. "I know," he said simply. "We must
find some place to hole up until another night comes. Then I am going
back for her."
"We were close to getting away--Dylara and I," Trakor said ruefully. "We
were on the verge of stepping out into the open when I heard the guards
attacking you."
"You were that close to freedom?" Tharn asked, surprised.
Briefly Trakor recounted what had taken place in Vokal's palace. When he
had finished, Tharn shook his head in savage disgust. "That makes the
second time she was almost within arm's reach of me! I suppose by this
time they have her again and she is locked away."
"Perhaps," Trakor admitted. "When I saw who it was Vokal's guards were
after, I gave her my knife and she crawled under one of the tables to
wait for us until we had killed the guards and could come back to get
her." He laughed shortly, bitterly. "We _would_ have killed them, Tharn,
if so many hadn't come to their aid."
"It is always thus," the cave lord said philosophically. "Tomorrow night
we shall try again."
* * * * *
While talking, they continued on up the steep rise. Now their way was
blocked by the wall they had glimpsed a few moments before. A narrow
roadway skirted its base in two directions, and to the right, several
hundred yards distant, they could make out the faint yellow rays of a
lantern above a recessed gate.
"What now?" Trakor asked shortly.
Tharn shrugged. "A tree with foliage so thick none can see us. Judging
from the size of the building beyond this wall, its grounds should
contain many trees. Let us enter and see if we can find one large enough
for our purpose."
Trakor glanced doubtfully up at the wall's edge fully fifteen feet from
the ground. "Do we go over it or through one of the gates?"
"Over it. We dare not risk arousing the guards."
"How can we reach its top?"
In answer Tharn took up a position with his back only an inch or two
from the wall. Cupping his hands together in front of him, he bent his
knees slightly, keeping his back straight. "Extend your arms above your
head," he directed, "and place your right foot in my hands, crouching a
little while I support your weight. That way I can toss you high enough
to enable your hands to catch the wall's edge."
Trakor nodded, a shade doubtfully, and followed directions. Like a
striking snake Tharn uncoiled his bent legs with a sharp upward thrust,
at the same instant jerking his locked hands up to chest level.
The youth shot upward like an arrow from a bow. Tharn heard a dull thud,
followed by a low exclamation of pain. He looked up to see Trakor
sitting astride the wall rubbing one of his shins.
At Tharn's instructions, Trakor lay chest down against the wall's top
and extended his right hand downward. The cave lord backed away, then
ran forward and leaped high, catching Trakor's fingers and swinging
lightly up beside him.
There were trees--many of them--singly and in groups, their branches
heavy with leaves. The grounds in which they stood were immense, with
winding paths of crushed stone, winding between bushes heavy with jungle
blooms. Here and there concealed jets flung graceful and shimmering
curtains of water skyward, the falling drops pattering musically into
stone-lined pools. In the distance loomed the gleaming white walls of a
palace that, Tharn realized, was easily three times the size of any he
had seen in Sephar.
Lightly the two men dropped to the closely clipped grass. Tharn would
have liked to remain aloft for a minute or two, to drink in the beauty
of the scene and to get some idea of just where within Ammad they were.
But should some sleepless Ammadian be standing at a window in that
palace, he could hardly keep from seeing those two figures atop the
wall.
Side by side the two cave men strode lightly toward a cluster of eight
trees arranged in a small circle.
While from the depths of a thicket of bushes bordering one of the garden
pools a pair of eyes watched them in startled wonder.
* * * * *
Dylara crouched beneath a table in Vokal's kitchen and listened to that
nobleman's strident voice as it lashed at a group of palace guards
outside the half open door.
"Do you expect me to believe," he said hotly, "that a single warrior
could slay seven of you? Were their muscles turned to water at sight of
him? And the rest of you--are you soldiers or children to be so easily
outwitted?"
No one attempted a reply. Ekbar, captain of the guards, stood stiffly
by, beads of nervous perspiration dotting his forehead. His turn would
come once Vokal was through with the guards themselves. He would be
fortunate indeed to escape with no more than a tongue-lashing; he might
well end up being demoted in rank.
"Who was this man?" Vokal demanded. "Did any of you recognize him? Speak
up, before I order your tongues cut out with your own knives! You!" He
pointed a finger at one of the men. "I understand you were one of those
who first saw him. Who was he?"
The designated man, his trembling voice matching the shaking of his
knees, said hurriedly, "He was like no warrior I have seen in all Ammad,
Most-High. He was very tall, with great rippling muscles that----"
"Enough!" Vokal shouted. "I might have known you would claim no ordinary
man could best the lot of you. And, I suppose, at least fifty more of
these huge strangers fell upon you?"
"No, Most-High," the warrior admitted. "But there was one more, not
quite so large as the first. He came from within the palace to join his
friend and the two of them ran----"
"Wait!" the nobleman said sharply. "Are you sure this second man came
from _inside_ the palace?"
"Yes, Most-High." He pointed an unsteady hand at the door leading to the
palace kitchen. "He came from there. With my own eye I----"
"Enough!" Vokal wheeled toward the captain of his guard. "Ekbar, send a
detail to comb every room of the palace. There may be more of these
strange intruders in there."
"At once, Most-High."
Dylara, listening from her place of concealment within the kitchen, knew
she dared stay there no longer. A moment from now the room would be
swarming with armed men and she was sure to be found. It was unfortunate
she could not have accompanied Trakor when he raced out to Tharn's
assistance, but she had known then, as now, that she would only have
slowed their dash for freedom. With Tharn and Trakor both at liberty
within Ammad's walls, they would eventually find a way to rescue her.
There was no point, however, in waiting around to be rescued. If she
could make her way beyond Ammad's walls without help, so much the
better.
Rising from her hiding place, the stone knife Trakor had given her ready
in one sun-tanned fist, she crossed the kitchen with stealthy swiftness
and hurried along the short hall leading to the palace dining hall.
It proved to be empty of life, although she could hear the sounds of
sandaled feet entering the room she had only just quitted. Quickly she
crossed the huge chamber, carefully drew open the same door she and
Trakor had passed through a short time earlier, and raced lightly back
up the stairs there to the building's second floor.
* * * * *
At the landing, she stopped and pressed an ear against the planks of the
corridor door. She could hear no sound from beyond them to indicate
someone was there. Carefully, inch by inch, she drew it inward until
there was space enough for her to peer through.
Not ten feet away from her were the broad backs of two guards!
Despite the pounding of her heart and the almost uncontrollable efforts
of her feet to break into instant flight, Dylara very slowly allowed the
heavy door to return to its closed position. Then she was away, racing
upward on the balls of her feet, silent as the shadow of a shadow.
She did not even pause at the third landing, for her quick ears caught
the tread of feet beyond its closed door. At the fourth level the stairs
ended at the corridor itself, with no door to mask them.
Fortunately the long hallway was deserted. Dylara turned to her right
and hurried along, ears and eyes alert for the first sign that she was
not alone. Past a score of doors and around several corners the corridor
led and in all that time she encountered no one.
It seemed very still here on the fourth level of Vokal's palace. The
almost eerie silence seemed to press down upon her spirits like some
weighty and invisible hand. She could hear her heart pounding and the
whisper of her breathing. The floor underfoot was now covered with a
thick carpeting of some woven material and her sandals pressed
soundlessly into it.
She had reached a point only a few yards from another bend in the hall
ahead of her when she caught the faint sound of voices in that
direction--voices which seemed to be growing louder.
Instantly she whirled to retrace her steps, then halted again. It was a
long way back to where the corridor had last jogged; the owners of those
voices might come into view before she could reach it.
There was a door in one wall almost even with where she stood now. It
might open onto a room filled with guards, or it might not open at all.
There was no time to weigh her chances.
She released the latch and pushed lightly against the wood.
She came into a large, low-ceilinged room, lighted by candles in
beautifully carved wooden brackets affixed to the walls. Polished tables
and luxuriously covered chairs stood about the carpeted floor. A door
stood slightly open in one of the side walls, disclosing the foot of a
wide bed, the covers rumpled as though some one had been sleeping there
moments before. Several windows open and unbarred, permitted a panoramic
view of a large section of Ammad, and one of them came all the way down
to the floor to permit entry to a small balcony.
As Dylara stood there, drinking in the beauty of the room, voices
sounded suddenly loud and clear from just outside the door. A moment
later the latch moved under an unseen hand and the door itself swung
wide. But even as the latch moved, Dylara was across the room, through
the balcony entrance and crouching there, out of sight.
"... one, then call me immediately."
"As the noble Vokal commands."
The silver-haired nobleman closed the door, muttered something under his
breath, and crossed to where an earthen jug of wine stood on one of the
tables. He filled a goblet to the brim, drained it with a flourish, blew
out all but one of the candles and went into the bedroom.
Dylara swallowed her heart back to its usual place and straightened
slowly to ease cramped muscles. Give the Ammadian an hour to fall into a
deep sleep and to allow the palace inhabitants to return to their beds,
and she could make a second attempt to get away.
The minutes passed with almost painful deliberateness. So complete was
the silence here that she could hear the sounds of even breathing from
the bedroom. It was the breathing of a man who was sleeping soundly; a
few minutes more and she would make her bid for freedom.
Knuckles pounded sharply on the apartment door.
* * * * *
As Tharn and Trakor were on the point of swinging into one of the half
circle of trees, a crepitant rustle among the nearby bushes brought
their heads sharply around in instant alarm.
Six stern-faced guards in spotless tunics stood less than a dozen feet
away, spears leveled at the broad chests of the two Cro-Magnards. At
sight of those weapons Tharn's hand dropped from the hilt of his knife
and utter chagrin filled his heart.
He felt Trakor stiffen beside him and he put out a restraining hand. "It
is useless," he muttered. "The slightest move and they will cut us
down."
One of the six stepped forward a few paces and peered at the two
intruders. "Who are you," he demanded, "and what are you doing on the
grounds of Jaltor, king of Ammad?"
"We are men of Sephar," Tharn said, following the first line of thought
that popped into his head. "We came to Ammad with Jotan's party and were
looking over the palace grounds. There is nothing so fine in all Sephar,
let me tell you!"
It was a wild, almost incredible shot into complete supposition. It was
possible that Jotan and his men _had_ reached Ammad by this time; and,
while less possible, it was conceivable that the young nobleman had come
straight to the palace to pay his respects to Jaltor, instead of
postponing the visit until the following day.
What Tharn did not know, of course, was that Jotan's entire party had
been met outside Ammad's gates by a force of Jaltor's own guard and
brought directly to the palace and were being held there until the king
got around to ordering their release.
The officer in charge of this patrol knew all that--as did most of the
palace guard. He looked searchingly at the two men for a moment, then
said:
"You are lying! Every member of Jotan's party is already under guard.
Come with us; we shall allow Curzad to hear your story."
He made a small motion with his hand and instantly Tharn and Trakor were
surrounded by a ring of spear points. Side by side the two cave men
strode toward the palace, helpless to resist.
Within the huge building they were led to a guard room on the first
floor, and after a few minutes the tall, broad-shouldered figure of
Jaltor's captain, sharp-eyed and alert, entered the room.
He listened to the officer repeat what Tharn had said outside, then ran
his gaze slowly over the two men.
"You are not warriors of Sephar," he growled. "You are not even
Ammadians. I have seen your kind before. What are two cave men doing
inside Ammad?"
Tharn shrugged but said nothing. Trakor, observing his reaction,
followed his lead.
"Perhaps a few days in the pits will loosen your tongues!" Curzad said
harshly.
Still no reply.
"As you wish." Curzad turned away indifferently. "To the deepest pits
with them, Atkor," he said to the officer. "After a few suns I will see
them again to learn if they feel more talkative."
* * * * *
Just how many downward sloping ramps they trod on the way to the pits
Tharn had no way of knowing. Further and further below the earth's
surface they went, their hands bound behind them, while brightly lighted
subterranean corridors gave way to others only faintly illuminated.
Finally even the faint light disappeared and they moved, heavily
guarded, through blackness relieved only by flames from a torch carried
by one of the guards. There was the clearly audible trickling of water
along the stone walls and several times Tharn felt his feet sink to the
ankles in cold pools that had formed in hollows of the stone flooring.
At last the wearying procession of sloping ramps ceased and they moved
along a level corridor. On either side Tharn made out heavy wooden doors
with apertures in their surfaces closed off by columns of stone in the
form of bars. Now and then light from the torch picked out white,
heavily bearded faces containing white-ringed eyes and expressions of
dull hopelessness. Not once, however, did he hear sounds from the
throats of those prisoners--only the mute despair of lost souls peering
into nothingness.
Finally the officer ordered a halt. At his command two of the doors,
almost directly across from each other, were opened. Tharn felt the cold
touch of flint as a knife cut away his bonds, a strong hand thrust him
roughly into the cell on the right and the door banged shut behind him.
He turned back and looked out through the bars, to see Trakor, head held
proudly erect, shoved into the opposite room. Bars at the top and bottom
of each door were drawn into place, a sharp order rang out and the
Ammadian guards started back for the surface.
"Curzad said 'to the deepest pits!'" one of them chuckled. "There are no
deeper dungeons than those!"