“It was fortune indeed,” he replied.  “Since it not only told that you were a prisoner here; but it saved me from the banths as I was crossing the valley from the hills to this tower into which I saw them take you this afternoon after your brave attempt at escape.”

“How did you know it was I?” she asked, her puzzled brows scanning his face as though she sought to recall from past memories some scene in which he figured.

“Who is there but knows of the loss of the Princess Tara of Helium?” he replied.  “And when I saw the device upon your flier I knew at once, though I had not known when I saw you among them in the fields a short time earlier.  Too great was the distance for me to make certain whether the captive was man or woman.  Had chance not divulged the hiding place of your flier I had gone my way, Tara of Helium.  I shudder to think how close was the chance at that.  But for the momentary shining of the sun upon the emblazoned device on the prow of your craft, I had passed on unknowing.”

The girl shuddered.  “The Gods sent you,” she whispered reverently.

“The Gods sent me, Tara of Helium,” he replied.

“But I do not recognize you,” she said.  “I have tried to recall you, but I have failed.  Your name, what may it be?”

“It is not strange that so great a princess should not recall the face of every roving panthan of Barsoom,” he replied with a smile.

“But your name?” insisted the girl.

“Call me Turan,” replied the man, for it had come to him that if Tara of Helium recognized him as the man whose impetuous avowal of love had angered her that day in the gardens of The Warlord, her situation might be rendered infinitely less bearable than were she to believe him a total stranger.  Then, too, as a simple panthan* he might win a greater degree of her confidence by his loyalty and faithfulness and a place in her esteem that seemed to have been closed to the resplendent Jed of Gathol.

* Soldier of Fortune; free-lance warrior.

They had reached the tower now, and as they entered it from the subterranean corridor a backward glance revealed the van of their pursuers—­hideous kaldanes mounted upon swift and powerful rykors.  As rapidly as might be the three ascended the stairways leading to the ground level, but after them, even more rapidly, came the minions of Luud.  Ghek led the way, grasping one of Tara’s hands the more easily to guide and assist her, while Gahan of Gathol followed a few paces in their rear, his bared sword ready for the assault that all realized must come upon them now before ever they reached the enclosure and the flier.

“Let Ghek drop behind to your side,” said Tara, “and fight with you.”

“There is but room for a single blade in these narrow corridors,” replied the Gatholian.  “Hasten on with Ghek and win to the deck of the flier.  Have your hand upon the control, and if I come far enough ahead of these to reach the dangling cable you can rise at my word and I can clamber to the deck at my leisure; but if one of them emerges first into the enclosure you will know that I shall never come, and you will rise quickly and trust to the Gods of our ancestors to give you a fair breeze in the direction of a more hospitable people.”