"You think she is
no Corphal, then, I-Gos?" he asked, wishing to carry the subject
from the man who was still at large.
"No more than you," replied the ancient taxidermist.
O-Tar looked long and searchingly at Tara of Helium. All the
beauty that was hers seemed suddenly to be carried to every fibre
of his consciousness. She was still garbed in the rich harness of
a Black Princess of Jetan, and as O-Tar the Jeddak gazed upon her
he realized that never before had his eyes rested upon a more
perfect figure--a more beautiful face.
"She is no Corphal," he murmured to himself. "She is no Corphal
and she is a princess--a princess of Helium, and, by the golden
hair of the Holy Hekkador, she is beautiful. Take the gag from
her mouth and release her hands," he commanded aloud. "Make room
for the Princess Tara of Helium at the side of O-Tar of Manator.
She shall dine as becomes a princess."
Slaves did as O-Tar bid and Tara of Helium stood with flashing
eyes behind the chair that was offered her. "Sit!" commanded
O-Tar.
The girl sank into the chair.
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