Rising, she advanced to my side and placing the yellow wig over
my black hair, crowned me with the golden circlet set with the
magnificent gem.
"Now don his harness, Prince," she said, "and you may pass where
you will in the realms of the therns, for Sator Throg was a Holy
Thern of the Tenth Cycle, and mighty among his kind."
As I stooped to the dead man to do her bidding I noted that not a
hair grew upon his head, which was quite as bald as an egg.
"They are all thus from birth," explained Thuvia noting my surprise.
"The race from which they sprang were crowned with a luxuriant
growth of golden hair, but for many ages the present race has been
entirely bald. The wig, however, has come to be a part of their
apparel, and so important a part do they consider it that it is
cause for the deepest disgrace were a thern to appear in public
without it."
In another moment I stood garbed in the habiliments of a Holy Thern.
At Thuvia's suggestion two of the released prisoners bore the body
of the dead thern upon their shoulders with us as we continued
our journey toward the storeroom, which we reached without further
mishap.
Here the keys which Thuvia bore from the dead thern of the prison
vault were the means of giving us immediate entrance to the
chamber, and very quickly we were thoroughly outfitted with arms
and ammunition.
By this time I was so thoroughly fagged out that I could go no
further, so I threw myself upon the floor, bidding Tars Tarkas to
do likewise, and cautioning two of the released prisoners to keep
careful watch.
Pages:
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79