Dead in her breast lay hope. Battling for life during harrowing
months of imprisonment and danger and hardship it had fitfully
flickered and flamed only to sink after each renewal to smaller
proportions than before and now it had died out entirely leaving
only cold, charred embers that Jane Clayton knew would never again
be rekindled. Hope was dead as she faced Lu-don, the high priest,
in her prison quarters in the Temple of the Gryf at A-lur. Both time
and hardship had failed to leave their impress upon her physical
beauty--the contours of her perfect form, the glory of her radiant
loveliness had defied them, yet to these very attributes she owed
the danger which now confronted her, for Lu-don desired her. From
the lesser priests she had been safe, but from Lu-don, she was
not safe, for Lu-don was not as they, since the high priestship of
Pal-ul-don may descend from father to son.
Ko-tan, the king, had wanted her and all that had so far saved her
from either was the fear of each for the other, but at last Lu-don
had cast aside discretion and had come in the silent watches of the
night to claim her. Haughtily had she repulsed him, seeking ever
to gain time, though what time might bring her of relief or renewed
hope she could not even remotely conjecture. A leer of lust and
greed shone hungrily upon his cruel countenance as he advanced
across the room to seize her.
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