chain instead; it is of more worth."

"You would do better, lady," said the shrill voice of Metem again, who
by now had found his wits again, "to give the gold chain to me whose
scalp has been broken in rescuing you from that black thief."

"Sir," she answered, "I am grateful to you from my heart, but it is
this young lord who killed the man and saved me from slavery worse than
death, and he shall be rewarded by my father."

"Listen to her," grumbled Metem. "Did I not rush in first in my folly
and receive what I deserved for my pains? But am I to have neither
thanks nor pay, who am but an old merchant; they are for the young
prince who came after. Well, so it ever was; the thanks I can spare, and
the reward I shall claim from the treasury of the goddess.

"Now, Prince, let me see your hurt. Ah! a cut on the ear, no more, and
thank your natal star that it is so, for another inch and the great vein
of the neck would have been severed. Prince, if you are able, draw out
your sword from the carcase of that brute, for I have tried and cannot
loosen the blade. Then perhaps this lady will guide us to the city
before his fellows come to seek him, seeing that for one night I have
had a stomach full of fighting."

"Sirs, I will indeed. It is close at hand, and my father will thank you
there; but if it is your pleasure, tell me by what names I shall make
known to him you whose rank seems to be so high?"

"Lady, I am Metem the Phoenician, captain of the merchandise of the
caravan of Hiram, King of Tyre, and this lord who slew the thief is none