Savage Games of Lord Zarak by Gilbert L. Morris Page B

don’t dare go far,” Josh said.
    Sarah agreed.
    He led the way, keeping the sun always in the same position over his shoulder. “We don’t want to get lost ourselves,” he said.
    They kept calling loudly. But there was no response, and finally they stopped and just looked at each other.
    Sarah said, “Josh, we may be going entirely in the wrong direction. We don’t know which way he wandered off.”
    â€œI guess so,” Josh said. “Well—”
    At that moment a frightening man in a suit of chain mail armor burst from the woods in front of them. He wore a strange symbol on his chest, and he held a sword in his hand. “Don’t try to run away,” he warned. “All right, tie them up.”
    Four other men stepped out of the bushes.
    Sarah looked wildly at Josh, as though she was as stunned as he felt.
    â€œMy name is—” Josh began.
    â€œI don’t care what your name is. You’re strangers. You’re probably spies, and you are now prisoners of Lord Zarak.”
    Josh felt his heart grow cold. Immediately he said, “We mean no harm, sir. We are not spies.”
    The man strode forward and struck him across the mouth.“Silence!” he said. “See that their hands are bound securely!”
    In moments, Josh found his hands tied so tightly that the circulation was almost cut off.
    â€œThey are bound, Sheriff Cranmore.”
    â€œGood. We’ll see how fast they can run. Now bring out the other one.”
    Moments later, two more soldiers appeared, each gripping Roland Winters by an arm. He was bound as Josh and Sarah were, and his face bore signs of a battle.
    â€œThey jumped me. I didn’t have a chance,” he groaned.
    Sheriff Cranmore pulled a short whip from his belt. He stepped forward and slashed the air viciously with it. “Keep your mouth closed, slave,” he said, “or I’ll give you something to really cry about! All right, men. Bring the horses!”
    Soon the soldiers were mounted, and Cranmore nodded toward one of them. “See how fast you can make them run, Zeiter.”
    Zeiter was a broad individual with a cruel face. He made his own whip whistle in the air, and he said, “All right, let’s see you run!”
    The journey was a nightmare. Every time one of the three slowed down, the sheriff or Zeiter or one of the other soldiers struck them across the back of the legs with a whip.
    Joshua’s blood boiled when one of them struck Sarah. “You’re brave men, aren’t you?” he said. “Hitting a helpless girl.”
    Cranmore leaned forward and raised his whip.
    Josh managed to turn his face aside, but the whip curled around his neck. The cut stung, but he gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out.
    â€œIf you want more of that, just open your mouth, serf! Now run!”
    For hours, it seemed, the torment continued. Finally they reached a well-traveled road, and there in the distance arose a castle. They crossed the drawbridge that had been lowered on rattling chains. Josh was almost blind with fatigue.
    â€œThrow them in the dungeon,” Sheriff Cranmore ordered. “The lower dungeon.” He laughed at their expressions. “You’ll have plenty of company there. Lots of rats.”
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    The soldiers seized Roland and hauled him along with Josh and Sarah into the castle and down two flights of stairs. The lower dungeon was a dark place, illuminated only by feeble torches stuck into the walls.
    A jailer, fat and greasy, rose to meet them. He grinned and said, “What’s this?”
    â€œSpies,” was the brief reply.
    The jailer opened an iron door. “In there,” he commanded.
    The three of them were shoved into an evilsmelling cell. A soldier then cut their cords, and they stood rubbing their wrists, trying to restore feeling.
    â€œYou’ll enjoy your stay here,” the jailer said, grinning. “Too late for