"
"Nay, lady," he answered faintly, for he was much shaken, "that would be
a pity; also, if any, it is my hair which should be vowed."
"You bleed from the head," she broke in; "say, stranger, are you deeply
wounded."
"I will tell you nothing of my head," he replied, with a smile, "unless
you promise that you will not offer up your hair."
"So be it, stranger, since I must; I will give the goddess this gold
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.
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