"How many of them are there?" demanded the Red Rogue.
"There are eight, altogether," answered the man, "but two of them
are girls."
"And they expect to force me to give up my captives?" asked the Red
One, laughing with a noise like the roar of a waterfall. "Why, I
shall make prisoners of every one of them!"
The man looked at his master fearfully, and replied:
"This Prince Marvel is very famous, and all people speak of his
bravery and power. It was he who conquered King Terribus of Spor,
and that mighty ruler is now his friend, and is one of the eight
who approach."
The Red Rogue stopped laughing, for the fame of Spor's terrible king
had long ago reached him. And he reflected that any one who could
conquer the army of giants and dwarfs and Gray Men that served
Terribus must surely be one to be regarded seriously. Moreover--and
this was a secret--the Red Rogue had never been able to gain the
strength to correspond with his gigantic size, but had ever remained
as weak as when he was a puny boy. So he was accustomed to rely on
his cunning and on the terror his very presence usually excited to
triumph over his enemies. And he began to be afraid of this prince.
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