The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series (23 page)

* * * *

Some time later they awoke, made their ablutions in the stream, gathered their new weapons and a supply of zomak meat wrapped in broad, rubbery leaves from the bush under which they had slumbered. They struck out due “north,” where a wooded promontory curved out to shelter the lagoon. It was their intention to go in this particular direction, because neither of them wished to be taken captive again by the Drugars. Of course, neither Jorn nor Darya had any way of knowing that most of the Drugars had already been trampled to death beneath the thundering weight of the wooly mammoths when they stampeded.

They went along through the jungle at an easy, jogging stride, and sometimes the boy took the lead, his spear held at the ready, and sometimes it was the girl who assumed the fore position.

At this point I would call your attention to the perfectly natural behavior of these two “savages.” The boy was handsome, stalwart and lusty. The girl was stunningly beautiful, very desirable, completely nude. And they were alone in the jungle, thoroughly lost.…

Darya behaved as if her nudity were a natural condition, which of course it was. But she was neither shocked nor disconcerted at having nothing to cover her loveliness: she seemed indifferent to the fact that she was naked in front of a young man.

As for Jorn the Hunter, he neither pretended not to notice her nakedness nor did he steal sly, surreptitious, gloating glances at the beauty laid bare before his gaze. He treated the matter with calm indifference.

And he treated the girl with respectful protectiveness. In part this may have been explained by the differences in their social standin—but only in part. That is, the maiden was the daughter of his High Chief and therefore beyond the reach as such as he, a young, unfledged huntsman, not yet a full warrior of Thandar.

But I am convinced that there was more in it than that. Perhaps it was the natural chivalry of the Cro-Magnon, the rudimentary and unspoken but nonetheless very powerful code of behavior that says—in our modern world and in the forest primeval—that a gentleman does not take advantage of a princess in distress.

And Jorn was a gentleman through and through.

While Darya was every inch a princess.…

* * * *

By one of those curious coincidences with which both everyday life and extravagant fiction are filled, Jorn and Darya took the very same path across the jungle-clad promontory that Professor Potter had taken a bit earlier.

Reaching the end of the trail, finding the same blank wall of stone rise up in their path as had he, they were at least luckier than the old scientist in not encountering the monstrous leech. But they could go no farther.

Unlike the old man, the pair were young and supple and strong. So they decided, quite simply, to climb the wall of stone. A bit farther on along the wall, the surface became more broken and irregular, which afforded them toeholds and fingerholds.

Slinging his makeshift spear about his shoulders by a length of fibrous vine, Jorn ascended the sheer face of the rock carefully but at moderate speed. Darya followed after, watching to see where her companion placed his toes and fingers.

Before very long, they reached the ridge line of the rocky hills. Like a stony spine, the ridge ran the length of the promontory. Beyond its farther side, they could see naught but the misty waters of the Sogar-Jad, and a line of coast meandering “north” as far as they both could see. Nowhere did they observe the slightest sign of man or the habitations of men.

After a brief consultation, while they stretched out to rest their limbs and regain their breath, they decided to follow the ridge line back to the base of the promontory, where it joined the soaring bulk of the Peaks of Peril. From that point they planned to strike due “north” until they had gotten sufficiently far away from the last place they had known the Drugars to be, whereupon they would circle about the Peaks, and descend “south” again, hoping to meet one or another of their lost friends along the way.

* * * *

Presently, Jorn became aware that they were being watched. Exactly how he knew this even Jorn could not have said. The men of his race, huntsmen and warriors all, survive in a world of hostile jungles and ferocious monsters only by developing that sixth sense that alerts its possessor to the fact that unseen eyes are scrutinizing him from some place of concealment. Glancing around in all directions, Jorn could perceive nothing that seemed suspicious.

They continued along the ridge line, scanning the skies for any sign of the thakdols that nested in these mountains.

Jorn said nothing of his suspicions to Darya, as there was little to gain in alarming her. Anyway, he more than half suspected that she, too, had sensed that they were under observation. They were sprung, after all, from the same tribe and it was only reasonable to expect her senses to be only a little less keen than his own. The women of Thandar are no pampered weaklings: in time of war they have been known to stand and fight alongside their men.

If Darya suspected that they were being secretly watched, she said nothing of it to her companion.

Jorn narrowly scrutinized their surroundings. The ridge line they were crossing was of smooth, barren rock, with no cave openings or fissures discernible. There did not seem to be any place for an unseen enemy to conceal himself, nor could the boy discover any vantage point from which their activities could be observed. The jungle which grew thick against the sides of the ridge would be a perfect place for an enemy—whether beast or human—to watch them from, of course. But if any foe concealed himself or itself amid the vegetation, it would have to emerge into plain view and scale the cliffs in order to attack them, and they would have the advantage of being able to see their enemy before he could strike.

It wasn’t much of an advantage, of course, but it was the best they had, and certainly better than nothing.

He mightily wished he had a bow and quiver of arrows. But if wishes caused miracles to happen, they would both long since have been safely home among their friends.

Then suddenly Jorn realized with a numbing shock that the enemy whose presence he had sensed had been
under their feet
all the while!

For the ledge of rock onto which Darya had just stepped was tilting on some unseen axis. A black opening appeared in the solid stone as the slab tilted.

Darya screamed!

And Jorn, who was a little way behind her, sprang forward in a tigerish rush, intending to thrust her from the slab before it tilted far enough to hurtle her into the black and unknown depths below—

As the young hunter collided with the staggering girl, she lost her balance.

Instinctively, as a drowning man is said to clutch at any straw in the current, Darya flung her arms about her companion. This threw Jorn off balance, as well.

Then the slab tilted until it was entirely vertical on its axis.

And, tightly clinging together, both Jorn and Darya were precipitated into the depths of the mysterious opening that had appeared as if by magic under their feet.

CHAPTER 9

Within the Mountain

Kâiradine Redbeard, called Barbarossa, had worked himself into a cold and venomous fury. The bold and wily pirate chieftain was not accustomed to failing to have his own way in almost any matter, for in his corsair kingdom his will was absolute. And seldom did he meet a foe cleverer or stronger or more daring than himself, able to frustrate his desires to any particular extent or for very long.

As well, the Barbary princeling had long been without a woman, and he had conceived of a passionate desire for the delectable person of the Stone Age girl he had discovered bathing in the jungle stream. Sprung from a fiery and lustful race was Kâiradine, and with such men as he, to desire something is never to abandon the pursuit of it.

As soon as he recovered from the surprise of Jorn’s attack, the pirate captain knew how his captive and her rescuer had escaped—and vowed they would not long elude his clutches. He ordered the ship about, and commanded the men to put in to shore again. The Stone Age boy obviously knew how to swim, since he had swum out to the corsair galley; and if one could swim, doubtless so could the other. And as neither would have been foolish enough to swim directly out to sea—there being no possibility of succor or safety in that direction—they could only have swum to shore, hoping to conceal themselves in the jungle or, perchance, amid the mountains, long enough to elude whatever pursuit they fancied he might order.

Eyes narrowed, villainous heart seething with frustrated lust and fury, the Barbary chieftain vowed to hunt them down. As for Darya, he intended to beat and ravish her and bear her off back to his citadel of El-Cazar, to make her one of his wives.

As for Torn, he intended to flay the skin off the boy inch by inch, for his temerity in daring to lay violent hands on one descended from the mighty Barbarossa.

As he paced the quarterdeck in a dangerous temper, his first mate sought to remonstrate with him. This was a large, burly, black-bearded Moor named Achmed, who had served his apprenticeship under Kâiradine’s own father.

“O
reis!
” said Achmed humbly, “we are under-provisioned and have already been very long from home. Let us return, then, together with all of our plunder intact, and begone from these waters which are the lair of the terrible yith—”

By this term the folk of Zanthodon refer to the great plesiosaurus of the remote Jurassic, which some authorities consider to be the origin of the legend of the sea serpent. And it is indeed a most dangerous and deadly reptilian adversary.

But Kâiradine’s passions were aroused; also, his pride was injured that a half-grown boy had struck him down and half throttled him without a scratch. He was in no mood to listen to the arguments or cool reason or simple prudence.

“And the wench?” he demanded between clenched teeth.

Achmed shrugged. “Let her go, my captain! She was a beauty, but there are many beautiful women at home, and we have been long at sea without them. Let us return to El-Cazar, for what, after all, is one woman more or less?”

The Barbary chieftain spat contemptuously.

“She is much to me, white-livered dog of a Moor! If Achmed is enfeebled by age and has lost the pride of honor and manhood, let him take his place among the toothless grandsires and the gossiping women. I am a man-and I will have what I desire! Now dispatch the search parties and get the men ashore, and let us get on with this business without further words of cowardice.
For I will have the girl
.…”

Achmed sighed, inwardly stung, but composed his features according to their normal obsequiousness. And turned away to do his master’s bidding.

“By the Sacred Well of Zemzem,” he muttered under his breath, “it is folly to waste this much bother over just another woman, for one is very like another, and none of them is worth a moment’s thought or concern.”

But he bade the men into the boats and watched them row in to the shore, leaning moodily on the rail, with a strange foreboding gnawing at the roots of his soul.

For Achmed was the seventh son of a seventh son, and was given to inklings of the events yet to come in the womb of unborn time. And Achmed had a cold presentiment that his lord’s overwhelming passion for the girl savage was rash and perilous, and would lead to disaster.

* * * *

Within the black mouth of the cave, Hurok of Kor found naught that lived, although at various times in the past this hole in the rock had been the lair of beasts or flying reptiles. His nostrils told him this, for the sharp, acid reek of guano droppings was harsh in the motionless air, and also the guano smeared under his bare feet.

So low-roofed was the cave that the burly Neanderthal warrior had to walk virtually doubled over, and in more than a few places the closeness of the quarters forced him to go on all fours.

With the first turn of the tunnel, the wan luminance of distant daylight was shut off, and blackness closed about him, absolute and impenetrable. The air became stale and vitiated.

Originally, it had been the intention of Hurok merely to penetrate far enough into the farther recesses of the cavern to be safe from any attempt the thakdol might make to get at him. And he had planned to lurk within only until he could safely presume the winged reptile to have flown off in quest of other, more accessible prey. For Hurok was an old hunter, and he knew that the minuscule intellect of the giant reptiles could only entertain one thought at a time and that tenacity of purpose was beyond their limited means.

But once within the black hole, it occurred to the Apeman to explore his hiding place to its end. Not only would this serve to while away the tedium of waiting for the thakdol to give up and hunt elsewhere, but it was always wise, when taking refuge in an unknown place, to discover if it has another exit.

A refuge that has only one way in or out savored more to Hurok of a trap than a refuge.

Before long the cavern walls widened out a bit and soon the jagged roof lifted until Hurok could walk erect without danger of hitting his head on a rock invisible in the dense gloom. Also, the air began to freshen a bit, which suggested to Hurok that some other opening in the rocky roof somewhere connected with the outer world beyond the cave’s entrance.

No longer did the droppings of beasts squelch underfoot, nor did the quickening breeze waft to his nostrils the stenches that are characteristic of a beast’s lair or a thakdol’s nest.

Suddenly, a shower of icy water drenched the Apeman from head to foot. Ducking aside, he discovered something far above his head that resembled a miniature waterfall. The little cataract dribbled from some unseen orifice in the rocky wall far above; whether it was large or small, that aperture, Hurok had no way of knowing. But he let the water dribble into his cupped palms and drank thirstily, for the exertion demanded by his ascent of the mountain had wearied him and his throat and lips were parched.

Having drunk his fill, Hurok was aware of two further necessities, for rest and nutriment. And, since he could do nothing to assuage the hunger that growled in his belly, the huge fellow stoically ignored it and composed himself for slumber. The men of Zanthodon, bathed in the perpetual noon of its unwavering glare, know nothing of day or night and do not divide time in any manner. They simply eat when they are hungry, drink when they thirst and sleep any time they feel weary.

Hence, it was perfectly logical for Hurok to curl up beside the rocky wall, having found a smooth place in the floor, and to yield to sleep.

When he awoke, Hurok neither knew nor cared whether he had slumbered for an hour or a day, as such terms were meaningless to his kind. He yawned and stretched, spat phlegm and scratched rising, he drank deeply once more from the little waterfall. Then he continued forward, although he debated briefly whether to continue in the direction he had been heading or to retrace his steps to the cave entrance.

But, turning in his sleep as men are accustomed to doing, Hurok realized that he had lost all awareness of direction, and that there was nothing else to do but continue on until he dropped of starvation or found a way out of this black cavern.

As he felt his way along, one hand touching the wall, one foot at a time testing the floor against ravines or chasms concealed by the darkness, Hurok resigned himself to the almost certain fact of my death. Surely, by now, the foes who had pursued me had long since caught up with their prey, thought Hurok. Whatever emotions this assumption roused in his heart I will not presume to guess; but he came of a savage race who stare daily into the grinning jaws of death, their most constant and loyal companion. And men fall to human foes or to the great beasts that rule the wilderness or to disease, while those that survive them go on.