The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series (26 page)

Lutho dismissed Hurok and his growling fury with a contemptuous glance.

“Process the creature, will you Vusk? I have matters to at tend to in the breeding pens. See that the impertinent animal serves at the next Feasting…”

All the blood of Hurok of Kor ran ice cold at the hideous import of those casual words.

CHAPTER 12

The Underground City

For an hour or two, One-Eye led me through the jungle. Although I was no longer bound, I was more or less at his mercy, as the Apeman was armed while I was weaponless. I watched for my chance to turn the tables on the hulking bully, but he was sharp-eyed and crafty, remaining well behind me, out of my reach, and wary for tricks.

I never did understand exactly where One-Eye was trying to get to, for inasmuch as I could see he was going directly away from the island of Ganadol upon which was situated Kor, the cave kingdom of the Neanderthaloid Drugars. I now suspect that he was simply trying to put as great a distance between himself and the host of Tharn of Thandar as he could.

Well, that was certainly understandable.

One-Eye did not spare a moment to search for his lost comrades, Fumio and Xask, nor did he seem at all concerned at their predicament. The two, you will recall, had scattered and fled when the aurochs had charged our camp; presumably, they had run off in different directions, but as to the truth of that, neither of us knew. And One-Eye didn’t care either. I did, because Xask had carried off my .45 and I felt rather naked without it, as it represented my sole tactical superiority over the men and monsters of Zanthodon.

However, I had by this point in my adventures lost everything else I had brought with me into Zanthodon, as well as all of my friends, so one automatic more or less didn’t mean all that much.

* * * *

We didn’t get very far, as things turned out. One minute we were stumbling along the jungle trail, and the next minute we were surrounded by the most amazing crew of cutthroats imaginable.

They were queer looking, bandy-legged little men astonishingly dressed in long tunics of overlapping semicircles of well-cured leather, like the scales on a serpent; these, plus long clouts of crimson cloth about their loins and highlaced buskins completed their costume. What was so astonishing about these costumes is that, up until now, I had seen no one in all of Zanthodon wearing much more in the way of clothing than brief apron-like coverings of leather or fur—the only exception to this being the silken garments of Xask. Since the sophistication of these garments was so obvious, it would seem that the party which had us surrounded were the representatives of a higher degree of civilization than any I had heretofore encountered in the Underground World.

They were quite a bit shorter than either One-Eye or myself, and were either naturally hairless or had their heads shaven; and their skins were of an unnaturally—even an unhealthy—pallor. They had mean, pasty faces, with thin lips and cruel eyes, and looked in general like creatures who had crawled out from under rocks.

However, they were armed with coiled whips and threepronged spears like Neptune’s trident, and seemed very capable of using them. They ringed us about, yapping noisily to each other in brusque, clipped tones.

At the first glimpse of them, One-Eye turned about as pale as he could possibly turn, considering his natural covert of grime and matted fur, and gulped as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry. The huge Drugar looked scared to death, and in fact he was.

“What on Earth—!” I said.

He gave me a woeful look.

“They are Gorpaks, Eric Carstairs,” muttered the Apeman in hoarse, guttural tones.

“And what are Gorpaks?” I inquired.

He looked distinctly unhappy.

“You will see,” grunted One-Eye miserably. “Now we are doomed.…”

He did not bother to resist as they bound our wrists behind us with thongs and tethered our ankles so that we could walk but not run. Since there were a dozen of the nasty little brutes, and I was, as I have already mentioned, unarmed, I didn’t feel like taking the whole crew on myself. So I let myself be bound again, getting by this time awfully tired of being captured every other day by somebody or other.

Once we were safely secured, one of the bandy-legged little creatures strutted around us, pinching and prodding as if examining prize cattle.

“A bull Drugar and a healthy panjani,” he gloated to an underling. “A fine pair for the Lords’ delectation! They look as if they had much strong red blood in them,” he added, licking his thin lips with a narrow, pointed tongue.

For some reason—premonition, I suppose—a cold shudder went over me at this last remark.

As for One-Eye, he moaned, rolled his eyes up until all you could see were the whites, and his knees buckled as if he were about to faint. A jab in the buttocks with the end of one of those trident-like spears brought him to his senses swiftly enough.

“Yes, indeed!” chattered the underling in oily tones. “Another triumph for Captain Lutho! Two Drugars during one crake’ is indeed unprecedented.”

Lutho preened and strutted, basking in the admiration of his fawning toadies, and I began to heartily dislike the little squirt and wished mightily that my hands were free for two minutes, so that I could discover just how much strong red blood he had in
him
.

Maybe I should mention that the folk of Zanthodon divide the endless and eternal day of their existence into “wakes” and “sleeps.” I suppose they have to divide it into something, to be completely human. Not that these present specimens looked all that human: One-Eye looked like a gorilla with the mange, but I preferred his company to that of the smirking little creeps.

“Vusk, lead the way!” barked Lutho. Then, addressing another of his cringing toadies, he snapped, “Sunth, select six from the troop and comb the jungle. Where there are two, there may well be more!”

“Captain Lutho is as generous as he is wise!” remarked the individual addressed as Sunth. At which Vusk, jealously, chimed in with: “None stands higher in the esteem of the Lords than the bold and sagacious Captain Lutho!”

At which Lutho expanded his puny chest as if he would burst the fastenings of his leather-scaled tunic.

“We have a mutual admiration society here,” I remarked
sotto voce
to One-Eye, who looked at me without comprehension.

“A what?” he mumbled through dry lips. “’They are Gorpaks. And we are doomed.”

“Silence, animals!” shrilled Lutho, giving me a sharp rap over the kneecap with a baton-like little length of polished wood he carried in one hand. I said nothing, tightening my lips against the bright burst of pain; but I gave him a Look at which he flinched, licked his lips and retreated.

Why is it, I have often wondered, that while cowards are not always bullies, bullies are always cowards? One of life’s little mysteries, I suppose.

* * * *

With Vusk leading the way, and Lutho strutting importantly along at the rear, where he considered himself safe, we marched through the jungle, which ended in a blank cliff of stone. At some secret signal a rectangle opened within this seemingly unbroken wall, and we were led inside.

I now know that through this same entrance had gone Professor Potter some time before us. I will not bore you with a second description of the black tunnel and so on, but we went the same route he had taken. The mazes and warrens of this underground city were astonishing to me, in that they represented a level of civilization higher than anything I had as yet suspected might be found here in this savage jungle world. One-Eye should have been even more impressed than I was, but he was too terrified to notice much of what went on around me.

Like those of my friends who had preceded me into the underground city within the hollow mountains, I found myself intrigued by the appearance of the cavern people; their unhealthy pallor was only natural, considering that they remained buried here all their lives, never seeing the light of day; but what bothered me was the blank-faced listlessness they exhibited. They went about their menial tasks like so many zombies, oblivious to everything except the job at hand. Not so much as one of them spared a curious glance for us two strangers. They acted as if they were drugged, or perhaps hypnotized, or as if they had long since been terrorized into a constant state of mindless apprehension until they became impervious to every normal stimulus.

In this labyrinth of winding corridors and many levels, I lost all track of direction. At some point we were commanded to halt while Lutho swaggered into a cubicle to report our capture to one I assumed to be a superior officer: This personage waddled out to eye us coldly from head to foot; he was older and, if anything, meaner-looking than Lu tho, with a fat wobbling paunch and double chin.

“Your success at capturing new animals is indeed remarkable, Lutho,” he said waspishly. “Three in one wake is a new record”

“I am gratified at the words of praise deigned to be uttered by one so high in the favor of the Lords as Commander Gronk,” Lutho purred—showing that he could toady as obsequiously to his superiors as his underlings toadied to him.

Gronk nodded slightly, acknowledging the flattery. “Put them in with the others,” he snapped, waddling back into what I suppose was his office.

* * * *

We were led down another level by means of a sloping ramp without steps, and halted before a barred aperture. Here our bonds were removed, the door unbarred and we were thrust into fetid darkness. The door slammed to, the bar came down with a heavy grating sound and we stood there smelling the repulsive odors and rubbing our wrists. It was as dark as the inside of an ink bottle, although a trifle of light came from the dimly illuminated corridor beyond our place of captivity.

“Well, One-Eye,” I began, intending to make some feeble quip or other. But I broke off at hearing a sharp gasp and a deep-chested grunt which sounded out of the darkness behind me with simultaneity. In the next moment I found myself being squeezed with skinny arms and clapped upon one shoulder by a brawny paw as big as a catcher’s mitt. The light from the corridor was dim, but it was enough to make out the features of Professor Percival P. Potter and Hurok the Korian!

“You are alive! My dear boy, how glad I am to see you—what experiences I have had! What a tale I have to tell you!” burbled the Professor, wringing my hand heartily, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with emotion, eyes as moist with tears of happiness as were, at that moment, my own.

“Hurok rejoices that Black Hair is alive and well,” said my faithful Drugar friend in deep, solemn tones, with a grin that made his shaggy features suddenly very human.

“Although,” he added in an ominous rumble, with a contemptuous glare at One-Eye, who stood at my side, “Hurok is somewhat surprised to find his friend in such low company.”

Well, there wasn’t much I could say to that.

CHAPTER 13

Warriors of Sothar

During the next few sleeps and wakes we did an awful lot of talking. Hurok and I and the Professor exchanged accounts of our various adventures since the sundering of our paths, and even One-Eye grunted a cursory account of the manner by which he had survived the stampede of the mammoths and had met with Xask and Fumio and had followed me across the plain of the thantors because Xask wanted my automatic.

I was, of course, delighted beyond words to learn from the Professor that my beloved Darya still lived, but in the next instant plunged into dejection to learn that she had been carried off by the red-bearded captain of the corsair galley, and that that brave youth, Jorn the Hunter, had been slain. Later, when my misery over Darya’s plight receded a little, I would have time to puzzle over the marvel of a colony of the notorious Barbary pirates existing here in the Underground World. But since Zanthodon had already proved a refuge for so many of the mighty dawn-age beasts and tribes of early men, I suppose it was not much to marvel at.

Zanthodon
itself
is the marvel of marvels.…

In time we were put to work like the naked, listless, redhaired people of the caverns at various menial tasks, with the beady-eyed little Gorpaks as our overseers. Even while sweeping and mopping and preparing food, or whatever, the Professor and I managed to stay together, exchanging information, conjecture and reminiscences in whispering tones.

Among other matters, he related to me how he had himself been captured by the Gorpaks. As I have already inserted his account of this, how he came upon a Gorpak whipping and abusing a child of the cavern people, while her elders stood idly and uncaringly by, interposed himself, and was then set upon by the cavern folk at the instigation of the vengeful Gorpak he had knocked down, I shall not repeat his story here. Nevertheless, as you can imagine, his account of his gallantry warmed my heart; if anything, I became even fonder of the old fellow than before.

“How is it that they did not kill you on the spot?” I asked when he had finished his story. The Professor shrugged, sheepishly.

“The mob did knock me about a bit,” he admitted. “But they are so sluggish and languid that I managed to give a fairly good account of myself. Then another Gorpak came by, an officer called Gronk, I believe, and bade them desist. Somewhat battered and bruised, I was brought here not too much the worse for wear.…”

“Which was the Gorpak you knocked down—the one who told the cavern folk to kill you?” I inquired.

“A creature called Ungg, I believe,” the Professor sniffed. “Venomous little brute! Whenever he or I pass in the corridors, he gives me a certain look.…”

“I can well imagine it.” I grinned. “They seem to be a spiteful lot.”

“You haven’t seen the old shaman or priest yet,” he confided. “The worst of them all, on my word! An old skeleton called Queb; it is he who presides over the grisly orgies of vampirism they like to call ‘Feastings’.”

“Hurok has seen the panjani,” rumbled the Apeman in his deep tones, with an expression of distaste.

The scrawny old scientist also hastened to apprise me of the singularly grisly doom which awaited us in the very near future—that we would be offered up to the blood-thirst of the Sluaggh at the very next Feasting—as the vampiric orgies were fastidiously termed by their servants, the Gorpaks.

“What are Sluagghs?” I asked with rather natural curiosity. After all, if one is to be slain hideously, it helps a little to find out who or what the slayers are to be. Not much, but a little.

He, described the enormous leeches in brief terms, and my spine crawled. At this juncture, Hurok added in his deep tones a narration of the blood orgy he had witnessed from the balcony. I felt sick to my stomach.

“And they made no protest?” I inquired incredulously. “They were not bound or anything, and yet they didn’t even
try
to defend themselves—to fight back? Great Scot!…granted, these cavern folk seem to be pretty listless people, their wills cowed and long since broken, but it’s only human nature to defend yourself.…”