The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series (32 page)

“Let us try it then,” rumbled Garth who had come near to listen to our conversation.

So we turned aside and entered the cavern that Hurok had advised. It was no less winding and rough than had been the first one we had followed, and at the end of its circuitous path might well lie yet another way out of the hollow mountains. At any rate, our turning off into the side tunnel would possibly confuse the Gorpaks, whom we then thought to be directly behind us, since in their excitement they would probably pass right by the little, narrow entrance to the side tunnel and continue on in the general direction of our flight.

Of course, we had no way of knowing that the shrewd Gorpaks had anticipated that we would do this, since they certainly knew this maze of tunnels better than we, and were planning to ambush us as we emerged from this very tunnel.

* * * *

Although he has played very little part in the affairs I have been describing to you, One-Eye of course accompanied us. The hulking Apeman had—as we would say in the Upper World—maintained a low profile during the period of our captivity in the cavern city. He ate by himself and slept apart from the others, and seldom if ever communicated with any of us, save in surly grunts. I think that One-Eye was afraid I was going to get my new friends, the Sotharians, to gang up on him in revenge for the brutalities I had experienced at his hands.

Anyway, he kept himself in the rear of things as unobtrusively as was possible under the circumstances, and probably had long planned to get away by himself at the first opportunity.

And this was the first opportunity.

When we turned off into the narrow little side tunnel, One-Eye fell back to the rear and let the rest of us move ahead. As soon as we were gone, the Neanderthal emerged from the side tunnel and continued on down the main tunnel which led to the hole in the face of the cliff.

He thought himself unobserved, doubtless; but in this, One-Eye was seriously mistaken.

Murg the Sotharian, too, had lingered in the rear of our party, more, I think, from natural cowardice than from any particular scheme of his own. I believe I have mentioned this fellow before; he was skinnier and uglier than the other warriors of Sothar, with mean little eyes, and an obsequious manner. He was always sucking up to the Gorpaks and cringing before them and whispering to them in an oily, conspiratorial way. Instinctively, I disliked and distrusted him, for all that he was the brother of Garth the High Chief; but never were two brothers more unlike than these two: Garth was stalwart, majestic, fearless—a born leader, with the ability to command respect from others. Murg, on the other hand, was wily and cunning and treacherous, and always looking out for Murg first and everybody else distinctly second.

He was the sort of person who doesn’t have any friends, only allies and henchmen.

Murg, then, was in a position to observe One-Eye as the huge Neanderthal slunk out of the tunnel and went waddling down the main cavern. This action piqued Murg’s curiosity, for he was an inquisitive man, always sticking his nose into other people’s business and meddling in their affairs.

Wondering what One-Eye was up to, Murg yielded to the temptation to follow, presuming he could always catch up to the rest of his people should he wish to. So, keeping well to one side, and making as little noise as possible, he began to follow One-Eye.

The Apeman of Kor was waddling along at the best speed his bowed legs and splay feet were able to manage. The trouble was that the others had carried the torches, which meant that One-Eye had to traverse the tunnel in the dark. And this meant that he kept bumping into rocky projections and banging his head on stalactites and things.

It really wasn’t very hard for Murg to follow One-Eye. All he had to do was to keep his ears open and listen for the thumps when the Neanderthal bumped into something, and then the growling curse as One-Eye rubbed whichever member he had hurt.

* * * *

Before long, One-Eye saw daylight ahead, and knew that his journey was nearly over. Reaching the entrance, he peered cautiously out, looking around to see if any of those thakdols which Hurok had mentioned were flapping near. None were in sight, so the Apeman crawled out on the narrow stone ledge which served as the doorstep of the cave’s mouth and looked down.

At the base of the cliff the jungle grew close to the rocky foothills. A narrow ledge zigzagged down for a time, then petered out, but One-Eye could spot footholds and handholds and knew he could descend the cliff without much trouble.

Although a coward and a bully, One-Eye was tough enough. In the jungle world of Zanthodon, weaklings do not survive long enough to grow to One-Eye’s age, which I would guess at about forty. While the Neanderthal did not especially like heights, he did not especially fear them. And, with the huge splayed feet and prehensile toes and blunt, thick-fingered hands of his kind, One-Eye could climb as well as a monkey.

But first he concealed himself beside the edge of the entrance. Murg had made more noise than he had intended to, and echoes bounce down caverns. One-Eye didn’t know who was following him, but he intended to find out.

So, when Murg poked his nose out, One-Eye pounced!

CHAPTER 20

Hidden Eyes

Tharn of Thandar lifted one hand in the signal for silence, and immediately there ensued a cessation of all activity. His warriors had been striving to pry open the great trapdoor the scouts had discovered at the top of the cliffs, but all their attempts had thus far proved futile. Now, as Komad the scout knelt with his ear close to the rock, Tharn knew that something was amiss.

“What is it, O Komad?” he inquired after a moment.

The leader of the scouts rose to his feet. “Noises from the hollow places below, my Chief,” muttered Komad. “The tramp of many marching feet, and the clatter of weapons and accouterments. Someone is approaching the place whereover we stand; therefore, let us fall back to a secure distance and observe what will shortly transpire.”

“The suggestion of Komad is wise and prudent,” nodded Tharn. And he commanded his warriors to retire some little distance and to remain silent, avoiding any noise that might give the alarm to whoever marched in the cavern below.

Not very long thereafter, the great slab tilted to the pressure of some internal mechanism unseen. And there emerged rapidly into the light of day as curious a troop of men as ever the warriors of Thandar had seen.

They came boiling up out of the space beneath like so many angry hornets whose nest has been disturbed, and they ascended to the top of the cliff from below by means of many bamboo ladders. Uncomprehendingly, the warriors and huntsmen of Thandar stared from where they crouched behind boulders, curious at the hairless, sallow little men with their bandy legs and odd garments and even stranger weapons.

“O Chief, shall we not attack them now, with the advantage of surprise?” whispered Ithar to his monarch. “For whoever these strange little men may be, surely the gomad Darya is their captive, since they rule the hollow places below, into which she must have descended.”

Tharn frowned thoughtfully. It went against the rude and simple chivalry of his race to strike from ambush against an unknowing foe, but the counsels of Ithar were wise, and victory alone is the desired end of any conflict. However, as things turned out, it was spared to Tharn of Thandar that he strike the first blow against the Gorpaks, for one of the bandy-legged little grotesques, staring around, spied a hiding Thandarian and squalled, giving the alarm.

He lifted his trident as if to cast it, but it went awry and clattered off a boulder.

In the next instant, a Thandarian arrow pierced the breast of the Gorpak, and the battle was joined.

The man who fell was Vusk, for I was able to identify his corpse later.

* * * *

From their own hiding place at the cliffs edge, the Barbary pirates stared with amazement as the cliff opened to disgorge a horde of odd-looking little people who promptly charged the Thandarian savages and went down like flies before their arrows and javelins.

“Behold, O Achmed!” whined Tarbu, clutching at the brawny arm of the first mate. “The mountain opens like a door, and forth come devil-men!”

“They are the Djinn!” breathed Achmed, “who dwell in the bosom of Mount Kaf!” All of the superstitions of his race seethed to life in the breast of the Moor, striking fear into his heart as could never a mortal foe, however armed or powerful.

“Let us withdraw from this accursed place, before the stones open beneath our very feet and disgorge demons!” suggested another of the corsairs. Privately, Achmed thought that a very good idea; there was no advantage in going to the assistance of the unknown savages, and there was certainly nothing to be gained in waiting here for the devil-men to destroy the primitives and then come after the pirates.

So he gave quick orders, and in less time than it would take me to describe the scene, the Barbary corsairs clambered back down the improvised log ladders and concealed themselves within the edges of the jungle, the better to observe what transpired.

It soon became obvious that the Gorpaks were getting the worst of the fight. Not only were the Cro-Magnon savages taller and stronger, but they were much better fighting men than the Gorpaks, with much more experience in war.

Hitherto, the Gorpaks had done little more than lay traps in the jungle for passing men or women, and strutted and preened themselves before the listless cavern folk. There had never been a mutiny of the slaves of the cavern city until Garth and I led the one I have described.

The fact of the matter was, the Gorpaks had never been in a real battle before and they didn’t know what to do. They stood, shouting orders at the Thandarians, shrilling abuse, waving their arms, instead of taking cover. So, of course, they fell in droves to the arrows and spears hurled against them. And when it finally dawned on the Gorpaks that they were not exactly winning this thing, they tried to go back down into the caverns again, but were prevented from effecting their retreat by the pressure of more Gorpaks climbing up from below. That is, by this time Lutho had arrived with the reinforcements, and they were boiling up out of the exit to stand bewilderedly, finding themselves in the midst of a battle.

Except that it really wasn’t a battle at all, but very quickly became a full-fledged massacre.

It would have pleased me mightily, could I have been there to see it. Simpering little Vusk fell to an arrow in the throat, and the obsequious Sunth took a Thandarian spear in the heart, and even the villainous little brute whom the Professor had surprised in the act of whipping a child of the caverns died in the holocaust.

Tridents make clumsy weapons, pitted against spears.

And whips are of even less use against arrows.

It was all over very quickly. Captain Lutho managed to escape by jumping off the edge of the cliff. We found his body later at the base, where he had landed on some rocks, which split his skull open like an eggshell.

It certainly wasn’t Lutho’s day, was it?

* * * *

As the gigantic drunth came thundering down upon Xask, the Zarian did the only thing that occurred to him. Since he had no other weapon at hand save the automatic pistol which he had taken from me, he plucked it out and pointed it at the dinosaur, hoping against hope to somehow evoke the power of the socalled thunder-weapon.

Fortune was with Xask in that hour, despite her neglect of him in recent days. By pure chance his finger slid into the trigger guard and tightened about the trigger. A deafening retort sounded. The noise made Xask jump; it also so startled Fumio that he fell out of his tree and landed with a bruising thump in a thick thornbush.

The vast size of the armored stegosaurus loomed above Xask like a moving mountain. The monster halted—faltered—then, with a crash that shook the earth, it toppled over on its side and lay, kicking enormous feet and flexing and unflexing its long, blade-edged tail.

Xask was coughing to clear his head of the stench of gunpowder. He shook his head to stop the ringing in his ears, and stared wonderingly down at the smoking barrel of the .45.

Then he strolled around the body of the drunth, kicking it in the side from time to time, but carefully avoiding the lashing tail, which could snap his spine like a twig.

He found a black, sooty-edged hole at the base of the throat of the drunth, which must have been caused by the thunder-weapon. It mystified Xask that so tiny a wound could have brought down so mighty a monster, and, in fact, it mystifies me, for in my time I have bounced a bullet or two off a dinosaur, to no effect at all.

The Professor has a Theory—(the Professor
always
has a Theory)—that Xask’s bullet must have entered the dinosaur’s carcass through the soft flesh of the throat and caught it directly in the spinal cord, shattering that vital chain of vertebrae and causing it instant paralysis, rather than death. I don’t know, neither did Xask, but anyway his slug stopped the stegosaurus cold.

Eventually, he strolled over and pried Fumio out of the thornbush. Once Fumio had plucked out thorns from the more tender parts of his anatomy, and got a good look at the body of the drunth, he fell on his face and began kissing the feet of Xask.

Fumio knew a god when he saw one. Only a god could have felled a monster like that with a bolt from the blue.

Xask permitted Fumio to fawn on him for a time, then he commanded his new slave to get to his feet and accompany him through the jungle. Fumio was happy enough to do as his god ordered. Surely, armed with the thunders of the firmament, Xask could protect Fumio from the perils of the wild, the vengeance of Tharn, the cruelty of One-Eye and just about anything else.

Which is about all we could possibly hope for from the gods.

* * * *

As the battle on the cliff top came to its eventual end, there were other eyes watching from a place of hidden concealment besides those of the Barbary pirates. And these were the eyes of Xask and Fumio, who had arrived on the scene just after the corsairs had concealed themselves in the jungle.

Xask watched thoughtfully as the Thandarian savages finished off the last of the Gorpaks. He wondered, I suppose, what in the world was going on, but then Xask had never before seen any Gorpaks, and neither had he ever seen the Barbary pirates. This world of Zanthodon was proving a more remarkable place than even Xask had ever guessed, and was crowded with strange peoples of whose very existence he had gone ignorant all his days.

As was always the case with men like Xask, his cold and cunning brain went instantly to work calculating how this new information could be bent to serve his best interests.

As for Fumio, he wasn’t thinking about anything much; he wasn’t even watching the end of the battle. True, Tharn was there, and Fumio would have been very fearful and wary of Tharn a few hours before, for, after all, he had attempted to rape the daughter of Tharn, which was great and good reason for Fumio to feel fear.

But he didn’t. After all, his god was at his side, and there at the waist of his god was the thunder-weapon.

And he felt very safe and secure, did Fumio.