The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series (47 page)

His cloak swinging from broad shoulders, the Barbary Pirate explored the secret passage to its end.…

* * * *

He found at length the concealed entrance through which Fumio and Zoraida had conducted Darya. If his estimate of the distance was at all accurate, he reasoned to himself, the passageway led directly beneath the basements of the house of Yussef ben Ali—proof that the rival captain was deeply implicated in the stealing away of Kâiradine’s prize captive.

This door was locked, too, but repeated blows of the pirate’s booted feet shattered it until the lock burst asunder. Kâiradine snatched the wall-hanging aside and strode recklessly into the gloomy, vaultlike chamber.

Walls of naked rock sweated with an oily moisture. A wooden stair in one corner led to a trap in the roof, whereby entrance could be gained into the cellars of the house of Yussef ben Ali.

Rapidly, the gaze of Kâiradine Redbeard explored the hidden room, noting the long table, the empty wine goblets and the three chairs. By the light of his flickering torch, he explored the dark room—and discovered a mystery!

Sprawled in a sodden heap in one corner of the room lay the body of a dead man
.

Prodding the corpse with the toe of his boot, Kâiradine turned it over on its back so as to be able to discern its features by the light of his torch.

It was Fumio.…

With narrowed eyes, Kâiradine Redbeard studied the face of the dead slave, his mind churning furiously. He recognized the face of the blond Cro-Magnon from its flattened nose, recalling that the savage had been captured by Achmed and his seamen in the company of Darya of Thandar.

Later, this same savage had been sold at public slave auction, Kâiradine vaguely recollected. He knew this because at the time of their capture it had seemed likely to the Redbeard that the savage was a friend, brother or, perchance, a suitor of the jungle girl.

Fumio, then, had assisted Darya in hiding, if not actually in her escape? Kâiradine mused: on the surface of things, it was a logical assumption…but the pieces of the puzzle did not fit together.

If Darya had an accomplice in making her escape, why did she throw aside the dagger which he had found in the alley?

And who had murdered Fumio?

Not Darya, obviously, for the caveman was dead from a sword thrust, and the cavegirl could have hardly have escaped from the palace armed with a sword
and
a dagger.…

And—where
was
Darya?

He glanced over at the wooden stair. As secure as was this secret chamber, why should the girl have climbed it, ascending into the very house of one of the Captains of the Brotherhood?

Spitting a curse, Kâiradine prowled restlessly about, seeking another clue to this mystery, and giving no further thought to the murdered man.

So perished Fumio, once a chieftain of Thandar high in the esteem of his peers, cut down to die like a dog in this stark and miserable underground chamber…

* * * *

Suddenly, Kâiradine stiffened. A low, sobbing groan reached him. It seemed to have come from the far corner of the stone-walled chamber, where the shadows lay thick as dust.

He strode fearlessly across the room, to discover yet a second body, lying in a spreading pool of gore.

And his heart froze within him as he saw it was the body of a woman—

CHAPTER 18

JAIRA’S FLIGHT

Jaira of Gorthak had not been this frightened since the day, not very long ago, when a host of howling Barbary Pirates had swept down upon the little village of her people, slaughtering many and enslaving, among others, her sweetheart Grond and herself. When she had entered into a life of captivity in the island fortress of El-Cazar, the beautiful cavegirl had wondered if ever she would see her native village of Gorthak again…and now, as she fled through the streets of El-Cazar, she wondered if ever she would see her beloved Grond once more.

When the people of El-Cazar awoke to find their seemingly impregnable fortress city invaded by a horde of stalwart blond savages, it had quickly dawned upon the slaves in the house of Yussef ben Ali that the moment of their deliverance was at hand. Their master, the great captain, was absent from his mansion; gone, too, was his retinue of guardsmen. Only ’Dullah the majordomo stood between them and the freedom for which they had so long hungered.

One man cannot adequately guard a house with as many doors as had the house of Yussef ben Ali. Thus the slaves found it easy to slip forth from this portal or that, seeking to join with the unknown force of Cro-Magnons storming the streets of the city.

This Jaira of Gorthak was very young, very beautiful, slim as a willow and with a dancer’s grace in her long, slender legs. Her hair was a thick, heavy mass of raw gold, seemingly too heavy to be supported comfortably by her slim neck and fragile shoulders. She had small, pointed, immature breasts and shy, fawnlike eyes. She was timid, was Jaira the Gorthakian, and far less bold and daring than are many of the women of the Cro-Magnon nations I have come to know. When she furtively stole forth into the streets by a little-used side door, she sought to find her lover, Grond, rather than to join in the fighting.

Grond, she knew, was rumored to have been dispatched by their master, Yussef ben Ali, on a mission to admit these very fighting men into the bastions of the fortress city. Therefore, it seemed likely to the timid Jaira that, if Grond was to be found, he was unquestionably to be found among the blond warriors.

The turmoil of the streets, the whirling battle, the surging to and fro of shouting, struggling men, frightened the young girl. As a band of wild-eyed corsairs came clumping down the way, glittering scimitars naked in their hands, she shrank fearfully into a doorway.

The buccaneers had eyes only for their stalwart blond adversaries, however, and not for escaping slave girls, so they passed her by with scarcely a glance. Panting with relief, her heart pounding wildly, the girl slumped against the closed portal, bewildered, wondering how, in all this chaos of rioting men, she would ever find her lover.…

Then it occurred to Jaira that, if Grond had been dispatched by Yussef ben Ali on a secret mission to confer with the leaders of the Thandarian host, he must logically be in the forefront of the battle, where those leaders were most likely to be found.

As far as she could tell, the main thrust of the Bronze Age host was in the direction of the palace citadel of Kâiradine Redbeard, which crowned the summit of the height upon which the city sprawled, and which was not very distant from the house of Yussef ben Ali.

Furtively, the blonde girl stole in that direction, keeping hidden as well as she could and trying to avoid the knots of struggling, cursing men. She crept through an alley, finding herself near the wall which enclosed the gardens adjacent to the palace of Kâiradine Redbeard. The invaders had already stormed the gates of the palace and seemed to be sacking it thoroughly, and the shy cavegirl did not dare expose herself to the brawling tumult which raged within the halls and suites of the palace…but she could safely hide in the gardens, if she could find a way to enter them.

It was not for the fawnlike slavegirl to do as Darya had done much earlier, and boldly climb over the wall. So she crept along one side of it, casting fearful glances to every side, hoping to find an entrance. Before long she did indeed find one, a narrow opening whose door was a grille of wrought iron teased into graceful arabesques. It was through this little entrance that the merchants who provided the kitchens of Kâiradine Redbeard made their entry in order to deliver viands for the monarch’s table, although Jaira guessed it not.

She unlatched the gate and slid through into the gardens—hastily latching the gate behind her, against the possibility of another band of intruders.

Her heart beating as wildly against the cage of her ribs as ever a captive bird fluttered against its own cage, the girl glanced around, seeking a place in which to conceal herself until the proper moment arrived for her to seek out the leaders of the Thandarian host. She spied a little structure resembling a gazebo, which stood amidst a small grove of prehistoric cycads, girdled about with shoulder-high flowering bushes unknown to her. Therein could she hide herself, therefore the Cro-Magnon girl hastened to direct her steps in that direction.

As she shouldered her way through the dark-leafed foliage—very suddenly and without the slightest warning—a powerful swarthy arm locked about her throat and a hard, callused palm was clapped over her mouth, blocking out the shriek of pure terror which rose instinctively to her lips.

* * * *

Tharn of Thandar stood upon the dais of the great hall of the palace of Kâiradine Redbeard, harkening to the reports brought to him by scouts and messengers.

“My Omad,” reported one of these, a wiry long-legged lad called Doran, “the chieftains bade me inform you that the last pocket of resistance within the palace has been crushed.”

Tharn nodded somberly. The entire structure had been ransacked, without any sign of the whereabouts of Darya of Thandar, although many slaves and servants eagerly agreed that she had been imprisoned here by Kâiradine Redbeard not long since.

Another scout, this one a leathery-faced veteran, whose bright hair was dimmed by streaks of iron gray, came forward.

“My Omad,” said the older man, “all of the leaders have been accounted for, save for one Moustapha, who departed into the ‘north’ before our attack, Kâiradine Redbeard himself—for such seems to be the name of him that carried off your daughter, the gomad Darya, and another warrior called Achmed the Moor, who was a powerful chieftain under the Redbeard. These last two are known to have escaped the slaughter and to be alive, for the palace slaves have viewed the corpses of the dead corsairs and are unanimous that this Kâiradine and Achmed are not among their number.”

Again, Tharn nodded.

“Set free the slaves, those of them that are of our own kind, and tell them that they are free to join with us or to strive to return to their own homelands, as they wish.”

The second messenger touched his brow by way of salute, and left. Tharn turned to two of his chieftains, who with him had led the assault on the palace.

“How go things in the city proper?” he inquired.

The first chieftain shrugged. “There is still much fighting in several quarters and certain areas are blockaded and are strongly defended. The buccaneers seem to have recovered from their confusion—for our coming, it seems, took them very much by surprise and completely unprepared—and are giving vigorous resistance.”

“I agree with Brogar, my Omad,” interjected the second of the chieftains. “And would point out, if I may, that were the corsairs to find themselves a strong and determined leader, our position here could become untenable. Defeated though they were, they are very many and we are few.”

Tharn smiled grimly.

“All of their captains are slain, save for Kâiradine and this Moustapha who is far away, so I doubt me that any leader will come forward to assume the command. As well, the slaves and captives I have freed will greatly augment our number, and will fight with extreme courage and vigor so as to avenge themselves upon their former masters.”

“The Omad knows best,” responded the other.

“Let us hope so,” said Tharn humorlessly. “Sometimes, I wonder. However, rifle the palace armory to arm the former slaves, and bid the warriors of Thandar seize up the edged weapons of metal with which the buccaneers so valiantly defended themselves. These weapons are called ‘swords,’ and hold a sharper edge than do our knives and spears of bronze. It is the wish of your Omad that every warrior arm himself with these weapons, and learn to care for them.”

“It shall be done,” said the second chieftain. His name, by the way, was Rhak.

“Where has Grond gotten to?” inquired Tharn the jungle monarch.

Brogar smiled. “He has gone off to the house of Yussef ben Ali, Kâiradine’s rival, to find the woman he would make his mate.”

“I wish him well, for he is a good and brave man.”

“Has the Omad any further instructions?” inquired Rhak.

“The Omad has. We have searched the palace for the gomad, to no avail. Release our captives, but disarm them. Then bid all of our warriors, and those of the former slaves who wish to join with us, to quit the premises.”

“It shall be done,” said Rhak, and turned to follow the orders of his king. Tharn then regarded Brogar solemnly.

“My Omad?”

“Organize search parties. It is my intention to explore every portion of this island city until the gomad Darya has been found…alive or dead. See that this is done.”

Brogar saluted and left the hall.

Tharn stood alone in the vast room, arms folded upon his massive chest, broodingly staring at nothing, with a frown of determination creasing his lofty brows.

CHAPTER 19

DARYA’S RESCUE

As has already been told, Grond the Gorthakian parted company with the warriors of Thandar just as soon as he could conveniently do so. Once the palace was securely taken and could be firmly held, the former slave of Yussef ben Ali had departed for the now-deserted mansion of his former master, so as to ascertain the safety and the whereabouts of his sweetheart, the girl Jaira.

He searched the house rapidly, from top to bottom, without finding her. By this point, the house of Yussef ben Ali was completely deserted, save for ’Dullah, who fled as Grond made his entry, and certain others, including captives immured in the cells beneath the mansion for purposes of punishment.

These he set free, suggesting that they take up arms against their former masters, joining their strength to that of the victorious fighting men of Thandar.

The Gorthakian had completely searched the deserted mansion, before he chanced to recall the hidden chamber beneath the house, wherein it had been the wont of Yussef ben Ali to hold his secret meetings with his fellow conspirators, Ayyub and Zodeen. It seemed to Grond highly unlikely that the timid Jaira would have sought refuge in the secret chamber below the house, for as far as he knew the Cro-Magnon girl was ignorant of its very existence. Nevertheless, Grond was a thorough man and was unwilling to overlook any possibility, however remote it might seem.

When the former slave had been escorted thither, on the occasion of his commission by Yussef ben Ali to serve as emissary to the host of Thandar, he had paid careful attention to the route which led to the secret room. This was by way of being a trait of Grond’s, to vigilantly accumulate every bit of information about his captors he possibly could do; for it seemed to the young warrior that one could never tell when any specific item of knowledge might come in handy.