The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series (56 page)

* * * *

Later we again dismounted and were told to rest. Our hands and ankles were freed, but leather collars were affixed about our throats, fastened by long tethers to a peg driven into the ground near where the sentries squatted keeping guard. Warm woolen blankets were taken from the dinosaurs’ saddlebags and a couple were tossed over to us.

I have previously remarked in these memoirs that in a world where the daylight never dims and darkness never falls, the people become accustomed to sleeping whenever the need overtakes them. The men of Zanthodon have invented no way of measuring the passage of time—indeed, they have hardly any concept of time at all, for to them there is nothing but an eternal Now. This being so, they do not divide time into equal intervals of waking or sleeping, but simply sack out any time they feel like it.

The only exception I have ever found to this custom is the way the people of the caverns separated time into “wakes” and “sleeps.” But their life was heavily regimented by the late, unlamented Gorpaks, who presumably liked things neat and orderly.

Like myself, the Professor had a hard time getting to sleep. For although we were weary from hours in the saddle, captivity among a mysterious new race had us too tense and keyed up to find repose in slumber. For one thing, the Professor was still puzzling his wits over the enigma of the circlet Raphad wore.

“Did you notice the odd hue of the metal?” he inquired. “Reddish, yet silvery…an alloy of copper with silver? But for what reason? Both substances, of course, are excellent conductors of electrical impulses…but what purpose does the crystal serve, do you suppose?”

“Beats me,” I muttered. “Let’s get some shut-eye.”

“Some forms of crystal are capable of storing electrical charges, of course,” he said ruminatively, oblivious to my remark. “The galena crystals, for example, used in the oldtime crystal radio sets.…”

“Let’s solve the secrets of nature later on, okay, Doc? I’m getting sleepy just listening to you.”

“Something about the faceting of the crystal, though, reminds me of a lens or a prism,” he rambled on. “I say, Eric, do you suppose the metal band conducts the electrical impulses of thought in the mind of the wearer, which is then focused into a beam of narrow intensity by the lens-like crystal, permitting the Zarians to dominate the giant reptiles by
telepathy?
”

“Could be,” I mumbled, drifting off.

“Remarkable!” he breathed. “Eternal Einstein, what a feat! The Minoans have ascended the scale of civilization during the millennia they have dwelt here in Zanthodon, achieving sounding heights. To discover the conductive properties of the two metals silver and copper—to create the alloy alone—”

Suddenly he stopped, thunder-struck.

He reached over and shook my shoulder, rousing me from my doze.

“Mmph?” I inquired drowsily.

“The reddish silver, my boy! The very hue Plato ascribed to the mystery-metal
orichalcum
in his dialogues,
Critias
and
Timaeus!
Do you realize what this means?”

“Mmph?”

“
Orichalcum
was the metal of Atlantis!” he cried, marveling. “The theories of certain authorities must be accurate, after all. Eric, my boy…
we have been captured by the lest surviving descendants of the ancient Atlanteans!
”

“Tell me all about it in the mornin’,” I suggested, rolling over.

CHAPTER 4

HUROK MAKES A FRIEND

Even though they didn’t want to, Hurok and his companions had to pause to rest and eat something. Jorn surprised a nesting uld in the long grasses, and brought the plump beast down with an arrow from his bow. Varak made fire in the time-honored way of the Stone Age, by striking two flints together. In time the sparks ignited in a heap of dry grass, and more quickly than it would take me to describe, uld cutlets were roasting over a merry blaze.

There was no source of fresh water to be discovered in their immediate vicinity, but some of the warriors had leather bottles like army canteens suspended from their waists by thongs, and these were passed around so that the weary Cro-Magnons could refresh their thirst.

Hurok squatted on his heels a little distance from the others. The Drugar felt distinctly out of place and rather uncomfortable in the company of the panjani. Of all the smooth-skinned kind, it was only Eric Carstairs (whom he thought of as “Black Hair”) with whom he had found acceptance and true comradeship. He said, therefore, as little as possible to the others, responding only to direct questions, and otherwise maintained a taciturn silence.

As for the warriors, it was true that they felt as uncomfortable with him as he with them. They did not even feel all that easy among themselves, for they were men from two different tribes, Thandar and Sothar. And life in the primitive world of Zanthodon is hard and cruel: since any chance-met stranger is a rival, a competitor, he was thought also to be an enemy.

Now the men of Sothar and Thandar had met while in captivity to the cavern-people, the Gorpaks. They had perforce slept together, ate together, toiled together under the lash of their evil little bandy-legged masters. Tolerance of strangers they had learned because they must, but from their shared experiences the men of the two Cro-Magnon tribes had learned to trust, to rely upon, and to get along with men from the other tribe.

This did not mean they were all that easy together, it must be admitted. Xenophobia is a disease sadly common to the human animal in general, and so is prejudice. The feelings of dislike, distrust, and suspicion can be eradicated with time and patience and education. But it does not come quickly or easily.

But, while certain bonds of mutual respect had grown between the warriors of the two tribes, the situation with Hurok was quite different. From the cradle, the Cro-Magnons had learned to fear and despise the brutal, beastlike Neanderthals. Warfare had blazed continuously between Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal, and each side had very good reasons for hating the other—the memory of Cro-Magnon brothers, sisters, and friends carried off by Neanderthal slave raiders, or slaughtered in open battle, or felled from ambush by the hairy Drugars.

While Eric Carstairs had been among them, they had tolerated the presence of Hurok and grudgingly come to respect his strength and valor, his battle skills, and his devotion to their chieftain.

But now, lacking my presence to keep them in line and to smooth the difference between them, they half-guiltily resented their forced comradeship with the hulking Drugar, as he resented it for his part. There was nothing overtly hostile about these feelings, for the warriors were savages, it is true, but gentlemen of a sort. And Hurok, after all, was the friend and companion of Eric Carstairs.

But it was there, nonetheless.

* * * *

After a brief respite, the warriors again took up their pursuit of the Dragon-riders, resuming their long marathon run across the plains. While they could no longer track the Dragonmen by visual means alone, since the more swiftly moving Zarian party had long since gone out of sight, the enormous clawed feet of the monster lizards they rode left marks easy to discern in the grasses which clothed the plain. Following this spoor was but as child’s play to men trained from the cradle to hunt and track.

They began to weary again in time, and it irked them that Hurok’s powers of endurance were distinctly superior to their own, and that the Apeman paused to rest only when his companions insisted. Were it left up to Hurok, he would have run until he became completely exhausted; then, and only then, would he have paused to rest.

While his physical prowess annoyed them, it was also cause for new respect. The warriors of the Cro-Magnon prize and admire many qualities—loyalty, wisdom, judgment, courage, and skill. But the highest degree of admiration they reserve for physical strength and endurance alone.

Life in this savage, untamed wilderness is one unending battle against the ferocity of beasts and the cunning and enmity of other men. And the secret of survival against such odds is often brute strength.

And that Hurok of Kor certainly possessed.

They knew it, and it irked them. On the other hand, they could not help admiring him for it, however reluctantly.

Quite suddenly, the Cro-Magnons saw that prowess demonstrated in the most dramatic of terms.

The ground cracked open beneath their feet unexpectedly, and a head the size of a small barrel burst into view. One glimpse of that scaly snout, that fanged and gaping jaw, those cold and soulless eyes, and the warriors identified this adversary.

“A xunth!” cried Varak. “Scatter quickly!”

The warriors instantly veered off in all directions from the common center, so as to present as confusing a variety of victims as was possible. Now, the xunth, which apparently hollows out its lair beneath the earth of the plains, is a monstrously huge prehistoric serpent. At the time, I had never seen one, but I understood they could reach the astounding length of thirty feet. And thirty feet of snake is a whole lot of snake, let me assure you!

Jorn the Hunter, agile though he was, did not quite move as quickly as he should have. And when the toe of his sandal lodged in a knot of grasses, the boy took a tumble and lay prone, momentarily stunned by the fall, which had knocked the breath out of him. So when the xunth came gliding up out of his hidey-hole, there was as tempting a morsel as a xunth could ask for, virtually laid out and waiting.

Voicing a thunderous hiss, the enormous serpent lunged at the dazed youth, fanged jaws gaping wide. From a safe distance, Ragor and Erdon and Warza, who were Jorn’s fellow tribesmen, cried out in alarm and came sprinting to the rescue of their young friend.

But Hurok was there first.

The Apeman of Kor had not been able to run as far as the others, for his lumbering strides were heavier and more clumsy than were theirs. Hence, when he turned and realized Jorn’s deadly peril, Hurok reacted with instinctive alacrity. Whipping out his stone-bladed javelin, he cast it with all the strength of his mighty arms at the xunth.

Tough indeed was the scaly hide of the giant serpent, but strong were the arms of Hurok and unerring his aim. The keen point of the spear bit deep, sinking into the muscle of the serpent’s neck, lodging directly behind the base of the skull.

Screaming in a frenzy of rage and pain, the xunth forgot all about the dazed boy sprawled helpless at its feet, and turned, attempting to snap at the thing stuck in its neck, which hurt abominably. Of course, as the snake turned its head, so also did its neck turn, and the spear shaft swung out of reach.

This gave Hurok time to unlimber his stone axe.

Springing forward, the Drugar planted both feet to either side of the fallen boy, sheltering the youth with his body. Then, as the xunth espied him and struck at this new adversary, Hurok swung the heavy axe with every ounce of the strength in his mighty arms.

He literally smashed the xunth’s skull like an eggshell. Blood and brains squirmed in all directions. The serpent fell to the earth, writhing in slow death spasms. Hurok seized up Jorn and tossed him across one burly shoulder and hastily beat a retreat.

Having reached a safe distance, he let the boy down and squatted on his hunkers with the others as they watched the slow spasms which contorted the fantastic length of the dying serpent monster.

The Cro-Magnons regarded Hurok with an emotion which verged upon awe. The strength of that blow had been prodigious, was almost beyond their imagining. And the selfless courage of the Drugar, at springing to the instant defense of one who was not, after all, of his own tribe nor even of his own kind, aroused within their breasts a degree of respect they had not previously entertained toward the Apeman.

Recovering his breath, Jorn thanked Hurok for his life with simple but heartfelt words. The Apeman merely nodded, saying nothing. To such as Hurok it had been an instinct to come to the defense of a comrade, nothing more. And certainly nothing which required elaborate thanks.

Shortly thereafter, he went forward and retrieved his spear from the body of the reptile.

* * * *

Having rested, however briefly, and refreshed themselves thereby, the party continued on across the plains in the direction of the distant mountains.

This time, however, a change might have been discerned in the manner in which the Cro-Magnons regarded their hulking and ugly companion. They no longer avoided meeting his eyes or excluded him from the general conversation, although Hurok was, as always, glum and taciturn, despising casual speech.

But he was no longer quite as much an outsider among them as he had been.

Later, when the need for sleep overcame them and they were forced to make camp, they sat together around the fire, sharing their small stores of food and drink equally; no longer did Hurok of Kor sit apart from them.

And when they sought sleeping places amid the meadow grasses, Jorn deliberately chose a nest very near to the place which Hurok had taken for himself.

If the Apeman noticed, he made no comment. At length, Jorn spoke up a shade timidly.

“Good sleeping, O Hurok,” the boy said.

“Good sleeping to you, Jorn,” grunted Hurok emotionlessly.

You never know exactly how or when you are going to make a good friend. But friends come in handy, especially in a world like Zanthodon.

And Hurok had made a friend.

CHAPTER 5

THE MARCH OF THE WARRIORS

While these events were taking place on the plains to the north of the jungle-clad promontory, yet other things were happening at the scene of our earlier adventures.

Tharn of Thandar, the magnificent jungle monarch, had by now returned from the cavern-city with all of his warriors, scouts, and huntsmen. The scouring of the cavern-city was complete, and the last of the Gorpaks had been slain; as well, the victorious Cro-Magnons had thoroughly eradicated the hideous, vampiric Sluagghs.

The pale, languid cavern-folk, now released from their long slavery, tasted freedom for the first time in their lives. One assumes they heartily enjoyed the flavor of it, although the taste was a new one for them.

Returning from the caverns, with Garth and his Sotharians at his side, Tharn learned from those of the women and the wounded who had remained in the clearing that his daughter, Darya, had been stolen away with the Professor. When he heard that it was the villainous traitor, Fumio, together with Xask, who had done this deed, the brows of Tharn darkened thunderously.