The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series (84 page)

Xask instantly deduced that it was a thunder-weapon of similar power to the small hand weapon which Eric Carstairs carried and which Xask had long coveted, for in trigger and in barrel it resembled the automatic. He could not imagine how two such weapons came to be here in the jungle world of Zanthodon, but he could not deny the evidence of his eyes.

Cautioning his companion to silence, he crouched in the brush and overheard their conversation. Many of the words and terms they employed were unfamiliar to him, but Xask disregarded this fact, since there was nothing he could do to alter it. Agleam with cupidity, his eyes were riveted on the thunder-weapon as Manfred Von Kohler, with the Professor’s spear jabbing him between the shoulder blades, bent and gently deposited the deadly thing on the greensward at his feet.

So fixed was his attention on the scene taking place before him in the glade that he did not notice the stealthy approach of another until Murg timorously nudged him in the ribs to apprise him of the fact.

Xask could see that the second stranger was garbed in clothing similar to the first, in hue and design, and that these were also scrupulously clean but worn almost to tatters and carefully patched. He was larger and fuller of face than the first stranger, and was going bald. But none of these details was of any particular interest to the vizier.

What caught his fascinated eye was the fact that the second stranger
also
bore a rifle similar to that which the first had just surrendered, and that a small hand weapon very much like that belonging to Eric Carstairs, was holstered at his hip.

Glee lit the dark eyes of Xask; there were now at least four thunder-weapons in the Underground World, rather than merely one!

Which quadrupled his chances of getting his hands on one, so that the surviving artisans of the Scarlet City could duplicate them and arm the legions of Zar with a weapon of such irresistible might as to conquer the entire world.

PART V: SOLDIERS FROM YESTERDAY

CHAPTER 21

HOW NIEMA FOUND ZUMA

When the huge, hairy giant burst growling from the underbrush to jab his crude spear at the naked breast of Zuma, the black warrior instinctively leaped backward and raised his own Aziru assegai in defense. The two circled each other warily while a second apelike creature, obviously female with full bare breasts, cowered fearfully amid the shrubbery.

Zuma had never faced an opponent so large and impressively muscled, or at least not a human opponent. Or was the growling creature before him fully human? His broad, sloping shoulders and long apelike arms were matted with russet fur, and his low, jutting brow and prognathous jaw made him resemble a beast as much as a man. Zuma had lived all of his days in Zanthodon and therefore had never seen a gorilla such as dwell in the jungle’s of the upper world, but he had heard fearsome tales told of such dangerous manlike creatures from the lips of his grandsires, and this was the first thought that rose to his mind.

The hairy Apeman jabbed at Zuma’s breast, but the black with swiftness and agility deflected the spear with his own, although the strength of his foe’s thrust jolted the black to his very heels.

In a contest of sheer muscle, Zuma knew, he stood little chance against so huge an enemy. All he could hope for was that his intelligence and quickness were of an order superior to that of the Apeman.

He aimed a cunning thrust at the hairy beastman’s abdomen, and, as he had hoped, the other lowered his spear to deflect it. In the same instant, his belly-stroke having been a mere feint, Zuma’s point flashed for the other’s thick throat.

Gorah—for of course it was she—spied the feint in the same moment, and cried out in fear and warning.

“
—Hurok!
”

Zuma managed to turn his thrust awry in the very nick of time. Amazement flashed in his dark eyes and he stood back, half-lowering his assegai.

“Are you truly the one called Hurok?” he asked.

Blinking curiously, his foe lowered his crude spear.

“Hurok is Hurok,” he growled. “But how can that name mean aught to one whom the eyes of Hurok has never beheld ere this?”

Zuma grinned. “I am a friend of Eric Carstairs and the white warriors,” he explained swiftly. “They have mentioned your name in Zuma’s presence and have related of their search for their missing comrade. I am Zuma, a warrior of the Aziru people.”

Hurok examined the tall, lithe black warrior narrowly, rather liking what he saw. Slowly he grounded his weapon and a huge smile creased his thick lips.

“If you are a friend of Black Hair, as am I, then it is good that Hurok and Zuma did not slay each other,” he said in slow, deep tones.

Zuma grinned and dropped his own weapon.

“Things could not have turned out happier for Zuma,” the black declared. “In truth, the strength of Hurok’s arms is such that Zuma is relieved there is no need for us to fight one another. Eric Carstairs and his friends will be pleased that Hurok has returned to Zanthodon, for they were bewildered by your disappearance and have traveled hither in search of you.”

Hurok dragged the reluctant she female from the bushes and proudly displayed her to the Aziru.

“Hurok returned to the country of Kor to fetch hither a mate from among the shes of his people,” he explained. “Is she not a fine she?”

“She is indeed, and Hurok has every reason to be proud,” said Zuma, with some prevarication. In all honesty, the Neanderthal woman looked unappetizing to him, and his memory summoned forth the image of the slim and beautiful young woman of whom he nightly dreamed and for whom he had sought so long.

Gorah then tugged at the powerful arm of her mate and pointed timidly back up the shore.

“O Hurok,” she said timidly, “behold where another dark-skinned one approaches!”

Zuma turned to see the person to which the Neanderthal woman referred, and froze as if rooted by sorcery to the spot. For a long instant, the dazed warrior believed himself caught up in another of his nightly dreams, for the long-legged, slim and beautiful black woman who came sprinting lightly down the beach to where he stood in converse with the two Korians was none other than his beloved Niema!

Calling her name, he ran to meet her and caught her up in his strong arms. As she was crushed against the stalwart chest of her beloved, held tightly in the embrace of those powerful arm’s, her cheek against his naked breast, feeling the pounding of his heart, Niema felt bliss such as she had only dreamed of. Zuma covered her beautiful face with fierce, happy kisses and she smiled and lifted her lips to his.

After a time, he held her away from him at arm’s length, his face serious, his eyes stern.

“Niema, daughter of Kirah and Junga, virgin of the Aziru, I, Zuma, the son of the chief Waza, claim you for my mate against all the world,” he said formally. “Look not henceforth with the eyes of love upon another warrior, and, for his part, Zuma will no longer look with desire upon any other woman.”

She smiled, saying nothing. The ceremonial phrase did not require her acquiescence. But then Zuma spoke another query, softly, for no ears to hear but her own.

“Is this what Niema truly wishes in her heart?” he asked.

“Niema could not ask for more than this,” she said simply, “unless to pray that the Ancestors permit the loins of Niema to bear many strong sons and healthy daughters sprung from the seed of Zuma of the Aziru.”

While the two Neanderthals watched with only dim comprehension, the two briefly embraced, exchanged a chaste kiss, and turned smiling to face the Korians.

“Hurok and Gorah of Kor,” the warrior said formally, “this is my mate, Niema.

“Is she not beautiful to behold?” he asked, grinning proudly.

Hurok admitted that she was, although privately he thought the black woman much too skinny and vastly preferred Gorah, whose proportions were ampler. But everyone to his own taste, he thought to himself.

The mating ritual of the Aziru is short and simple. By publically claiming Niema before all challengers, Zuma had married her.

It was that simple.

* * * *

Tharn and his fellow chief saw to it that their people had crossed the deep crevasse and were assembled in good order on the far side. The herd of grymps had moved far off in the eastern corner of the plain and were by now too far distant to be of any potential danger to the Cro-Magnons.

At council, it was decided that the tribes should skirt the marshy borders of the swamp, circling them in order to march across the plain and reach the jungles of the south.

Long ago, at the very beginning of our adventures in the Underground World of Zanthodon, Professor Potter and I had gone by this same route into the north, when we were captives of the Neanderthal slavers from Kor. It was during this brief but irksome period of captivity that we had first made the acquaintance of Darya and Jorn, and the villainous Fumio. Hurok of Kor had been one of the warriors accompanying the slave-raid, of course, so all of these parts of Zanthodon were more than familiar to us.

Tharn regretted the absence from the tribes of my own company, although he understood and sympathized with our desire to find the missing Hurok before continuing on south to Thandar; and he was annoyed that his daughter Darya had gone back into the jungle to find Eric Carstairs.

He was reluctant to venture into the southern jungles until all of us were rejoined to the tribes.

“Let us camp on the edges of yonder jungle,” he said to Garth, “within easy view of our missing friends when they emerge from the brush.”

“That is agreeable to me,” said Garth. “And may I suggest that it would be wise to leave the felled trees in place so as to afford an easy bridge across the abyss for them when they arrive on the scene.”

Tharn of Thandar agreed that this was a sensible idea, and issued commands to his chieftains to set up camp once they had crossed the small plain, circled the swampy area, and reached the jungle’s edge.

This was accomplished in very little time, and, while the scouts and huntsmen ranged afield to procure food for the meal, youths and oldsters dug fire pits in the floor of the grassy plain and women and girls constructed braces and spits from tree branches, wherefrom to suspend the hunters’ kill above the coals.

After the meal was slain, cleaned, cooked and eaten, while all those not stationed on sentry duty were bedding down for the sleeping period, Tharn stood with strong arms folded upon his mighty breast, staring with brooding eyes back across the plain and the abyss to the edges of the jungle.

There Garth and his mate, Nian, joined him.

“Is all easy in your heart, my brother?” the High Chief of Sothar solicitously inquired. Tharn nodded somberly.

“My country of Thandar lies only a few wakes’ march to the south of these jungles,” he said. “Very soon we will return to our villages and you will enter the new home of your people, and our tribes will be joined in friendship forever. It is only that I wish that Eric Carstairs and his warriors, and Darya the gomad were with us.”

Garth nodded understandingly, saying nothing. He knew that Zanthodon is always full of surprises, and that in the weird subterranean cavern world, the unexpected usually happens.

They turned away to seek their rest, leaving Tharn to brood on the missing.

CHAPTER 22

WHEN COMRADES MEET

“What the devil am I supposed to do with you!” repeated the Professor, and indeed it was a bit of a problem.

Baron Von Kohler regarded him thoughtfully.

“If I may ask a question, Herr Doktor,” he said, “then permit me to inquire, now that the war is over and ended, are our two countries still enemies?”

Professor Potter slowly shook his head.

“No, as a matter of fact, sir, they are firm friends and allies,” he said reluctantly. The German officer smiled.

“Then, since we are no longer at war with each other, cannot you and I, and the pretty
fraulein
here, emulate our governments and be, if not exactly friends—for friendship must be earned before it is returned—at least allies?”

The Professor thought it over, chewing on his moustache.

Von Kohler smiled. “After all, we are civilized white men marooned in an unknown world among primitive savages and terrible beasts, a world torn by storm and earthquake, where deadly perils are to be found on every side. Should not civilized gentlemen stand together against the common dangers with which we are so continuously beset?”

The Professor looked at him with candid suspicion.

“Your words are persuasive, and peaceable, my dear Baron,” he admitted. “But it is difficult for me to decide whether they are honestly representative of the emotions within your heart, or, as seems more than likely, prompted by the fact that my spearpoint is leveled at that same organ.

“In a word, sir,” he added bluntly, “I do not know whether I can trust you.”

The officer nodded thoughtfully, with a charming smile. “Your caution is only common sense, I suppose,” he admitted. “And were I in your position, sir, I have no doubt that I would feel the same. Well, then, what are we to do? I cannot remain long absent from my camp, for my superior is gravely injured and, before long, one of the two men under my command will come looking for me. If you will permit me to return to my camp, I give you my word of honor as an officer and a gentleman that I shall neither interfere with your own freedom nor attempt to molest either you or the young
fraulein
.”

They both glanced at the Mauser which lay at their feet.

“I am, however, reluctant to brave the hazards of these jungles without the comfort and security of my rifle,” Von Kohler added.

“I can understand that,” muttered the Professor fretfully. “As I am reluctant to permit you to resume possession of the firearm, while the girl and myself have nothing wherewith to defend ourselves against you save for these flimsy spears.”

“We are on the horns of a dilemma, then, as one of your English poets has so graphically put it,” said the officer. “In all candor, Herr Doktor, I wish that I could think of a way in which to demonstrate decisively to you that my men and I mean you and the young lady no harm, and would in fact desire to become friends and allies with you and your people. But, alas, I have nothing but the words uttered from a sincere heart—”

At that moment someone cleared his throat behind them.

“Herr Oberlieutenant, I am here!” said a guttural voice in German. The Professor felt his heart sink into his boots, or would have, if he had been wearing any boots, which he was not.

He turned to see a second German in tattered army uniform, leveling a Mauser rifle at himself and Darya.

Heaving a gusty sigh, the old scientist let the spear drop to the ground as Von Kohler knelt and recovered his own rifle, which he snapped to safety and slung over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Schmidt, your intervention is a timely one,” he said crisply. Then, turning to the old scientist, he said with equal crispness:

“And now, Herr Doktor, the conditions are reversed. How does it please you to no longer have the upper hand?”

* * * *

My hunters had mostly returned with game, which we cleaned and began to cook. We had dug a fire pit in the sandy shores of the underground sea, and were relaxing when a far-off
halloo
called to our attention the return of the missing hunter, Varak.

His companions were such a surprising and a welcome sight that we sprang to our feet in delighted amazement.

“Jorn! Yualla!” I exclaimed. The two youngsters were grinning broadly as we crowded around, all talking excitedly at once. Since none of us had ever expected to see them alive and whole again, our excitement was understandable.

“Yualla,” I said, hugging the smiling girl, “your father, Garth, will certainly be relieved to see you, for he long since presumed you slain by the thakdol.”

“Where is my father, and our people?” she asked. I pointed into the jungles.

“The tribes are on their way south to the land of Thandar, your new home,” I said. “Nor are they very far ahead, for we but recently parted from the host in order to find Hurok of Kor—”

Jorn, who had grown to love the huge, hulking old fellow during their march across the plains of the north to the range of mountains known as the Walls of Zar, grabbed my arm.

“What has become of Hurok?” he demanded. I shrugged helplessly.

“He left us during the sleep-period,” I explained. “We tracked him here, to the shores of the Sogar-Jad, but can go no farther. We believe that he returned to his island homeland for some reason, but whether or not he will return to rejoin us on the mainland, we do not know.”