The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series (85 page)

“Have you seen Niema?” interrupted Yualla of Sothar, looking around her, hoping to see her new friend.

“Who is Niema?” I asked.

“A beautiful, tall woman,” Jorn informed us, “who joined us in the mountains and captured Xask and that little villain, Murg.”

“Xask and Murg, eh?” growled huge Gundar at my side. “Are those two still about?” The giant Goradian had known of Xask’s villainies while a gladiator, fighting at my side in the arena of Zar during the Great Games. And he had heard tell of Murg since then. We all looked at one another with grim consternation, for while nobody had much to fear from pitiful little Murg, Xask was a wily and cunning foe, and an adversary to be reckoned with.

“Jorn forgot to tell you that Niema is black of skin,” offered Yualla. My frown cleared, for now I recognized the name as that of the black woman for whom Zuma had been searching.

I opened my mouth to say as much, when the swift movement of events made my remark unnecessary.

Varak yelled excitedly, pointing with his spear. We turned to look down the beach and saw a most welcome sight, indeed. For toward us strode a grinning Zuma with his arm about the supple waist of a stunningly handsome black woman garbed and armed as he…and behind them waddled the huge, hairy form of Hurok of Kor, accompanied by a smaller, slighter Korian, obviously the female of the species.

Before long we were all together again, and many tales were told and Zuma introduced us to his mate, Niema of the Aziru, while Hurok made us known to his she, Gorah of Kor.

Niema greeted us modestly, beaming with happiness at finding her beloved Zuma, but Gorah was more timid and reluctant and hung back shyly, saying little and half afraid to meet our eyes. She had seen very few of the panjani and had always been taught to regard them as her implacable enemies, and the enemies of all her kind.

For our part, however, we looked the Neanderthal woman over with frank curiosity, never having before seen a female of the race. As I have mentioned, Gorah was smaller and lighter of build than her mighty mate, and where his muscular body was thatched with matted russet fur, her skin was less hairy than his, and the fur was more downlike and silky, a lovely shade of coppery-red. It grew on her forearms to the elbow, and on her heavy thighs, and a patch grew between her shoulder-blades, while the hair on her head was heavier and longer than Hurok’s. As well, her features were less crude and more refined than his, although she was certainly not to be considered handsome beside the Cro-Magnon women.

Still and all, in the eyes of Hurok she was beautiful, and, after all, that’s what really mattered.

“Now we are missing only the old man, your friend, for our number to be complete once again,” sighed Varak, sliding his arm around his own mate, little Ialys of Zar. I nodded grimly.

“I would have thought the old fool would have returned quite a while ago,” I grumbled, “since the volcanic action has subsided long since.” And it was true: an hour or so had gone by since the eruption and earthquake had shaken the jungle and split the southern plain, and still Professor Potter had not returned to our camp.

“Then it is the suggestion of Zuma that we go and find the old man,” said that warrior.

By this time we had all eaten, sharing our food with the new arrivals, who were rested from their various exertions and adventures, so we broke camp, extinguished the cook-fire by raking dry sand over the glowing coals, took up our weapons and entered the jungles.

“See! Did not Varak speak the truth awhile back?” exclaimed Varak, pointing to where a crude mark had been cut in the bark of a tall cycad.

And I remembered that he had earlier predicted that the Professor would not be foolish enough to try to go through the jungle without blazing a trail so that he could find his way back to our encampment on the beach, since one part of the jungle looks so very much like every other part of the jungle, and it is easy to lose one’s way therein—especially if one lacks the Zanthodonians’ innate sense of direction.

“Thank heaven for small favors!” I said grumpily.

Following the trail the Professor had left, we moved swiftly through the jungle country.

CHAPTER 23

THE LOST TRAIL

With a gloomy look on his face, Professor Percival P. Potter surrendered his spear and Darya did likewise, while Manfred Von Kohler stood smiling at his ease, his own rifle now slung upon one shoulder.

“Well, sir, we are your prisoners now, for the sudden appearance of your comrade has quite effectively turned the tables,” said the old scientist stiffly.

Von Kohler smiled broadly and clicked his boot heels together, inclining his head in a brief nod.

“I thank you, Herr Doktor! And I must admit that this turn of events pleases me deeply, for it gives me precisely the sort of opportunity I was just wishing for.”

While the Professor and Darya looked at him uncomprehendingly, the officer turned to the second soldier who stood at the far side of the glen, his rifle leveled.

“Corporal Schmidt!”

“Ja, Herr Oberlieutenant?”

“You will oblige me by putting up your rifle,” said the officer crisply. Schmidt blinked, but obeyed, slinging the Mauser over his shoulder.

Von Kohler turned to the Professor and the Cro-Magnon princess.

“Herr Doktor, if you and the
fraulein
would likewise oblige me, you would take up your weapons again,” he said.

The Professor wasted no time in stooping to snatch up his spear and Darya took up her own.

“Now you are armed again, and our firearms are across our shoulders,” said the Baron. “Corporal Schmidt’s unexpected appearance on the scene has granted me the very opportunity I wanted—the perfect way to prove to you and the
fraulein
that I and my soldiers wish to be your allies, not your captors or even your enemies!”

The Professor gaped.

“Well, upon my soul,” he stammered helplessly. But Darya proved herself quicker on the uptake than was the savant. With a warm, generous smile, she shouldered her spear and stepped forward to lay the palm of her hand lightly upon the breast of the German officer. It was the simple Cro-Magnon equivalent of a friendly handshake, the welcome to a new ally.

And the officer gallantly returned the gesture in his own way, by lifting her hand gently to his lips with a courtly bow which the jungle girl privately thought charming.

“Now that these matters have been settled,” Von Kohler said, turning to Professor Potter again, “I really must return to my Colonel; I could wish that you and the
fraulein
might accompany Schmidt and me back to our camp to enjoy what rude hospitality we have to offer, but if you wish to return to your own camp, I will certainly understand, and let us part as friends, on the understanding that the world is small and we shall all doubtless meet again.”

The Professor cleared his throat.

“Kerr
-hem!
Well, and as for that, we have not been absent long enough to be seriously missed, or to cause our friends to worry concerning our safety and welfare, and…Holy Hippocrates, sir, I have some little understanding of medicine, and feel obligated to offer your Colonel whatever help I may be able to give—”

“I am delighted to accept your kind offer, Herr Doktor! Our camp lies in that direction—Schmidt! Fall in behind to guard our rear.”

And with those words, Manfred Von Kohler turned, offering Darya his hand to assist her over a fallen tree, and the four of them disappeared in the underbrush.

* * * *

Xask followed Darya, the Professor, and the two German’s back to their camp in the jungle, with poor Murg whimpering at his heels. The vizier was afire with lust to get his hands on one of the thunder-weapons with which the strangers seemed so lavishly equipped. Surely, before very long, an opportunity for him to do so would present itself, for neither the Professor nor Darya knew that he was anywhere in the vicinity, and the German soldiers were not even aware of his existence.

From the cover of the underbrush between the tall trees, he and Murg observed as the party entered the camp. Yet another soldier was on guard with yet another Mauser rifle, and he clicked his heels and saluted with the weapon as the Oberlieutenant came up to him. They conferred briefly, and then Von Kohler led his guests to the rude hut where an older, white-haired man lay on a crude litter. His garments had been torn away from his side, and a gory mass of bandages was held there by strips of cloth. It would seem that the Colonel had been gored in the side by a beast, and from the looks of him, Xask shrewdly guessed that the older man had not very long to live.

The camp was situated at the edge of a small stream, with its back against the shelter of large rocks. Bedrolls were neatly lined up beside a small fire which crackled merrily, browning plucked-and-gutted zomaks suspended above the flames on a spit made from tree branches.

While the Professor knelt to gingerly undo the wad of blood-soaked bandages and examined Colonel Dostman’s injuries, Xask quickly surveyed the camp. Obviously, when the next sleeping-period came, the bedrolls would be occupied, with at least one of the Germans standing guard lest hostile natives or dangerous beasts attack the sleeping men.

Xask had no way of guessing which of the German soldiers would occupy which bedroll, but he noticed that one of the rolls of blankets was nearer to the huge rocks than were the others. He thought he could circle the camp without causing any sound, and, with a little bit of luck, creep through the boulders to purloin one of the thunder-weapons, which would doubtless be laid on the greensward beside its slumbering owner.

Finding a secure niche, he curled up on a bed of dry leaves between the enormous roots of a giant tree, and patiently awaited his chance to steal the rifle; leaving Murg to watch the camp.

* * * *

For a time we followed the trail the Professor had blazed on the trees of the jungle without difficulty. He seemed to be heading directly south and east, heading straight for Fire Mountain without diverging from his path, save to go around natural obstacles.

And then, quite suddenly, the trail of marked trees ended. He went on a bit, then paused, looking around. This section of the jungle seemed no different in any way from the other parts of the jungle, and we could not at once determine the reason why the blaze marks had ended so abruptly.

“Perhaps the old man, your friend, was frightened by one of the great beasts,” suggested Warza to me. I shrugged.

“Maybe, but I don’t see any signs of the passage of a beast large enough to have scared the Professor into flight,” I said. And indeed there were no trampled underbrush, broken branches, or footprints in the turf which would have suggested the sudden arrival on the scene of a dangerous predator.

“A vandar prowls silently, gliding through the bushes, and seldom leaves prints,” Jorn pointed out. I had to agree with him, and, armed only with a spear, the Professor would certainly have taken flight before the advance of the giant sabertooth, rather than staying around to fight the cat with so flimsy a weapon.

I turned to Zuma, who, with his sharp eyes and wilderness training, was the best scout in my retinue of companions.

“Perhaps we should stay here, Zuma, while you circle about to see if you can pick up the trail of the Professor,” I suggested.

The black warrior grinned. “Zuma has tracked the fleeting uld across the veldt ere this,” he said without boasting, “and he has no doubt that he can find the spoor of the old man, your friend.”

At his side, Niema spoke up.

“Niema will accompany her mate for two pairs of eyes are better than none,” she offered. But the male Aziru shook his head decisively.

“Niema will remain here with the other women, under the protection of the warriors,” he said firmly.

The black girl bridled for a moment, then smiled demurely and said that she would gladly obey her mate. Her tones were meek and I believe the amazon girl rather enjoyed being told what to do by her man. Most women do, although on this point the women’s liberation movement would doubtless disagree with me, and that strongly.

Without further words, Zuma glided into the brush and was gone. He moved as silently as any Algonquin brave ever did, and was all but invisible in the jungle gloom due to the dark coloration of his skin. I felt confident that if any of us could locate the Professor’s trail, it would be the black warrior.

We settled down to wait. The jungle still seemed as silent as the grave, although the earthquake and the volcanic eruption were over for hours; still the dangerous beasts remained cowering in their lair, or so it appeared. What, then, could have frightened the Professor into flight, in such haste to be gone that he stopped leaving his marks upon the trunks of the trees?

Time would tell, as it always does.

And there was nothing for us to do but wait…and wonder.

CHAPTER 24

THE THUNDER-WEAPON

Professor Potter examined the injuries of Colonel. Dostman and found them as serious as Von Kohler had stated. Half delirious, the older officer was running a fever and his wounds were infected.

With the medicinal virtues of certain leaves and jungle herbs known to Darya of Thandar, which were steeped in boiling water, the Professor cleaned and dressed the Colonel’s wounds. Cold, wet cloths were laid upon his brow and Darya prepared a hearty broth from cooked meat which she fed to the German officer. After a time, somewhat eased of his discomfort, the older man fell into a deep sleep, which the Professor and the Cro-Magnon princess felt would do him probably as much good as had their crude doctoring.

They joined Von Kohler at the campfire and shared the meal together, talking in low tones so as not to disturb their patient.

“I fear it would be gravely unwise to attempt to move your Colonel until ‘tomorrow,’” said Professor Potter, chewing thoughtfully. By this, he meant “until after we have slept again,” but Von Kohler understood his meaning without the need for explanations.

The officer nodded, saying nothing. He had already thanked his two guests in quiet tones for their assistance in tending the wounded man, and there was little more to be said. He refrained from asking their opinion as to whether or not Dostman would soon recover-probably because he felt in his heart that there was little or no hope that the Colonel would ever recover, and wished to spare his guests the painful necessity of admitting the uncomfortable fact.

Von Kohler grimly knew that very soon, perhaps within hours, the sole responsibility of command would devolve upon his shoulders. It was a sobering thought, but it had to be faced. Fortunately, during the long and weary years they had wandered through the swamps and jungles and grassy plains and mountains of the Underground World, seeking a way out of Zanthodon by which they might return again to the Upper World, he had come to know and like and trust the soldiers that had survived, and knew himself capable of their leadership.

But he had gone for so long under the command of his Colonel, that he knew he would for a time feel lost without the wisdom and experience of the older man.

The pleasures of a hot meal made them all sleepy, after the excitements and exertions of the day, so they resolved to take their rest now. In Zanthodon there are no clocks, and time is a purely subjective experience: the folk of the subterranean cavern world sleep when they are sleepy, eat when they are hungry, and wake when they have enjoyed sufficient rest, without recourse to arbitrary schedule’s.