Dylara
Uda, the moon, had not yet risen above the trees when the Cro-Magnon
youth plunged into the wilderness of growing things. As a result he
found his way purely by his familiarity with the territory and a store
of jungle lore not surpassed by the beasts themselves. Because of the
dense darkness, he was guided by three senses alone: smell, hearing and
touch; but these were ample when backed by the keen mind and superhuman
strength bequeathed by heritage and environment.
The narrow game trail underfoot swerved abruptly to the west and rose
rapidly. For several hundred feet the way was steep, became level for a
short distance, then fell away in a long gentle slope to flatness once
more.
All this was familiar ground to Tharn. The ridge containing the homes of
his people was behind him now; from here on for a day's march was
nothing but level country.
Now came Uda, her shining half-disc swinging low above the towering
reaches of the trees, her white rays seeking to pierce the matted growth
below. What little light came through was enough for Tharn's eyes to
regain some degree of usefulness.
He was moving ahead at a slow trot, an hour afterward, when the shrill
scream of a leopard broke suddenly from the trail ahead. Another time,
and Tharn might have gone on--too proud to change his course in the face
of possible peril. But tonight he had more urgent business than a brawl
with Tarlok.
Turning at right angles into the wall of undergrowth lining the path, he
vaulted into the lower branches of a sturdy tree. With the graceful
agility of little Nobar, the monkey, he swung swiftly westward again,
threading his way with deceptive ease along the network of swaying
boughs, now and then swinging perilously across a wide span from one
tree to the next.
Directly below was the beaten path; and now he caught sight of the
animal whose scream he had heard. Tarlok was pacing leisurely in the
same direction as that of the man overhead, pausing occasionally to give
voice to his hunting squall, his spotted form barely visible among the
shadows. Tharn passed silently above him, the leopard unaware of his
nearness.
Onward raced the Cro-Magnard, his thoughts filled with the quest he had
undertaken alone. His savage, untamed mind had dwelt so steadily upon
the outrageous attack, that it finally brought an emotion so powerful as
to be almost tangible: Hate, and for a companion, Revenge.
Never would he rest until this unknown tribe had felt the weight of his
own personal wrath. For what they had done they must pay a thousandfold
in lives and misery.
* * * * *
Without warning, the forest ended; and the cave lord dropped to the
ground at the edge of a great plain, its bounds hidden in the ghostly
moonlight.
A line of broken grasses began where the game path ended. So fresh was
the trail, now, that Tharn knew he had best wait for sunrise before
continuing the chase. He had no wish to dash headlong among the ranks of
the very enemy he pursued.
A few moments later Tharn was sleeping soundly in a crotch of a high
tree, his slumber undisturbed by the long familiar noises of a jungle
night.
The sun was an hour high when he awakened. His first act was to climb to
the highest pinnacle of the tree, and from that point attempt to pick
out, if possible, the goal of those he sought.
He was immediately successful. Due west, far in the distance, he saw
hills rising steeply amidst another forest. His sharp eyes followed a
wide line of broken grasses, noting that it pointed unerringly toward
those same heights.
Tharn smiled grimly to himself. Soon the first member of that war-party
would make the initial payment on the blood-debt. Making certain his
weapons were in place, the broad-shouldered young man slid to the ground
and took up a circuitous route, avoiding the open plain, which brought
him finally to the forest's edge at a considerable distance away from
the others' point of entry at the far side of the plain. If he had
crossed the plain, sharp eyes might have noted his pursuit from just
within the forest edge.
Once the trail was picked up again, he took to the comparative safety of
the middle terraces. Soon he was moving in absolute silence above a
narrow pathway winding into the gloomy interior, the imprints of many
naked feet clear in the thick dust. But he no longer needed such
evidence; the humid breeze was bringing the assorted smells of a
Cro-Magnon settlement close ahead.
So close were the hills by this time that he was momentarily expecting
the trees to thin out, when he caught the sound of a faint movement from
below. Warily he slipped downward until, parting the foliage with a
stealthy hand, he made out the figure of a tall muscular warrior
standing in the trail, his attitude that of a sentry.
Tharn felt his pulses quicken as a new emotion came to him. In all his
twenty-two years he had never been called upon to take a human life, and
he found the prospect somewhat disquieting. Yet it was just such a
purpose that he had in mind and there was no point in wasting time with
self-analysis.
Noiselessly he slid to the ground and stepped onto the trail a few paces
behind the stranger. With infinite stealth he lessened the space between
the unsuspecting warrior and his own half crouched figure. Forgotten was
the knife at his belt; his purpose was to close fingers about the
other's throat.
Now, he was sufficiently near. The muscles of his legs tensed for the
spring--and the enemy whirled to face him!
* * * * *
When the guard saw the young giant's nearness and threatening position,
his eyes flew wide in surprise and fear. His jaw dropped, but no sound
came; his arms seemed frozen to his sides.
Before he could recover, Tharn was upon him. As the young cave-man's
fingers clamped on the stranger's throat, a knee came up with savage
force into Tharn's stomach, almost tearing loose his hold. But the
maneuver cost the man his balance, and he fell backward with Tharn's
weight across his chest.
Frantically the warrior fought to loosen the terrible grip cutting off
his breath. He clawed wildly at the iron fingers, struck heavy blows at
his attacker's face and body. But Tharn only tightened his hold, waiting
grimly as the efforts to dislodge him became increasingly weaker. Then a
convulsive shudder passed through the body, followed by complete
limpness. The man was dead.
Tharn got to his feet. For a long moment he stood there, staring in
wonder at the dead, distorted face. His thoughts were a jumble of
conflicting emotions: pride at vanquishing a grown man by bare hands
alone; strong satisfaction in an enemy's death; and a feeling of guilt
at taking a human life. What was it that Barkoo had told him, long ago?
"Death cannot be understood, completely, by one who has never killed. A
true warrior takes no life without knowing regret. Slay only when your
life is in danger, or when someone has wronged you. Those who kill for
the love of killing are beneath the beasts; for beasts kill only for
cause."
Tharn stooped, swung the corpse across his shoulder and entered the
jungle. There he concealed the body and once more took to the trees.
The forest ended suddenly, some fifty yards from the base of an immense
overhanging cliff. A single glance told Tharn that he had reached the
trail's end, and he leaped lightly into the branches of a tree at the
lip of the clearing. Swiftly he swarmed upward until a broad bough was
reached that pointed outward toward the hillside.
Below and before him went on the everyday life of a Cro-Magnon village.
Four women carved steaks from the freshly killed body of a deer; naked
children climbed in and out of the caves and ran about the open ground;
two girls, several seasons short of woman-hood, scraped hair, by means
of flint tools, from a deerskin staked flat to the ground.
There was but one thing lacking in this peaceful, commonplace picture,
and Tharn noted its absence at once. There was not a single grown male
in sight! Did this mean a trap had been laid for the pursuit which the
warriors of this tribe had every reason to expect? Were they, then,
lying in wait for Barkoo and his men at the outer rim of the forest?
Tharn was about to start back toward the prairie, when he suddenly
stiffened to attention. A woman--a girl, rather; she could not have been
more than eighteen--had slid to the ground from one of the caves. The
man in the trees half rose to watch her.
She was a bit above average in height, slim, yet perfectly formed. That
part of her body not covered by the soft folds of panther skin was
evenly tanned but not darkly so. Soft, lustrous brown hair fell to her
bare shoulders in lovely half-curls that gave off reddish glints when
touched by the sun's direct rays.
This breath-taking young person was coming straight toward the very tree
that sheltered him. As she drew nearer, he could make out her features
more clearly, and he saw that the wide eyes were also brown, flecked
with tiny bits of Dyta, the sun (or so he thought); her cheeks were high
but not too prominent, her nose rather small but beautifully shaped. She
walked gracefully, shoulders back, her head lifted proudly, an almost
saucy tilt to her chin.
* * * * *
She passed beneath him and went on into the forest. Tharn came down
quickly and set out to follow. Why he did so was not considered; some
strange force drew him on. Less than twenty feet separated them, now;
but so guarded were his movements that the girl was not aware of being
trailed.
And now a small treeless glade stopped the stalker. Not daring to follow
further, he watched her take an empty gourd from its hiding place in a
clump of grasses and set about filling it with rich, red fruit from a
cluster of low bushes.
Tharn watched her intently from behind the bole of a mighty tree. His
eyes feasted on the matchless beauty of her face and form. Forgotten
completely was the driving motive that had brought him this far from
home. The flaming thirst for revenge was dead, quenched entirely by a
flooding emotion, new to him but old as life itself.
A little later he saw that the girl's search for berries was bringing
her close to a tree some fifty feet to his left. Swinging easily into
the foliage overhead, he moved silently along the boughs until the
strange princess was directly below.
And as he drew to a pause, Tarlok, the leopard, rose from the screen of
leaves just beneath him and, crouching briefly, sprang without warning
at the golden form fifteen feet below.
That second of hesitation on the part of the cat, saved the girl's life.
Tharn, trained to think and to act in the same instant, was in mid-air
as Tarlok's claws left the bark. And so, inches from that softly curved
back, the beast was swept aside by the impact of a hundred and seventy
pounds of muscular manhood.
Snarling its rage, the cat wheeled as it struck the earth, then pounced,
almost in the same motion, at Tharn's half-kneeling figure. But, swift
as was the movement, the man was quicker. Crouching under the arc of the
hurtling body, the Cro-Magnard drove his long knife to the hilt in the
white-furred belly. The force of the leap, plus the power behind that
strong right arm, tore a long, deep gash, and the animal fell, screaming
with pain and hate. Quickly he regained his feet and again threw himself
at the two-legged creature in his path. But Tharn easily avoided the
charge and vaulted into a nearby tree.
Blood streamed from the fatally wounded leopard as it turned to the
man's leafy haven and attempted to scramble into the lower branches. The
effort cost Tarlok his remaining strength, however, and he toppled
heavily to earth. Once more he sought to regain his feet, only to
collapse and move no more.
As Tharn came down to the floor of the glade, he wondered why the scream
of the giant cat had not brought enemy warriors running to the scene.
That none had appeared made certain his belief that they were elsewhere
in the neighborhood, and he breathed easier.
As soon as Tharn reappeared, the girl whose life he had saved rose from
a clump of bushes a few feet away. And thus they stood there, each
eyeing the other with frank interest.
* * * * *
Tharn's brain was awhirl. So much that was new and exciting had crowded
into it within the last few hours that he was incapable of rational
thinking. But this he knew: something had been born within him that had
not been there an hour ago.
He spoke first. "I am Tharn," he said.
The girl did not at once respond to his implied question. She seemed
hesitant, uncertain as to the wisdom of remaining there.
"I am Dylara," she said at last, her voice low and soft, yet wonderfully
clear. "My father is chief of the tribe that bears his name. The caves
of Majok are there," and she pointed toward the cliff, hidden from them
by intervening trees.
Under the impetus of crystallizing realization, Tharn said what he had
wanted to say from the first. "I kept Tarlok from getting you," he
reminded her. "Now you belong to me!"
The brown-haired girl flushed with mingled astonishment and anger.
"You are a fool!" she retorted. "I belong to no one. Because you saved
me from Tarlok, I will not call my people if you go away at once."
She turned and would have left him had not Tharn reached out and caught
her by the arm.
Instantly she wheeled and struck him savagely across the mouth with her
free hand, struggling to break his hold as she did so.
Then Tharn, his face smarting, hesitated no longer. With an effortless
motion he drew her into the circle of his arms, tossed her lightly
across one broad shoulder and broke into a run, heading back in the
direction of home. His prisoner let out a single cry for help; then a
calloused palm covered her lips.
And hardly had the echoes of that shout faded than six brawny
fighting-men rose from the edge of the jungle, directly in Tharn's path!
At sight of the newcomers, Tharn whirled to his left, and raced away
with enormous bounding strides despite the handicap of his burden. With
loud yells and frightful threats beating against his ears, the cave man
vanished into the tangled maze beyond the clearing.
Pursuit was immediate. For several hundred yards the chase continued at
break-neck speed. Compared to those behind him, Tharn's passage was
almost silent, his lithe figure slipping smoothly among the tree trunks.
And then into view came the shallow, swift-flowing stream which he had
scented while still in the clearing. Dashing into the water he splashed
rapidly up-stream for a hundred yards, a sharp bend hiding him from the
point at which he had entered.
Now he saw ahead of him that which he had hoped to find--the immense
branch of a jungle giant, hanging low above the water's shimmering
surface. Upon reaching the limb he drew himself and his captive into the
leaves; then, stepping lightly from bough to bough, his balance
controlled by a single hand, he moved rapidly inland, passing easily
from tree to tree. Now and then he paused to listen for some indication
of pursuit, but nothing reached those keen ears except the familiar
sounds of a semi-tropical forest.
* * * * *
Tharn was beginning to wonder what far-reaching effects this half-mad
abduction would have on his future life. He tried to picture his
father's face when he saw his son returning with a strange mate, and the
image was not an altogether pleasant one. Taking a mate by force was not
entirely uncommon among Cro-Magnon people, although he had heard the
elder Tharn declare that no true man would do so. The Hairy Ones took
their women in that fashion; but then they were hardly more than the
beasts.
And Barkoo! Tharn shuddered at the thought of his teacher's reaction. He
would say much--remarks that would sear the hide of Pandor, the
elephant!
He shrugged mentally. Let them, then! Many would envy him his prize; for
certainly none among the women of the tribe was half so fair. He hoped
that between now and the time Dylara and he arrived home, she would
prove more tractable. Were she to repulse him in front of the others....
He dropped the thought as though it were white-hot.
An hour later he descended at the edge of a small natural clearing. A
spring bubbled in one corner, and beside it the girl was lowered to her
feet. The man and the girl knelt to drink, then sat up.
Tharn glanced at her, and grinned when she promptly turned her back. She
was angrily rubbing her wrists to restore the circulation his strong
grasp had partially cut off.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, her head still turned away.
"To my caves and my tribe," Tharn replied. "You shall be my mate.
Someday I shall be chief."
The quiet words brought the beautiful head quickly around, and the girl
glared at him hotly.
"I would sooner mate with Gubo, the hyena!" she snapped.
Tharn's grin required effort. "I think not," he said calmly. "I will be
good to you. You shall have the finest skins to warm you, the best food
to eat. Your cave will be large and light, and no one will tell you what
to do. Except me, of course," he added slyly.
She searched wildly for a telling retort. "I--I hate you!"
Tharn met the angry eyes with a serenity he secretly was far from
feeling.
"You will love me. I will make you love me," he assured her.
* * * * *
By this time Dylara was so exasperated that she had almost forgotten her
fright. What good did it do to argue with this headstrong youth? He
turned back every command, every retort, with an unruffled aplomb that
filled her with helpless fury. It was, she thought, like beating bare
fists against a boulder. Angry tears welled up in her eyes, and she
turned away, ashamed to show the extent of her agitation. Her father,
she knew, would have warriors scouring the countryside in search of her.
But how could they hope to follow a trail that led through the forest
top? In all her life she had never heard of a man who used the pathway
ordinarily reserved for little Nobar, the monkey. True, many of the
tribesmen were accomplished tree-climbers, often ambushing game from
their branches. But such climbing faded to nothingness when compared
with this amazing man's superhuman agility and strength.
She stole a glance at his face. The broad, high forehead, the bronzed
clean-scraped cheeks, the strong jaw and mobile, sensitive lips stirred
something deep within her. She caught herself wishing she had met him
under more favorable conditions. But, by taking her forcibly, he had
turned her forever against him; she hated him with all the intensity of
which she was capable.
And then, woman-like, her next words had nothing to do with her
thoughts. "I am hungry," she said abruptly.
Tharn blinked at the abrupt change in the course of their conversation,
but obediently he stood up.
"Then we shall eat," he assured her. "And it will be meat, too; I will
show you that I am a great hunter."
It was a boast meant to impress. Dylara's lips twitched with amusement,
but she said nothing.
Tharn raised his head, sniffed at the pungent jungle air, then set out
through the trees, Dylara at his heels. Moving toward the east they
came, a half hour later, to the banks of a narrow river. This they
followed downstream until a game trail was reached.
Motioning for the girl to seek the concealing foliage of a tree, Tharn
slipped behind the bole of another bordering the pathway. Drawing his
knife, he froze into complete immobility.
Ten minutes, twenty--a half an hour dragged by. From her elevated
position Dylara watched the young man, marveling at the indomitable
patience that could keep him motionless, waiting. The strong lines of
his body appealed vividly to her, although she was quick to insist it
was entirely impersonal; she would have been as responsive, she told
herself, had it been the figure of Sadu, the lion, crouching there.
Then--although she had heard nothing--she saw Tharn stiffen expectantly.
Two full minutes passed. And then, stepping daintily, every sense alert
for hidden danger, came sleek Bana--the deer.
Here was food fit for the mate of a chief! The man of the caves
tightened his strong fingers about the knife hilt.
On came Bana. Tharn drew his legs beneath him like a great cat.
And then events followed one another in rapid sequence. As the
unsuspecting animal drew abreast of him, Tharn, with a long, lithe
bound, sprang full on its back, at the same instant driving the stone
blade behind Bana's left foreleg and into the heart. The deer stumbled
and fell. Dylara dropped from the tree, reaching Tharn's side as he rose
from the body of the kill.
As he stood erect, still clutching the reddened blade, an arrow sped
through the sunlight and raked a deep groove along his naked side.
At the shock of pain which followed, Tharn whirled about in a movement
so rapid that his body seemed to blur. Before he could do more, however,
a heavy wooden club flashed from a clump of undergrowth at his back,
striking him a terrible blow aside the head. A searing white light
seemed to explode before him; then blackness came and he knew no more.