Conclusion
Upon reaching the street, they started for the palace, its white walls
gleaming under the mid-morning sun. No citizen of Sephar was abroad; but
the marching men were conscious of watching eyes at windows of the
buildings on either side.
The palace grounds, too, were deserted as they swept across the palace
grounds and dashed against the great double doors. They might as well
have sought to force the palace walls so strongly barred were the heavy
planks.
As they stood debating their next step, a shower of spears, arrows and
clubs fell suddenly upon them from above, killing several before Tharn
could give the order to withdraw.
At a safe distance from the windows, Tharn, Vulcar and Katon held a
brief council of war, finally agreeing upon a strategic maneuver that
held promise of being effective.
Eight warriors left the group, returning with a heavy log, free of
branches. This was carried, four men to a side, to within a short
distance from the barred entranceway. Now, eight replacements came
forward, took up the massive tree trunk and started at a run toward the
doors, the log's heavy base aimed at a point where the two rough-hewn
sections joined.
Within a dozen paces of their objective, they swerved sharply to their
left and sent the great timber crashing through the slender stone
columns of a large window.
Following the log came those who had carried it, pouring through to the
hallway beyond. It was deserted; evidently the defenders were grouped at
the upstairs windows, intending to stage their defense from that point.
A second later the palace doors were thrown wide and, notwithstanding a
heavy barrage from overhead, the rebels soon over-ran the central
hallway.
Halfway up the wide staircase they were met by a withering volley from
the upper passageway and stairhead. But Tharn raised his voice once more
in the awesome war challenge of his people, and which seemed to lift his
followers bodily to the top of the steps.
Here, fighting was fast and furious. Although outnumbered at first by
four to one, the insurgents made up that handicap by the intensity of
their assault; and slowly but steadily Pryak's loyal troops were being
pushed back.
* * * * *
Tharn was in his element! Knife and spear had been cast aside or lost;
his only weapons were his mighty hands. Yet his was the most feared
figure among the rebels, as was attested to by the mound of strangled
and broken guards strewn about him.
Several times he saw Katon battling away close by, a long knife in
either hand. Once, an enemy in a badly torn tunic was preparing to drive
a knife into his unsuspecting back. Tharn had torn a spear from the
fingers of a neighboring comrade and without pausing to judge distance,
had thrown it across the hall to pass half its length into the side of
Katon's would-be slayer. The man had fallen, while Katon, unaware of his
narrow escape, was finishing the warrior with whom he had been engaged.
Of Vulcar, Brutan and Rotark, Tharn had seen nothing since the battle
began. During momentary lulls he had time to wonder how they were
faring--if, somewhere in this madhouse of fighting, bellowing men, they
were managing to keep their skins whole.
Gradually the palace defenders were weakening, losing heart as their
list of casualties grew. Already, the men of Tharn's party had sensed
victory was slowly but surely passing into their hands.
And then came the unexpected, the one contingency which none of the
rebel leaders had forseen.
A ringing shout sounded from the open doorway, and through the gap came
priests from the temple of Sephar's God. Instead of waiting for the
freedom-hungry prisoners to take their first objective, then march
against the House of God, the cunning arch priest had sent every man he
could muster to reinforce the palace garrison.
There must have been a hundred of them, fresh and--for priests--eager
for battle. They fell upon the revolters from behind, spreading death
and consternation in the thinning ranks of those from Sephar's pits.
Encouraged by aid from this wholly unexpected quarter, the palace
defenders regained their fading morale and renewed the attack with
reckless fury.
The end had come. Bitter was the realization to Tharn who, until now,
had been certain nothing could prevent his men from taking Sephar. He
smarted under the knowledge that wily old Pryak had outwitted them after
all.
He might, under cover of the raging turmoil, have turned his back on
friends and supporters to seek out Dylara's cell and escape with her
from Sephar. But the thought was gone as it was born; and the
Cro-Magnard sought to rally his shaken followers to the task of cutting
a pathway back to the street. Once outside, some of them might manage to
flee into the jungle--a far cry from their ambitious dream of taking
Sephar!
It began to appear, however, that leaving the palace was to be
infinitely more difficult than forcing an entrance had been. Again and
again his men were repulsed by the white-faced but unflinching priests
at the foot of the staircase. Steadily the number of rebels grew less;
and while they took more lives than they gave, there were too many to
outlast.
Suddenly there rose above the pandemonium within, a chorus of savage
cries from outside the open doors. Tharn straightened as though struck
by an unseen spear. His eyes went wide with incredulous astonishment
bordering on disbelief; then from his powerful lungs broke an answering
shout that paled to insignificance the tumult about him.
* * * * *
Swarming into the hall below, came a host of strange, warlike
fighting-men, naked except for panther- and leopard-skins about their
loins. Splendid, beautifully proportioned barbarians they were, heavy
war-spears gripped in powerful right hands, sun-bronzed skins rippling
under the play of corded muscles.
At their head was the stalwart figure of a man such as never before had
been seen within Sephar's borders. Four inches above six feet he stood,
slim of hip and broad of shoulder--a wealth of black hair held from his
eyes by a strip of cured snakeskin.
"Father!" burst from Tharn's lips.
At sound of his cry, the leader of the newcomers looked sharply in his
direction.
"Kill!" shouted young Tharn, bringing one hand out in a sweeping gesture
toward the frozen ranks of priests.
In response, the Cro-Magnards threw themselves at the white-clad enemy.
At the same time Tharn, the younger, leaped into action, shouting words
of instruction and encouragement to his friends.
The end came quickly. Torn at from two sides, the priests broke and fled
in all directions, the cave-men in hot pursuit. At sight of this, the
original defenders threw down their weapons and surrendered on the spot.
Now came Tharn, the elder, striding forward to greet his son. Behind him
crowded others of the tribe, wide smiles on their lips.
"We have searched long for you, my son," said the chief. "At times we
were close to giving up; it was not until yesterday that one of us found
where you and a girl had followed a game trail leading to this place."
"You could not have arrived at a better time!"
The chief smiled. Katon, watching from the background, marveled at the
striking resemblance of father to son when both smiled.
"At first," said the Cro-Magnard leader, "we were almost afraid to leave
the jungle's edge. But no one was about the openings in the walls, and
as your trail led straight toward one of them, we decided to follow it.
Then, too, all of us were curious to see what manner of people lived in
such strange caves.
"No one tried to stop us. In fact, we saw no one at all. I was beginning
to wonder if we were the only ones here until we heard sounds of
fighting coming from here. The rest you know."
His son nodded. "Soon I shall tell you what I have gone through since I
last saw you. But first I have something to do."
He hesitated. How should he go about telling his father? He hoped Dylara
would not exhibit that temper of hers the first time she met the chief.
"What must you do?" the chief asked, glancing sharply at the face of his
son.
"I have taken a mate!" There--it was out!
* * * * *
His father never batted an eye.
"Where is she?"
"Somewhere in this place. A prisoner, I suppose. Katon, here, may be
able to find her. She--she may not seem pleased that I have come for
her."
Those last words came out with an effort. But sooner or later his father
was bound to learn he had taken a mate by force.
The elder man pursed his lips to keep from smiling. He was shrewd enough
to come very close to the true state of affairs. But what of it? His own
courtship had been none too easy. Afterward, Nada and he had been closer
than words could express. He had never, nor would ever, lose the pain
that had come when she had been taken captive by some strange tribe so
many years ago.
Katon, at mention of his name, had stepped forward.
"This," Tharn said, "is Katon--my friend."
There was immediate approval in the eyes of both the blue-eyed Sepharian
and the Cro-Magnard chief.
"Dylara probably is in the slave quarters," Katon said. "If you will
come with me, I will lead you there."
And shortly thereafter, father and son stood before a great door while
Katon removed its heavy bar.
They entered a huge, sunlit room crowded with women, young and old, who
shrank away from them in alarm.
There was one, however, who did not draw away. Her lovely face was
registering astonishment and disbelief--and hope. One hand lifted slowly
to her throat as she stared into the eyes of Tharn's father.
Nor was she alone in displaying tangled emotions. Tharn, the elder, was
gazing at the woman as though unable to credit the evidence of his own
eyes.
And then the man found his voice.
"Nada!" It was more gasp than a word.
"Tharn--my mate!"
An instant later she was caught up in his arms.
Young Tharn looked on in bewilderment, not grasping, at first, the
significance of that single word his father had uttered. Then, as the
chief turned toward him, an arm about the woman's shoulders, he
understood.
Then his arm, too, was about her: and after twelve long years, father,
son, and mother were reunited.
* * * * *
None of the three had much to say during the next few minutes. There was
an enormous lump in Nada's throat, making speech impossible. She could
not take her eyes from the splendid young man who, until a few days
ago, she had thought to be dead. He was everything Dylara had said he
was. She remembered him as she had last seen him--a straight-backed,
sturdy-legged youngster, whose inquisitive nature and complete lack of
fear had given her so many anxious moments. Even at that early age he
had shown promise of the extraordinary physical development he now
possessed.
But her greatest pride and satisfaction came from what she could see in
those frank, compelling gray eyes--eyes mirroring a fine, sensitive soul
and an equally fine mind.
"Tell me," Nada said at last, "how did you know I was here?"
"I did not know," admitted her mate. "Did you, Tharn?"
Their son shook his head. "I never dreamed you were in Sephar. As a
matter of fact, we came here to find a girl--Dylara, my--my mate. We
thought she would be with the slaves."
Then it was that he saw a shadow come into Nada's eyes--a shadow which
wiped away his smile and closed a cold hand about his heart.
"Nada!" he exclaimed. "What is wrong? Has something happened to her?"
"She is ... gone," his mother said dully.
"Gone?"
"Yes. Pryak gave her to a man from a land far to the south of Sephar. He
has taken her there with him."
Tharn's face was white beneath its layer of tan. "How long since?" he
demanded hoarsely.
"This is the third day."
Without another word the young man wheeled and started for the door.
Before he could reach it, however, strong fingers closed on his arm.
His father had stopped him. "Wait, Tharn. Where are you going?"
"After Dylara," said his son grimly.
"Of course; but do not leave so--so abruptly. Let us talk this over
before you start. Some of our men will go with you, once we have eaten
and slept."
"I am neither tired nor hungry," retorted his son. "I am going alone;
others would only delay me."
Katon chose this moment to intervene. "Wait a few hours, Tharn. There is
much left to be done here, and we need your help. A new king must be
chosen and order restored to the palace and city. Once that is done
there will be a feast for all of us; then, after a good sleep, you can
set out after Dylara. You can overtake those who have her within two or
three suns."
Nada ended the discussion. "Stay until morning, my son," she pleaded. "I
have but found you; I cannot bear to let you go so soon."
The smile came back to Tharn's face. "As you will," he conceded. "But
when Dyta comes again, I must leave you."
So it was decided, and the four went down to the lower floor to join the
others.
* * * * *
That night, in the great dininghall of Sephar's palace, a happy throng
sat about a long, wide table laden to its edges with an abundance of
foods. At the head sat Katon; at his right hand was Tharn, the elder;
and, on his left, was Tharn, the younger, his mother beside him.
Earlier that afternoon the former prisoners and those nobles who had not
fallen in defense of Pryak's government, had assembled in the great
central hallway to elect a new king. Tharn, to his honest surprise, had
been their instant and unanimous choice. But he had declined the honor,
saying:
"There is one among you who has every right to rule over you. He,
himself, is the son of a king--one who understands all those things
expected of a ruler. That man is Katon of Huxla!"
The roar of approval which followed his words reached far beyond
Sephar's walls. Katon would have protested but he had no chance of
making himself heard, and he accepted--hiding his pleasure as best he
could. He did not dream what a pang that speech had cost his Cro-Magnard
friend, for with those words Tharn had relinquished his hope of taking
the Sepharian back with him to the caves of his father.
Later in the day an armed force had entered the temple of Sephar's God;
and while the feet of those faint-hearted members in the group had
dragged somewhat, none had turned back.
However, no resistance had materialized; instead, a horde of priests,
arms held high, hands empty, had welled up from the subterranean maze
below the temple and begged the new ruler to accept them as his own
loyal followers.
Among them was the Council of Priests, intact to a man--except for one.
But that one was he whom Katon--and Vulcar!--had desired most to see:
Pryak, high priest and Sephar's former king.
It was then that the new king displayed his ability to make sensible
decisions. Before leaving the temple he had appointed Cardon as high
priest to the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken. Nor could he have made a
wiser choice; for Cardon was possessor of a rugged honesty as well as a
lack of ambition beyond his position. The long-standing feud between
Church and State was ended.
Once these matters had been disposed of, Katon had sent his soldiery to
assemble the residents of Sephar at the palace grounds. When a huge
throng had filled not only the grassy expanse but the street as well,
Katon, as ruler of Sephar, had proclaimed the new government and asked
that they acknowledge, as their king, a warrior in place of a priest.
The thunderous, welcoming roar which greeted his words was all that was
needed to make of Sephar a unified community. Katon had immediately
proclaimed a two day holiday, to be given over to feasting and drinking;
and, because he was a shrewd judge of human nature, he had announced
that every citizen must sacrifice some valued article to the God, whose
help had made the revolt a success.
* * * * *
And so it was that on this night all Sephar, from palace to city walls,
was in a merry-making mood. Within the palace dininghall, there was only
a single tiny cloud to mar the clear sky of happiness; a cloud fast
losing the dark hue it at first had assumed.
This bit of gloom was caused by the absence of Dylara. But when young
Tharn had had an opportunity to reflect, there had come the certainty
that Dylara would be back with him before many suns. Tharn knew he could
cover in one day three times the distance that the slow-moving men from
Ammad could travel in that same period of time. And while they must camp
while Dyta slept, Tharn could go on across nocturnal jungles and plains
without being forced to slack his speed.
Vulcar, earthen goblet in hand, was bellowing out an anecdote of the
days when he had been a young warrior, when the hangings behind Tharn's
bench swayed as though touched by a random current of air.
Because all eyes were fixed on the speaker, and because the faint candle
light failed to reach much beyond the table, none saw the half crouched
figure that stealthily pushed aside the curtain and tip-toed into the
room. The intruder's lips were curled in a crazed grimace of hate; in
one hand was clutched a long blade of polished stone.
Nada, pausing in her eating from time to time to gaze fondly at her
broad-shouldered son, caught a glimpse of something moving among the
shadows directly behind the young man. What was it that lurked there?
Suddenly Nada screamed--a high-pitched, tearing sound that cut through
the babble of voices about the table.
With the first notes of the scream, a figure behind Tharn bounded
forward and drove a flint knife deep into the naked back of the
surprised Cro-Magnard.
Nada's terrified cry was all that saved Tharn from instant death. For he
was rising from his stool and turning as the scream left her lips. As a
result, the knife point entered his back at an angle, ripping through
the muscles there to enter the lower tip of one lung.
Tharn, despite his agony, reached for the would-be assassin. But another
was there before him--Vulcar, the hawk-faced.
The one-time captain of Urim's guards had vaulted the table in a flying
leap and with a powerful sweep of his arm, knocked away the knife. Then
he caught the man about the neck and forced him into a kneeling
position.
"So, Pryak," cried the hawk-faced one, "you would add another killing to
your list! Long have I waited for this--now comes your reward for the
death of Urim!"
Pryak opened his lips to plead for mercy, but before the words could
come he was whirled up from the floor as though he were a figure of
straw. Then, as the others watched in awe, Vulcar brought the screaming
man down on the edge of the massive table.
There was a crunching sound from splintering bones, one last
nerve-tearing cry of agony and fear--and Pryak, the ambitious, was gone
to his reward.
As the guests stood staring down at the broken form, a thin trickle of
blood appeared at one corner of Tharn's mouth and coursed to his chin.
Dazedly he lifted a hand to wipe away the stain, then his knees gave
way, and before the paralyzed company could prevent, Tharn, the son of
Tharn, had pitched to the floor.
* * * * *
When complete consciousness first returned, he was aware of a great
mound of soft skins beneath him; and he opened tired eyes to a
sun-flooded room. For a little while he was content to remain so,
staring at the stone ceiling.
Later, he slowly turned his head and looked into the eyes of Nada. For a
few minutes mother and son did not speak; then she reached out to touch
his hand.
"You have come back to us, Tharn," she said softly.
Tharn pondered over her remark. When he spoke he was startled by the
feebleness of his voice.
"How long have I lain here?"
"Half a moon."
"Half a--!" He sought to sit up, but sank back as a stabbing pain shot
through his chest.
"No, no, Tharn!" cried Nada. "You still are not well. The wound in your
back is not completely healed, and the jungle fever left you only a
little while ago."
Tharn frowned. He was so very tired. "But--Dylara ... I must go after
her. I should have found her before this. I must not lie here while
she--"
Then, as an unsupportable weariness flooded his body, he closed his
eyes. In another moment he was sleeping soundly.
* * * * *
Another half moon had passed. Today had dawned bright and fair. Dyta,
the sun, had pulled his blazing head above the eastern earth-line an
hour before, tearing the jungle fog into rapidly dissolving streamers of
mist.
A group of three--two men and a woman--walked through twin gates in
Sephar's rock walls and moved slowly toward the somber shadows of the
jungle south of the city. A few yards short of the green wall they came
to a halt on a slight, grass-covered elevation.
"I must leave you here," said young Tharn. "Within a few suns--a moon,
at most--I will return. Dylara will be with me."
The older man nodded. "Your mother and I leave for home before long. We
shall wait there for you and your mate."
"You will not need to wait long," said the young man confidently.
He placed an arm about the man's wide shoulders, pressed the hand of his
mother in silent farewell, then turned and strode toward the wall of
verdure and towering forest giants to the south.
Together, Tharn, the elder, and Nada, his mate stood on the little green
mound, watching the lithe figure of their only son until it disappeared
into the forbidding jungle. Beyond that first rampart of lofty trees, of
tangled vines and creepers, lay a mysterious land, never before trod by
any known member of their world. What hidden dangers lurked there? What
savage tribes? What unknown and terrible beasts?
A shudder passed through the woman's slender body. The man at her side
slipped a strong arm about the trembling shoulders in unspoken
understanding.
"He will come back?" she asked, her voice unsteady. It was half
question, half statement; and in those words ran an undercurrent of
mingled hope and fear.
"Yes," said the man, his own voice strong and very certain. "He will
come back."
End of Project Gutenberg's Warrior of the Dawn, by Howard Carleton Browne