Heavy clouds formed about the lofty peaks of the Mountains of the
Thipdars--black, angry clouds that rolled down the northern slopes,
spreading far to east and west.
"The waters have come again," said Thoar. "They are falling upon Zoram.
Soon they will fall here too."
It looked very dark up there above them and presently the clouds swept
out across the sky, blotting out the noonday sun.
It was a new landscape upon which Tarzan looked--a sullen, bleak
and forbidding landscape. It was the first time that he had seen
Pellucidar in shadow and he did not like it. The effect of the change
was strikingly apparent in Thoar and Tar-gash. They seemed depressed,
almost fearful. Nor was it man alone that was so strangely affected by
the blotting out of the eternal sunlight, for presently from the upper
reaches of the mountains the lower animals came, pursuing the sunlight.
That they, too, were strangely affected and filled with terror was
evidenced by the fact that the carnivores and their prey trotted side
by side and that none of them paid any attention to the three men.
"Why do they not attack us, Thoar?" asked Tarzan.
"They know that the water is about to fall," he replied, "and they
are afraid of the falling water. They forget their hunger and their
quarrels as they seek to escape the common terror."
"Is the danger so great then?" asked the ape-man.
"Not if we remain upon high ground," replied Thoar. "Sometimes the
gulleys and ravines fill with water in an instant, but the only danger
upon the high land is from the burning spears that are hurled from the
black clouds. But if we stay in the open, even these are not dangerous
for, as a rule, they are aimed at trees. Do not go beneath a tree while
the clouds are hurling their spears of fire."
As the clouds shut off the sunlight, the air became suddenly cold. A
raw wind swept down from above and the three men shivered in their
nakedness.
"Gather wood," said Tarzan. "We shall build a fire for warmth." And so
the three gathered firewood and Tarzan made fire and they sat about it,
warming their naked hides; while upon either side of them the brutes
passed on their way down toward the sunlight.
The rain came. It did not fall in drops, but in great enveloping
blankets that seemed to beat them down and smother them. Inches deep it
rolled down the mountainside, filling the depressions and the gulleys,
turning the canyons into raging torrents.
The wind lashed the falling water into a blinding maelstrom that the
eye could not pierce a dozen feet. Terrified animals stampeded blindly,
constituting themselves the greatest menace of the storm. The lightning
flashed and the thunder roared, and the beasts progressed from panic to
an insanity of fear.
Above the roar of the thunder and the howling of the wind rose the
piercing shrieks and screams of the monsters of another day, and in
the air above flapped shrieking reptiles fighting toward the sunlight
against the pounding wrath of the elements. Giant pteranodons, beaten
to the ground, staggered uncertainly upon legs unaccustomed to the
task, and through it all the three beast-men huddled at the spot where
their fire had been, though not even an ash remained.
It seemed to Tarzan that the storm lasted a great while, but like the
others he was enured to the hardships and discomforts of primitive
life. Where a civilized man might have railed against fate and cursed
the elements, the three beast-men sat in stoic silence, their backs
hunched against the storm, for each knew that it would not last forever
and each knew that there was nothing he could say or do to lessen its
duration or abate its fury.
Had it not been for the example set by Tarzan and Thoar, Tar-gash would
have fled toward the sunlight with the other beasts, not that he was
more fearful than they, but that he was influenced more by instinct
than by reason. But where they stayed, he was content to stay, and so
he squatted there with them, in dumb misery, waiting for the sun to
come again.
The rain lessened; the howling wind died down; the clouds passed on and
the sun burst forth upon a steaming world. The three beast-men arose
and shook themselves.
"I am hungry," said Tarzan.
Thoar pointed about them to where lay the bodies of lesser beasts that
had been crushed in the mad stampede for safety.
Now even Thoar was compelled to eat his meat raw, for there was no dry
wood wherewith to start a fire, but to Tarzan and Tar-gash this was
no hardship. As Tarzan ate, the suggestion of a smile smoldered in
his eyes. He was recalling a fussy old nobleman with whom he had once
dined at a London club and who had almost suffered a stroke of apoplexy
because his bird had been slightly underdone.
When the three had filled their bellies, they arose to continue their
search for Jana and Jason, only to discover that the torrential rain
had effectually erased every vestige of the spoor that they had been
following.
"We cannot pick up their trail again," said Thoar, "until we reach the
point where they continued on again after the waters ceased to fall.
To the left is a deep canyon, whose walls are difficult to scale. In
front of us is a fissure, which extends along the base of the mountains
for a considerable distance in both directions. But if we go to the
right we shall find a place where we can descend into it and cross it.
This is the way that they should have gone. Perhaps there we shall pick
up their trail again." But though they continued on and crossed the
fissure and clambered upward toward the higher peaks, they found no
sign that Jana or Jason had come this way.
"Perhaps they reached your country by another route," suggested Tarzan.
"Perhaps," said Thoar. "Let us continue on to Zoram. There is nothing
else that we can do. There we can gather the men of my tribe and search
the mountains for them."
In the ascent toward the summit Thoar sometimes followed trails that
for countless ages the rough pads of the carnivores had followed,
or again he led them over trackless wastes of granite, taking such
perilous chances along dizzy heights that Tarzan was astonished that
any of them came through alive.
Upon a bleak summit they had robbed a thipdar's nest of its eggs and
the three were eating when Thoar became suddenly alert and listening.
To the ears of the ape-man came faintly a sound that resembled the
dismal flapping of distant wings.
"A thipdar," said Thoar, "and there is no shelter for us."
"There are three of us," said Tarzan. "What have we to fear?"
"You do not know them," said Thoar. "They are hard to kill and they
are never defeated until they are killed. Their brains are very small.
Sometimes when we have cut them open it has been difficult to find
the brain at all, and having no brain they have no fear of anything,
not even death, for they cannot know what death is; nor do they seem
to be affected much by pain, it merely angers them, making them more
terrible. Perhaps we can kill it, but I wish that there were a tree."
"How do you know that it will attack us?" asked Tarzan.
"It is coming in this direction. It cannot help but see us, and
whatever living thing they see they attack."
"Have you ever been attacked by one?" asked Tarzan.
"Yes," replied Thoar; "but only when there was no tree or cave. The men
of Zoram are not ashamed to admit that they fear the mighty thipdars."
"But if you have killed them in the past, why may we not kill this
one?" demanded the ape-man.
"We may," replied Thoar, "but I have never chanced to have an encounter
with one, except when there were a number of my tribesmen with me. The
lone hunter who goes forth and never returns is our reason for fearing
the thipdar. Even when there are many of us to fight them, always there
are some killed and many injured."
"It comes," said Tar-gash, pointing.
"It comes," said Thoar, grasping his spear more firmly.
Down to their ears came a sound resembling the escaping of steam
through a petcock.
"It has seen us," said Thoar.
Tarzan laid his spear upon the ground at his feet, plucked a handful of
arrows from his quiver and fitted one to his bow. Tar-gash swung his
club slowly to and fro and growled.
On came the giant reptile, the dismal flapping of its wings punctuated
occasionally by a loud and angry hiss. The three men waited, poised,
ready, expectant.
There were no preliminaries. The mighty pteranodon drove straight
toward them. Tarzan loosed a bolt which drove true to its mark, burying
its head in the breast of the pterodactyl. The hiss became a scream of
anger and then in rapid succession three more arrows buried themselves
in the creature's flesh.
That this was a warmer reception than it had expected was evidenced by
the fact that it rose suddenly upward, skimmed above their heads as
though to abandon the attack, and then, quite suddenly and with a speed
incomprehensible in a creature of its tremendous size, wheeled like a
sparrow hawk and dove straight at Tarzan's back.
So quickly did the creature strike that there could be no defense.
The ape-man felt sharp talons half buried in his naked flesh and
simultaneously he was lifted from the ground.
Thoar raised his spear and Tar-gash swung his cudgel, but neither dared
strike for fear of wounding their comrade. And so they were forced to
stand there futilely inactive and watch the monster bear Tarzan of the
Apes away across the tops of the Mountains of the Thipdars.
In silence they stood watching until the creature passed out of sight
beyond the summit of a distant peak, the body of the ape-man still
dangling in its talons. Then Tar-gash turned and looked at Thoar.
"Tarzan is dead," said the Sagoth. Thoar of Zoram nodded sadly. Without
another word Tar-gash turned and started down toward the valley from
which they had ascended. The only bond that had united these two
hereditary enemies had parted, and Tar-gash was going his way back to
the stamping grounds of his tribe.
For a moment Thoar watched him, and then, with a shrug of his
shoulders, he turned his face toward Zoram.
As the pteranodon bore him off across the granite peaks, Tarzan hung
limply in its clutches, realizing that if Fate held in store for him
any hope of escape it could not come in mid-air and if he were to
struggle against his adversary, or seek to battle with it, death upon
the jagged rocks below would be the barren reward of success. His one
hope lay in retaining consciousness and the power to fight when the
creature came to the ground with him. He knew that there were birds of
prey that kill their victims by dropping them from great heights, but
he hoped that the pteranodons of Pellucidar had never acquired this
disconcerting habit.
As he watched the panorama of mountain peaks passing below him, he
realized that he was being carried a considerable distance from the
spot at which he had been seized; perhaps twenty miles.
The flight at last carried them across a frightful gorge and a short
distance beyond the pteranodon circled a lofty granite peak, toward
the summit of which it slowly dropped, and there, below him, Tarzan
of the Apes saw a nest of small thipdars, eagerly awaiting with wide
distended jaws the flesh that their savage parent was bringing to them.
The nest rested upon the summit of a lofty granite spire, the entire
area of the summit encompassing but a few square yards, the walls
dropping perpendicularly hundreds of feet to the rough granite of the
lofty peak the spire surmounted. It was, indeed, a precarious place at
which to stage a battle for life. Cautiously, Tarzan of the Apes drew
his keen hunting knife from its sheath. Slowly his left hand crept
upward against his body and passed over his left shoulder until his
fingers touched the thipdar's leg. Cautiously, his fingers encircled
the scaly, bird-like ankle just above the claws.
The reptile was descending slowly toward its nest. The hideous demons
below were screeching and hissing in anticipation. Tarzan's feet were
almost in their jaws when he struck suddenly upward with his blade at
the breast of the thipdar.
It was no random thrust. What slender chance for life the ape-man had
depended upon the accuracy and the strength of that single blow. The
giant pteranodon emitted a shrill scream, stiffened convulsively in
mid-air and, as it collapsed, relaxed its hold upon its prey, dropping
the ape-man into the nest among the gaping jaws of its frightful brood.
Fortunately for Tarzan there were but three of them and they were still
very young, though their teeth were sharp and their jaws strong.
Striking quickly to right and left with his blade he scrambled from the
nest with only a few minor cuts and scratches upon his legs.
Lying partially over the edge of the spire was the body of the dead
thipdar. Tarzan gave it a final shove and watched it as it fell three
hundred feet to the rocks below. Then he turned his attention to a
survey of his surroundings, but almost hopelessly since the view that
he had obtained of the spire while the thipdar was circling it assured
him that there was little or no likelihood that he could find any means
of descent.
The young thipdars were screaming and hissing, but they had made no
move to leave their nest as Tarzan started a close investigation of the
granite spire upon the lofty summit of which it seemed likely that he
would terminate his adventurous career.
Lying flat upon his belly he looked over the edge, and thus moving
slowly around the periphery of the lofty aerie he examined the walls of
the spire with minute attention to every detail.
Again and again he crept around the edge until he had catalogued within
his memory every projection and crevice and possible handhold that he
could see from above.
Several times he returned to one point and then he removed the coils of
his grass rope from about his shoulders and holding the two ends in one
hand, lowered the loop over the edge of the spire. Carefully he noted
the distance that it descended from the summit and what a pitiful span
it seemed--that paltry twenty-five feet against the three hundred that
marked the distance from base to apex.
Releasing one end of the rope, he let that fall to its full length,
and when he saw where the lower end touched the granite wall he was
satisfied that he could descend at least that far, and below that
another twenty-five feet. But it was difficult to measure distances
below that point and from there on he must leave everything to chance.
Drawing the rope up again he looped the center of it about a projecting
bit of granite, permitting the ends to fall over the edge of the cliff.
Then he seized both strands of the rope tightly in one hand and lowered
himself over the edge. Twenty feet below was a projection that gave him
precarious foothold and a little crevice into which he could insert
the fingers of his left hand. Almost directly before his face was the
top of a buttress-like projection and below him he knew that there
were many more similar to it. It was upon these that he had based his
slender hope of success.
Gingerly he pulled upon one strand of the rope with his right hand. So
slender was his footing upon the rocky escarpment that he did not dare
draw the rope more than a few inches at a time lest the motion throw
him off his balance. Little by little he drew it in until the upper
end passed around the projection over which the rope had been looped at
the summit and fell upon him. And as it descended he held his breath
for fear that even this slight weight might topple him to the jagged
rocks below.
And now came the slow process of drawing the rope unaided through
one hand, fingering it slowly an inch at a time until the center was
in his grasp. This he looped over the top of the projection in front
of him, seating it as securely as he could, and then he grasped both
strands once more in his right hand and was ready to descend another
twenty-five feet.
This stage of the descent was the most appalling of all, since the rope
was barely seated upon a shelving protuberance from which he was aware
it might slip at any instant. And so it was with a sense of unspeakable
relief that he again found foothold near the end of the frail strands
that were supporting him.
At this point the surface of the spire became much rougher. It was
broken by fissures and horizontal cracks that had not been visible from
above, with the result that compared with the first fifty feet the
descent from here to the base was a miracle of ease, and it was not
long before Tarzan stood again squarely upon his two feet and level
ground. And now for the first time he had an opportunity to take stock
of his injuries.
His legs were scratched and cut by the teeth and talons of the young
thipdars, but these wounds were as nothing to those left by the talons
of the adult reptile upon his back and shoulders. He could feel the
deep wounds, but he could not see them; nor the clotted blood that had
dried upon his brown skin.
The wounds pained and his muscles were stiff and sore, but his only
fear lay in the possibility of blood poisoning and that did not
greatly worry the ape-man, who had been repeatedly torn and mauled by
carnivores since childhood.
A brief survey of his position showed him that it would be practically
impossible for him to recross the stupendous gorge that yawned between
him and the point at which he had been so ruthlessly torn from his
companions. And with that discovery came the realization that there was
little or no likelihood that the people toward which Tar-gash had been
attempting to guide him could be the members of the O-220 expedition.
Therefore it seemed useless to attempt the seemingly impossible feat of
finding Thoar and Tar-gash again among this maze of stupendous peaks,
gorges and ravines. And so he determined merely to seek a way out of
the mountains and back to the forests and plains that held a greater
allure for him than did the rough and craggy contours of inhospitable
hills. And to the accomplishment of this end he decided to follow the
line of least resistance, seeking always the easiest avenues of descent.
Below him, in various directions, he could see the timber line and
toward this he hastened to make his way.
As he descended the way became easier, though on several occasions he
was again compelled to resort to his rope to lower himself from one
level to another. Then the steep crags gave place to leveler land upon
the shoulders of the mighty range and here, where earth could find
lodgment, vegetation commenced. Grasses and shrubs, at first, then
stunted trees and finally what was almost a forest, and here he came
upon a trail.
It was a trail that offered infinite variety. For a while it wound
through a forest and then climbed to a ledge of rock that projected
from the face of a cliff and overhung a stupendous canyon.
He could not see the trail far ahead for it was continually rounding
the shoulders of jutting crags.
As he moved along it, sure-footed, silent, alert, Tarzan of the Apes
became aware that somewhere ahead of him other feet were treading
probably the same trail.
What wind there was was eddying up from the canyon below and carrying
the scent spoor of the creature ahead of him as well as his own up
toward the mountain top, so that it was unlikely that either might
apprehend the presence of the other by scent; but there was something
in the sound of the footsteps that even at a distance assured Tarzan
that they were not made by man, and it was evident too that they were
going in the same direction as he for they were not growing rapidly
more distinct, but very gradually as though he was slowly overhauling
the author of them.
The trail was narrow and only occasionally, where it crossed some
ravine or shallow gulley, was there a place where one might either
descend or ascend from it.
To meet a savage beast upon it, therefore, might prove, to say the
least, embarrassing but Tarzan had elected to go this way and he was
not in the habit of turning back whatever obstacles in the form of
man or beast might bar his way. And, too, he had the advantage over
the creature ahead of him whatever it might be, since he was coming
upon it from behind and was quite sure that it had no knowledge of his
presence, for Tarzan well knew that no creature could move with greater
silence than he, when he elected to do so, and now he passed along that
trail as noiselessly as the shadow of a shadow.
Curiosity caused him to increase his speed that he might learn the
nature of the thing ahead, and as he did so and the sound of its
footsteps increased in volume, he knew that he was stalking some heavy,
four-footed beast with padded feet--that much he could tell, but
beyond that he had no idea of the identity of the creature; nor did
the winding trail at any time reveal it to his view. Thus the silent
stalker pursued his way until he knew that he was but a short distance
behind his quarry when there suddenly broke upon his ears the horrid
snarling and growling of an enraged beast just ahead of him.
There was something in the tone of that awful voice that increased the
ape-man's curiosity. He guessed from the volume of the sound that it
must come from the throat of a tremendous beast, for the very hills
seemed to shake to the thunder of its roars.
Guessing that it was attacking or was about to attack some other
creature, and spurred, perhaps, entirely by curiosity, Tarzan hastened
forward at a brisk trot, and as he rounded the shoulder of a buttressed
crag his eyes took in a scene that galvanized him into instant action.
A hundred feet ahead the trail ended at the mouth of a great cave, and
in the entrance to the cave stood a boy--a lithe, handsome youth of
ten or twelve--while between the boy and Tarzan a huge cave bear was
advancing angrily upon the former.
The boy saw Tarzan and at the first glance his eyes lighted with hope,
but an instant later, evidently recognizing that the newcomer was not
of his own tribe, the expression of hopelessness that had been there
before returned to his face, but he stood his ground bravely, his spear
and his crude stone knife ready.
The scene before the ape-man told its own story. The bear, returning to
its cave, had unexpectedly discovered the youth emerging from it, while
the latter, doubtless equally surprised, found himself cornered with no
avenue of escape open to him.
By the primitive jungle laws that had guided his youth, Tarzan of
the Apes was under no responsibility to assume the dangerous rôle of
savior, but there had always burned within his breast the flame of
chivalry, bequeathed him by his English parents, that more often than
not found him jeopardizing his own life in the interests of others.
This child of a nameless tribe in an unknown world might hold no claim
upon the sympathy of a savage beast, or even of savage men who were not
of his tribe. And perhaps Tarzan of the Apes would not have admitted
that the youth had any claim upon him, yet in reality he exercised a
vast power over the ape-man--a power that lay solely in the fact that
he was a child and that he was helpless.
One may analyze the deeds of a man of action and speculate upon them,
whereas the man himself does not appear to do so at all--he merely
acts; and thus it was with Tarzan of the Apes. He saw an emergency
confronting him and he was ready to meet it, for since the moment that
he had known that there was a beast upon the trail ahead of him he had
had his weapons in readiness, years of experience with primitive men
and savage beasts having taught him the value of preparedness.
His grass rope was looped in the hollow of his left arm and in the
fingers of his left hand were grasped his spear, his bow and three
extra arrows, while a fourth arrow was ready in his right hand.
One glance at the beast ahead of him had convinced him that only by
a combination of skill and rare luck could he hope to destroy this
titanic monster with the relatively puny weapons with which he was
armed, but he might at least divert its attention from the lad and
by harassing it draw it away until the boy could find some means of
escape. And so it was that within the very instant that his eyes took
in the picture his bow twanged and a heavy arrow sank deeply into the
back of the bear close to its spine, and at the same time Tarzan voiced
a savage cry intended to apprise the beast of an enemy in its rear.
Maddened by the pain and surprised by the voice behind it, the creature
evidently associated the two, instantly whirling about on the narrow
ledge.
Tarzan's first impression was that in all his life he had never gazed
upon such a picture of savage bestial rage as was depicted upon the
snarling countenance of the mighty cave bear as its fiery eyes fell
upon the author of its hurt.
In quick succession three arrows sank into its chest as it charged,
howling, down upon the ape-man.
For an instant longer Tarzan held his ground. Poising his heavy spear
he carried his spear hand far back behind his right shoulder, and then
with all the force of those giant muscles, backed by the weight of his
great body, he launched the weapon.
At the instant that it left his hand the bear was almost upon him and
he did not wait to note the effect of his throw, but turned and leaped
swiftly down the trail; while close behind him the savage growling
and the ponderous footfalls of the carnivore proved the wisdom of his
strategy.
He was sure that upon this narrow, rocky ledge, if no obstacle
interposed itself, he could outdistance the bear, for only Ara, the
lightning, is swifter than Tarzan of the Apes.
There was the possibility that he might meet the bear's mate coming up
to their den, and in that event his position would be highly critical,
but that, of course, was only a remote possibility and in the meantime
he was sure that he had inflicted sufficiently severe wounds upon
the great beast to sap its strength and eventually to prove its total
undoing. That it possessed an immense reserve of vitality was evidenced
by the strength and savagery of its pursuit. The creature seemed
tireless and although Tarzan was equally so he found fleeing from an
antagonist peculiarly irksome and to a considerable degree obnoxious to
his self esteem. And so he cast about him for some means of terminating
the flight and to that end he watched particularly the cliff walls
rising above the trail down which he sped, and at last he saw that for
which he had hoped--a jutting granite projection protruding from the
cliff about twenty-five feet above the trail.
His coiled rope was ready in his left hand, the noose in his right, and
as he came within throwing distance of the projection, he unerringly
tossed the latter about it. The bear tore down the trail behind him.
The ape-man pulled heavily once upon the end of the rope to assure
himself that it was safely caught above, and then with the agility of
Manu, the monkey, he clambered upward.
X