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TRANSCRIBERS NOTE: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories October,
November and December 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any
evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
The RETURN of THARN
By HOWARD BROWNE
[Illustration: Maddened and in pain from the flames, the lion sprang
over the burning stockade]
When Tharn set out to rescue his beloved Dylara, he did not dream
the whole Cro-Magnon world opposed him
Trakor, youthful member of the tribe of Gerdak, moved at a swinging trot
along a winding game trail that led to the caves of his people. Through
occasional rifts in the matted mazes of branches, leafs, creepers and
vines of the semi-tropical forest and jungle, rays of the late afternoon
sun dappled the dusty elephant path under his naked feet.
His slim young body, clothed only by the pelt of Jalok, the panther,
twisted about his loins, was bathed in perspiration, for both heat and
humidity were intense here in the heart of primeval jungle. From time
to time he transferred the flint-tipped spear to his left hand while he
rubbed dry the sweating palm of his right against his loin cloth; for a
slippery spear shaft could mean the difference between life and death in
a battle with some savage denizen of this untamed world.
Trakor was beginning to worry. There was less than an hour of daylight
remaining and he was still a long way from home. The thought of spending
even a small portion of a night alone in a territory that abounded in
lions, panthers, leopards and the other fearsome creatures of forest and
plain, sent shivers of dread coursing along his spine.
And there was no one but himself to blame for this predicament! A boy of
seventeen had no business attempting a task that would have given an
older, more experienced warrior pause. Only a fool, he told himself
bitterly, would have gone forth alone to hunt without having first
gained experience by many trips in the company of seasoned hunters, thus
learning the habits of the wild creatures.
It was all Lanoa's fault! In the soft fragrance of midnight hair curling
about the tanned oval of her lovely face, in the smoothly rounded
perfection of her slender body, in the golden depths of her clear,
glowing eyes, were the seeds of madness that had sent him forth on a
fool's errand! Before coming under her spell he was content to spend his
days learning from old Wokard the art of painting scenes of tribal life
and the hunt on the walls of the caves of his people.
Not until he watched Lanoa's other suitors displaying the trophies of
the hunt did young Trakor make his decision to lay aside his paints and
venture out in search of game. For it was easy to see how greatly Lanoa
was impressed by the boastful tales of the other young men.
But where they hunted in groups, for safety's sake, Trakor would go out
alone after Neela, the zebra, or Bana, the deer. And when Lanoa saw him
return to the caves of Gerdak with the carcass of Neela across his
shoulders, his heavy spear trailing from a casual hand, then would she
realize that of all the young men of the tribe it was Trakor who was
best suited to be her mate!
Thus the stuff of dreams ... and how different the reality! Since early
morning of this day he had wandered through the forest and across wide
stretches of prairie, seeking any of the various species of succulent
grass-eaters that served as the principal fare of the Cro-Magnons. And
while he had caught sight of grazing herds on several occasions, his
utter lack of experience in the art of stalking prevented him from
coming anywhere near enough for a successful spear cast.
Now he was slinking back home empty handed to face the gibes of those he
had thought to impress, while the light of day gradually waned and the
dark shadows of the jungle grew heavier across his path.
But the boy's wounded pride began to trouble him less as the certainty
that he must spend a night in the open became increasingly evident. The
everyday noises of the jungle, so nerve-wracking to those unable to
interpret them, yet unnoticed by the jungle-wise, kept him in a constant
state of apprehension while his fertile imagination pictured lurking
shapes crouched behind the wall of tangled underbrush lining either side
of the trail.
* * * * *
Without warning, the narrow path debouched into a fair-sized clearing,
through the center of which moved the sluggish waters of a shallow
stream, its low banks covered with reeds.
Compared with the dull half-light of jungle depths, the glade seemed
bright as midday, although the sun had already dipped behind the
towering rampart of trees to the west. Trakor's heart swelled with
renewed confidence and his step was almost jaunty as he moved through
the knee-deep grasses and rustling reeds to the river bank.
Now he knew exactly where he was. Another hour at a half-trot would
bring him to the caves of Gerdak. The jungle wasn't such a fearsome
place after all! He had spent an entire day in the open and not once
come across anything more dangerous than monkeys and birds. Tomorrow he
would go out again to hunt, nor would he return empty-handed a second
time.
Dropping to his hands and knees at the river's edge, he drank deeply of
the brackish waters. Rising, he took up his spear, waded the ankle-deep
stream and trotted lightly onward, his goal the break in the opposite
wall of trees which marked the continuation of the same trail he had
been following.
Thus did young Trakor betray his abysmal ignorance of the jungle and its
inhabitants. No experienced wayfarer of the wild places would have
approached that opening without the utmost caution; for it is often just
such a setting the great cats choose as a place to lie in wait for game.
The slender youth was within a few feet of the bole of a mammoth tree
that marked the trail's entrance, when a sudden rustling amid a clump of
grasses to one side of the path brought him to a startled halt.
Before Trakor could recover from his initial shock, those trembling
grasses parted, and with majestic deliberation, Sadu, the lion, stepped
into the trail less than twenty paces from the paralyzed youngster.
Huge, impressive, his sleek, tawny coat and bristling mane shimmering in
the fading sunlight, his tufted, sinuous tail moving in jerky
undulations, stood the jungle king, his round yellow eyes fastened
hypnotically on his intended prey.
Trakor knew that only seconds remained for him in this life, that within
fleeting moments he must go down to a horrible death beneath rending
fangs.
And with that knowledge came a fatalistic courage--a courage he had not
dreamed he possessed. With icy calmness he closed the fingers of his
right hand tightly about the shaft of his spear and brought it up level
with his shoulder, point foremost, ready for a cast when the great beast
should charge.
Slowly Sadu crouched for the spring, his giant head flattened almost to
the ground, massive hindquarters drawn beneath him like powerful
springs, his long tail extended and quivering.
Voicing a thunderous roar, Sadu sprang.
* * * * *
Racing across the plains and through the jungles of a savage world,
moving with unflagging swiftness by night and by day, came Tharn, mighty
warrior of an era already old twenty thousand years before the founding
of Rome--an era which witnessed the arrival to recognizable prehistory
of the first _true man_.
Somewhere to the south of this Cro-Magnon fighting man, separated by
endless vistas of primeval forest, grass-filled plains and towering
mountain ranges, were the girl he loved and the men who had taken her.
Still fresh in Tharn's memory were the events of the past few weeks: the
battles in Sephar's arena; the bloody revolt engineered by Tharn and his
friends; the arrival of his father and fifty warriors of his tribe; the
ascension of his close friend, Katon, to the kingship of Sephar; the
finding of his own mother, long given up for dead after disappearing
from the tribal caves ten summers before; the stunning shock upon
learning that Jotan had taken Dylara with him when he and his party of
fellow Ammadians began their journey back to far-off Ammad, mother
country of a civilization and culture far in advance of the Cro-Magnon
cave dwellers.[1]
[1] "Warrior of the Dawn", December, 1942-January, 1943, _Amazing
Stories_.--Ed.
The thrust of a knife from the cowardly and treacherous hand of Sephar's
high priest had come near to costing Tharn his life on the eve of his
departure in quest of Dylara. As it was, an entire moon passed before
the caveman was able to leave his bed.
Pryak, the high priest, had died horribly in payment of his treachery;
but Tharn suffered a thousand deaths from enforced idleness while the
girl he loved was being carried farther and farther from the one person
who possessed the ability to effect her rescue.
And then, over a moon ago, Tharn bade farewell to his mother and to the
father whose name he bore, and plunged into the heart of the unfamiliar
territory south of Sephar, taking up the trail of those Ammadians who
held Dylara.
* * * * *
Near sunset of this particular day, Tharn awoke from a nap, as it was
his practice during the baking heat of mid-afternoons. By thus
conserving his strength during the more trying portion of the days, he
was able to spend many hours after nightfall, when the air was cooler,
in pursuit of his quarry.
Rising to his feet on a softly swaying branch a full hundred feet above
the jungle floor, Tharn flexed the mighty muscles of arms and legs, his
naked chest swelling as he drew in great draughts of humid atmosphere.
The slender fingers of his strong, sun-bronzed hand pushed back the
shock of thick black hair crowning his finely shaped head and strikingly
handsome features, while the flashing, intelligent gray eyes roved
quickly over the mazes of foliage surrounding him.
Nor was it his eyes alone that probed those curtains of growing things;
ears and a nose keen as those of any jungle dweller were no less active.
He was on the point of descending to the game trail below when Siha, the
wind, brought to his sensitive nostrils the scent of man commingled with
the acrid smell of Sadu, the lion.
For the space of a dozen heartbeats he stood there, high above the
hard-packed earth, while his keen mind rapidly analyzed the message his
nose had picked up. From the strength of those scents he knew both man
and beast were not far away, while the direction of the breeze told him
their position.
Since the day Tharn, the son of Tharn, set out in search of the girl he
loved, he had encountered men on several occasions and always those
meetings were unpleasant. The Cro-Magnon tribes inhabiting the mountain
ranges between Sephar and the land of Ammad were distinguished by their
ability as fighters and an unflagging suspicion of strangers. Were it
not for Tharn's tremendous strength and incredible agility, he would
have died long ere this.
Consequently his first reaction was to let Sadu and the unknown man
settle their impending quarrel without his own intervention. But a basic
part of Tharn's character was his ready willingness to come to the aid
of the underdog, to champion the cause of the weak and oppressed. It was
a trait which had brought him to the brink of disaster more than once;
but Tharn, were he to have given the matter any thought at all, would
not have had it otherwise.
Thus it was that the caveman altered his course to the east and he set
off through the trees, swinging among the branches with the ease and
celerity of little Nobar, the monkey. Now and then, with the agility of
long practice, he sent his lithe body hurtling across some gap between
trees, to grasp with unerring accuracy the limb his quick eye had
selected. Yet notwithstanding his seemingly reckless pace his passage
was almost soundless; and though the tangled verdure appeared as a solid
wall, only rarely did his flying figure scrape against the riot of
vegetation hemming him in.
A few minutes later the giant Cro-Magnard swung into the branches of a
tree at the edge of a large circular clearing. Even as he reached the
broad surface of a bough extending over the floor of the open ground, he
caught sight of his old enemy, Sadu, the lion, crouching in the trail
almost directly beneath him. Simultaneously he saw Sadu's intended prey:
a slender Cro-Magnon youth, some four years younger than Tharn himself,
who was standing stiffly erect, facing the lion, a flint-tipped spear
poised in his right hand.
Tharn felt himself thrill to the boy's unflinching courage even as he
recognized its futility, since no human could thus withstand the
iron-thewed engine of destruction that was Sadu, the lion.
Tharn was given no opportunity to make use of his arrows or grass rope;
for even as he observed the two figures below, the lion's tail shot
stiffly erect, a shattering roar split apart the jungle stillness and
Sadu charged.
As a swimmer dives from a springboard, so did Tharn launch himself into
space, his right hand snatching the flint knife from the folds of his
loincloth as he left the branch.
* * * * *
Never before had the cave lord thus attacked the king of beasts; but
never before had he sought to wrest Sadu's prey, unharmed, from the
animal's fangs and claws. As it was, he landed full upon the lion's
back, crushing the beast to earth only inches short of its goal.
Voicing a startled shriek, Sadu rebounded from the forest floor like a
tawny ball and turned to rend his foolhardy attacker.
Tharn, however, was not on the ground. His mind, trained from birth to
function with lightning-like rapidity, had chosen the only way to
prevent his unplanned act from resulting in certain death for himself.
And so it was, as his diving body crushed Sadu to the ground, he passed
his strong left arm about its neck, locked his powerful legs about its
loins, and plunged his flint knife into its side, seeking the savage
heart.
Roaring, snarling and spitting in a frenzy of rage, Sadu reared high and
toppled back upon the human leech. But Tharn's legs locked only the
tighter while the heavy knife, backed by biceps like banded layers of
steel, sank home again and again.
Had the battle endured seconds longer the outcome might very well have
been reversed. But before then Tharn's weapon tore twice into that
untamed heart, and Sadu, with a final fearsome shriek, collapsed to move
no more.
As Tharn rose to his feet, his calm gray eyes met the awed,
half-mesmerized gaze of the boy whose life he had saved. At sight of the
incredulous expression on the young face, the cave lord's firm lips
curved in a winning smile that lighted up his strong, noble features.
As for Trakor, he could not have moved or spoken had his life depended
on it. There was no doubt in his mind but that he was in the presence of
one of the gods old Wokard often described. Who else but a god could
slay Sadu with only a knife; who else but a god could possess such a
combination of inhuman strength and unbelievable agility? The noble
poise of that handsome head above broad shoulders, the soft sinuous
curves of that straight and perfect figure, the unclouded bronze skin,
the calm dignity of bearing and manner--all those things were attributes
of the benign gods who watched over and protected the people of Gerdak's
tribe.
Tharn's smile broadened as he guessed something of what was running
through the boy's mind.
"Do you," he asked, "hunt often for Sadu with only a spear?"
Trakor shivered. "I would not hunt him with a forest of spears! When he
came out of the grasses my blood turned to water and my toes crawled
under my heels. Now I know what it is to be afraid!"
"You should have taken to the trees while I fought with Sadu," Tharn
said. "Had he killed me, he would have slain you as well."
"Even Sadu cannot kill a god," the boy said simply.
Tharn blinked. "A god? I am no god. I am Tharn, a man of the caves, like
you."
Trakor, while tremendously flattered at being compared with the
stranger, was far from convinced that Tharn was telling the truth.
"A caveman could not slay Sadu thus," he declared, pushing a bare toe
gingerly against the dead beast's back. "No, you are a god, for gods
have been described to me many times by old Wokard, who knows all about
such things."
The giant Cro-Magnard shrugged, smiling, and sought to change the
subject. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Trakor, of the tribe of Gerdak."
"The caves of your people are nearby?"
"An hour's march in that direction," Trakor said, pointing.
Tharn's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So far? Do you often go alone this
deep into the jungle?"
Whereupon Trakor found himself telling the forest god the whole story:
how the raven-haired Lanoa had shown, by her admiration for the young
hunters of the tribe, that she would never become the mate of a man who
did not excel in the hunt; how he was determined to prove to her and to
the others of Gerdak's tribe that he too was a great hunter.
Tharn listened with grave attention, and while there were times when he
was tempted to smile at some unconscious revelation of the boy's
character, he resisted the impulse. It required courage to venture alone
into the forest armed only with a spear. The soul of an artist, as
revealed by Trakor's love of painting, had clashed with the hot blood of
youth and a desire to appear to advantage in the eyes of a lovely woman.
Older and more conservative men than Tharn would have named Trakor's act
sheer lunacy; but Tharn was neither old nor conservative. Under the
circumstances he would have done exactly the same thing.
* * * * *
When Trakor was finished, Tharn said, "There will be other days for
hunting. Unless you are willing to travel the jungle at night, you had
best start for the caves of Gerdak."
Trakor sought to hide his apprehension as he looked about the
dusk-filled glade and back to the dark hole which marked the game trail
entrance.
"You are right," he said, turning to the cave lord. "I am grateful to
you for saving me from Sadu, mighty Tharn. Who knows but that someday I
may be of help to you."
"Who knows?" Tharn repeated gravely.
He remained standing there as Trakor turned and walked briskly toward
the wall of foliage to the south. The boy's shoulders were squared and
his brown-thatched head erect as he moved away, and Tharn felt a warm
glow of admiration at the fierce pride that would not let its owner ask
for further protection. For he knew that secretly Trakor dreaded the
thought of traversing the final stretch of night-shrouded jungle.
Purposely he waited until the youth was nearly out of sight, to learn
if, at the last moment, Trakor's step might falter or his head turn for
one last appealing glance. But the boy forged steadily ahead....
"Wait, Trakor," Tharn called.
The youth turned quickly and watched as Tharn gathered up his bow,
quiver of arrows and grass rope from where they had fallen when he
leaped to do battle with Sadu. With his weapons restored to their usual
places, the caveman rejoined Trakor at the forest's edge.
"Since my way lies in the same direction," Tharn said, "I will go with
you for a time."
"Good," Trakor said laconically. He might have said more, but he doubted
the steadiness of his own voice, so great his relief.
Side by side they moved briskly along the winding trail, while the gloom
of early night grew amidst the semi-tropical depths of forest and its
inextricably tangled maze of branches, vines and creepers.
In some way these two members of the first race of _true men_ to trod
the globe were much alike; in others, as different as day from night. In
age Tharn was no more than four years beyond his companion; in height
perhaps an inch taller. Both were darkly tanned and each was clothed
only by a loin-cloth of panther skin.
But there the similarity ended. Where Trakor was slender and with
muscles not yet fully developed, Tharn's bronzed body was sheathed in
supple sinews that rippled like steel cables beneath smooth skin. There
was an undefinable surety, a boundless confidence, reflected in the
graceful majesty of his expression and bearing. Unconsciously Trakor
sought to carry himself in a like manner, for he was deep in the throes
of hero worship.
"Tell me, Tharn," Trakor said diffidently, at last, "are you not truly a
god?"
"It might be," Tharn said lightly. "Since I have never met a god, I
would not know."
Trakor thought over the answer for a while. It did not seem that a real
god such as old Wokard described would speak so of himself. Could it be
that his new found friend, for all his superhuman abilities, was
actually an ordinary man, just as he had claimed from the first?
Well, man he might be, but never an ordinary one!
"I am glad you are a man, Tharn," he said finally. "I do not think I
would like to know a god."
"Nor would I," Tharn agreed soberly.
* * * * *
They moved rapidly ahead for a time, neither speaking. Suddenly the
thunderous challenge of a lion rose from the depths of jungle not far to
their right. Trakor shivered slightly and shot a quick glance at his
companion. It was too dark for him to make out Tharn's expression but he
seemed entirely unmoved by the sound of Sadu's voice.
A moment later Trakor heard the rustle of something moving in the
undergrowth beside the trail, and a prickly sensation crawled along his
spine. Sadu was hunting again! He would have liked to call Tharn's
attention to the faint sound but hesitated to do so lest he appear
overly nervous. Again came the slight rustle.
"It is Gubo, the hyena," Tharn said unexpectedly.
Trakor gasped. "How do you know that?" he demanded, both relieved and
bewildered.
"He is upwind from us."
"Upwind? You mean you can scent him?"
"Yes."
The young man from the tribe of Gerdak nearly betrayed his skepticism.
Never before had he heard of a man whose nose could receive and
interpret a scent spoor. It smacked of a kinship with the animals
themselves.
"Are you sure?" he asked uneasily.
Tharn's quick ear caught the undercurrent of incredulity in the boy's
voice, and he smiled under the cover of darkness. It was not the first
time his unique ability had been doubted. He drew Trakor to a halt.
"Watch," he said.
Lifting his head the cave lord gave voice to the hunting squall of a
leopard. So perfect was his imitation of Tarlok's cry, so fearsome the
sound, that Trakor shrank back in quick alarm.
As the harsh scream rose on the night air, there was a sudden flurry of
motion among the tangled foliage to their right, a blurred figure
skidded into the trail ahead of where they stood and disappeared around
a bend of the path. In the brief moment in which it was visible, Trakor
recognized the animal as Gubo.
Crestfallen, Trakor could think of nothing to say. Never again, he
resolved, would he doubt any statement made by this god-like stranger.
There were many questions he burned to ask, but an aura of reserve
seemed to surround the man--an aura he hesitated to intrude upon. At
last he could contain his curiosity no longer.
"Where lie the caves of your people, Tharn?"
"Nearly two moons' march to the north," the cave lord replied readily
enough.
"You came so great a distance alone?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Tharn did not at once reply. During the moon since he had set out from
Sephar in search of Dylara this was his first opportunity for a friendly
word with a fellow man. On the several occasions that he encountered
hunting parties of Cro-Magnon warriors, he had been regarded as
legitimate prey to be hunted down and slain. Tharn expected no different
attitude; it was the way of his own people when they came across
fighting-men of other tribes. Consequently he gave such groups a wide
berth, fighting against them only when given no other choice.
Long periods of silence, however, were no hardship to Tharn. Since
boyhood he was accustomed to spending most of his days and many nights
alone in the jungles and on the broad plains of this savage, untamed
world, finding his greatest pleasure in matching his courage, cunning
and strength against the denizens of forest and prairie. And because
none of the other young men of his father's tribe was so highly
developed mentally or physically, he made no intimates among them.
It was the kind of life which tends to develop a reticent nature in any
man; and while Tharn was in no way morose or antisocial he was given to
saying little beyond what must, of necessity, be put into words.
* * * * *
Under the warmth of Trakor's awed respect and undisguised admiration,
however, Tharn's customary reserve began to thaw and he spoke at greater
length than he intended.
"Two moons ago," he began, while they moved steadily along the twisting
elephant path, "the girl I wanted as my mate was taken by a group of men
who called themselves Ammadians. These men came from a great territory
that lies south of your own caves. Ages ago many hundreds of the
Ammadians left their country and traveled into the north, stopping
finally in a high valley only a few marches from where the caves of my
people now are."
"Here they built many strange caves on level ground by piling heavy
slabs of rock together, surrounding them all by a great wall of stone.
They named this place Sephar and spoke of themselves as Sepharians."
"From time to time bands of Ammadians cross the plains and mountains and
jungles between Ammad and Sephar. The leader of one of those bands, an
Ammadian named Jotan, saw Dylara and wanted her for himself. Not long
before this, Dylara had been taken from me by a hunting party of
Sepharians, and she was held captive by Sephar's chief until he gave her
to Jotan."
"Soon thereafter Jotan's party set out on the return journey to Ammad.
Because of a wound, it was an entire moon before I was able to set out
in pursuit of those who hold Dylara."
So engrossed was Trakor in the other's story that he quite forgot his
uneasiness regarding the night-cloaked jungle about him. His imagination
was fired by Tharn's adventures, and his ready sympathy went out to the
cave lord in his romantic quest.
"Then you must enter the land called Ammad and take Dylara from those
who have her?" he asked.
Tharn nodded. "At first," he said, "I hoped to overtake Jotan and his
men before they could reach Ammad. But several times I lost their trail
for days on end. Once a raging fire swept over a great stretch of
grasslands I was crossing and I was forced to spend many days circling
the burned section before I was able to pick up the signs of their
passage. Then, ten suns ago, I lost the trail completely; since then I
have been guided only by the directions given me when I left Sephar."
For a little while Trakor did not speak. Then: "Are these men you call
Ammadians not so large as the people of our tribes? Do they cover their
bodies with a strange kind of skin that comes from no animal? And do
they wear strange coverings on their feet? And do they carry a strange
length of branch with a tight length of gut tied to each end and many
small spears such as you are carrying?"
Tharn, his pulses suddenly beginning to pound, seized the boy by one
arm, bringing him to an involuntary halt. "Such are the Ammadians," he
said tensely. "What do you know about them?"
"I have heard the warriors of my tribe speak of them," Trakor said.
"There have been times in the past when we fought them. But they are
brave and good fighters and we do not have the gut-strung branches which
throw the small spears so straight and so far. So now we seek no quarrel
with them unless they come too near our caves."
"Why, it was no more than five suns ago that Roban, son of Gerdak
himself, watched a large party of them as they made their way up the
great cliffs not far to the east of our caves. I heard him tell about it
at the cooking fires that same night."
"Did he speak of women being among them?" Tharn demanded.
Trakor scratched his head. "I do not think so. As I remember it now, I
did not hear the whole story; for Lanoa walked away from the fires and I
followed her before Roban had finished."
Tharn's hand dropped from the boy's arm. "Come," he said, and once more
they set out along the path.
CHAPTER II
CRO-MAGNON HOSPITALITY
As the two Cro-Magnon men rounded an abrupt bend in the elephant path,
the jungle and forest ended sharply at the edge of a wide clearing
before a sheer cliff, its surface dotted with many cave entrances. Near
the escarpment base a dozen cooking fires blossomed against the
darkness, and the shadowy forms of members of Gerdak's tribe moved
about them.
For a moment Tharn and his companion remained standing at the forest
edge watching the activity. The cave lord's acute sense of caution,
without which few dwellers of this savage world lived long, kept him
motionless while his sharp eyes took in every detail of the surrounding
terrain. This business of approaching a village of strangers--and
therefore enemies!--was a move not lightly to be taken, even when
accompanied by one of its inhabitants.
Trakor tugged at his arm. "Come, Tharn! Come and receive the gratitude
of my father and my people for saving me from Sadu. When they hear how
you slew him with nothing more than a knife they will worship you as a
god!"
His vague reluctance still with him, Tharn permitted the youth to urge
him into the open. They were well into the clearing before one of the
men about the fires caught sight of them and gave a warning shout.
Instantly a score of warriors caught up their spears and formed a
bristling line facing the newcomers, while others piled dry branches on
the fires sending flames shooting high to illuminate the scene with
almost midday brightness.
"Put down your spears!" cried Tharn's companion, laughing. "It is
I--Trakor, son of Kygor. Where are your hunters' eyes that you do not
know me?"
But the line of spear heads did not waver. Now, moving from behind the
formation of fighting men came Gerdak, chief of the tribe. Short, squat
and very ugly was Gerdak. Set nearly flush on his broad sloping
shoulders was a bullet-like head, almost hairless as the result of an
old scalp infection. Firelight reflected in his pig-like eyes made them
glow like burning sparks as he glowered from beneath shaggy brows at the
tall stranger at Trakor's side.
"Who is he?" growled the chief, jerking a grimy thumb at the cave lord.
"He is my friend," Trakor said, and there was the beginning of anger in
his tone. "His name is Tharn. In all the world there is no greater
fighter."
Nothing changed in Gerdak's expression. "He is not one of us. Tell him
to go at once or I will kill him!"
Trakor stiffened. Suddenly his anger flamed into the open--flamed with
such intensity that he completely forgot the object of his wrath was his
own chief.
"_YOU_ will kill him! Ha! There are not fifty among you who could kill
him! With only a knife he slew Sadu--leaping upon him as though Sadu
were no more than Bana, the deer. He comes among us as my friend--treat
him as such!"
As he spoke Trakor, beside himself with the hot anger of the young, had
advanced until he was standing directly before the burly chieftain. With
his last words the boy so forgot himself as to shake a fist in the
other's face.
With a lightning sweep of one knotted fist Gerdak struck the infuriated
boy squarely in the face. So terrible the force of the blow that
Trakor's feet completely left the ground and he fell, unconscious, a
full ten feet from where he had been standing.
* * * * *
Even as the boy's body was falling Tharn acted. With a catlike bound he
reached the chief, fastened a hand about the man's bull neck and lifted
him into the air. Holding the dazed Gerdak in a grip of steel he began
to shake him until bones creaked in protest and his senses fled and he
hung, limp and lifeless, in the circle of those mighty fingers.
As Gerdak crumbled to the ground, his spellbound warriors came to life.
With shouts of rage they leaped forward to close upon the stranger who
had dared to lay hands on their chief. But the agility and muscles that
had brought their owner through countless jungle battles were more than
Gerdak's warriors had reckoned with.
With a panther-like leap Tharn reached Trakor's prone figure. Snatching
it from the ground to a place across his shoulder the cave lord turned
and raced for the safety of the forest. Behind him came a shouting,
cursing mob of raging fighting-men, brandishing spears and knives of
flint. Had they thrown those spears within the first few seconds, the
outcome would have been certain and Gerdak avenged. But they did not,
and seconds later Tharn and his burden were lost among the shadows of
overhanging trees.
For more than an hour Gerdak's warriors ranged the vicinity in search of
the pair, thrusting their spears among the tangled undergrowth and
racing along the game trail on the chance their quarry was following it.
Finally they reluctantly abandoned the hunt and returned to where the
body of their chief still lay on the clearing floor. Discovering a spark
of life yet remaining, they bore him to his cave and after a while
succeeded in bringing him back to consciousness.
It would be many suns before Gerdak fully recovered from his experience,
but deeply planted in his dull-witted mind were the seeds of fear--fear
that the mighty stranger called Tharn might return.
* * * * *
A weaving, bobbing sensation was Trakor's first impression as his hurt
brain struggled back to consciousness. Beneath him was warm smooth
flesh, and now and then he felt the brush of leaves or a vine against
his back and sides.
When he opened his eyes he found himself being borne at a rapid pace
through the forest top. For a moment he was unable to grasp the meaning
of his strange position, then a familiar voice said, almost in his ear:
"Lie still for a little while. We are almost there."
It was Tharn's voice and with it came the memory of what had transpired
before Gerdak's fist struck him unconscious. With a sigh, Trakor let the
tenseness leave his body and he lay quietly across his new friend's
broad shoulder.
Onward went Tharn, threading his way among the tangled labyrinth of
branches with practiced ease. Broad boughs bent alarmingly beneath the
double burden as he neared their tips while passing from one tree to
another; but always he found the next before the weight proved too
heavy. Yet so accustomed to such jungle highways was the cave lord that
he seemed fairly to be flying through the trees.
Finally Tharn came to rest upon a wide branch high above the ground.
Gently he deposited Trakor to a sitting position beside him, permitting
the boy to rest his back against the tree's bole.
So intense was the darkness about them that Trakor was barely able to
make out the form of his rescuer although he was only a few inches away.
Trakor grasped a small branch to insure him from slipping from his high
flung perch and for a little while said nothing, waiting until he could
be sure the words would come out without a quaver.
"Where are we, Tharn?" he said finally, pleased at the matter-of-fact
tone he was able to muster.
The darkness hid Tharn's understanding smile. "A short distance from the
caves of your people."
"They are no longer my people," Trakor said hotly. "Even when I told
them you were my friend they were against you."
He was silent for a moment. Then: "What happened after Gerdak struck
me?"
Briefly Tharn told him of what transpired in the clearing. When he was
finished, the boy was thoughtful for a little while. The realization was
strong that never as long as Gerdak lived would he be able to return to
his own people. That alone did not cause him to regret what had
happened; it was the knowledge he might never again see his father and
mother that was hard for him to bear. As he was still hardly more than
boy quick tears stung his eyes and he was thankful the darkness
prevented his companion from seeing these signs of weakness.
The turn events had taken within the clearing had hurt Tharn, too. Lost
was his opportunity of questioning Roban, son of Gerdak, about the party
of Ammadians Trakor had mentioned. He broke the momentary silence to
say:
"Have you any idea where the Ammadians scaled the cliffs you mentioned?"
Not until now did Trakor recall the reason his new friend had sought out
the caves of Gerdak. The realization that his own unthinking anger was
largely responsible for Tharn's failure to get the information was
galling and he said so at length.
Tharn halted the flow of self recrimination. "Gerdak," he pointed out,
"would not have allowed his son to tell me anything. I hardly expected
any other reception so we have lost nothing.... Do the Ammadian
travelers who pass this way scale the cliffs at the same place each
time?"
"No," Trakor replied sadly. "There are many places that afford a way
over them."
"And you recall nothing Roban said which would indicate the place this
last party used?"
"No, Tharn. It could be any one of ten." When the man beside him made no
reply, he added: "What do we do now?"
* * * * *
Trakor's use of the word "we" brought the realization to Tharn that he
was now faced with two problems. The first, of course, was to locate the
trail of Dylara's abductors--and already his keen mind had hit on a
short cut to that end. The second problem showed every indication of
being a great deal harder to solve: What was he going to do with Trakor?
To permit the boy to return to the caves of Gerdak was unthinkable. The
chief would be sure to blame him for what had happened; and while he
might not actually kill Trakor he would certainly make his life
unbearable. Nor could he leave this inexperienced youngster to face the
jungle alone. Sadu or Jalok would be feeding on his soft flesh before
two suns were gone!
The only alternative was to take the boy with him on his search for
Dylara. It would mean slowing his pursuit of the Ammadians to a relative
crawl--a thought galling to the cave lord....
"What do we do now?" Trakor said again.
Tharn shrugged lightly, his decision made. "We wait awhile. Now we shall
sleep for an hour or two."
"Up here?" Trakor's voice faltered a little.
"Would it be better to sleep on the ground?" Tharn asked with grim
humor.
As though to underscore the question, the distant scream of a panther
came to their ears. Trakor shivered. "The tree is better," he admitted.
"It is only that I have never slept in a tree," he laughed uncertainly.
"I suppose I can get used to it."
"Lean your back against the trunk," Tharn said, "and allow your legs to
drop on either side of the branch you are sitting on, resting your feet
on the branches directly below. That way you will not fall, no matter
how soundly you sleep."
The boy obeyed, and while he found the position less restful than the
heap of pelts in the cave of his father, it was bearable. He knew he
would not be able to sleep, for already the chill of the jungle at
night was creeping into his bones.
Seconds later he was sleeping soundly, while above him Tharn too slept
in a fork of the same tree.
* * * * *
A hand shaking his shoulder awoke Trakor with a start. Crouching on the
branch beside him was Tharn, his magnificent body faintly discernible in
the diffused light of Uda, the moon.
"Come," Tharn said. "It is time we set about locating the path used by
the Ammadians in scaling the cliffside."
"At night?" Trakor asked wonderingly. "Would it not be better to wait
until there is enough light to pick up the trail?"
"I have another plan," Tharn replied evasively. "Here," he added,
stooping. "Place your arms about my neck."
Although he did not understand the reason behind the order Trakor
followed his companion's bidding. An instant later he was swept up and
out into the maze of branches while borne in Tharn's arms.
Where before much of the passage through the middle terraces of the
trees had been hidden from Trakor by darkness, now the way was lighted
by the moon, disclosing to the youth's horrified eyes the awful depths
beneath. Gradually Trakor's fears grew less as he observed the unfailing
sureness with which Tharn trod this high-flung pathway, and in its place
came an abounded admiration of his agility and strength. Never before
had he heard of a human who used the same avenues as little Nobar, the
monkey--and used them with the same nimbleness and speed. Occasionally
warriors of his tribe lay in wait for game among tree branches, but such
climbing was as nothing when compared to this.
That uncanny instinct which so often had guided Tharn through unfamiliar
territory did not fail him this time, and within half an hour he and his
burden were gazing from the safety of a high branch at the deserted
cliffside containing the caves of Gerdak.
At the sight of the familiar scene a great weight seemed to press
against Trakor's heart. Was his new-found friend deserting
him--returning him to certain suffering at the hands of short-tempered
Gerdak? Did not Tharn know that never again would he dare to return to
his own cave--that the chief would make him pay a thousandfold for
championing the giant stranger?
Dreading the reply, he asked: "Why have we come back here, Tharn?"
"You told me Roban, son of Gerdak, knows the route taken by the
Ammadians," said Tharn. "I am going to ask him where I may find it."
"But you cannot!" cried Trakor. "The instant Gerdak and his warriors see
you their spears will cut you to pieces!"
"Then I must keep from being seen," Tharn observed lightly. "Point out
to me the cave where Roban sleeps. I will enter and get him, bringing
him here that I may question him in peace."
Trakor was horrified by the suggestion. "It is impossible! Mighty as you
are, you could not hope to enter and leave the chief's own cave without
being caught. Always several warriors sleep just within the entrance,
for there are several among the tribe who hate Gerdak and he fears
assassination while he sleeps."
For a long moment Tharn seemed lost in thought and Trakor was
congratulating himself upon his success in talking the cave lord out of
his mad scheme. But Tharn's next words showed his silence had been
prompted by another reason altogether.
"Describe Gerdak's cave to me," he said, "telling me, if you can, where
in it Roban is most likely to be sleeping."
For a second Trakor was tempted to disclaim all knowledge of the
subject. But then the realization came that Tharn would go ahead with
his plan with or without the information he sought.
Carefully he told all he could about the chief's cave, describing in
minute detail its layout and plan, together with such information as
where the guards were likely to be sleeping and the probable location of
Roban's sleeping furs.
Roban, he said, would not be difficult to pick out. He was about
Trakor's own age but very skinny, with long legs and arms and a
peculiarly shaped head, the crown rising almost to a point. He was an
unpleasant youngster, sly and cunning, and generally disliked.
Tharn listened attentively; and when his new friend was done, he
unshipped the quiver of arrows from its place on his back and handed it
and his spear to Trakor. The grass rope he left coiled across his
shoulder and under the opposite arm, and his flint knife remained in the
folds of his loin-cloth.
"Wait here for me," Tharn said. The boy nodded, not trusting himself to
speak, and watched the other slip easily through the branches to the
ground at the clearing's edge.
* * * * *
Broken cloud formations dotted the midnight sky and Tharn waited
patiently until one of them could obscure the full moon long enough for
him to gain the foot of the steep scarp a hundred yards away. Several
times small clouds blotted out Uda's radiant beams; but not until a
sizable one moved into the proper position did Tharn leave the
protecting shadows of the tree.
With great bounding strides, silent as the shadows themselves, Tharn
crossed the clearing to the cliff's base. For a few moments he skirted
its edge until he located a series of man-carved ridges which formed a
rude and perilous ladder to the cave entrances above. With the
sure-footedness of long practice he swarmed lightly upward, past cave
after cave, until he came to rest a few feet below the yawning hole
marking the entrance to Gerdak's dwelling.
He crouched there motionless, his ears straining for some indication
that those within were still awake. But other than a faint sound of
someone snoring, he heard nothing.
With infinite stealth he drew himself onto the ledge outside. To his
unbelievably sensitive nostrils came the assorted smells of a Cro-Magnon
shelter. Through the medium of scent he established that five men and
two women were within, all of them his ears said were sound asleep.
Suddenly the cloud was gone from the moon's face and silver effulgence
bathed the cliffside, leaving Tharn exposed to possible discovery. And
so, crouching, the naked blade of his flint knife held ready, Tharn
entered the lair of Gerdak, chief of a Cro-Magnon tribe.
As Tarlok, the leopard, stalks the wariest of grass-eaters, so did Tharn
make his way into that black hole. No human ear would have been able to
mark his passage as his naked feet, seemingly endowed with eyes of their
own, threaded their way past one sleeping body after another.
Two warriors lay athwart the entrance; these Tharn stepped across, so
close he could feel the animal heat from their bodies. Past a stack of
spears piled against a side wall, avoiding a block of stone on which
were piled several baked clay pots and dishes, skirting a heap of furs
where an old woman slept, mouth open and the breath whistling between
toothless gums ... these were danger points along the way.
At last he reached the rear wall of the cave--and there he found the
object of his search. A lanky length of tanned human lay face up on a
pile of skins, breathing heavily, arms thrown wide. A few feet away,
near a side wall, lay the stocky form and hairless pate that belonged to
Gerdak, the chief.
The time had come for the high point of danger in Tharn's plan.
Crouching beside the sleeping form of Roban, Tharn tightened his hold on
the hilt of his knife, swung his arm in a short savage arc and brought
the butt of the knife hard against the young man's skull!
There was a single violent upheaval of limbs which Tharn smothered
instantly beneath his own weight, a sobbing cry which died unborn as a
mighty hand pressed against the parted lips ... and Roban lay senseless.
Swinging the unconscious youth to his shoulders, Tharn turned to make
his way back to the cave entrance. Three cautious steps he took ... and
then a muscular hand closed about his ankle!