BEYOND THE HEIGHTS
As Tharn felt those fingers close about his ankle he dropped instantly
to his other knee to keep from being upset and swung his free hand in a
sweeping blow at the point where reason told him the face of his
attacker would be.
So quickly had he acted that his knuckles thudded home on an unseen jaw
before its owner was able to shout an alarm. There followed a convulsive
twist of a body in front of him and the clutching fingers loosed their
hold.
His unconscious prize still hanging from his shoulders, Tharn regained
his feet and raced cat-like for the mouth of the cave. Behind him he
caught the sound of a startled grunt, followed by a wild yell that
roused every occupant of the cave while Tharn was still a good thirty
feet short of his goal.
A huge form shot up in front of him, a raised knife silhouetted against
the star light beyond. Behind him naked feet whispered against rock as
several enemy warriors rushed to close with the foolhardy intruder.
Tharn was trapped! Burdened as he was by the limp weight of his captive,
he knew his chances of leaving Gerdak's cave were almost nonexistant.
But not once did the thought come to him of abandoning his catch--his
only means of locating the route of those who held Dylara. With a single
bound he was upon the man in his path; a supple twist of his body
allowed the descending knife to slip harmlessly past. At the same
instant he drove a hip into his attacker, who, off balance, was knocked
headlong into two other warriors.
The way was clear now to the cave's mouth and Tharn was congratulating
himself that he would at least reach open air when two more warriors
dropped from above onto the narrow ledge of Gerdak's cave. Evidently
they had been aroused by the chorus of yells and had come down from
their caves to investigate.
At sight of their leveled spears Tharn skidded to a halt. Behind him he
could hear at least two of Gerdak's personal guards moving cautiously
forward to take him from the rear. With no avenue for retreat, with a
pair of trained fighting men cutting off his advance, his chances for
escape were thinned indeed.
Yet not for an instant did his confidence waver. He had weathered worse
situations, and the muscles and cunning developed by a thousand jungle
battles were weapons superior to the flint-headed spears hemming him in.
Even as he came to a halt, his sharp eyes caught a glimpse of that stack
of spears he had passed when first entering the cave. One bronzed arm
shot out, circled the lot of those keen-pointed sticks and lifted and
flung them in one continuous motion.
The warriors outside were engulfed by the minor avalanche of flint and
wood. They stepped back precipitantly, and one of the men was tripped up
as a shaft slipped between his legs. With a shrill cry of terror he
tottered momentarily on the brink of the ledge, then went over
backwards, his despairing scream rising thinly on the night air.
Tharn had not waited to learn the outcome of his ruse. While the
remaining warrior was attempting to sidestep the shower of spears the
cave lord was upon him. Avoiding the flint point licking out at his
naked chest, he ducked and swung his free fist in a savage arc that
ended wrist deep in an unprotected belly.
Bent nearly double by the blow, the enemy Cro-Magnard was lifted
completely from his feet and propelled into space, his already
unconscious body tracing a perfect parabola to death on the ground sixty
feet below.
* * * * *
Although no enemy stood before him, Tharn was a long way from safety. A
spear thrown from the cave behind him passed scant inches from his head
signifying Gardak's personal guards had recovered their wits and were
after him once more. Below him a score of cave mouths were disgorging
armed fighting men and flaming torches dotted the cliffside. To attempt
to descend by the path that had brought him here was worse than
foolhardy.
As in most Cro-Magnon settlements, the chief's own cave was nearest the
cliff's top. A glance upward revealed to Tharn the escarpment's top not
more than twenty feet distant. To swarm up that almost vertical slope
while burdened with a body would have taxed the agility of little
Nobar, the monkey. But there was no other avenue of escape except to
battle an entire community--and no time to compute chances for scaling
those heights.
Already two warriors, each armed with a stone knife, had gained the
ledge on either side of him, grins of triumph curling their lips, while
a faint scuffling sound against the cave floor behind him told Tharn
others were slinking toward him from the rear.
With a muffled snarl Tharn wheeled and began to climb. His groping
fingers and toes found outcroppings of rock to serve as almost invisible
rungs of a perilous ladder. A lifetime of climbing, plus utter
self-confidence, sent him up that sheer surface with incredible speed.
So completely unexpected was their quarry's route that Gerdak's men were
thrown into momentary confusion. By the time the first shower of spears
rose toward the climbing cave man he was three-quarters of the way to
freedom. As a result most of the weapons fell short of their mark, while
the others, because of the uncertain light and the swiftness of their
target's progress, missed completely. Immediately a second flight of
spears were launched--but time had run out. Tharn was already over the
lip of the precipice as they were rising in his direction.
He found himself on rolling, grass-covered ground. A hundred yards ahead
was a jungle-cloaked forest, its towering trees close-knit to the point
of impenetrability.
With long, loping strides Tharn crossed the ribbon of grassland, melting
into the shadows of the overhanging branches as the first of Gerdak's
warriors appeared at the cliff's top.
The ground was too choked with verdure for more than snail-like
progress, and Tharn, his unconscious burden still draped across one
broad shoulder, took to the trees. With a celerity that long ago had
become second nature to him he raced through the branches, moving
parallel to the strip of grassland he had crossed a few moments earlier.
The shouts of his bewildered pursuers faded, swallowed up finally by the
noises peculiar to a nocturnal jungle.
Half an hour later altered his course and returned to the ribbon of open
ground. By this time his captive was showing signs of returning
consciousness and Tharn tightened his grip on the youth's arm to prevent
him from attempting to get away. He could feel tremors of fear course
through the flesh pressing against his shoulder and he smiled grimly. A
terrified prisoner was usually a tractable one.
At this point the cliffside was neither as steep nor as high as that
housing Gerdak's tribe. Tharn went over its edge without hesitation,
slipping groundward with the reckless abandon of a falling stone, yet
landing there without an appreciable jar.
The forest at this point came almost to the base of the cliff. Tharn
entered, swung lightly up to the middle terraces and set out on the
return journey to that point opposite Gerdak's caves where he had left
Trakor.
While he had still a goodly distance to go he heard the sounds of
shouting voices and caught an occasional glimpse of a flaming torch
through rifts in the foliage ahead. Evidently Gerdak was not lightly
giving up hope of getting his hands on the man who had made fools of him
and his warriors.
An unerring instinct developed through years of travel through uncharted
terrains brought Tharn to the very tree where he had left his new found
friend. But even as he entered its branches his nose told him what his
eyes verified.
"Trakor," he called out, keeping his voice down lest some nearby enemy
warrior hear it. "Trakor, where are you?"
There was no answer. Trakor was gone.
* * * * *
Even as Sadu left the ground in a final leap aimed at crushing Dylara's
fleeing figure to earth, the girl sprang for a low-hanging branch of a
jungle giant. As her fingers closed about its rough bark she flung her
body to one side, Sadu's cruel talons raking the air scant inches away.
Before the beast could turn and leap a second time she was twenty feet
above it and climbing with the speed of desperation.
She heard the sound of tearing foliage as the lion sprang blindly into
the lower branches, a thump as it toppled back to earth, then an angry
roar of protest at being cheated of its prey. She stopped her climb then
and leaned her head weakly against the bole, panting and shivering from
strain and utter relief.
Below her, Sadu stalked back and forth a time or two, voicing his
displeasure. This lasted for no more than a moment or two, however; Sadu
was too much of a realist to waste time in bewailing his ill luck. The
rumblings of satisfaction from his fellows as they bore their kills into
the forest, the screams of dying men, told him there was food aplenty
back among the fires.
Dylara caught a glimpse of the brute as it slunk swiftly toward the
terrified encampment. She crouched there, watching the awful scenes of
carnage while gradually her heart stopped its mad pounding and the
trembling left her legs and arms. She knew regret that many of the men
she had learned to know and respect were dying so horribly, but the
sight of what went on did not affect her beyond that. Except for these
last few moons all of her eighteen years had been spent practically
cheek by jowl with the jungle and its denizens, the only life she had
known. The fiercest animals had stalked her at times, just as the
warriors of her father's tribe had stalked them. She knew first-hand the
stinging insects, the loathsome snakes whose bite or coils could bring a
lingering death or a quick one. She knew the chill nights of the rainy
season, the unbearable heat and humidity at other times. As a result
death and suffering were able to touch her deeply only when they
affected some one close to her.
It was a kind of life that had its compensations. She was far more
self-reliant and much better equipped for survival under her present
circumstances than the average Ammadian would have been. Her eyes and
ears were more sharply attuned to impending danger, she could climb far
better, she knew how to find water where her recent companions would
perish of thirst, she could distinguish between poisonous and
non-poisonous fruits and roots.
Yet for all of that she was still a girl, young and, by jungle
standards, weak. She caught herself wishing Tharn were with her--and
even as the thought came she knew a fleeting doubt.
Did she love him? It was a question she was not yet able to answer. The
memory of his handsome face and splendid body rose to torment her with
doubt. She recalled him as he appeared in Sephar's arena facing
insurmountable odds with a laugh and a careless toss of his
black-thatched head, remembered his blazing eyes and rippling muscles as
he plummeted to earth between her and charging Sadu, appearing just in
time to stave in the lion's skull with one terrible blow. In all the
jungle, in all the world, there was no man a tenth his equal in cunning,
strength and courage! Even among his own kind he was unique; for no man
in Cro-Magnon history could use his nose the way the beasts used theirs,
no man who could travel among the trees with the rocketing agility of
little Nobar, the monkey.
If only he had met and wooed and won her instead of seizing her by force
and carrying her away like some bit of jungle loot! Pride and the
awareness of her position as daughter of a tribal chief could not permit
her to surrender to a man who would do such a thing. It was the way the
Hairy Men[2] won their mates, and Dylara, daughter of Majok, must give
her heart, not have it taken!
[2] The Hairy Men was the Cro-Magnards' name for Neanderthal Man. The
Neanderthalers appeared in Earth's prehistory roughly 100,000 years
before the birth of Christ and centered in Southern France and Spain of
today. At the time of the Cro-Magnards' arrival, perhaps 80,000 years
later, Neanderthal Man was nearly extinct, possibly because of climatic
changes due to the recession of the last Ice Age. Cro-Magnon Man, the
first of _Homo Sapiens_ (true men), regarded these ape-like subhumans as
little more than beasts and eventually exterminated them.--Ed.
* * * * *
Even as she told herself this for the hundredth time, she realized such
thoughts were probably empty. The chances were overwhelming that Tharn
had not survived the rigors of the Sepharian Games: battles between men
and between men and beasts for the entertainment of Sephar's populace
and held in honor of the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud. Jotan
and the others had told her many times that no man in all Sephar's
history had ever come through those Games alive.
And even if he should! Would he undertake to follow her across the
almost limitless stretch of plains, mountains and jungles to the country
of Ammad? Even if he should accomplish such a feat--how could he hope to
wrest her from the depths of a stronghold as impenetrable as she
understood Ammad to be?
No, it was unthinkable. She had best wait until the lions were driven
from the encampment below, then slip from her tree and go back to Jotan.
Since the day he had won her from Sephar's high priest he had treated
her with unfailing courtesy and kindness, declaring over and over his
love for her but not once attempting to force his attentions upon her.
After a little while she might allow herself to be won over into
accepting him as her mate. It would be an honored, sheltered life and in
time she might know complete happiness.
Dylara was shaking her head even as these last thoughts were crowding
in. No. Her place was with her own kind, with Majok and the others. It
was a long, long way back to them and in the attempt she might leave her
bones to bleach on some mountain top or disappear down the maw of one of
the great cats. But there was no other acceptable choice--and no time
like the present to get started.
Carefully she began to work her way into the jungle, moving cautiously
far out on a strong limb until she was able to clamber into the branches
of the next tree. The curtain of greenery was too thick for the light of
moon or stars to penetrate, leaving her to grope her way in utter
darkness. Each vine she scraped against was pictured in her mind as the
sinuous coils of Sleeza, the snake; each fluttering of a disturbed bird
was an aroused panther or leopard.
She was not going on this way much farther; her nerves, steady as they
were, could not take much of such suspense. Only deep enough into the
jungle to keep the inexperienced Ammadians from following her trail;
with the coming of Dyta, the sun, she would locate a game trail pointing
in the direction she wished to go, then descend to the ground and follow
it.
An hour later her trembling limbs refused to continue this inch-by-inch
progress. And so Dylara made her way toward the high flung branches of a
forest patriarch to where Jalok, the panther, and Tarlok, the leopard,
dare not go. Here the foliage was less compact and Uda's pale beams
displayed to her rapt eyes an endless sea of tree tops everywhere about
her.
Finding a comfortable fork fully a hundred feet above the jungle floor,
Dylara composed herself to wait the coming of dawn. Finally she drifted
off to sleep, while far below a lion roared that he had made his kill
and filled his belly for the night.
And not long after, a jungle dweller, swinging swiftly through the
trees, came to a sudden halt on a swaying branch as a vagrant breeze
brought the scent of her to its quivering nostrils. For a full minute it
remained motionless as if carved from stone, then it turned sharply
aside and went on, fairly flying along the dizzy pathway of swaying
boughs, following that scent spoor to its source.
* * * * *
While Tharn was puzzling over the strange disappearance of Trakor, his
keen ears caught a sudden yell of surprise from the direction of
Gerdak's caves, followed by a chorus of exultant exclamations that told
him the Cro-Magnards had flushed some sort of game and had succeeded in
bringing it down.
Quickly he lowered his captive to a broad branch, stuffed a handful of
leaves into its mouth, bound them there with a short length of vine,
then lashed the wrists to the tree bole. This done he was on the point
of swinging off to investigate what lay behind those sounds when he
caught a glimpse of a familiar object swinging from a neighboring
branch.
His blackwood bow and quiver of arrows left earlier with Trakor! With
them in their accustomed places along his back and shoulder, Tharn swung
the short distance between tree and clearing. From a wide branch he
gazed down at the scene below.
A knot of enemy warriors was moving slowly toward the caves of Gerdak,
among them the still struggling figure of Trakor. Wavering flames of
resin-wood torches lighted up his features and Tharn saw there was only
rage in his expression and nothing of fear. Already shouts from the
group had aroused others of the tribe and a score of them were running
forward to meet it.
With quick, certain movements of his powerful hands Tharn unshipped his
bow and withdrew several arrows from his quiver. Steadying himself on
the swaying branch, he notched an arrow, drew back the stubborn wood,
steel muscles moving under his naked back, took careful aim....
"Twang!"
Like a plucked violin the bow sang his single note, polished wood
flickered in the light of torches and one of Trakor's captors threw wide
his arms and sank into a briefly twitching heap. Before his fellows
could grasp the significance of what was taking place three more of
their number were down, each with a thin-bodied arrow protruding from
his chest or back.
There was a general scrambling as those holding Trakor released him and
threw themselves headlong to escape the rain of death. The advancing
wave of warriors halted with breathtaking abruptness, those behind the
front rank crashing into it. Momentarily freed, Trakor looked wildly
about him, as confused as the others.
"Run!" shouted Tharn. "Into the jungle, Trakor!"
The youth heard--and obeyed. As he broke into a run, one of Gerdak's
fighting men, either more courageous than his companions or angered
beyond reason at losing their prize, scrambled to his feet and lifted
his spear for a cast at the flying figure.
Again Tharn's bow twanged and a tufted arrow appeared magically embedded
in the spearman's chest. Voicing a piercing shriek he toppled back,
spear rolling from his fingers.
Tharn was already among the lower branches of a tree when Trakor came
crashing into the jungle. As the boy plowed past, the cave lord reached
down with one arm and caught him under the arms, lifting him to the
branch beside him before the youngster was fully aware of what was
happening.
"Tharn!" It was a gasp of such utter relief that the giant Cro-Magnard
smiled.
"I thought I left you safe in a tree," he said.
"I meant to stay there, Tharn," Trakor admitted sheepishly, "but I heard
one of them shout to the others that you had been captured and was being
held in Gerdak's cave. I thought that because of the darkness I might
pass among them without being recognized, reach the chief's cave and in
some way set you free."
"You could never have done it." Tharn's voice was stern, revealing
nothing of his inner feelings. He was more deeply touched by this
evidence of loyalty than he cared to admit. For this untrained boy to
pit his relatively puny muscles against an entire community in an effort
to rescue his benefactor was proof enough that here was material for the
shaping of a great warrior; and with this thought Tharn's last remaining
reluctance to be saddled with Trakor during the search for Dylara
disappeared.
* * * * *
The warriors of Gerdak appeared to have recovered their courage; already
several of them were entering the jungle in search of Trakor and the
mysterious bowman. Two of them passed cautiously beneath the very tree
in which their quarry was seated. Tharn touched his own lips in warning,
pointed up at the branches overhead, then lifted the youth to his back
and climbed in perfect silence to where he had left the captive Roban.
In the dim light Tharn could see the whites of rolling, fear-filled eyes
and beads of perspiration dotting the receding forehead. A muffled
chattering pushed through the wad of leaves and the prisoner shrank away
as far as the vines binding his wrists to the tree would permit.
The cave lord was undecided as to his next step. He dared not remove the
gag from Roban's lips and question him here. A single shout would bring
Gerdak's men to the scene; and while this would mean little if any
danger to Tharn and his new-found companion, it could mean he might lose
the services of Roban as involuntary guide.
The alternative was to carry Roban deeper into the jungle where he might
be questioned without interruption, but Tharn knew that Trakor could not
hope to follow through the tree tops.
There was but one answer: he must carry both of them. Quickly he
loosened Roban's bonds and swung him lightly across one shoulder, then
turned to Trakor.
"Lock your arms about my neck," he said.
There was wonder and doubt in Trakor's expression as understanding came
to him. But such was his faith and confidence that he did not hesitate
to comply with the order.
And once more Trakor, heart in his mouth, rode the skyway. Where before
the awful depths had sent cold fear to his core, he was now confident
and unafraid; yet actually the danger of plunging earthward was far
greater this time. Bough after bough bent perilously beneath their
triple burden as Tharn threaded his way, like a tightrope artist, along
them, held erect only by his uncanny sense of balance. Constantly he was
forced to search out branches of sufficient strength, stepping out and
onto them without the additional safety of a steadying hand hold.
Fifteen minutes of this was enough to satisfy him he was beyond any
territory Gerdak's warriors would reach before dawn. The search would go
on, of course, until Roban, dead or alive, was found; for he was son of
a chief and not lightly to be abandoned.
Near the pinnacle of a towering tree Tharn lowered his two passengers to
adjoining branches. While Trakor watched, he removed Roban's gag, after
warning him to utter no outcry on pain of instant death. The youth
nodded violently in agreement, and for a moment he was unable to speak
so cramped were his jaws.
Tharn glanced to where Trakor sat, an interested spectator to Roban's
discomfiture. "This is the chief's son?"
Trakor nodded. "He is Roban."
Tharn turned his sharp eyes to the captive, who was glowering at him in
mingled fear and hatred, and said:
"A few suns ago you saw a party of Ammadians scaling the cliffs near
your caves. Exactly where was this?"
Roban scowled unpleasantly. "I don't know what you are talking about."
"You know well enough. Answer me or die!"
"You would not dare kill me," Roban blustered. "I am Gerdak's son.
Unless you let me go at once he will come with many warriors and hunt
you down. He will kill you, but not quickly. First he will take his
knife and...."
He broke off suddenly, gasping as Tharn's fingers bit into his skinny
shoulder. "I, too, can use a knife! Answer my questions quickly or I
will prove it to you!"
Roban licked dry lips. "What do you want to know?" he mumbled.
"The exact spot where the Ammadians climbed those cliffs."
"What are Ammadians?"
* * * * *
Tharn described them in a few words and Roban nodded grudgingly. "Yes, I
saw them. There is a place in the cliffs, a sun's march to the west of
my father's caves, where a river tumbles over the edge. It was there
they climbed the cliffs."
"He is lying!" Trakor exclaimed. "At the cooking fires he said it was
east of our caves."
Roban's small eyes, evil and ratlike, swung toward him. "Your mother was
a hyena! Wait till my father gets his hands----"
Tharn shook him until his teeth rattled. "Where?" he growled. "The truth
this time or I throw you to a lion!"
The words tumbled out. "Half a march to the west. There is a low point
in the cliff there, making it easy to climb. They are not good climbers;
it took them a long time to----"
"Were there shes with them?"
"Shes?" The youth's beady eyes flickered. "I--I cannot say. I did not
see----"
Tharn shook him again. "Enough of your lies!" he thundered. "How many
shes were with them?"
"T-t-two." Roban was thoroughly frightened now. "I saw no others,
although there may have----"
"Describe them."
"One had black hair; the other's hair was the color of Dyta, the sun, as
he seeks his lair for the night. Both were very beautiful, although the
black-haired she was less beautiful."
Tharn's chest swelled with elation. At last he had found the trail of
Dylara and those who held her. He was eager to be on his way, flying
through the trees to wrest her from the Ammadians. They were only five
suns ahead--a distance he could cover in a quarter that time....
His gray eyes went to where Trakor sat watching him. As those eyes met
his, the youth smiled. "The golden-haired one must be Dylara," he said.
"Your search is nearly ended, Tharn. Hurry on to her."
The cave lord caught the faint note of sadness in the young man's voice
and his admiration for the lad went still higher. Even as he was urging
Tharn to go on without him it was with the knowledge that were the cave
lord to do so it would mean Trakor's doom. Trakor could not now return
to the caves of Gerdak without being slain on sight; yet to remain alone
in the jungle would mean certain death.
Tharn rose to his feet on a swaying branch, light from the moon picking
out his slow smile. "Come, Trakor," he said. "We must reach that point
at the cliff before dawn."
Trakor offered a protest. "But I will only slow--"
In reply Tharn picked him bodily from the branch and placed him across
his shoulder, hearing the young man's sigh of relief as he did so.
"But what about me?" cried Roban. "You can not leave me here!"
Tharn looked at him in simulated surprise. "Have you forgotten? Your
father is coming with many warriors to hunt me down. You, yourself, have
said so. Wait for them here."
"But Tarlok may find and eat me!"
"Even Tarlok does not stoop to carrion," Tharn pointed out. Before
Gerdak's son could reply, Tharn and Trakor were gone into the inky
depths below.