TRAKOR'S MISTAKE
It was close to nightfall when Tharn and Trakor reached the clearing
where Jotan's party had been attacked by lions several nights before.
Ashes from the long-dead fires still showed their outlines, tracked now
by the hoofs and paws of jungle beasts. An air of desolation seemed to
hang above the scene like the miasmic vapors from some foul swamp.
The two Cro-Magnards knelt at the stream and quenched their thirst. For
nearly an hour the two young warriors sat side by side on the bank
without speaking, while gradually shadows from the encircling wall of
trees stretched farther and farther across the glade. And then with the
suddenness peculiar to tropical climes night filled the forest and the
voices of hunters and hunted rose and fell about the clearing.
Trakor stirred uneasily as the roar of Sadu, monarch of the jungle
night, rolled across the forest aisles from nearby. His ears, far
sharper now from constant use, caught a faint stirring among the river
reeds a dozen yards from where Tharn and he were seated; and an instant
later those rustling stalks parted and Tarlok, the leopard, slunk into
the open.
The young man from Gerdak's caves sat very still, hardly daring to
breathe, as the lithe, powerfully muscled feline stood clearly revealed
in the light of stars. For a long moment the cat stood as motionless as
some beautifully carved statue, then gracefully bent its neck to dip the
soft furry muzzle into the water.
Trakor felt a cool breeze against his face and knew why Tarlok failed to
sense the presence of Tharn and him. What, he wondered, would happen if
Siha, the wind, should suddenly reverse its course and bring their scent
to Tarlok's sensitive nostril's? Would that terrible engine of
destruction spring instantly upon them, rending and tearing before they
could give effective battle? It was an interesting problem to weigh,
although Trakor felt he could do it far more justice from a seat on some
lofty branch.
Tarlok finished slaking his thirst and without an instant's hesitation
turned and vanished among the reeds. Trakor listened to the almost
inaudible sounds of the cat's passage and felt a little glow of pride. A
moon ago he would have mistaken those rustlings as the passage of
Siha--if he had heard them at all.
Tharn stirred. "I am hungry!"
"And I!" agreed Trakor, abruptly aware that he had not eaten since
mid-morning.
"Let us find a comfortable branch for the night, then I will hunt food
while you wait there."
"Why can't I go with you?" Trakor demanded. "I am a good hunter. Did I
not, a sun ago, track down and slay Neela, the zebra, with my own
knife?"
"That was while Dyta was high in the sky," Tharn reminded him. "Hunting
Neela or Bana at night requires long practice and many disappointments.
Tonight I am too hungry to wait."
A towering forest giant offered a secure and comfortable haven for the
night; and while Trakor sat there fuming at being left out of things,
Tharn swung off into the darkness in search of their dinner.
Less than an hour later he was back, a haunch of venison across one
shoulder. Together they squatted on a broad branch and cut strips of the
still dripping flesh from Bana's flank. They ate quickly and in silence,
Trakor already having adopted the almost taciturn air common among
jungle dwellers; and when they were finished, a handful of leaves served
each as a napkin.
Not long thereafter both were sleeping soundly on their swaying couch,
as indifferent to the cacophony of roars, shrieks and screams making
hideous the jungle night as though such sounds did not exist.
* * * * *
They dined on the remainder of Bana's haunch shortly after sunrise the
following morning. After descending to drink from the stream in the
clearing, Tharn set out to explore the former site of Jotan's camp in an
effort to pick up Dylara's trail.
Trakor squatted on his haunches and watched the cave lord with wide,
wondering eyes. For several minutes Tharn moved slowly about the cleared
ground, his powerful body bent low, his unbelievably keen eyes searching
every inch of earth. Gradually his companion began to understand there
was nothing aimless in his movements: he was circling in a gradually
narrowing spiral toward the exact center of the camp site.
After a while Trakor tired of watching and went back to the river to
drink. He was on his way back when a sharp exclamation from his friend
caught his attention.
He was amazed to find Tharn on his hands and knees sniffing at the
ground. Those nostrils appeared to quiver, to expand and contract, like
an animal's when it picks up a fresh spoor.
A prickling sensation tugged at Trakor's scalp. Was it possible that
this god-like human could actually scent, and _recognize_ that scent,
where a man or woman had stood days before? No human nose had any
business being that efficient!
Tharn looked up to find him standing there. "She slept here for several
hours," he said. On hands and knees he began to move in a straight line
across the ground, swerved to one side near the former location of the
fires, then on again across the wide ribbon of open ground between the
heaps of ashes and the forest's edge. At the base of a large tree, he
stood up and beckoned to Trakor.
"Sadu chased her to this tree," he explained, his voice as confident as
though he had witnessed the entire proceedings instead of reconstructing
them through the mediums of sight and smell. "He did not get her. Come."
Lightly Tharn swung himself into the branches, Trakor close behind him.
To the cave lord this was an engaging sport--a sport made more
interesting because happiness for him depended on his ability to follow
a cold trail.
Here a bit of lint from Dylara's tunic had caught beneath a segment of
bark; there a newly budded shoot had been crushed by a naked foot. A
speck of green moisture on an adjoining branch marked where that same
foot had come to rest a little later; and further on a scuffed section
of bark, almost too small to be detected, showed where a foot had
slipped slightly.
To Tharn, guided by uncanny powers of perception and a woodlore second
not even to the beasts themselves, all these marks were as evident and
recognizable as words on a printed page to a scholar.
Dylara's progress had been snail-like that night as she worked her way
through impenetrable darkness; Tharn moved along her pathway speedily
and without faltering, Trakor following.
In ten minutes the cave lord covered the distance Dylara had required an
hour to travel. Abruptly he altered his course upward toward the forest
top, until, high among the smaller branches, he stopped and looked to
his nose for information.
Almost at once Trakor noticed a troubled expression carve itself on
Tharn's handsome face. "What is it, Tharn?"
His companion's lips set in a narrow line. "I do not know. Some strange
manlike creature with long hairy arms and legs surprised her here and
carried her away."
Moving slowly now, with many pauses, Tharn set out on the arboreal
pathway accompanied by the bewildered Trakor.
* * * * *
For nearly three full hours Tharn continued on through the middle
terraces. It took him a good part of that time to get some sort of
accurate picture of how that strange, hairy creature had regulated its
progress. The distance between marks left by its hands and grasping feet
seemed far too great for anything other than the most agile of monkeys.
So intent was Tharn on following the spoor, and so intent on Tharn was
his companion, that the first indication either had of danger was when
fully a score of spider-like forms engulfed them from the depths of as
many hiding places among the foliage.
The first wave swept the still inexperienced Trakor completely from his
branch, and he would have fallen headlong through space toward the
ground below had not one of the ambushers caught him by an ankle and
jerked him roughly back to a different type of danger. In a mad fury
that was half rage and half fear the youth struck out blindly with his
knife, killing three of his attackers and wounding several more before
he went down beneath the sheer weight of numbers.
It was Tharn who took the subduing! With the first rustle of foliage his
knife was in his hand and he met the onslaught of twisting, shrieking
spider-men like a rocky crag meets a storm-swept sea. Enemy after enemy
toppled into the void, their bodies torn by his keen blade of flint;
others went to join them with skulls crushed by superhuman blows or with
spines snapped like twigs. Early in the battle Tharn learned it was
useless merely to push them from the limb: they would fall a few feet
until some long sinuous limb would catch a lower branch and back they
would come to the fight.
But the odds were far too unequal, and very slowly they pulled him down,
as a pack of dogs will pull down a wide-antlered elk. Thick vines lashed
his arms to his sides until he was trussed and helpless.
Then both captives were lifted by the loudly exultant spider-men and
borne to a conical shaped hut of grasses hanging by means of a thick
rope of that same material from a pair of stout branches above its roof.
Here they were thrown roughly to the swaying, bobbing floor on opposite
sides of the structure, then left to themselves as the long-limbed
spider-men departed.
Trakor waited until he was certain the last of them was gone, then
despite his bonds he managed to roll over until he was facing his friend
three or four yards away. The cave lord was lying motionless on his
side, swathed with strand upon strand of stout vines, his eyes open, his
expression as calm and untroubled as though he were comfortably
ensconced in his own cave.
"What will they do with us, Tharn?" whispered the youth.
Those broad shoulders moved in a faint shrug. "Who knows?"
It was far from being a satisfactory answer. Trakor was silent for a
little while, thinking unhappy thoughts. Through the hut's thin walls
came the shrill, unfamiliar chattering of many voices. Evidently the
spider-men were holding some kind of a meeting--a meeting, Trakor was
sure, concerning the eventual fate of their captives.
"Tharn...."
"Yes?"
"Can't we _do_ something? Must we lie here like two helpless old men
until they get around to k-killing us?"
Tharn caught the slight break in the youth's words and his slow smile
disclosed flashing teeth. "They will not kill us for a while--otherwise
we would have been dead before this. Perhaps they intend to torture us
first--either to enjoy our suffering or to honor their tribal god."
"But now we can do nothing. Four of them are watching our every move
through chinks in these walls; our first move toward escape would bring
them upon us."
Trakor's eyes roved about the hut's sides. He could see no signs of
gleaming eyes peering in on them, but long ago he had learned never to
doubt Tharn's ability to know things beyond the evident.
His voice went down. "Can they hear us?"
"Of course," Tharn said. "But that does not mean they can understand
us. We do not speak their tongue, so we need not worry of being
overheard."
"But what can we _do_?" Trakor demanded for the second time.
"At present, nothing. There is a way for us to escape but it depends on
them leaving us here until Dyta finds his lair for the night."
"And if they don't leave us here until dark?"
Tharn's smile appeared again. "Would you cheat them of their pleasure by
worrying yourself to death?"
* * * * *
Trakor digested that in silence, seeing the wisdom in his friend's quiet
words. He found his fear lessening fast; there was something in Tharn's
calm acceptance of their present difficulty that inspired confidence in
their eventual escape.
With the waning of his own fear he found room for concern about someone
else. "Tharn!" he gasped. "Are these the ones who captured Dylara?"
A somber expression crept into the cave lord's eyes. "I am sure of it."
"Do you think that they have ... that they...." He could not finish.
"After we get away," Tharn said grimly, "I will learn the answer to
that. She may be held in another hut at this moment; but if they have
slain her...."
The rest of the morning and the long afternoon which followed wore on.
None of their captors entered the hut to learn how they were faring,
although not once were they unobserved from without. During the heat of
midday the sound of shrill voices stilled; but along toward evening it
started up again.
Tharn's position was such that he could see through the small aperture
which served at the hut's doorway. As a result he was able to see a
horde of the spider-men begin the construction of a good sized platform
of small branches in a neighboring tree. At first their purpose was not
clear to him; but when, shortly before darkness set in, he saw two tall
straight branches denuded of vegetation thrust upright, side by side,
into the platform, he understood something of what they had in mind.
This understanding became certainty a little later when he noticed a
score of the female members of the tribe busy at the task of putting
sharp points on many long straight sticks, using flint knives for that
purpose.
He and Trakor would be bound to those stakes and slowly prodded to
death! The all-important question was, would that take place this night
or would the spider-men wait until dawn? It hardly seemed logical they
would be so tortured without sufficient light for the spider-men to
observe their sufferings; and to use fire among the inflammable tree
tops would be sheer folly--if indeed these creatures were fire users at
all.
Darkness came and still none of the spider-men entered the hut. Both men
were suffering the pangs of thirst, but hunger had not yet become a
problem. Evidently their hosts had no intentions of pampering them.
Sometime later three of the spider-men crawled into the hut and
immediately set about examining the prisoners' thongs. So intense was
the darkness now that they had to depend solely on the sense of touch.
Satisfied the bonds were intact, the three found places on the floor and
presently the sounds of even breathing told all were asleep.
Tharn lay there unmoving while the minutes slipped by and became hours.
With the inexhaustible patience of all wild creatures he bided his time,
waiting until the sleep of those guards was sound. Several times he
heard Trakor stir impatiently and he smiled a little under cover of
darkness. Trakor was waiting for a miracle.
The position of the three spider-men was such that leaving by the
door was impossible, even were the prisoners able to gain use of legs
and arms. Even if they were able to loose their bonds, a simultaneous
attack could account only for two--leaving the third free to raise an
alarm.
Slowly, with many pauses lest the jiggling of the flooring arouse those
guards, Tharn began to roll himself to Trakor's side. So carefully did
he move that almost a full hour had passed before he reached his
objective.
He felt the animal heat of the youth's body, and a barely audible word
reached his ears. "Tharn?"
"Shhh!"
And then Tharn began to gnaw at Trakor's bonds. His strong sharp teeth
bit into those tough green vines, filling his mouth with an unpleasant
taste. It was slow, jaw-tiring work and the vines were many, stringy and
reluctant to part. But the cave lord's indomitable patience and
perseverance were not to be denied.
* * * * *
At long last Trakor was able to free his hands. He winced as blood began
to move again in his veins and minutes passed before he was able to
control his hands. His questing fingers found the knots holding Tharn
helpless and very soon both men were free to act.
Still lying side by side, Tharn began to whisper instructions. Twice one
of the sleeping spider-men stirred and the two Cro-Magnards held their
breaths until he had quieted.
When Trakor nodded to indicate Tharn's plan was clear to him, the cave
lord rose to his feet and, like a shadowy wraith, moved to the nearest
wall. This was a tense moment in the execution of his plan; its entire
success depended on how substantial that wall would prove to be.
A brief examination by the means of touch alone told him the hut was
constructed by first forming a cage-like skeleton of fairly thick but
pliable boughs, then interlacing the openings with grass. The horizontal
"beams" were roughly three feet apart; the roof, as Tharn had earlier
been careful to gauge, was something like fifteen feet above the floor
at its highest point.
Tharn's original plan had been to force an opening in one of these walls
large enough for Trakor and him to wriggle through into the open air.
But his ears and nose told him that this hut was practically ringed with
patrolling sentries, several of which were perched among branches
directly above the hut itself. The minute he and Trakor appeared outside
they would be buried under an avalanche of spider-men.
But there was another way--a way daring and imaginative and infinitely
dangerous. But in its daring lay the very chances for its success--while
danger was so common a phenomenon in jungle life as to rouse little more
than indifference among its dwellers.
Using the relatively sturdy skeletal branches foot--and hand--holds
Tharn began to climb up that rounded wall. After some eight feet of this
the inner side of the conical roof began and the cave lord was hard
pressed to cling to the inward sloping surface.
But his steel thews served their purpose, and a moment or two later he
had gained the single heavy section of branch at the very point of the
roof. Here the thick grass rope which held the entire hut in the air
entered from above, its ends tied securely about the cross piece on
which Tharn was now perched.
From a hidden pouch in the folds of his loin cloth Tharn took a bit of
keen-edged flint: the primitive razor with which he painstakingly
scraped each second day his sprouting beard. With this he began to saw
through the taut rope holding the hut aloft!
Gradually the straining rope began to part. Once it gave, the entire
structure, weighted by its five occupants, would plummet toward the
ground nearly a hundred feet below. There were enough intervening
branches to break the fall sufficiently to keep them from being dashed
to instant death; but for those three sleeping spider-men it would be a
mad, whirling journey that, once it ended, would daze them long enough
for Tharn and Trakor to break for freedom.
Three strands remained, then two. The entire hut lurched sickeningly,
the final strand parted with an audible snap as Tharn caught frantically
at the cross piece, and down went the hut!
It was a mad mixture of crashing sounds, of breaking branches, of shrill
screams, of falling and bouncing bodies, of clawing hands and feet.
Slithering, scrambling shapes sought to stabilize themselves by
attaching themselves to walls, ceiling or roof, but to no avail. Only
Trakor, digging his fingers and bare toes desperately into the yielding
flooring, and Tharn, wrapped tightly about that crosspiece, were able to
hold their positions; while back and forth between them shuffled the
three spider-men.
* * * * *
Halfway down, one entire wall broke loose, spilling the guards into the
void. As the mazes of foliage grew denser nearer the ground, the remains
of the hut began to slow its fall, grinding to a complete stop some
twenty feet above ground.
Instantly Tharn and Trakor were out of the ruins and racing away through
the branches. Behind them they could hear a wild chorus of angry
screams, but apparently the spider-men were still too dazed and
bewildered to set up a planned pursuit.
An hour later Tharn called a halt. They stood silently on a high branch
for a little while, listening for some sign that their late captors had
taken up the chase.
"We have thrown them off," Tharn said finally. "I'll give them a few
hours to get over their shock and return to sleep--then I'm going back."
"Going back!" echoed Trakor, aghast, "Why?"
"I must learn what they have done with Dylara. Too, my knife, rope and
bow and arrows are somewhere within the wreckage of that hut."
"But even you, Tharn, would be helpless against so many," protested
Trakor.
Tharn shrugged. "It is the only way," he said, and there was that in his
tone which ended further discussion.
They stretched their bodies out on adjoining branches and after a while
Trakor fell into a troubled sleep. He awakened with a start, to find the
first flush of dawn across the eastern sky and an empty branch where
Tharn had been during the night.
He had little time to worry about his companion's absence; for barely
had he opened his eyes than a rustling among the foliage of a
neighboring tree brought him hastily to his feet in time to see Tharn
emerge into view.
Across the caveman's back was his quiver of arrows, his bow and his
rope; thrust within the folds of his loin cloth was his flint knife, and
across one shoulder was the meaty foreleg of Neela, the zebra. This last
he thrust into Trakor's dazed hands.
"Fill your belly," he said, grinning at the youth's slack-jawed
expression. "We have work to do."
"But--But----"
"It was easy," Tharn said, "but only because I was very fortunate. When
I got there they were not sleeping; for the commotion I doubt that they
will sleep for a long time. While waiting for an opportunity to climb
among their huts to hunt for Dylara, I set out to get back my weapons.
The knife and rope were still in the broken hut and I found them at
once. But I was forced to hunt about under the trees for my arrows and
bow--and a good thing it was!"
"Why do you say that?"
"I came across Dylara's trail. It seem----"
"In the _dark_? How could you _see_?"
Tharn tapped his nose and smiled as understanding dawned in his young
friend's eyes. "It seems," he continued, "that she managed to get away
from them just a little while ago, for her scent spoor was still fresh.
I followed it far enough to learn that she found a game trail leading
into the east which she followed. It is not far from here; feed, and we
will set out to overtake her."
* * * * *
Early that afternoon Tharn and Trakor were swinging lightly through the
trees above a winding elephant path cutting almost due south through the
jungle. Even from his elevated position Tharn was able to make out an
occasional print of a sandal in the powdery dust below. Dylara had left
those marks--left them so recently that the passing feet of animals had
not yet obliterated them.
The thought of her nearness brought an almost painful sensation of
swelling deep within his chest and a strange ache at his wrists. The
realization that he might soon be holding her within the circle of his
arms, that his lips would be pressed against hers before another sun or
two, made him eager to race madly ahead, outdistancing his slower
companion.
But would she be as moved at sight of him? He recalled words spoken by
her on those two brief occasions they had been together--first when he
had wrested her from the caves of her father and taken her deep within
the jungle. How her eyes had blazed with loathing! How her voice had
rung out with hatred and disdain. "I hate you!" she had said; nor did
she retract those words days later when, at the last possible instant,
he had slain Sadu to save her life.[3]
[3] "Warrior of the Dawn," December, 1942-January, 1943, _Amazing
Stories_.--Ed.
True, when Sadu sank lifeless to the ground between them, she had thrown
herself into his arms, and the warm promise of her lips had crystallized
forever within him his love for her. But that impulsive act might have
been born of gratitude alone; he had been given no opportunity to find
out one way or the other; for Jotan and seven of his men had arrived at
that moment to take her from him.
Love, Tharn had long before decided, was a wonderful and annoying thing,
bringing, as it did, both pleasure and torture, peace and unrest. All
his wondering, all his doubts were for nothing until he could come face
to face again with Dylara. And even then he might not know her answer;
she would welcome him, of course, for in him alone was her sole hope of
returning to her people.
But he did not want her to return to her own caves! She must go with him
to his tribe--and go she must, with or without her own consent!
The winding trail below ended suddenly at the edge of an extensive
clearing, through which ran a wide shallow sluggish river. From deep
among a thick growth of reeds on the latter's opposite shore came a
spine-tingling chorus of snarls and growls and the sounds of jaws
grinding against bones.
Tharn seemed literally to fall the fifty or sixty feet between his
elevated position and the ground below. The density of that growth of
reeds kept him from seeing what animals were feeding there and the wind
at his back left his nose useless in obtaining that information. Yet he
charged in that direction with all the silent ferocity of Sadu himself,
a swelling fear within him that it was Dylara's soft flesh which was
furnishing those unseen beasts with their dinner.
* * * * *
Knife in hand, lips curled back in a savage snarl, the cave lord tore
his way through the tangled growth. With the first sounds of his
passage, that chorus of growls ceased, and Tharn knew those unseen
jungle dwellers were prepared to defend their kill.
Without slackening his pace he burst full upon a pack of hyenas
surrounding the half-devoured carcass of Sadu, the lion. Snarling and
spitting their rage they held ground, evil teeth bared, the hair
standing stiff along their spines, ready to give battle; for, in
numbers, cowardly Gubo was a force to be reckoned with.
An instant later three of them lay dead and the rest fleeing wildly into
the surrounding jungle, while Tharn restored his bloody knife to its
place in the folds of his loin-cloth and knelt beside Sadu's remains.
Trakor arrived on the scene while Tharn was completing his examination.
Wide-eyed he stared at the lion and then at the stern face of his
companion. He said, "What happened to Sadu, Tharn? Surely Gubo did not
kill him?"
The cave lord shook his head. "Sadu died under many Ammadian spears."
"Ammadian?" repeated Trakor, astonished. "Not those who were hunting for
Dylara?"
"I am not sure--yet."
Tharn rose and began to circle slowly that section of the clearing
adjacent to Sadu's remains. Trakor watched him, fascinated, as he
scrutinized the trampled grasses in an effort to piece together details
of what had taken place. Twice he knelt and placed his nostrils close to
the ground, the last time remaining in that position for several
minutes.
Finally he straightened and beckoned to Trakor. "They have her," he said
tonelessly. "She was fleeing from Sadu. Their spears cut him down in
time, then they took her with them. There are many of them--at least
fifty--and they are none I have come across before. Evidently we are
very near to Ammad."
"How far are they ahead of us?"
"A sun's march--if that."
"What do we do now, Tharn?"
"Overtake them, of course--and take Dylara from them."
He said this last with a crisp decisiveness that left no room for doubt.
But Trakor was shaking his head.
"There are fifty of them, Tharn. How can two of us fight so many?"
"There are other ways than by fighting. First we must catch up with
them; then we will work out a way to get her."
* * * * *
The swift journey through the jungle that afternoon was something Trakor
was never to forget. As though driven by some overpowering urge, Tharn
raced southward through the middle terraces with astonishing speed.
Trakor sought manfully to match his pace, but time and again the cave
lord left him behind, only to hold up on some high flung branch until
his younger companion could close the gap. Twice Tharn stopped for rest
periods--not because his own iron physique needed them, but to prevent
Trakor from collapsing entirely. The realization was galling to the
youngster, and it brought home forcibly to him that, for all his rapid
progress in jungle lore and jungle living since Tharn had adopted him,
he was still as a new-born child compared to Tharn.
And while Tharn fretted at thus being forced to slow his pace, he kept
his impatience from showing by expression or word. Paradoxically he had
spent almost a moon in teaching his companion the ways of the forest and
its inhabitants without progressing along the trail to Ammad, but Dylara
was a comparatively long way ahead at that time. Now that she was
within a few hours of him, even an instant's delay galled him.
Night came with the abruptness peculiar to this part of the world, and
still the winding elephant trail below showed no signs of the Ammadians.
Lack of light slowed Trakor to a comparative crawl, and while from time
to time he urged Tharn to go on without waiting for him, the cave lord
only shook his head.
And then, two hours after Dyta had sought his lair for the night, a
faint glow against the southern sky marked the location of fire. This
could have meant the most dread of all jungle perils--a forest fire; but
the glow seemed too small and much too localized for that.
"The Ammadian night fires," Tharn said in reply to his friend's
question. "Doubtless they have camped in some clearing along the way and
have made a circle of fire to keep Sadu and Jalok at bay."
Not long thereafter the two Cro-Magnon men came to a halt high in the
branches of a great tree. Below and before them was a wide clearing, in
the center of which a host of white-tunicked men squatted about small
cooking fires. The savory odors of freshly grilled meat rose on the air
and Trakor felt his mouth water. Food had not passed his lips since that
morning and traveling, he realized, made for large appetites.
The entire encampment was girded by windrows of blazing branches and
thorn bushes under constant attendance by several of the Ammadian
warriors. Spears, knives, bows and arrows were much in evidence, and
there was that atmosphere of relaxed competence about the entire scene
that indicated beyond doubt these were seasoned veterans who knew the
jungle and its ways.
But of it all nothing existed for Tharn beyond a slenderly rounded
white-tunicked figure seated in the company of several warriors about a
cooking fire almost exactly in the center of the camp. At sight of that
wealth of reddish gold hair and the sweet curve of a tanned cheek, he
knew his search was over, that the girl he loved was almost within his
reach. A burning impulse bade him throw caution to the winds and charge
among those hated Ammadians and wrest her from them.
[Illustration: Under the threat of the guard's sword he knelt in a
humble way]
[Illustration]
* * * * *
Those who let emotion rule filled early graves, however. A dead Tharn
was useless to himself and useless to Dylara--and any such wild charge
would be completely suicidal. Dylara seemed in no immediate danger,
although it was clear from her actions, as well as the actions of those
about her, that she was not sharing that cooking fire as an honored
guest.
He fingered the string of his bow at its place about his shoulder. How
he would have liked to send her some message that help was near, that
soon she would be taken from these men and restored to the arms of one
of her own kind. An arrow from out of the darkness into the heart of one
of those men near her!
No. To do that would rouse the camp, keep them all awake for the rest of
the night. For Tharn's purpose those Ammadians must remain lulled by a
sense of security provided by their circle of fires. The quieter the
night, the smaller the number of sentries to be posted when the time
came for seeking sleeping furs for the night.
Trakor, too, was making good use of his eyes. This was the first party
of Ammadians he had ever seen and he was open-mouthed with interest. The
strange white skins they wore, the pieces of beautifully shaped leather
on their feet, fascinated him and he longed to own such wondrous things.
He stared for a long time at Dylara, marveling at her beauty. Even
Lanoa, whose beauty paled into nothingness that of every woman of
Gerdak's tribe was just another she when compared to this vision of
loveliness. The thought made him smile a little sadly. It was the first
time he had thought of Lanoa in nearly a moon.
Tharn said, "Remain here, Trakor, while I hunt for food."
The younger man nodded and Tharn slipped silently away. After he was
gone Trakor lay down on a branch so situated as to give him an unimpeded
view of the scene below and continued to watch....
A slight movement of his support aroused him. Tharn, laden with meat
from a fresh kill, came to squat beside him and they filled their
bellies with the hot, succulent raw flesh.
The young man wiped his hands and lips free of blood and turned
inquiring eyes on his companion. "Have you thought of a way to take her
from them, Tharn?"
The cave lord shook his head. "It will depend on where she sleeps and on
how many guards are posted. Nothing can be done until the camp is
settled for the night. Now we shall sleep."
With Tharn wedged into a tree fork in a neighboring tree, Trakor was
left to select his own couch. He made no move toward doing so, however,
but continued to lay along that same branch watching the Ammadians. He
wondered how Tharn was able to go so calmly to sleep when so much that
was new and exciting was taking place. His own weariness was completely
forgotten.
An hour passed. Most of the camp was sleeping now. Four guards were
moving slowly about the circle of fires; these and a group of five or
six warriors talking about the ashes of a cooking fire were the only
exceptions. Dylara was sound asleep, wrapped in a bundle of borrowed
furs and lying well away from the nearest Ammadian.
* * * * *
A plan was taking shape slowly in Trakor's active mind. Why couldn't
_he_ rescue Dylara? This was his big chance to show Tharn how well he
had profited by the cave lord's teachings. How proud his friend would be
when he awakened to find Dylara beside him safe and sound, rescued by
the stealth and daring of his protege!
The longer Trakor thought about it, the better it looked. Impatiently
he glowered at the dawdling warriors about the last fire. Were they to
sit there gossiping throughout the night? At any moment Tharn might
awake and spoil the whole thing!
Good! That last group was breaking up. One of them went over to the side
of the sleeping girl, bent and stared at her, then straightened and
called something to his companions. There was a brief sound of coarse
laughter, the warrior rejoined his fellows and all sought their sleeping
furs.
Another hour inched by. It was an unusually quiet night. Only twice did
Trakor hear the voices of the big cats and each time it was from a
distance. The darkness was absolute except for the dying flames from the
protecting circle of fire below. Heavy clouds, forerunners perhaps of
the storm Tharn had forecast, obscured moon and stars.
Those four guards continued their casual pacing. Trakor, watching
intently, observed something finally that served to crystallize his
plans. At fairly regular intervals those four came together at a point
well away from where Dylara lay. Each time they stood in a group for
several moments while they exchanged pleasantries, breaking the monotony
of standing guard.
With slow caution, lest he arouse Tharn, the young cave man slipped
groundward. There he began a slow circling of the clearing, masked from
the sentries by heavy foliage. When he reached a spot on a direct line
from where Dylara lay, he gently lowered himself bellyflat in the ribbon
of grasses between the forest and the protecting wall of fire and began
to inch himself forward like a giant snake.
Luckily the grass was high enough to hide him. His greatest danger was
that one of those experienced warriors might glimpse the manner in which
the grass tops were swaying.
He was near enough now to feel the heat of flames. His heart was
pounding mightily and his fingers seemed to be trembling as he dragged
himself still closer. Did they tremble with fear, he asked himself? No;
it was only excitement that caused him to react so--of this he was
certain.
According to his calculations those four guards should be close to
another of those brief meetings on the opposite side of the camp. Slowly
he lifted his head until he could make out their, and his own, position.
He was a few seconds behind schedule: the four of them were already
together and not quite as far away as he would have liked. But in his
favor was the fact that he was much closer to where Dylara lay sleeping
than he had expected to be.
There was no time for hesitation, no time to bolster his courage. Rising
to his feet, his body bent into a deep crouch, Trakor sped with swift
silence through a break in the fire wall. Beyond this, five hurried
strides brought him beside the sleeping cave princess. He wasted no time
in glancing around to learn if his daring move had been witnessed. He
could feel the skin crawl at his back as he bent, shoved a fold of the
girl's sleeping furs across her face to drown out any involuntary cry,
and swung her up into his arms.
He wheeled to flee ... then froze in his tracks at sight of three spears
leveled at his naked chest.