chief and entered the main street of the village. “Is it because you
love another?”
“No,” cried Stellara, vehemently. “I love no one. I hate all men.”
Doval shook his head in perplexity. “I cannot understand you,” he said.
“Many girls have told me that they loved me. I think that I could have
almost any girl in Amiocap as my mate if I asked her; but you, the only
one that I love, will not have me.”
For a few moments Stellara was silent in thought. Then she turned to the
handsome youth at her side. “You are very sure of yourself, Doval,” she
said, “but I do not believe that you are right. I would be willing to
bet that I could name a girl who would not have you; who, no matter how
hard you tried to make her, would not love you.”
“If you mean yourself, then there is one,” he said, “but there is no
other.”
“Oh, yes, there is,” insisted Stellara.
“Who is she?” demanded Doval.
“Letari, the girl from Lar,” said Stellara.
Doval laughed. “She throws her love at the first stranger that comes to
Amiocap,” he said. “She would be too easy.”
“Nevertheless you cannot make her love you,” insisted Stellara.
“I do not intend to try,” said Doval. “I do not love her. I love only
you, and if I made her love me of what good would that be toward making
you love me? No, I shall spend my time trying to win you.”
“You are afraid,” said Stellara. “You know that you would fail.”
“It would do me no good if I succeeded,” insisted Duval.
“It would make me like you very much better than I do now,” said
Stellara.
“You mean that?” asked Doval.
“I most certainly do,” said Stellara.
“Then I shall make the girl love me,” said Doval. “And if I do you
promise to be mine?”
“I said nothing of the kind,” said Stellara. “I only said that I should
like you very much better than I do now.”
“Well, that is something,” said Doval. “If you will like me very much
better than you do now that is at least a step in the right direction.”
“However, there is no danger of that,” said Stellara, “for you cannot
make her love you.”
“Wait, and see,” said Doval.
As Tanar and Letari turned to come back along the village street they
passed Doval and Stellara, and Tanar saw that they were walking very
close together and whispering in low tones. The Sarian scowled; and
suddenly he discovered that he did not like Doval and he wondered why
because always he had thought Doval a very fine fellow. Presently it
occurred to him that the reason was that Doval was not good enough for
Stellara, but then if Stellara loved him that was all there was to it
and with the thought that perhaps Stellara loved him Tanar became angry
with Stellara. What could she see in this Doval, he wondered, and what
business had Doval to walk alone with her in the village streets? Had
not he, Tanar, always had Stellara to himself? Never before had any one
interfered, although all the men liked Stellara. Well, if Stellara liked
Doval better than she did him, he would show her that he did not care.
He, Tanar the Sarian, son of Ghak, king of Sari, would not let any woman
make a fool of him and so he ostentatiously put his arm around the slim
shoulders of Letari and walked thus slowly the length of the village
street; nor did Stellara fail to see.
At the feast that was given in honor of the messengers sent by Zural,
Stellara sat by Doval and Tanar had Letari at his side, and Doval and
Letari were happy.
After the feast was over most of the villagers returned to their houses
and slept, but Tanar was restless and unhappy and could not sleep so he
took his weapons, his heavy spear shod with bone, his bow and his
arrows, and his stone knife with the ivory handle, that Fedol the chief
had given him, and went alone into the forest to hunt.
If the villagers slept an hour or a day is a matter of no moment, since
there was no way of measuring the time. When they awoke—some sooner,
some later—they went about the various duties of their life. Letari
sought for Tanar, but she could not find him; instead she came upon
Doval.
“You are very beautiful,” said the man.
“I know it,” replied Letari.
“You are the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen,” insisted Doval.
Letari looked at him steadily for a few moments. “I never noticed you
before,” she said. “You are very handsome. You are quite the handsomest
man that I ever saw.”
“That is what every one says,” replied Doval. “Many girls have told me
that they loved me, but still I have no mate.”
“A woman wants something beside a handsome face in her mate,” said
Letari.
“I am very brave,” said Doval, “and I am a great hunter. I like you.
Come, let us walk together,” and Doval put his arm about the girl’s
shoulders and together they walked along the village street, while, from
the doorway of her sleeping apartment in the home of her father, the
chief, Stellara watched, and as she watched, a smile touched her lips.
Over the village of Paraht rested the peace of Amiocap and the calm of
eternal noon. The children played at games beneath the shade of the
trees that had been left dotting the village here and there when the
clearing had been made. The women worked upon skins, strung beads or
prepared food. The men looked to their weapons against the next hunt, or
lolled idly on furs in their open living rooms—those who were not still
sleeping off the effects of the heavy feast. Fedol, the chief, was
bidding farewell to Zural’s messengers and entrusting to them a gift for
the ruler of Lar, when suddenly the peace and quiet was shattered by
hoarse cries and a shattering burst of musketry.
Instantly all was pandemonium. Then women and warriors rushed from their
homes; shouts, curses and screams filled the air.
“Korsars! Korsars!” rang through the village, as the bearded ruffians,
taking advantage of the surprise and confusion of the villagers, rushed
rapidly forward to profit by the advantage they had gained.
VII
“KORSARS!”
Tanar the Sarian hunted through the primeval forest of Amiocap. Already
his repute as a hunter stood high among the men of Paraht, but it was
not to add further luster to his fame that he hunted now. It was to
quiet a restlessness that would not permit him to sleep—restlessness and
a strange depression that was almost unhappiness, but his thoughts were
not always upon the hunt. Visions of Stellara often walked in front of
him, the golden sunlight on her golden hair, and then beside her he saw
the handsome Doval with an arm about her shoulder. He closed his eyes
and shook his head to dispel the vision, but it persisted and he tried
thinking of Letari, the beautiful maiden from Lar. Yes, Letari was
beautiful. What eyes she had; and she loved him. Perhaps, after all, it
would be as well to mate with her and remain forever upon Amiocap, but
presently he found himself comparing Letari with Stellara and he found
himself wishing that Letari possessed more of the characteristics of
Stellara. She had not the character nor the intelligence of the daughter
of Fedol. She offered him none of the restful companionship that had
made his association with Stellara so infinitely happy.
He wondered if Stellara loved Doval, and if Doval loved Stellara, and
with the thoughts he halted in his tracks and his eyes went wide as a
sudden realization burst for the first time upon his consciousness.
“God!” he exclaimed aloud. “What a fool I have been. I have loved her
always and did not know it,” and wheeling about he set off at a brisk
trot in the direction of Paraht, all thoughts of his hunt erased from
his mind.
Tanar had hunted far, much farther than he had thought, but at last he
came to the village of Fedol the chief. As he passed through the hanging
barrier of Paraht, the first people that he saw were Letari and Doval.
They were walking side by side and very close and the man’s arm was
about the slim shoulders of the girl.
Letari looked at Tanar in astonishment as she recognized him. “We all
thought the Korsars had taken you with them,” she cried.
“Korsars!” exclaimed Tanar. “What Korsars?”
“They were here,” said Doval. “They raided the village, but we drove
them off with just a small loss. There were not many of them. Where were
you?”
“After the feast I went into the forest to hunt,” said Tanar. “I did not
know that there was a Korsar upon the island of Amiocap.”
“It is just as well that you were not here,” said Letari, “for while you
were away I have learned that I love Doval.”
“Where is Stellara?” demanded Tanar.
“She was taken by the Korsars,” said Doval. “Thank God that it was not
you, Letari,” and, stooping, he kissed the girl upon the lips.
With a cry of grief and rage Tanar ran swiftly to the house of Fedol the
chief. “Where is Stellara?” he demanded, springing unceremoniously into
the center of the living room.
An old woman looked up from where she sat with her face buried in her
hands. She was the sole occupant of the room. “The Korsars took her,”
she said.
“Where is Fedol then?” demanded Tanar.
“He has gone with warriors to try to rescue her,” said the old woman,
“but it is useless. They, who are taken by the Korsars, never come
back.”
“Which way did they go?” asked Tanar.
Sobbing with grief, the old woman pointed in the direction taken by the
Korsars, and again she buried her face in her hands, grieving for the
misfortune that had overtaken the house of Fedol the chief.
Almost immediately Tanar picked up the trail of the Korsars, which he
could identify by the imprints of their heeled boots, and he saw that
Fedol and his warriors had not followed the same trail, evidencing the
fact that they must have gone in the wrong direction to succor Stellara
successfully.
Sick with anguish, maddened by hate, the Sarian plunged on through the
forest. Plain to his eyes lay the spoor of his quarry. In his heart was
a rage that gave him the strength of many men.
In a little glade, partially surrounded by limestone cliffs, a small
company of ragged, bewhiskered men had halted to rest. Where they had
halted a tiny spring broke from the base of the cliff and trickled along
its winding channel for a short distance to empty into a natural,
circular opening in the surface of the ground. From deep in the bottom
of this natural well the water falling from the rim could be heard
splashing upon the surface of the water far below. It was dark down
there—dark and mysterious, but the bearded ruffians gave no heed either
to the beauty or the mystery of the spot.
One huge, fierce-visaged fellow, his countenance disfigured by an ugly
scar, confronted a slim girl, who sat upon the turf, her back against a
tree, her face buried in her arms.
“You thought me dead, eh?” he exclaimed. “You thought Bohar the Bloody
dead? Well he is not dead. Our boat weathered the storm and passing
close to Amiocap we saw the wreck of The Cid’s ship lying upon the sand.
Knowing that you and the prisoners had been left aboard when we quit the
ship, I guessed that perhaps you might be somewhere upon Amiocap; nor
was I wrong, Stellara. Bohar the Bloody is seldom wrong.
“We hid close to a village which they call Lar and at the first
opportunity we captured one of the villagers—a woman—and from her we
learned that you had indeed come ashore, but that you were then in the
village of your father and we made the woman guide us there. The rest
you know and now be cheerful for at last you are to mate with Bohar the
Bloody and return to Korsar.”
“Rather than that I shall die,” cried the girl.
“But how?” laughed Bohar. “You have no weapons. Perhaps, however, you
will choke yourself to death,” and he laughed uproariously at his own
joke.
“There is a way,” cried the girl, and before he could guess what she
intended, or stay here, she dodged quickly around him and ran toward the
natural well that lay a few hundred feet away.
“Quick!” shouted Bohar. “Stop her!” And instantly the entire twenty
sprang in pursuit. But Stellara was swift and there was likelihood that
they would not overtake her in the short distance that lay before her
and the edge of the abyss.
Fortune, however, was with Bohar the Bloody that day and almost at her
goal Stellara’s foot caught in a tangle of grasses and she stumbled
forward upon her face. Before she could recover her feet the nearest
Korsar had seized her, and then Bohar the Bloody ran to her side and,
taking her from the grasp of the other Korsar, shook her violently.
“You she tarag!” he cried. “For this I shall fix you so that never again
will you run away. When we reach the sea I shall cut off one of your
feet and then I shall know that you will not run away from me again,”
and he continued to shake her violently.
Breaking suddenly and unexpectedly from the dense jungle into the
opening of the glade a warrior came upon the scene being enacted at the
edge of the well. At the moment he thought that Stellara was being
killed and he went mad with rage; nor was his rage any the less when he
recognized Bohar the Bloody as the author of the assault.
With an angry shout he leaped forward, his heavy spear ready in his
hand. What mattered it that twenty men with firearms opposed him? He saw
only Stellara in the cruel grip of the bestial Bohar.
At the sound of his voice the Korsar looked up and instantly Bohar
recognized the Sarian.
“Look, Stellara,” he said, with a sneer. “Your lover has come. It is
well, for with no lover and only one foot you will have no reason at all
for running away.”
A dozen harquebuses had already been raised in readiness and the men
stood looking toward Bohar.
Tanar had reached the opposite edge of the well, only a few yards
distant, when Bohar nodded and there was a roar of musketry and a flash
of flame accompanied by so dense a pall of black smoke that for an
instant the figure of the Sarian was entirely obliterated from view.
Stellara, wide-eyed and trembling with pain and horror, tried to
penetrate the smoke cloud with her frightened eyes. Quickly it lifted,
revealing no sign of Tanar.
“Well done,” cried Bohar to his men. “Either you blew him all to pieces,
or his body fell into the hole,” and going to the edge of the opening he
looked down, but it was very dark there and he saw nothing. “Wherever he
is, at least he is dead,” said Bohar. “I should like to have crushed his
life out with my own hands, but at least he is dead by my command and
the blow that he struck me is wiped out, as Bohar wipes out the blows of
all his enemies.”
As the Korsars resumed the march toward the ocean, Stellara walked among
them with bent head and moist, unseeing eyes. Often she stumbled and
each time she was jerked roughly to her feet and shaken, at the same
time being admonished in hoarse tones to watch her footing.
By the time they reached the seashore Stellara was sick with a high
fever and she lay in the camp of the Korsars for what may have been a
day or a month, too sick to move, while Bohar and his men felled
timbers, hewed planks and constructed a boat to carry them to the
distant shores of Korsar.
Rushing forward to rescue Stellara from the clutches of Bohar, Tanar’s
mind and eyes had been fixed on nothing but the figure of the girl. He
had not seen the opening in the ground and at the instant that the
Korsars fired their harquebuses he had stepped unwittingly into the
opening and plunged to the water far below.
The fall had not hurt him. It had not even stunned him and when he came
to the surface he saw before him a quiet stream moving gently through an
opening in the limestone wall about him. Beyond the opening was a
luminous cavern and into this Tanar swam, clambering to its rocky floor
the moment that he had found a low place in the bank of the stream.
Looking about him he found himself in a large cavern, the walls of which
shone luminously, so considerable was their content of phosphorus.
There was a great deal of rubbish on the floor of the cave—the bones of
animals and men, broken weapons, bits of hide. It might have been the
dumping ground of some grewsome charnal house.
The Sarian walked back to the opening through which the little stream
had borne him into the grotto, but a careful investigation revealed no
avenue of escape in this direction, although he reentered the stream and
swam into the bottom of the well where he found the walls worn so smooth
by the long continued action of falling water that they gave no
slightest indication of handhold or foothold.
Then slowly he made a circuit of the outer walls of the grotto, but only
where the stream passed out at its far end was there any opening—a rough
archway that rose some six feet above the surface of the underground
stream.
Along one side was a narrow ledge and looking through the opening he saw
a dim corridor leading away into the distance and obscurity.
There being no other way in which to search for freedom Tanar passed
along the narrow ledge beneath the archway to find himself in a tunnel
that followed the windings of the stream.
Only here and there small patches of the rock that formed the walls and
ceiling of the corridor threw out a luminosity that barely relieved the
inky darkness of the place, yet relieve it it did so that at least one
might be sure of his footing, though at points where the corridor
widened its walls were often lost in darkness.
For what distance he followed the tunnel Tanar did not know, but
presently he came to a low and narrow opening through which he could
pass only upon his hands and knees. Beyond there seemed to be a much
lighter chamber and as Tanar came into this, still upon all fours, a
heavy body dropped upon his back from above and then another at each
side of him and he felt cold, clammy claws seizing his arms and legs,
and arms encircled his neck—arms that felt against his flesh like the
arms of a corpse.
He struggled but there were too many for him and in a moment he was
disarmed and his ankles and wrists securely bound with tough thongs of
rawhide. Then he was rolled over on his side and lay looking up into the
horrid faces of Coripies, the Buried People of Amiocap.
The blank faces, the corpse-like skin, the bulging protuberances where
the eyes would have been, the hairless bodies, the claw-like hands
combined to produce such a hideous aspect in the monsters as to make the
stoutest of hearts quail.
And when they spoke! The mumbled mouthing revealing yellow fangs
withered the heart in the breast of the Sarian. Here, indeed, was a
hideous end, for he knew that it was the end, since never in all the
many tales the Amiocapians had told him of the Buried People was there
any record of a human being escaping from their clutches.
Now they were addressing him and presently, in their hollow mewing, he
discerned words. “How did you get into the land of the Coripies?”
demanded one.
“I fell into a hole in the ground,” replied Tanar. “I did not seek to
come here. Take me out and I will reward you.”
“What have you to give the Coripies more than your flesh?” demanded
another.
“Do not think to get out for you never shall,” said a third.
Now two of them lifted him lightly and placed him upon the back of one
of their companions. So easily the creature carried him that Tanar
wondered that he had ever overcome the Coripi that he had met upon the
surface of the ground.
Through long corridors, some very dark and others partially lighted by
outcroppings of phosphorescent rock, the creature bore him. At times
they passed through large grottoes, beautifully wrought in intricate
designs by nature, or climbed long stairways carved in the limestone,
probably by the Coripies themselves, only presently to descend other
stairways and follow winding tunnels that seemed interminable.
But at last the journey ended in a huge cavern, the ceiling of which
rose at least two hundred feet above them. This stupendous grotto was
more brilliantly lighted than any other section of the subterranean
world that Tanar had passed through. Into its limestone walls were cut
pathways that zigzagged back and forth upward toward the ceiling, and
the entire surface of the surrounding walls was pierced by holes several
feet in diameter that appeared to be the mouths of caves.
Squatting about on the floor of the cavern were hundreds of Coripies of
all ages and both sexes.
At one end of the grotto, in a large opening, a few feet above the
floor, squatted a single, large Coripi. His skin was mottled with a
purplish hue that suggested a corpse in which mortification had
progressed to a considerable degree. The protuberances that suggested
huge eyeballs beneath the skin protruded much further and were much
larger than those in any other of the Coripies that Tanar had examined.
The creature was, by far, the most repulsive of all the repulsive horde.
On the floor of the grotto, directly before this creature, were gathered
a number of male Coripies and toward this congregation Tanar’s captors
bore him.
Scarcely had they entered the grotto when it became apparent to Tanar
that these creatures could see, a thing that he had commenced to suspect
shortly after his capture, for now, at sight of him, they commenced to
scream and make strange, whistling sounds, and from the openings of many
of the high flung caves within the walls heads protruded and the
hideous, eyeless faces seemed to be bending eyes upon him.
One cry seemed to rise above all others as he was borne across the
grotto towards the creature sitting in the niche. It was “Flesh! Flesh!”
and it sounded grewsome and horrible in its suggestiveness.
Flesh! Yes, he knew that they ate human flesh and it seemed now that
they were but awaiting a signal to leap upon him and devour him alive,
tearing pieces from him with their heavy claws. But when one did rush
upon him there came a scream from the creature in the niche and the
fellow desisted, even as one of his captors had turned to defend him.
The cavern crossed at last, Tanar was deposited upon his feet in front
of the creature squatting in the niche. Tanar could see the great
eyeballs revolving beneath the pulsing skin of the protuberances and
though he could see no eyes, he knew that he was being examined coldly
and calculatingly.
“Where did you get it?” finally demanded the creature, addressing
Tanar’s captors.
“He tumbled into the Well of Sounding Water,” replied one.
“How do you know?”
“He told us so.”
“Do you believe him?”
“There was no other way in which he could enter the land of the
Coripies,” replied one of the captors.
“Perhaps he was leading a party in to slay us,” said the creature in the
niche. “Go, many of you, and search the corridors and the tunnels about
the Well of Sounding Water.” Then the creature turned to Tanar’s
captors. “Take this and put it with the others; we have not yet enough.”
Tanar was now again placed upon the back of a Coripi, who carried him
across the grotto and up one of the pathways cut into the face of the
limestone wall. Ascending this pathway a short distance the creature
turned into one of the cave openings, and Tanar found himself again in a
narrow, dark, winding tunnel.
The tunnels and corridors through which he had already been conducted
had impressed upon Tanar the great antiquity of this underground
labyrinthine world, since there was every evidence that the majority of
these tunnels had been hewn from the limestone rock or natural
passageways enlarged to accommodate the Coripies, and as these creatures
appeared to have no implements other than their heavy, three-toed claws
the construction of the tunnels must have represented the labor of
countless thousands of individuals over a period of many ages.
Tanar, of course, had only a hazy conception of what we describe as the
measurable aspect of duration. His consideration of the subject
concerned itself with the countless millions of times that these
creatures must have slept and eaten during the course of their
stupendous labors.
But the mind of the captive was also occupied with other matters as the
Coripi bore him through the long tunnel. He thought of the statement of
the creature in the niche, as he had ordered Tanar taken into
confinement, to the effect that there were not yet enough. What did he
mean? Enough of what? Enough prisoners? And when there were enough to
what purpose would they be devoted?
But perhaps, to a far greater extent, his mind was occupied with
thoughts of Stellara; with fears for her safety and with vain regret
that he had been unable to accomplish her rescue.