by Lin Carter
Something was happening down below. Hurok peered around the side of the rock, straining his ears to make out the grunts and mutters of speech.
The huge male whom Gorah had identified as Borga had given commands to one of the other males, who now went up the slope and vanished among the rocks, heading in the direction of the canyon which was the center of the cave community. Hurok guessed that Borga had dispatched the male to warn the Korians of the secret arrival on their shores of an unknown party. While the others remained behind to watch by the boat for the return of the strangers, in order to frustrate their escape from the island, the warrior would alert the community of danger, and would probably return with reinforcements, and even a search party to comb the tumbled rocks for the hiding place of the invaders.
Hurok crouched on his hunkers, and he was stymied. He could neither escape to sea with Gorah, since the boat was under guard, nor hope singlehandedly to fight off all the males of Kor. If he remained in hiding here, the searchers would discover him and he would have to fight. But where else could they go?
He turned, touching Gorah, and led the way off through the rocks. The center of the island was a mass of cliffs, honeycombed with caves and passageways, but the base of those cliffs, fringing the shores, was a maze of broken rocks in which a thousand men could hide.
With Gorah following closely at his heels, Hurok prowled through the winding ways. He did not exactly know where he was going, but it was his intention to find a place where the two of them could hole up until such time as they could return and find the boat unguarded, or steal another.
He rounded a corner, and almost ran full into a giant Neanderthal, who growled, bristled, lifted a stone-bladed spear, and leveled it against Hurok’s hairy breast.
Chapter 12. KAIRADINE KILLS!
The tribes of Thandar and Sothar had moved through the jungles on their way south for many hours. At length they came to a break in the maze of trees, and found a broad and grassy plain before them. Not far to the east, the plain was bordered by a tall, conical mountain, about whose crest a plume of inky smoke floated, obviously an active volcano, of which the Underground World had many to boast.
Garth, by now largely recovered from the dastardly attack of the assassin, Raphad, and Tharn of Thandar, met at the forefront of their people to confer.
“That is the Mountain-That-Smokes,” said Tharn. “Fire Mountain, we call it. By it, we know our route for certain. This country is new to you, I know, my brother; but we know it well, for by that sign and other landmarks, we traced our way into the north in search of the Drugar slavers who carried off my daughter, the gomad Darya, and Fumio, and Jorn, and others.”
“Herein you and your scouts must be our guides,” replied Garth. “For, even as you say, none of the Sotharians have ever ventured into these southerly parts of Zanthodon,” and with those words, the High Chief of Sothar broke off and stiffened. Tharn turned to follow his gaze.
A ways beyond where they stood at the jungle’s edge, the plain turned into a boggy, swamplike morass.
Floating mists hovered above mossy hillocks which thrust above the stagnant, muddy waters, and trees grew sparse and twisted.
Amid the veils of foggy vapor, humped, enormous shapes moved slowly-a dozen, two dozen, thirty of the moving mountains of flesh.
“Grymps!” said Tharn in a terse voice.
And they were indeed grymps, or a species of dinosaur which our science calls triceratops. Armored in tough, almost bulletproof hide, the huge saurians, which resembled rhinoceroses more than anything, but were as big as Mack trucks and must have tipped the scales at ten tons each, were among the most fearsome and dangerous and virtually unkillable of the predators of Zanthodon.
“Have they sensed our presence?” asked Garth in low tones.
“I am not sure,” answered Tharn. “But one thing is certain: until the herd has moved on, we dare not challenge them by crossing the open place … .”
Even as they conversed, one huge bull, obviously on guard, sniffed the odor of man-flesh on the humid air. He raised his great beaked snout, armed with the thick, heavy horn, and bellowed a warning. The cows and the young squealed and gathered into a group, while other males trotted out to join the sentry, the earth trembling under their ponderous tread.
Behind the two chiefs, the hundreds of warriors had left the jungles and stood on the exposed plain near the edge of the swamp. The bulls trotted back and forth, tasting the air and raising their snouts to roar their challenge noisily. Their small eyes were too weak to clearly discern the humans, but their noses were keen enough to make up for the lack of eyesight.
There were very many men near, they sensed. And, in their experience, the presence of so many warriors meant that they were hunting. And it was the first duty of the bulls to defend the herd, which was largely made up of females and their young, against such a band of hunters.
“We are in for it, I fear,” grunted Garth somberly. “Before we can get our people back into the relative safety of the jungle, they will charge.”
“I fear that you are right, my brother,” growled Tharn. And even as he spoke, the first bull burst into a thunderous charge. Head lowered, massive nose-horn pointed in their direction, the huge reptile hurtled toward them at startling speed, followed by six or seven more of the younger, feistier bulls.
Tharn grasped his spear and leveled it, but even as he did so he knew the gesture was a futile one, because you cannot kill or even wound grymps with a spear, and the monster, huge as a moving hill of armored flesh, would be upon them before they could turn to flee.
They did, after all, feast on fish, although Zarys was the one who caught most of them, for the saber-thrusts of Kairadine Redbeard proved largely ineffective. But he scooped a hole in the sand, packed it with dry driftwood and grasses, touched it to fire with the flint-and-steel in his pouch, and on the glowing coals that resulted, they roasted the succulent finny feast and dined heartily. Not long thereafter, weary from the day’s exertions, they sought their rest.
The place they found themselves in was a cozy nest, backed by a tall stand of Jurassic conifers, with thick bushes to afford shelter against the warm, drenching rains, and watered by a small stream of fresh water which came meandering across the plain, to empty at length into the Sogar-Jad.
As usual, they slept well apart, each curled up beneath their own bush, and Kairadine kept his sword close to hand, lest they be surprised in the sleeping-period by one of the predators that roamed this world. His ankle was less painful by now, for immersion in the warm waters of the sea had helped soothe the bruised and aching muscles, and the Barbary prince had stayed off the injured limb for hours.
After an hour or two of slumber, the quiet was suddenly riven asunder by a thunderous, shrieking cry.
Kairadine snapped wide awake and sprang to his feet, ignoring the pain that stabbed through his ankle.
He snatched up his saber and stared about him.
Through the bushes came a fearsome sight. It was the size of a small automobile, and covered with shaggy long fur of reddish tint. Its huge, heavy head, was crowned with an immense spread of horns, like those of some super-bull. Which is precisely what it was-an aurochs, a prehistoric ancestor of the buffalo and the bison.
Sighting the man, it lowered its head, tore at the turf with one hoofed foot, then, gathering its strength, hunching its heavy shoulders, it burst into a thunderous charge and came down upon the lone man like an avalanche of living flesh.
Kairadine Redbeard sprang out into the open, so as to divert the charging beast from the place where the young woman crouched in fear beneath her bush. The huge aurochs swerved, to charge down upon him.
For a long, breathless moment, the Pirate Prince stood as if taunting the enraged bull with his presence, waiting to make certain that the beast’s charge was wide of the place where the woman was sheltered.
And, as the great aurochs hurtled upon him, Zarys of Zar clenched bot
h hands against her bosom, as if to still the tumult of her beating heart. Never had she seen such desperate courage, such rash foolhardiness, as the man she had humbled and humiliated, mocked and laughed at, risked life and limb to draw the charging aurochs from her.
At the last possible moment, the swarthy buccaneer sprang to one side-but not quite soon enough, for the sharp tip of one of the huge horns raked his forearm, ripping the flimsy material of his blouse. Blood spurted crimson in the daylight and Zarys flinched to see it.
Kairadine stumbled, thrown off-balance by the impact of the blow, but; swift as a striking cobra, he thrust out his sword. Like a bull fighter in one of the arenas of Spain, he sank his blade to the hilt between the eyes of the giant aurochs, transfixing its brain.
It was a lucky stroke, a chance stroke, but he struck true and good. The bull hurtled past where Kairadine stood staggering. It tore the blade from his grip as it thundered on. Then it halted, stumbled, fell to its knees, rolled over on one side, kicked feebly a time or two, coughed a gout of scarlet blood.
And died.
In the aching silence that followed this noisy, tumultuous scene, the Zarian woman released the breath she had been holding in a long sigh of tremulous relief. She was pale as milk; now, under the stare of his dark eyes, she flushed crimson like a faint-hearted virgin.
No words were spoken.
And then the Barbary Pirate limped over to the enormous corpse and slowly and laboriously drew his sword from its skull. He felt numb all over, and shaken, but a feeling of masculine triumph welled up within him. He turned to the woman, who by now had risen to her feet and who stood staring at him wide-eyed. In truth, his feat seemed almost miraculous, for the prehistoric buffalo weighed tons and the blade of Kairadine Redbeard was no more than a slender saber, easily snapped in twain.
Their eyes locked.
He limped toward her, the blood-soaked sword dangling from his hand. They exchanged no words. He thrust the sword in the grassy turf, bent, caught her by the shoulders and flung her prone on the ground.
Then he bestraddled her, and with strong hands ripped asunder the flimsy garment she wore. Her naked breasts thrust free of their imprisonment, and her slim legs parted as he ripped and tore the cloth.
He clasped her roughly in his arms, hot lips searing her face and bosom with fiery impetuous kisses, as he claimed her, as he took her. Nor did Zarys struggle, but lay limp and unresisting in the grasp of his powerful arms, while emotions hitherto unknown raged through her heart and shook her to the roots of her soul.
Zarys had known many men, as Empress and as woman. She had taken love hungrily and given herself casually, despising the soft, effete courtiers who had shared her life for an hour, a night, a week. But never had she known a man like unto the Redbeard: fierce, passionate, ungentle, even brutal in his lovemaking, a man who took rather than gave, a man whose tireless virility left her drained, shaken, exhausted, yet more deeply and richly fulfilled and satisfied than had any other man before him.
They rested naked in each other’s arms, panting, dewed with sweat, breathing heavily. Drowsily, he drew her to him and she flowed against him unresistingly, letting him drink slow, deep kisses from her luscious mouth.
He fell asleep with his head pillowed on her flawless breasts. But Zarys lay awake a long time, holding her man, stroking tenderly with the tips of her fingers the hair that drew at his temples, staring dreamily up at the sky, and thinking her own secret thoughts.
After a time, she, too, slept. And dreamed restful, happy dreams ….
Chapter 13. WHEN THE WORLD SHOOK
When Hurok and Gorah turned the corner and came so unexpectedly upon the Apeman, Hurok growled and bristled, hefting his heavy stone axe as the Neanderthal thrust his spear toward his breast. Without difficulty, Hurok batted the spear aside and swung his weapon to crunch into the hairy side of his adversary.
Blood spurted; ribs snapped. With a surprised grunt the huge male went down, but there were three more in single file behind him. As Hurok sprang to engage the second, Gorah saw the third male lift a heavy rock and swing it high to bash her mate’s brains out.
She dodged, snatched up the spear the first Apeman had let fall, and drove it into the throat of the male who held high the heavy stone. He went down with a crash, and the fourth turned and fled hastily, believing the two to be only the advance guard of a larger number, since they fought with such ferocity and recklessness.
By this time, Hurok’s mighty axe had cloven in the skull of his second foe, and the brief but furious battle was over and done. Hurok growled and bristled, gazing around for more males to kill. Seeing none, he turned to inquire after Gorah and to see if she had been injured in the tussle. To his surprise and gratification, he saw her plant her heel against the breast of the male she had slain, in order to pull free the spear she had picked up.
“Gorah is not hurt,” she replied breathlessly, in answer to her mate’s question.
“Hurok is proud of Gorah, that she fought by his side and did not flee in fright as many females would have done,” grunted the Apeman. “And he is proud of Gorah, that she has killed in the defense of her mate.”
They embraced briefly. Then, adding to their store of weapons from those that had belonged to the slain, they continued to make their way through the jumble of fallen rocks and massive boulders. Although Hurok was alert and wary to the possibility, they did not encounter any further opposition. Erelong, they found themselves in a part of the island which Hurok vaguely remembered from days gone by, when he had been a chieftain of the cave kingdom.
He peered, blinking nearsightedly, down at the scene. It was a sloping beach of hard gray sand strewn with rocks, washed by the shallow tides of the Sogar-Jad. Nudging Gorah, who crouched at his side, he inquired in guttural tones:
“Is this not the place-of-boats? Hurok seems to recall it from former memory.”
The female indicated that it was. This, then, was the place where the Korians had launched their brief, ill-timed, disastrous attempt at an invasion of the mainland, which attempt had ended so gruesomely under the thundering feet of the stampeding thantors. Few, if any, of the Apemen had returned to Kor alive and unharmed from that fiasco, in which Uruk, High Chief of Kor, had himself fallen. But there might still be a few dugouts on the shore. Hurok discussed this with Gorah, and she reluctantly agreed it was worth a try.
“If Hurok and Gorah can find a dugout here, and not have to return to where Hurok left his own craft, then they can evade the neccessity of doing battle with those who guard Hurok’s boat farther down the shoreline,” he grunted.
With great care, he prowled through the rocks, seeing no sign of any guards posted here to protect the dugouts-for, after all, why would any be needed to guard them?
In the mouth of a low cave, high up the slant of shore, he indeed found to his delighted satisfaction a number of dugouts drawn under cover to protect them from the elements. Summoning his mate to his side with a low call, Hurok dragged the best of the dugout canoes down to the waterline; held it steady while Gorah clambered in, shoved off, and dragged himself in beside her.
Both plied the crude oars, maneuvering the clumsy boat into the current.
Before long they saw, with relief, the craggy silhouette of the island fade in the misty haze behind them, and naught but the open waters of the sea before their prow.
Even encumbered by their prisoners, Niema the Aziru and her young friends, Jorn the Hunter and Yualla of Sothar, made good time crossing the plain. Once they were within the jungles, of course, their pace was slowed by many obstructions. With the magnificent black woman taking the lead, they moved through the dense thickets of underbrush, wove a path between the boles of mighty trees, and found at length a jungle aisle that seemed to lead in the direction they wished.
Here and there, they found the unmistakable tracks of the tribes all going in the same direction. Niema probably did not intend to accompany her young charges all
the way to a meeting with the Thandarians and the Sotharians, but to see them far enough along their journey so as to be assured of their safety. In her heart, the amazon desired to meet at last the young warrior, Zuma, whom she knew to be still searching for her. But she had developed a fondness for the Cro-Magnon youngsters, being a warmhearted and impulsive young woman, and knew that, for the moment, they needed her more than Zuma did. For the two youngsters to have kept watch over the wily Xask and woeful little Murg would have been flirting with danger, and the Aziru woman firmly resolved to see them safely along their journey.
They could travel no faster, however, than little Murg would travel, and the limbs of Murg were thin and crooked and easily wearied. He was forever tripping over roots, falling down, or becoming entangled in vines or thorn bushes. He got out of breath as often as he got a thorn in his foot or a pebble in his sandal, and that was quite often.
Niema quickly became exasperated with the whimpering, wheezing, limping, complaining little fellow.
She longed to take him behind a tree and put her long knife into him, if only to put him out of his misery. Jorn, of course, was too squeamish to permit her this liberty, if only because he intended to bring Murg before Garth of Sothar for judgment for his crime in attempting to ravish Yualla while she slept, if for nothing else.
Privately, Niema thought that Jorn was a bit too noble of heart for his own good, but she kept this opinion to herself. And smiled understandingly, whenever he said something of this nature, to see the adoring expression in the melting gaze Yualla turned upon her young gallant.
Niema was all woman, and understood the hearts of her sisters under the skin. Still, she thought Murg an unneccessary burden and wished something would come along to eat him up.