by J. H. Rosny
After the sabre-tooth’s victory Aoun and Zouhr put fresh branches on the fire. Then Aoun lay down, guarded by his companion. The peril was past, that circle of hungry jaws which had threatened the two men, were now pressing round the rhinoceros. Zouhr could see the stars, which a little while ago touched the crests of the ebony trees, sinking towards the river. More timorous than Aoun, he felt himself strangely enveloped by the unknown, in that new land, where a wild beast hardly larger than a leopard destroyed huge pachyderms. . . .
The conqueror took a long time devouring his prey.
Either through caprice, or because he liked it, or in pursuance of an inherited habit, he tore away the skin in every direction, only remaining for a moment at each place. The more feeble animals, the jackals and the civet cats, slipped into the places he had left without interference from the victor, but he growled when the dholes, the wolves and above all the hyenas pressed too closely upon him.
The moon, which was in its last quarter, was rising on the opposite side of the river when the sabre-tooth left his prey. Then the wolves, the dholes and the hyenas threw themselves frantically upon it. It seemed as if they would exterminate each other: there were only a few inches between their tusks, and an immense chorus of howls went up to the stars. . . . But a truce was made in the very heart of the tumult; the wolves took possession of the shoulders and chest, the hyenas tore at the vitals, the dholes flung themselves on the back and the hindquarters. The jackals and civet cats knew their place and got away.
For a moment the sabre-tooth turned his head towards the swarming mass of jaws. The blood was dripping from his lips, which he licked unconcernedly; his jaws were heavy with the effort of devouring, his eyelids half closed. He awoke with a start, and made a few steps towards the fire and towards that human being who irritated his instincts; then, confident in his own unvanquished strength, he laid himself down on the savannah and went to sleep.
Zouhr observed him with suspicion. He considered whether he ought not to take advantage of the beast’s slumbers to make his escape, but thinking that no doubt the animal would sleep for a long time he did not arouse Aoun. The moon grew smaller as she rose above the hills, making the starlight seem pale. The mass of rhinoceros flesh grew smaller among the swarming mouths; the dawn was near when the son of the Men-without-Shoulders touched Aoun’s chest:
“There is no more wood,” he said as his companion sat upright . . . “the fire is low . . . the red beast is asleep. Aoun and Zouhr must leave this place.”
The tall Oulhamr considered the scene. He saw the motionless sabre-tooth lying two hundred ells off their encampment. A sudden hate seized him. He again saw the brute roaring before the flames, he saw the cruel teeth plunged into the skin of the colossal herbivore: the whole race of man and of those by whom he lives was threatened by that unfamiliar form.
“Could not Aoun kill the beast in its sleep?” he asked.
“It will awaken,” replied the other, “it would be better to pass to the other side of the rock.”
The son of Urus hesitated. The force which urged him to fight was one of the primary instincts of his species. Neither Faouhm nor Naoh would have suffered a wild beast of that size to dog his steps in order to devour him.
"Naoh killed the tigress and the grey wolf,” said the Oulhamr sombrely.
"The tigress and the grey wolf would have fled before the rhinoceros.”
That reply appeased the warrior. He gathered together his harpoon and bow and spears, and took his club in his hand. After a last look at the beast they cleared the ridge and descended from the rock. They were dejected, having slept badly, and they thought of their horde on the other side of the mountains.
Day was about to break, the sunrise was pale, and the carnivorous voices were silent on the river bank; the leaves and flowers seemed more motionless than usual. . . .
A hoarse sound broke the stillness. Aoun and Zouhr turned round and beheld the sabre-tooth. Some trifling movement, or simply the two men’s departure, had awakened him; instinct caused him to follow the two creatures who had surprised his confused mentality.
"Aoun should have fought the red beast when it was asleep!” said the Oulhamr, freeing his harpoon.
A feeling of sharp regret stabbed at his heart. The Wah hung his head, feeling that his prudence had been ill-timed, and he looked humbly at Aoun. But Aoun bore no malice; his great chest swelled at the thought of the combat, and Zouhr was like a part of himself. First they stood shoulder to shoulder, combining their strength. Aoun shouted his war-cry.
“The son of Urus and Zouhr will spear the red beast and crush its bones!”
The sabre-tooth did not hurry himself. When the human beings stopped, he stopped too; he watched them make ready their bows and javelins and stretch out their limbs in a curious manner. As before, their articulated shouts surprised him: he began to move along a parallel track which did not bring him nearer to them.
"The red animal is afraid of man," shrieked Aoun, and he brandished his harpoon and club together.
A prolonged roar answered him, the sabre-tooth made two colossal bounds. Before he could spring for the third time Aoun and Zouhr’s bows had come into action. Struck by arrows in the neck and in the body the wild beast threw himself upon the men in a frenzy. The son of Urus threw a harpoon which lodged in his ribs, Zouhr’s weapon flayed his hard skull. . . . The beast was upon them.
In one bound it threw Zouhr to the ground and sunk its fangs in his chest. Aoun attacked it with his club. The oaken bludgeon struck horizontally and only met thin air; the sabre-tooth had drawn back. . . . The Oulhamr and the beast stood face to face. He avoided the first attack by a leap to one side, he repulsed the second by a whirl of his club which grazed the brute’s shoulder. An irresistible mass threw him to the ground and itself fell headlong, overthrown by its own impetus. The man found himself kneeling on one knee at the moment when the sabre-tooth came back to the charge. The fainting Zouhr flung his axe, while Aoun brought down his club with both hands. It resounded on the massive head, and the wild beast began to turn round and round as if he had become blind. A second blow paralyzed his neck. Then Aoun shattered his ribs, broke his legs, and crushed his jaws. The muscles continued to quiver for a long time, and the heart, which had been laid bare, continued to beat; it required two thrusts with a spear to finish its agony, and Zouhr sighed in a hoarse and feeble voice,
‘‘Aoun has killed the red beast. . . . Aoun is stronger than Faouhm. . . . Aoun is as strong as Naoh, who won the secret of fire in the country of the Devourers-of-Men!”
The Oulhamr was intoxicated by his companion’s words, pride dilated his nostrils, the sadness which had made his bones so heavy when he fled in the night had left him; his whole being was triumphantly elated by adventure, and turning towards the purple dawn he felt a passionate love for the unknown land that lay before him. Zouhr continued to stammer "The son of Urus will be a chief among men!”
Then he uttered a cry, his face became the colour of clay and he fainted. Aoun, seeing the blood flowing from the breast of the wounded man, was as concerned as if it had been his own, and the still face terrified him. The time they had lived together rose up before him in chaotic scenes. He saw again the sylvan solitudes, the brushwood, the marshes and the rivers, where their energies had joined, where each was for the other a living weapon. But Aoun gathered together laves and herbs, crushed them with stones, and applied them to the wounds of his companion, and Zouhr opened his eyes. At first he was surprised to find himself lying there, then his eyes sought for the fire, then he remembered and repeated the words which had preceded his fainting fit, “Aoun will be a chief among men!”
Becoming conscious of his feebleness he wailed, “The red beast has pierced Zouhr’s chest. . .”
Aoun continued to dress his wounds while the sun rose in its grandeur beyond the river. The wild beasts of the night had disappeared. Some entellus monkeys were making the branches move; the white-headed crows were hovering over
the carcase of the rhinoceros, two vultures soared in the breeze, and the herbivores rose up in their masses. The hour of peril had passed for Wah and the Oulhamr; the great destroyers slept in their dens or in the jungle.
But the day itself is an enemy when the light is too strong and the earth is roasted with heat. Zouhr must be carried into the shade. Like all the Oulhamrs, Aoun had an instinct for caverns. He scrutinized the landscape in the hope of discovering some rocks, but he could only see steppes and brushwood, a few palm groves, the clumps of banyan trees and clusters of ebony or bamboo.
Then, having secured the leaves and herbs on his companion’s chest, he took him on his back and started to walk. The journey was a hard one, because he had also to carry the weapons, but Aoun had inherited the strength of Faouhm, Naoh, and the Hairy Men. He walked for a long time, obstinately fighting his fatigue. Frequently he laid Zouhr down in the shade and without losing sight of him mounted a knoll or a boulder and surveyed the landscape.
The morning was passing, the heat became intolerable, and still no line of rocks revealed itself to him.
"Zouhr is thirsty,” said the Man-without-Shoulders, who was shivering with fever.
The son of Urus directed his steps towards the river. At this sweltering time of day, only a few crocodiles were to be seen spreading their scaly bodies on an island, or some hippopotami would appear for a moment above the surface of the yellow water.
The river rolled on into the far distance. Its fertile waters had given birth to age-old forests, perennial grasses, and animals without number. Father of life, it had life’s untiring energy; it hurried forward its hordes of waves over rapids and cataracts.
Aoun fetched some water in the hollow of his hands and gave the wounded man drink. He asked anxiously, "Does Zouhr suffer?”
"Zouhr is very weak! Zouhr would like to sleep.”
Aoun’s muscular hand was laid lightly on his companion’s head, “Aoun will make a shelter” he said.
The Oulhamrs knew how to protect themselves in the forest by an arrangement of interlacing branches. Aoun set himself to look for creepers, which he cut with his hatchet, and having chosen three palm trees which grew on a little eminence, he cut notches in their stems and interlaced the flexible stalks from one trunk to the other. This formed a triangular enclosure, the lattice-work sides of which offered a supple but solid resistance. The son of Urus worked hard, and the shadows had grown long on the river before he took any rest. It was necessary that the shelter should be covered with creepers sufficiently strong to resist the weight of a wild beast until his stomach should be slit or his heart pierced by the point of a spear.
Zouhr’s fever continued to run high; green lights traversed his pupils; he dozed at intervals and woke up with a start, muttering incoherent words. Still he watched Aoun’s work attentively, and gave him advice, for the Men-without-Shoulders were more ingenious constructors than the Oulhamrs or than any other men.
Before resuming his work Aoun ate some of the meat which laid been roasted the previous day. Then he collected some thick creepers which made a roof for the refuge, and prepared two great branches which were intended to close the opening.
The sun was approaching the crest of the highest ebony trees when the men took refuge in their hut. It dominated the surrounding country. The river could be distinctly seen through the lattice work, three hundred ells away.
It was the hour of Life. The monstrous hippopotami came up from their submerged pastures and clambered on to the islands. A long troop of wild cattle were drinking on the other bank. A file of Gangetic dolphins, with pointed snouts, could be seen parting the water. A crocodile with two crests appeared out of the rushes and shut his jaws on the slim neck of a chikara. The graceful creature struggled with death in the fearsome jaws, which gradually decapitated it. Rhesus monkeys were distractedly agitating their miniature human bodies among the branches, while pheasants of emerald, sapphire and golden hues alighted among the rushes, and a snowy flight of egrets fluttered on the flowered islands. At times, seized with panic, a horde of hylghau or axis would pass, fleeing before a pack of dholes or a couple of cheetahs. Then some horses appeared, wild-eyed, anxious and tumultuous creatures, whose prudence kept all their muscles tense. They came on with sudden prancings which swayed the whole troop, pricking their nervous ears—terrified at every noise. A string of gayals gravely skirted a little forest of bamboos.
Suddenly a loud roar was heard and five lions bounded towards the river. Solitude resulted. The broad-chested beasts caused the herbivores to vanish into space. Only the crocodile who had torn off its victim’s head had not fled. It was impossible to say whether it scented danger. Its body, covered with thick scales, measured twelve ells; it was as broad as a log, and its glassy eyes and stupid head seemed an uncouth mixture of animal and mineral. A confused instinct, however, impelled its huge jaws towards the new-comers. It hesitated—then, seizing its prey by the middle of the body with its long rows of teeth, it plunged among the lotuses.
Two of the lions had manes. They were thickset males, whose heads were like blocks of shale, and though heavy in repose they could bound twenty ells at a time when hunting. The lionesses were not so tall, but they were longer and more lithe, and appeared to be more cunning. All of them had large yellow eyes, which looked straight before them like the eyes of man.
They watched the stampede of the magnificent flocks from afar, and filled with disappointment halted to growl and roar. The sound of the male lions’ tremendous voice travelled over the surface of the river and made even the dolphins tremble. Panic was rife amongst the palm groves, the rushes and the banyan trees; it reached to the little landing bays, the promontories, and onward to the confluence of the stream and the river. The monkeys chattered frenziedly among the branches.
When the carnivores had given vent to their anger they continued their way. The males sniffed the faint breeze, the more nervous lionesses stretched their muzzles towards the earth. One of them winded the men. She advanced crouching towards the hut, half hidden by the high grasses; the other two females followed her while the male lions waited.
Aoun watched the brutes come towards him. Each of them had five times the strength of a man; their claws were sharper than arrow heads, and their teeth were more efficacious than harpoons. He realized his weakness and the horror of being alone, and he regretted having left the country where his kind had numerical strength in their favour.
Zouhr lifted up his head; in his wounded breast fear mingled with pain and regret that he was unable to fight.
The first lioness was now close to them. She could not get a good view of the singular animals sheltered by the creepers, so she circled warily round the enclosure. Now that she was so close to him the son of Urus was no longer afraid; the blood of the warriors who knew how to die under fierce claws without ceasing to fight, coursed tumultuously through his veins; his eyes glowed as fiercely as the lioness’, and brandishing an axe, he shouted from his deep chest the defiance of the human, “Aoun will scatter abroad the lions' vitals!”
But Zouhr said to him, ‘‘Let the son of Urus he prudent! Lions do not fear death when once their blood is up. You must smite him on the nostrils while you shout your war-cry!”
Aoun realized the Wah’s wisdom; it was greater even than that of Goun of the Dry Bones. Craft veiled the light in his -eyes.
Motionless now, the lioness tried to see the being distinctly from which that menacing voice proceeded. First one of the lions roared, then the other: Aoun responded mightily; all five brutes were now in front of the creeper covered arbour. They were aware of the superiority of their strength and of their numbers, and yet they delayed the attack because their prey defied them and remained hidden.
It was the youngest lioness who attempted to force her way through. She came quite close, sniffed and gave a blow with her claws. The creeper yielded but did not break, while the blunt end of a harpoon struck hard against her nostrils: she leapt back with a mew of rage and
pain, her companions surveying her with anxious surprise. There was a pause. The five motionless lions seemed no longer to be thinking of the men. Then one of the males snarled, and with a terrific bound the tawny mass landed on the creeper roof, which sagged.
Aoun had stooped down. He waited till he could reach the beast’s muzzle; then he succeeded in inflicting three blows on its nostrils. Mad with pain the animal rolled about as if it were blinded and finally fell back to the ground and crawled away.
The son of Urus threatened, “If another lion bounds on to the men’s heads Aoun will tear out his eyes.”
But the lions remained pensive. Those who had not attacked retreated like the others. The hidden human beings appeared more enigmatical to them than ever, and altogether terrible. Neither in their way of fighting nor in their voices did they in the least resemble the prey which the lions were accustomed to attack in their ambushes or at the drinking places. The blows which they dealt were strangely intolerable.
The Hons were afraid to approach the hut, but tenacious rancour kept them on the watch. Couched among the tall grasses or under the arches of a banyan tree, they waited with their peculiar nonchalant and terrible patience. From time to time one or other of them would go down to the river to drink, and the herbivores were already reappearing in the distance.
Birds teemed. The pale bodies and black heads of the ibis could be seen outlined against the hollow of the bays, the marabous danced ridiculously on the islands, the cormorants made sudden dives, a flotilla of teal passed furtively, cranes flew noisily over a band of white-headed crows, while the parrots hidden among the palm trees made a deafening clamour. . . .
Slowly an ever increasing sound arose in the west. One of the Hons bent his head to listen to it, then a Honess sat up quivering. They all growled; the thunderous roar of the males seemed to tear the air.
Aoun listened in his turn; he thought he heard the tramp of a herd, but his attention always came back to the carnivora. Their excitement increased, they assembled by the hut and began to attack it all together. Aoun’s voice stopped them; those who had been struck on the nostrils drew back; a reverberation rose up from the depths of the earth.