Escape on Venus v-4

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  "You would have killed me," Vik-yor managed to say at last; "you would have let me get out way up here."

  "Give me the antidote and my pistol, and I'll take you down and let you get out," offered Duare.

  The creature looked over the side again; this time for much longer. "We do not fall," it said. Finding that the anotar remained aloft, it slowly regained a little composure, if not courage.

  "Well," said Duare, "if you want to go down and get out, give me the vial and the pistol,"

  "You'll take me down, and I'll keep them both," said Vikyor.

  "What makes you think so?" demanded Duare.

  "This," said Vik-yor, shoving the pistol against the girl's side; "take me down, or I'll kill you!"

  Duare laughed at him. "And then what would happen to you?" she demanded. "Do you think this anotar flies itself? If I left these controls for a minute, the ship would dive nose first to the ground so fast that it would bury itself and you."

  "You are lying," said Vik-yor. "It would come down by itself."

  "That's just what I told you—it would come down by itself all right, but there would be nothing left of the anotar or us. Don't you believe me?"

  "No; you are lying."

  "All right; I'll show you;" and with that, Duare put the ship into a spin.

  Above the roar of the wind, rose the shrieks of Vik-yor. Duare levelled off at five hundred feet. "Now, do you think I was lying?" she asked. Her voice was firm and level, betraying no slightest indication of the terror that had gripped her for the last two thousand feet of that long dive. Only twice before had she brought the anotar out of a spin, and then Carson had been beside her at the other controls. This time, up to the last moment, she had thought that she was not going to bring it out.

  "Don't ever do that again!" wailed Vik-yor. "We might have been killed."

  "Will you give me the vial and the pistol now?" asked Duare.

  "No," replied Vik-yor.

  Chapter XXXVIII

  BY THE TIME morning came, and Vik-yor could look down and see the world passing slowly beneath them, it had lost much of its fear of the strange situation in which it found itself. It now had almost complete confidence in Duare's ability to keep the thing up in the air, and with returning confidence it commenced to think of other things than the hazards of flying.

  "You kept pressing your lips to his hands," it said. "Why did you do that?"

  Duare's thoughts were far away. "Eh?" she said. "Oh, because I love him."

  "What is love?" asked Vik-yor.

  "You would not understand; it cannot be explained to one who cannot know love. It is what one feels for one's mate."

  "Did he like to have you press your lips to his hand?"

  "I am sure he did; I certainly hope so."

  Vik-yor held out a hand. "Do it to me," it directed.

  Duare struck the hand away, and shuddered. "You disgust me," she said.

  "You belong to me," said Vik-yor. "You are going to teach me what love is."

  "Don't talk about love to me," snapped Duare; "you defile the very name."

  "Why don't you like me?" asked Vik-yor.

  "It is not alone because you are not a human being," replied the girl; "I have liked many of the lower animals. It is because you are cruel and cowardly; because you made me come away and leave my mate in that horrible place; because you haven't one of the finer characteristics of a man; because you are not a man. Have I answered your question?"

  Vik-yor shrugged. "Well," it said, "it doesn't make much difference whether you like me or not. The thing is that I like you; what you like or don't like affects you, not me. Of course, if you liked me, it might be much more pleasant. Anyway, you belong to me. I can look at you; I can touch you. As long as I live you will be always with me. I never liked anyone before. I didn't know that there was such a thing as liking another creature. We Vooyorgans don't like anyone; nor do we dislike anyone. A person is with us today and gone tomorrow—it makes no difference to us. Before I commenced to change, I used to divide like the others. Even after being with one of my halves for years, I never missed it after we divided; nor did I ever have any feeling whatever for the new half that grew. Once I was half of Vik-vik-vik, the jong; I was the left half. It is the right half that retains the name and identity. I have always been a left half until now; now I am a whole; I am like you and Carson and Ero Shan—I am a man! After studying the ways of other forms of life, some of the wise ones among us think that our right halves are analogous to the females of the other species, and the left halves to the males; so, you see, I have always been a male."

  "I am not interested," said Duare.

  "But I am," said Vik-yor. "It makes no difference whether you are interested or not, if I am. I like to talk about myself."

  "I can almost believe that you are a man," said Duare.

  Vik-yor was silent for some time. It was occupied by gazing at this new world over which it was flying like a bird. Duare was trying to plan some way of getting hold of the vial and the pistol; her whole life, now, revolved about that one desire.

  "I am hungry," said Vik-yor.

  "So am I," agreed Duare, "but I don't dare land unless I have my pistol; we might be attacked."

  "I can kill things with it," said Vik-yor. "Didn't you see me last night? I must have killed fifty."

  "Firing into a crowd of hundreds is not the same as firing at a charging basto," said Duare; "where there were so many, you couldn't miss them all."

  "Perhaps not," said Vik-yor, "but I shall keep the pistol. If you had it, you would kill me. What are you doing?" Duare was spiralling down above a large lake. "Look out!" cried Vik-yor. "We shall be drowned, if you go into the water."

  "All right," said Duare; "it is better to drown than starve to death. Will you give me the pistol?"

  "No," said Vik-yor; "I would rather drown." As a matter of fact, it had suddenly concluded that this was just another attempt of the woman to frighten it into giving up the pistol. Vik-yor was far from being a fool. However, it was thoroughly shaken when Duare failed to bring the anotar up and it settled upon the surface of the lake; for Vik-yor could not swim.

  Duare took a drinking vessel from one of the compartments; and, going out upon the wing, dipped up some water. She took a long, satisfying drink; then she lay down on the wing and washed her hands and face. "Give me some water," said Vik-yor, when she arose.

  Duare dumped the remaining water from the vessel, and came back into the cockpit.

  "Didn't you hear me?" demanded Vik-yor. "I told you to give me some water."

  "I heard you," said Duare, starting the engine.

  "Well, go and get me some," ordered the Vooyorgan.

  "When you give me my pistol," said Duare, taxiing for a take off.

  "I will not give you the pistol," said Vik-yor.

  "All right," said Duare, as she swept down the lake for the take off. "That was very good water, and we may not find fresh water again for days."

  Vik-yor said nothing, but it was doing a lot of thinking; maybe having a woman was not such a good thing after all; if it could learn to fly this thing, it could kill the woman and—well, what? That stumped Vik-yor. It couldn't go back to Voo-ad after what it had done, for Vik-vik-vik would surely have it killed; it couldn't live in this savage world full of terrible beasts and men.

  Vik-yor was not the first to get hold of something and not be able to let go—the Vooyorgan was certainly in a fix; possibly as bad a fix as any amoeba had been in since the dawn of life on Amtor.

  Duare continued to fly south, as she couldn't carry out the plan she had in mind until she recovered the r-ray pistol. In the meantime she might find Sanara, in which event she would be among friends who would take the pistol away from Vik-yor. Presently there loomed ahead an obstacle that barred further flight toward the south—a forest that induced within her a little surge of nostalgia. Only in her native Vepaja had she ever seen another such forest. The tops of its trees were lost in the inner
cloud envelope five thousand feet above the ground; the enormous boles of some of its giants were a thousand feet in diameter. In Vepaja the homes of her people were carved in living trees a thousand feet above the floor of the forest. One could not fly above such a forest, and threading one's way through its mazes was hazardous in the extreme. Carson might have ventured it, were it necessary; but not Duare. She turned toward the east, seeking a way around it.

  She was becoming very hungry, but these mighty forests bore their fruits too high. The forest extended for perhaps a hundred miles, ending at the foot of a mountain range which presented an equally insurmountable obstacle to further southward flight, as its towering peaks were lost in the eternal clouds. Down its canyons roared mountain torrents, fed by the perpetual rains that fell upon its upper slopes. The torrents joined to form rivers which cut the alluvial plain that stretched eastward as far as the eye could reach, and these rivers united to swell a mighty waterway that rolled on toward the horizon and some distant, nameless sea.

  Nowhere in all this vast and lonely wilderness had Duare seen a sign of human habitation; but there were grazing herds and prowling carnivores, and forests of small trees where edible fruits and nuts might be expected to abound.

  It might be all right to try to starve Vik-yor into submission, thought Duare, did that not also presuppose her own starvation; so the Vooyorgan won a moral victory, and Duare searched for a safe landing place near a forest. A herd of grazing herbivores galloped away as she dropped down and circled to reconnoiter before landing. Seeing no sign of dangerous beast, Duare brought the ship down close to the forest.

  "What are you going to do?" demanded Vik-yor.

  "Find something to eat," replied Duare.

  "Bring me something, too," ordered the Vooyorgan.

  "If you eat," said Duare, "you will get it yourself."

  "I do not wish to go into the forest; some dangerous beast might attack me."

  "Then you'll go hungry."

  "I am starving," said Vik-yor.

  Duare climbed from the cockpit and dropped to the ground. She would have felt safer had she had the pistol, but she had learned that it was useless to ask for it.

  "Wait for me!" called Vik-yor. Hunger had finally bested its cowardice, and it was climbing from the anotar. Duare did not wait, but continued on toward the forest. Vik-yor ran after her, and when it caught up with her it was out of breath. "Why didn't you wait for me?" it demanded. "You belong to me; you should do as I tell you."

  Duare looked at it disgustedly. "I belong to a man," she said.

  "I am a man," said Vik-yor.

  "You wouldn't be a man in thirty million years; I am surprised that you even had nerve enough to crawl out of a stagnant pool."

  They had entered the forest; and Duare was looking up at the trees in search of food, when Vik-yor suddenly dashed past her and scrambled up a tree; then a hideous roar shattered the silence of the wood. Duare wheeled about. A tharban was creeping toward her. Vik-yor had seen it, and fled without warning her. He was now safely ensconced in a near-by tree, shaking as with palsy.

  Chapter XXXIX

  THE THARBAN might be described as the Amtorian lion, although it does not bear much resemblance to Felis leo except that it is a ferocious carnivore. It is much larger; its tawny coat is striped lengthwise with dark brown markings; its enormous jaws, splitting half the length of its head, are armed with sixteen or eighteen fangs and its feet are equipped with three heavily taloned toes; it has a black mane, much like that of a horse; long, pointed ears, and the tail of a lion. It also has a most abominable disposition and an insatiable appetite.

  For Duare, the situation was not overly auspicious. Though there were trees all around her, she could not possibly climb to safety before the creature could overhaul her.

  "Shoot it!" she called to Vik-yor.

  The Vooyorgan drew the pistol; but his hand shook so that he could not aim, and the r-rays buzzed futilely in many directions other than the right one.

  "Look out!" cried Duare; "you'll hit me!"

  The tharban appeared to be enjoying the situation, for it continued to creep slowly upon the prey which it knew could not escape.

  "Throw the pistol down to me!" cried Duare.

  "No!" shouted Vik-yor; "I won't give it to you—I told you I wouldn't."

  "Fool!" screamed Duare. She faced the terrible creature with only a sword—a tin whistle would have been almost equally as effective. She was about to die, and Carson would never know. He would hang there on that wall until death released him, the longevity serum with which he had been inoculated in Vepaja, a curse rather than a blessing.

  Suddenly the tharban halted in its tracks and voiced a thunderous roar; the very ground seemed to tremble to it. Duare realized that the creature was looking at something beyond and behind her, and she cast a quick glance in that direction. The sight that met her eyes appalled her. Slinking upon her from behind was a creature as large and as terrible as the tharban. Its body closely resembled that of a Bengal tiger; in the center of its forehead was a single eye on a short antenna; from the shoulders, just anterior to the forelegs, grew two enormous chelae; and its jaws were terribly armed as those of the tharban.

  This creature, Duare knew well; for they haunt the forests of Vepaja from the ground to the highest branches where life may be found, and they prey upon all forms of life. By the advent of this terrible beast, Duare's situation was altered only to the extent of the probability of which one reached her first; and they were about equidistant from her.

  Answering the tharban's roar, came the scream of the tongzan. Now the tharban charged, fearing its prey would be stolen by the other. The same fear must have motivated the tongzan simultaneously, for it charged, too. And Duare, between these two engines of destruction, seemed about to be torn to shreds. Vik-yor, safe in a tree, watched the events unfolding beneath it with thoughts only of itself. With Duare dead, it could no longer travel in the anotar; it would be earthbound, prey to some hideous creature such as those two which were about to rend and devour Duare. Vik-yor felt very sorry for itself, and cursed the hour that it had looked upon a woman or thought that it might emulate a man.

  As the two beasts rushed for her, Duare threw herself to the ground; and the creatures met above her. She felt their pads and talons upon her body; their roars and screams resounded in her ears as they battled above her. Presently one of them gave back a few feet, uncovering her; and then Duare rolled cautiously aside. Now she could see them; so engrossed were they in their duel that they paid no attention to her. The tongzan had already lost its single eye and most of its face; but it held to the tharban with one mighty chela, drawing it closer to those terrible jaws and cutting and rending it with its other chela.

  Duare moved cautiously to a near-by tree and clambered to safety; she had been careful to select a small tree, lest the tongzan's mate should come, for they cannot climb a tree of small diameter. From the safety of her sanctuary, she watched the bloody duel below. The tharban had inflicted hideous punishment on the tongzan, which was literally torn to ribbons from its muzzle back to its shoulders, nor was the tharban in much better shape. It, too, was torn and bleeding; and one foot had been completely severed by a giant chela, which was now groping for its throat while its mate held the huge tharban in a vise-like, unbreakable grip.

  The blinded tongzan screamed continually, and the tharban roared; the forest reverberated to the hideous din. Vik-yor still clung to its tree, shaking from terror. Duare, in an adjoining tree, viewed it with contempt—the thing that aspired to be a man. She glanced down at the battling carnivores; the tongzan was clawing the tharban to ribbons with the talons of both its powerful front feet, and the blindly groping chela was finding the throat. At last, spreading wide, it found its goal; and then those mighty nippers closed; and the tharban's head rolled upon the ground, severed as cleanly as by a guillotine.

  For the moment the victor stood over its fallen antagonist, and then it commenced to d
evour it. Blind, horribly mutilated, still its insatiable maw must be filled. Blood flowed from its countless wounds in veritable torrents, yet it ate and ate until it sank lifeless upon the bloody remains of its repast—dead from loss of blood.

  Directly above her, Duare discovered a bunch of grape-like fruit; and soon she, too, was satisfying her hunger; while Vikyor eyed her enviously. "Bring me some of that," it said.

  "Get your own," advised Duare.

  "There is no fruit in this tree."

  Duare paid no more attention to him; looking around, she discovered a tree that bore nuts which she recognized as both delicious and nutritious. She climbed down from her tree and swarmed up another; here she gathered nuts and ate them. She filled her pouch with them and descended.

  "I am going," she called to Vik-yor; "if you wish to come with me you had better get down out of that tree." She would have gladly gone off and left it, but for the pistol; which she must have to carry out her plan.

  "I am afraid," cried Vik-yor, "another of those creatures might come along."

  Duare continued on toward the anotar. Suddenly she stopped and called back to Vik-yor; "Stay where you are! Hide! I'll come back for you later—if they don't get you." She had seen a dozen men sneaking toward the anotar, they were short, squat, hairy men; and they carried spears. Duare broke into a run, and so did the warriors—it was a race for the anotar. Duare had a slight advantage—she was nearer the anotar than they, and she was fleeter of foot.

  One of the warriors outdistanced his fellows, but Duare reached the plane first and clambered into the cockpit just as the warrior arrived. As he clambered onto the wing in pursuit of her, the engine started and the propeller whirred. The ship taxied along the rough ground, and the warrior had all he could do to keep from being thrown off. It rose and zoomed upward. The man clutched the edge of the cockpit; he looked down, preparing to jump; he had had enough; but when he saw the ground so far below, he shut his eyes and seized the edge of the cockpit with both hands.