The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series

by Lin Carter

  His mention of “the Empress” aroused my curiosity. I had not until then suspected that any of the tribes or nations were of an order of civilization sufficiently high to enjoy the sovereignty of anything more elevated than a mere High Chief. I opened my mouth to ask about his mysterious people, who and where they were, but he was already speaking again.

  “My only motive for desiring the secret of the thunderweapon is to provide myself with sufficient power to unseat my enemies and regain the favor of the Empress,” he said smoothly. “If you will aid me in this, I promise you not only your life and freedom but a high place beside me, close to the throne of Zar. Only, not so close as my own place, you will understand.…”

  I smiled, trying to look as sly and greedy as my blunt and rather honest visage could look.

  “Let me think about it,” I suggested.

  “I would prefer to have your answer now,” he drawled. “Else I fear that I cannot promise to be able to restrain the brutality of One-Eye much longer.”

  I made a noncommittal grunt. I certainly had no intention of teaching this Stone Age Machiavelli the formula for gunpowder; that would have been a moral crime on a par with giving Atilla the Hun the recipe for mustard gas. My only hope was to stall for time, pretend to fall in, reluctantly, with his plan, and wait for the opportunity to get my .45 back and head for the hills.

  Just then a sudden yell made us look over our shoulders.

  Holding his hide loincloth about his middle, One-Eye came waddling with all possible speed out of the edge of the woods. His mouth was wide open, revealing yellowed and broken tusks, and he was uttering shrill, frightened squalls. A moment later, we saw for ourselves the cause of his consternation.

  For there came shouldering through the brush something huge and heavy and horned. Its shape was similar to the bull or bison, but it was more the size and heft of a half-grown elephant. And my heart sank into my boots, except that I wasn’t wearing any by this time.

  For the thing was what the folk of Zanthodon call a goroth and the Professor identifies as an aurochs—the gigantic prehistoric ancestor of the ox.

  Big as a hill and angry as fury.

  And coming straight at us!

  And my hands were tied behind my back.…

  CHAPTER 8

  An Unknown Enemy

  Darya struck the waves of the Sogar-Jad an instant after the lithe form of the cave boy had cleaved them, and she sank to the bottom like a stone. Kicking out and flailing about with her arms, she rose to the surface again, whipped back her wet blond hair from her eyes, and stared about for her rescuer.

  He was treading water a few yards away. The youth grinned at her and she smiled back her thanks.

  The pirate galley, already underway, had already receded some distance out to sea. The two turned and headed in to shore. Scrambling up on the bank, they wasted no time in making for the shelter of the woods, from which vantage they watched as the vessel of the corsairs vanished in the mists which rose from the waters of the subterranean ocean.

  “The hunter, Jorn, has the thanks of Darya of Thandar,” said the girl in the curiously stilted and artificial way of talking that the Cro-Magnons of Zanthodon adopt when speaking ceremonially.

  The boy nodded seriously.

  “The-Men-Who-Ride-Upon-Water would have sold Darya into slavery,” he said simply. “The hunter, Jorn, was fortunate that he could rescue his Princess from so undeserved a fate.”

  Actually, he used the word gomad, which means the daughter of an Omad, or High Chief, but the sense of the word is the same.

  “Not so fortunate as Darya,” the girl observed. “And if she is ever reunited again with her father, he will learn of the bravery and devotion of his warrior.”

  With that, they turned away and went deeper into the jungle. No further words were spoken, because no further words were needed. Thanks had been expressed and gracefully accepted, and that was that. I don’t know if the Professor is right in his theory that the single universal language spoken all over the Underground World is the original prototype of the Indo-European tongue from which most of our language in the Upper World descend, but if he is, then our Stone Age ancestors had evolved a remarkably graceful system of formalities long before courtly politeness was invented.

  Quite a race, the Cro-Magnon.…

  * * * *

  Like the simple children of nature that they were, the boy and girl immediately set about gathering the necessities for their survival. Jorn had nothing but his sandals and a bit of tanned hide twisted about his loins. All of his weapons had been lost by this time. And Darya, of course, had nothing at all along the lines of weapons or even clothing, for she was stark naked. Therefore, weapons were the first order of the day.

  Stripping a vine from one of the trees, Darya’s nimble fingers peeled a strip length of tough, supple fiber from which in no time at all she had devised a rude but serviceable sling. Smooth pebbles selected from the bottom of the brook provided her with missiles for it. It was not much of a weapon—it certainly wouldn’t do much to stop or even slow down a charging triceratops—but it was better than nothing at all.

  While the cave girl was putting together her own armament, Jorn was busied with some prehistoric variety of bamboo. A long, hollow tube-like length would provide him with a fairly efficient spear-once he had ground one end to a point by rubbing it against a fiat rough stone and hardened the point by baking it in a fire.

  As he worked on his javelin, the girl went hunting, soon returning with a brace of zomak brought down by her sling; she looked flushed and triumphant.

  The zomak is what Darya’s people call the archaeopteryx, the beaked and toothy ancestor of bird life. I have eaten them and I can assure you that they are edible…not exactly a treat for the gourmet palate, understand, but edible.

  While Jorn ground the end of his bamboo spear into a point Darya built a fire. Flinty pebbles struck together, shooting sparks into handfuls of dry grass and leaves, is about the only way the Cro-Magnons know how to make fire. It is laborious and wearisome, but it can be done. And, since Darya knew of no easier way, she went about her task with serene patience.

  Before long the zomaks were broiling on a spit made of twigs which Darya turned over a bed of sizzling coals, while Jorn baked his spear point until it was dry and hard. Then they made a simple but satisfying meal, and rested for a time, recounting to one another the adventures since they had parted. Jorn was surprised that Darya had never before heard of the Barbary pirates.

  “Surely, my Princess has heard the old women of Thandar tell of the Men-That-Ride-Upon-Water?” he murmured. The maiden shrugged.

  “It is not fitting for the daughter of the Omad to listen to the tales of old women,” she said disdainfully. And Jorn could think of no reply to that.

  She told him how she had escaped from the a thakdol which had carried her off to its nest in the Peaks of Peril, and of how she had climbed down the face of one of the mountains, entered within the mountain by means of a cavernous opening and found her way to the surface again by labyrinthine spaces within the mountain itself.

  “The Peaks of Peril are hollow,” Darya observed, “and may contain strange, unwholesome things. We would be well gone from this region, which fully deserves its reputation.”

  The youth nodded somberly, agreeing with her.

  “Besides, the Men-That-Ride-Upon-Water may come after us, seeking her that fled from the embrace of their chief,” he added.

  The girl shuddered, then bit her lip. But she said nothing. For the truth of the matter was that it had been a very long time since either of them had slept. (Due to the timelessness of Zanthodon, neither the boy nor the girl could estimate how long a time it had been, but the weariness of their bodies was such that they were aware they must sleep before going on.)

  “The
y will not search for us here,” yawned Darya sleepily. Then she and Jorn curled up beneath a broadleaved bush and fell at once into the deep and dreamless sleep that comes to young people of flawless health and untroubled conscience.

  * * * *

  Some time later they awoke, made their ablutions in the stream, gathered their new weapons and a supply of zomak meat wrapped in broad, rubbery leaves from the bush under which they had slumbered. They struck out due “north,” where a wooded promontory curved out to shelter the lagoon. It was their intention to go in this particular direction, because neither of them wished to be taken captive again by the Drugars. Of course, neither Jorn nor Darya had any way of knowing that most of the Drugars had already been trampled to death beneath the thundering weight of the wooly mammoths when they stampeded.

  They went along through the jungle at an easy, jogging stride, and sometimes the boy took the lead, his spear held at the ready, and sometimes it was the girl who assumed the fore position.

  At this point I would call your attention to the perfectly natural behavior of these two “savages.” The boy was handsome, stalwart and lusty. The girl was stunningly beautiful, very desirable, completely nude. And they were alone in the jungle, thoroughly lost.…

  Darya behaved as if her nudity were a natural condition, which of course it was. But she was neither shocked nor disconcerted at having nothing to cover her loveliness: she seemed indifferent to the fact that she was naked in front of a young man.

  As for Jorn the Hunter, he neither pretended not to notice her nakedness nor did he steal sly, surreptitious, gloating glances at the beauty laid bare before his gaze. He treated the matter with calm indifference.

  And he treated the girl with respectful protectiveness. In part this may have been explained by the differences in their social standin—but only in part. That is, the maiden was the daughter of his High Chief and therefore beyond the reach as such as he, a young, unfledged huntsman, not yet a full warrior of Thandar.

  But I am convinced that there was more in it than that. Perhaps it was the natural chivalry of the Cro-Magnon, the rudimentary and unspoken but nonetheless very powerful code of behavior that says—in our modern world and in the forest primeval—that a gentleman does not take advantage of a princess in distress.

  And Jorn was a gentleman through and through.

  While Darya was every inch a princess.…

  * * * *

  By one of those curious coincidences with which both everyday life and extravagant fiction are filled, Jorn and Darya took the very same path across the jungle-clad promontory that Professor Potter had taken a bit earlier.

  Reaching the end of the trail, finding the same blank wall of stone rise up in their path as had he, they were at least luckier than the old scientist in not encountering the monstrous leech. But they could go no farther.

  Unlike the old man, the pair were young and supple and strong. So they decided, quite simply, to climb the wall of stone. A bit farther on along the wall, the surface became more broken and irregular, which afforded them toeholds and fingerholds.

  Slinging his makeshift spear about his shoulders by a length of fibrous vine, Jorn ascended the sheer face of the rock carefully but at moderate speed. Darya followed after, watching to see where her companion placed his toes and fingers.

  Before very long, they reached the ridge line of the rocky hills. Like a stony spine, the ridge ran the length of the promontory. Beyond its farther side, they could see naught but the misty waters of the Sogar-Jad, and a line of coast meandering “north” as far as they both could see. Nowhere did they observe the slightest sign of man or the habitations of men.

  After a brief consultation, while they stretched out to rest their limbs and regain their breath, they decided to follow the ridge line back to the base of the promontory, where it joined the soaring bulk of the Peaks of Peril. From that point they planned to strike due “north” until they had gotten sufficiently far away from the last place they had known the Drugars to be, whereupon they would circle about the Peaks, and descend “south” again, hoping to meet one or another of their lost friends along the way.

  * * * *

  Presently, Jorn became aware that they were being watched. Exactly how he knew this even Jorn could not have said. The men of his race, huntsmen and warriors all, survive in a world of hostile jungles and ferocious monsters only by developing that sixth sense that alerts its possessor to the fact that unseen eyes are scrutinizing him from some place of concealment. Glancing around in all directions, Jorn could perceive nothing that seemed suspicious.

  They continued along the ridge line, scanning the skies for any sign of the thakdols that nested in these mountains.

  Jorn said nothing of his suspicions to Darya, as there was little to gain in alarming her. Anyway, he more than half suspected that she, too, had sensed that they were under observation. They were sprung, after all, from the same tribe and it was only reasonable to expect her senses to be only a little less keen than his own. The women of Thandar are no pampered weaklings: in time of war they have been known to stand and fight alongside their men.

  If Darya suspected that they were being secretly watched, she said nothing of it to her companion.

  Jorn narrowly scrutinized their surroundings. The ridge line they were crossing was of smooth, barren rock, with no cave openings or fissures discernible. There did not seem to be any place for an unseen enemy to conceal himself, nor could the boy discover any vantage point from which their activities could be observed. The jungle which grew thick against the sides of the ridge would be a perfect place for an enemy—whether beast or human—to watch them from, of course. But if any foe concealed himself or itself amid the vegetation, it would have to emerge into plain view and scale the cliffs in order to attack them, and they would have the advantage of being able to see their enemy before he could strike.

  It wasn’t much of an advantage, of course, but it was the best they had, and certainly better than nothing.

  He mightily wished he had a bow and quiver of arrows. But if wishes caused miracles to happen, they would both long since have been safely home among their friends.

  Then suddenly Jorn realized with a numbing shock that the enemy whose presence he had sensed had been under their feet all the while!

  For the ledge of rock onto which Darya had just stepped was tilting on some unseen axis. A black opening appeared in the solid stone as the slab tilted.

  Darya screamed!

  And Jorn, who was a little way behind her, sprang forward in a tigerish rush, intending to thrust her from the slab before it tilted far enough to hurtle her into the black and unknown depths below—

  As the young hunter collided with the staggering girl, she lost her balance.

  Instinctively, as a drowning man is said to clutch at any straw in the current, Darya flung her arms about her companion. This threw Jorn off balance, as well.

  Then the slab tilted until it was entirely vertical on its axis.

  And, tightly clinging together, both Jorn and Darya were precipitated into the depths of the mysterious opening that had appeared as if by magic under their feet.

  CHAPTER 9

  Within the Mountain

  Kâiradine Redbeard, called Barbarossa, had worked himself into a cold and venomous fury. The bold and wily pirate chieftain was not accustomed to failing to have his own way in almost any matter, for in his corsair kingdom his will was absolute. And seldom did he meet a foe cleverer or stronger or more daring than himself, able to frustrate his desires to any particular extent or for very long.

  As well, the Barbary princeling had long been without a woman, and he had conceived of a passionate desire for the delectable person of the Stone Age girl he had discovered bathing in the jungle stream. Sprung from a fiery and lustful race was Kâiradine, and with such men
as he, to desire something is never to abandon the pursuit of it.

  As soon as he recovered from the surprise of Jorn’s attack, the pirate captain knew how his captive and her rescuer had escaped—and vowed they would not long elude his clutches. He ordered the ship about, and commanded the men to put in to shore again. The Stone Age boy obviously knew how to swim, since he had swum out to the corsair galley; and if one could swim, doubtless so could the other. And as neither would have been foolish enough to swim directly out to sea—there being no possibility of succor or safety in that direction—they could only have swum to shore, hoping to conceal themselves in the jungle or, perchance, amid the mountains, long enough to elude whatever pursuit they fancied he might order.

  Eyes narrowed, villainous heart seething with frustrated lust and fury, the Barbary chieftain vowed to hunt them down. As for Darya, he intended to beat and ravish her and bear her off back to his citadel of El-Cazar, to make her one of his wives.

  As for Torn, he intended to flay the skin off the boy inch by inch, for his temerity in daring to lay violent hands on one descended from the mighty Barbarossa.

  As he paced the quarterdeck in a dangerous temper, his first mate sought to remonstrate with him. This was a large, burly, black-bearded Moor named Achmed, who had served his apprenticeship under Kâiradine’s own father.

  “O reis!” said Achmed humbly, “we are under-provisioned and have already been very long from home. Let us return, then, together with all of our plunder intact, and begone from these waters which are the lair of the terrible yith—”

  By this term the folk of Zanthodon refer to the great plesiosaurus of the remote Jurassic, which some authorities consider to be the origin of the legend of the sea serpent. And it is indeed a most dangerous and deadly reptilian adversary.

  But Kâiradine’s passions were aroused; also, his pride was injured that a half-grown boy had struck him down and half throttled him without a scratch. He was in no mood to listen to the arguments or cool reason or simple prudence.