The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series

by Lin Carter

  But here I seem to be telling of my own adventures, when I had promised to pick up the thread of Jorn and Yualla’s. Sorry!

  After her defeat by Garth and his Sotharians beyond the pass, Zarys returned to Zar in a fury. One thought and one thought alone possessed the proud and cruel heart of that imperious young woman, and that was to be revenged upon the Professor and me, and upon the Sotharians. So she wasted no time in ordering out the Marines. What mattered it to her that her city was in ruins, her palace a smoldering heap of ash, and the Great God Zorgazon fled from the city of his worshippers into the unknown—[1]Zarys would have her revenge upon Eric Carstairs, and upon all those who were his friends and allies!

  Toward this end, the Empress summoned her legions of warriors mounted upon their domesticated saurian steeds, and launched a second pursuit of the fugitives. This time with thrice the number of troops, a host surely sufficient to break the horde of Sotharian tribesmen.…

  * * * *

  Jorn the Hunter and Yualla of Sothar took many wakes to cross the mighty range of mountains which served, like some titanic wall, to shield the Scarlet City of the Minoans from the remainder of the Underground World. Cautiously, carefully, the Cro-Magnon boy and girl descended the precipitous slopes of the farther side of the range, and took their first astonished look at the impressive vista of the island city that was the last surviving colony of ancient Crete.

  With them perforce went their whining, miserable little captive, poor Murg. He feared the heights, did Murg, and the giddy depths below his insecure footing, but he had little if any say in the matter, as Yualla held one end of the tether which was looped about his scrawny throat.

  The two cave children had never before seen or even imagined anything like the great metropolis of Zar, and found the view breathtaking. Jorn and Yualla were accustomed to settlements which consisted of little more than a score of huts and a rude palisade; Zar, however, was built upon a scale which seemed titanic to them, and they stared with awed bewilderment upon its streets and squares, its hundreds of houses, its very forest of towers and spires. They had never imagined that the hands of men could construct anything so huge and so complex.

  Now for the first time, the two began to entertain doubts about their quest and its chances of success. How, in all that stone wilderness of walls and ramparts, could they ever hope to find Eric Carstairs? How could they possibly fight such an enormous host of foes?

  Finding a snug cave on the far slope of the mountains, the two decided to plan and reconnoiter before descending into the great valley of Zar. And thus it was that the caveboy and the cavegirl became eyewitnesses to the swift succession of events which I have already alluded to—the Games in the arena, the explosion which demolished the imperial palace citadel and set fire to much of the city, and the escape of the monster god, Zorgazon. From their coign of vantage, they also observed our flight from the city and Zarys’s pursuit at the head of her mounted legions.

  As swiftly as they could with safety descend the crumbling slopes to the floor of the valley, the boy and girl hastened to rejoin their friends. Surely, thought Jorn to himself, in all of this confusion, it should be possible for the two to elude discovery and pursue Eric Carstairs and his companions, among whom the young hunter had seen and recognized Professor Potter, Hurok of Kor, and several others.

  Skirting the entrance to the island city, the two Cro-Magnon youngsters hurried through the pass which cleft the wall of mountains, and emerged upon the grassy plains beyond just in time to observe, from a considerable distance, the battle between the tribe of Sothar and the vengeful Minoans, which surprisingly resulted in a victory for the savage warriors of Yualla’s tribe and yet another defeat for the Divine Zarys.

  They watched as Garth, employing the telepathic crystal, seized control of the huge thodars upon which Zarys and her warriors were mounted, forcing them into flight. And thereby, all unknowingly, the mighty Omad of Sothar brought about the capture of his daughter. For, fleeing back into the relative safety of their valley realm, the Zarian warriors discovered and took captive Jorn the Hunter and the girl Yualla.

  It was Xask, the clever and cunning vizier of Zar, who found the boy and girl hidden among the thick grasses, and directed his warriors to disarm and bind them. Xask did not recognize Jorn, and had never met Yualla, but realized that the two must be members of the barbarian horde which had just defeated the forces of the Empress, and had somehow become separated from their people.

  Thus it was that when Zarys returned to her half-demolished capital in a fine fury, Xask had at least a morsel of good news wherewith to temper her rage.

  The fact of the matter was, quite simply, that Xask felt insecure in the affections of his Empress. For it had been more or less his fault that Professor Potter had found free and easy access to the gunpowder factory which he had touched off. And Xask very much enjoyed his recent return to the favor of the Empress, and did not wish to incur her wrath a second time.

  “Of what use are these two savage children to my purposes?” demanded Zarys hotly. “It is Eric Carstairs and Eric Carstairs alone whom I desire to hold within my power, to extract from him the full measure of vengeance—”

  “Your servant fully understands, Goddess,” replied Xask soothingly, “but permit your servant to suggest, however humbly, that the two savages may very well be close to the heart of Eric Carstairs or to the leaders of the savage host. By holding them prisoners and hostages, we may yet be able to enforce our will upon Eric Carstairs…”

  The Empress considered it thoughtfully, a slight frown creasing her flawless brow. She was impatient to reorganize her legions and again hasten in pursuit of the escaping savages, and even the slightest delay rankled within her breast. Finally, seeing some logic in Xask’s argument, she shrugged.

  “Very well, bring them along,” she murmured. “They will afford us only the slightest encumbrance, and may, as you suggest, come in useful for the purposes of bargaining. It may well be that Eric Carstairs will willingly surrender himself into our hands for judgment, rather than see these children suffer indignity or torment…but, surely, we have no use for their cringing little companion?”

  Xask thought otherwise, although he was hard put to think of a good reason for sparing Murg. The clever vizier had many times found his way to a desired goal by spying out and playing upon the weaknesses in others, and the weaknesses in the heart of Murg were clearly visible to him. It seemed wise to Xask to spare even Murg, for in this life men such as Xask never quite know when even the miserable Murgs of this world may come in handy. Therefore, he urged Murg upon his Empress. Impatient to be gone, she carelessly agreed.

  “After all,” she murmured, “even if this cringing cur or the two savages are of no importance to Eric Carstairs and prove to be an inconvenience, well, we can always cut their throats and leave them for the scavengers of the plain.”

  And with these callous words, the Divine Empress hurried about her preparations for departure, leaving Xask well satisfied.

  * * * *

  Despite the urgency of her desire to be gone from Zar and to hasten in pursuit of the fugitives, it was impossible for the Immortal Zarys to leave her city until many wakes and sleeps had passed.

  The destruction caused by the explosion of the gunpowder factory, and by the escape of Zorgazon, had left her capital in smoldering ruins for the larger part, her people scattered and demoralized. In this Byzantine tangle of plot and counter-plot, intrigue and anti-intrigue, which was the Zarian court, even the divine descendent of Minos could have been dislodged from her throne had not Zarys, however grudgingly, taken the time to set things aright again.

  This took weeks, actually. But in time, and now triple in strength, the legions of Zar, mounted upon their ponderous thodars, went thundering down the stone causeway and through the pass, to re-enter the great plains of the north, in pursuit of t
he host of Sothar and the former slaves and captives.

  At the forefront of the legions rode Zarys herself, and also Xask, as her second-in-command, to which post the Empress had appointed her wily vizier upon the demise of my old rival, General Cromus, who had lost his life when Garth had seized telepathic control of the thodars.

  And in the rear of these troops, their wrists securely tethered and under close and vigilant guard, rode young Jorn the Hunter and the girl Yualla.

  And, of course, the unhappy Murg. Not that anyone ever paid much attention to Murg.…

  CHAPTER 22

  SEARCH’S ENDING

  When Grond brought Darya of Thandar before her mighty father, there in the palace of Kâiradine Redbeard, there ensued a reunion which was touching. With a gruff cry of joy, Tharn of Thandar caught up his daughter and crushed her to his powerful breast. For long moments, the Omad of Thandar and his long-lost daughter had eyes only for each other.

  “Is all well with you?” demanded Tharn searchingly. “Have any of these men harmed or abused you? If so, point them out and they will harm no other woman, ever again!”

  “All is well with me, father,” murmured Darya, nestling within the circle of his arms. “Only Kâiradine Redbeard—as the leader of these people is known—would have harmed me, but found no opportunity to do so.”

  “Him alone we have not found, as yet,” growled the jungle monarch. “Although we have searched the palace and the town. Thus far the scoundrel has eluded us.”

  “And what of Eric Carstairs?” inquired Darya. “For I see him not among your chieftains.…”

  Tharn scratched the roots of his beard and looked uncomfortable, for of course he was aware of the affections that had grown between his daughter and the stranger from the upper world.

  “Eric Carstairs parted company from us some time ago,” Tharn admitted gruffly. “After we came out of the cavern city of the Gorpaks and the Sluaggh, and you were stolen away by that villain Fumio and the other men. He and some of the warriors in his company went their own ways in pursuit of you, and have not been seen since.”

  Darya sighed. “I hope that he yet lives, and is unharmed,” she murmured.

  Tharn tightened his brawny embrace about her slim shoulders, protectively.

  “Eric Carstairs has survived many perils before this,” the jungle monarch pointed out. “We surely have not heard the last of our brave friend.…”

  Darya said nothing, but the expression of sorrow in her splendid eyes spoke volumes.

  * * * *

  With his long-lost daughter at last safe, Tharn next busied himself about preparations for departure, for the island fortress of El-Cazar depressed him with its frowning ramparts and narrow, stony ways, and with all his heart the Cro-Magnon king yearned for the open plains and lofty mountains of the mainland, and for his distant home.

  All search of Kâiradine Redbeard had proved fruitless, for beyond question the Pirate Prince had sought refuge in some secret hiding place only known to himself. Although Tharn was hungry to visit a grim punishment upon the Barbary corsair for the theft and persecution of Darya, he resolved at length to give over the search and return with his host to the mainland of Zanthodon. Among the other reasons which urged this course of action upon him there was the imminent return to El-Cazar of the pirate squadron commanded by Moustapha, the last surviving member of the Council of Captains, who had departed from the island fortress of the corsairs just before the invasion by the Thandarians, as the reader will remember.

  For Tharn wisely foresaw that it would be distinctly dangerous for him to linger here and then find himself and his warriors besieged by Moustapha’s squadron of ships, with no means to defend themselves, outnumbered and relatively helpless. With this decision all of the leaders of the tribe concurred, and that heartily, being wearied of this strange town and its winding streets and towering houses.

  All, that is, but Grond. For still the whereabouts of his jungle sweetheart, Jaira, had not been discovered. Disconsolately, the young warrior prowled the labyrinthine ways of El-Cazar, searching for the lost girl.

  It did not occur to Grond in his distraction that one other was also missing. But Achmed the Moor, who had been Kâiradine’s first lieutenant, also had not been found, although at the time his absence from the rosters of the captured and the slain seemed to the mind of Grond a thing of no particular significance.

  Grond had accepted the offer of Tharn to join with the host of the Thandarians—an offer made to all of the former slaves and captives of the Barbary Pirates-and he well knew that he must depart from El-Cazar when the tribe quitted its shores, as to remain behind was to return to captivity as soon as Moustapha returned to restore the authority of the Brotherhood. But how could he leave, with Jaira’s fate unknown?

  That he eventually decided he must do so is not to impugn either the loyalty or the love of Grond, but to make a comment upon the peculiar, but very understandable, fatalism shared by the Cro-Magnon peoples of Zanthodon.

  From the very cradle, as it were, these innocent children of nature are engaged in an unremitting struggle for survival in a savage world inimical to their existence. Surrounded on every hand by perils beyond number, they fight from the womb to the grave against hostile nature, cruel jungles, hideous monsters and savage foes, and in that struggle more than a few of them succumb earlier than the rest. Not a warrior but has seen parent, brother, uncle, sister or comrade slain before his or her time, and thus the warriors of Zanthodon have developed, almost as an unconscious instinct of self-protection, a curious indifference to death which is difficult for “civilized” persons such as you or I to comprehend.

  Grond was among the nearly two hundred Cro-Magnons who had been slaves or captives of the Barbary Pirates, and who elected to join with the tribe of Thandar rather than to search the mainland for their own half-forgotten homes. At one stroke, then, the fighting force of the Thandarians was nearly tripled. Even so, Tharn took every precaution to render the subjugated Berbers helpless of pursuit and revenge.

  Those of the corsair ships which remained anchored in the harbor of El-Cazar he ordered burned and sunk. In time, of course, the survivors of the Thandarian invasion would rebuild their fleet, but Tharn guessed that when that time came around he and his people would be deep within the jungles of the mainland and far beyond the reach of the Brotherhood.

  Tharn did not take into consideration the imminent return to El-Cazar of Moustapha and his corsair squadron. This was partly because no one could guess or predict just how long it would be before the missing captain would terminate his venture into the nothern isles and turn about to sail home to the island fortress of the buccaneers.

  The time to leave El-Cazar came at length, and the Cro-Magnons made ready to depart from the isle with their new recruits. And among these, as I have explained, was Grond, although his heart ached at the thought.…

  * * * *

  It seemed to Achmed the Moor that he had crouched here in cowardly concealment for days, seeking to elude capture by the yellow-haired savages who had so swiftly overrun the pirate kingdom. Ever since he had found a hiding place in the little gazebo-like structure which adorned the gardens of the palace of Kâiradine Redbeard, the burly Moor had sweated in a fever of impatience to find a more secure place of refuge, and in an agony of apprehension lest he be discovered by the primitives.

  Bound and gagged, the girl Jaira helplessly lay by his side. Achmed could not have explained to you exactly why he had spared the life of the slave-girl, any more than he was able to explain it to himself. But it surely was not from any tenderness or feelings of compassion, for such did not exist in the hardened and calloused heart of the Moorish corsair. Perhaps he let Jaira live as a possible hostage to his own freedom and security—a potential bargaining point in the event that his hiding place was discovered; and then again, perh
aps not.

  But for what seemed an interminable length of time, the burly Moor had squatted behind the little wooden structure, peering fearfully about as the savages came and went on mysterious errands and unknown missions, dreading at any moment that the halloo would be raised and he would have to fight for his life.

  That this did not, in fact, occur is probably to be explained by the simple answer that few of the warriors or chieftains of Thandar had much notion of Achmed’s very existence. With the captains of the corsair kingdom slain or missing, their junior officers seemed of no consequence, whether they were alive and fled or captive, or themselves slain.

  It would greatly have disgruntled the Moor had he known that his very existence was of no consequence to the conquerors, of course. We have, all of us, an understandably inflated notion of our own importance in the great Scheme of Things—an opinion most likely not shared by very many of those around us.

  * * * *

  For an equally interminable period of time, Jaira had suffered her captivity in a terror of impending death at the hands of her grim captor. The shy, frightened girl was somewhat more delicate and very much less brave than were her savage sisters, but after many hours of being a bound and helpless captive at the cruel mercies of the Moor, it eventually dawned on Jaira that perhaps after all, she was not going to be murdered in the next instant. And with this realization her fears calmed somewhat; recovering from the paralysis of her panic, the girl began to puzzle a way out of her horrible dilemma.

  Achmed had bound her hastily and clumsily, and as time passed Jaira noticed that certain of her bonds had slipped from their original position and that her limbs were less cramped and confined than they had been. This inspired the blonde girl to attempt to free her wrists: twisting and turning, striving with every small strength at her command—and virtually ignored by the huge Moor, who crouched fearfully sweating, peering in every direction as the savage warriors came and went—she eventually managed to slip one slim hand free. From that point it was not difficult for her to unobtrusively writhe loose of her bonds.