The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series

by Lin Carter

  This did not mean they were all that easy together, it must be admitted. Xenophobia is a disease sadly common to the human animal in general, and so is prejudice. The feelings of dislike, distrust, and suspicion can be eradicated with time and patience and education. But it does not come quickly or easily.

  But, while certain bonds of mutual respect had grown between the warriors of the two tribes, the situation with Hurok was quite different. From the cradle, the Cro-Magnons had learned to fear and despise the brutal, beastlike Neanderthals. Warfare had blazed continuously between Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal, and each side had very good reasons for hating the other—the memory of Cro-Magnon brothers, sisters, and friends carried off by Neanderthal slave raiders, or slaughtered in open battle, or felled from ambush by the hairy Drugars.

  While Eric Carstairs had been among them, they had tolerated the presence of Hurok and grudgingly come to respect his strength and valor, his battle skills, and his devotion to their chieftain.

  But now, lacking my presence to keep them in line and to smooth the difference between them, they half-guiltily resented their forced comradeship with the hulking Drugar, as he resented it for his part. There was nothing overtly hostile about these feelings, for the warriors were savages, it is true, but gentlemen of a sort. And Hurok, after all, was the friend and companion of Eric Carstairs.

  But it was there, nonetheless.

  * * * *

  After a brief respite, the warriors again took up their pursuit of the Dragon-riders, resuming their long marathon run across the plains. While they could no longer track the Dragonmen by visual means alone, since the more swiftly moving Zarian party had long since gone out of sight, the enormous clawed feet of the monster lizards they rode left marks easy to discern in the grasses which clothed the plain. Following this spoor was but as child’s play to men trained from the cradle to hunt and track.

  They began to weary again in time, and it irked them that Hurok’s powers of endurance were distinctly superior to their own, and that the Apeman paused to rest only when his companions insisted. Were it left up to Hurok, he would have run until he became completely exhausted; then, and only then, would he have paused to rest.

  While his physical prowess annoyed them, it was also cause for new respect. The warriors of the Cro-Magnon prize and admire many qualities—loyalty, wisdom, judgment, courage, and skill. But the highest degree of admiration they reserve for physical strength and endurance alone.

  Life in this savage, untamed wilderness is one unending battle against the ferocity of beasts and the cunning and enmity of other men. And the secret of survival against such odds is often brute strength.

  And that Hurok of Kor certainly possessed.

  They knew it, and it irked them. On the other hand, they could not help admiring him for it, however reluctantly.

  Quite suddenly, the Cro-Magnons saw that prowess demonstrated in the most dramatic of terms.

  The ground cracked open beneath their feet unexpectedly, and a head the size of a small barrel burst into view. One glimpse of that scaly snout, that fanged and gaping jaw, those cold and soulless eyes, and the warriors identified this adversary.

  “A xunth!” cried Varak. “Scatter quickly!”

  The warriors instantly veered off in all directions from the common center, so as to present as confusing a variety of victims as was possible. Now, the xunth, which apparently hollows out its lair beneath the earth of the plains, is a monstrously huge prehistoric serpent. At the time, I had never seen one, but I understood they could reach the astounding length of thirty feet. And thirty feet of snake is a whole lot of snake, let me assure you!

  Jorn the Hunter, agile though he was, did not quite move as quickly as he should have. And when the toe of his sandal lodged in a knot of grasses, the boy took a tumble and lay prone, momentarily stunned by the fall, which had knocked the breath out of him. So when the xunth came gliding up out of his hidey-hole, there was as tempting a morsel as a xunth could ask for, virtually laid out and waiting.

  Voicing a thunderous hiss, the enormous serpent lunged at the dazed youth, fanged jaws gaping wide. From a safe distance, Ragor and Erdon and Warza, who were Jorn’s fellow tribesmen, cried out in alarm and came sprinting to the rescue of their young friend.

  But Hurok was there first.

  The Apeman of Kor had not been able to run as far as the others, for his lumbering strides were heavier and more clumsy than were theirs. Hence, when he turned and realized Jorn’s deadly peril, Hurok reacted with instinctive alacrity. Whipping out his stone-bladed javelin, he cast it with all the strength of his mighty arms at the xunth.

  Tough indeed was the scaly hide of the giant serpent, but strong were the arms of Hurok and unerring his aim. The keen point of the spear bit deep, sinking into the muscle of the serpent’s neck, lodging directly behind the base of the skull.

  Screaming in a frenzy of rage and pain, the xunth forgot all about the dazed boy sprawled helpless at its feet, and turned, attempting to snap at the thing stuck in its neck, which hurt abominably. Of course, as the snake turned its head, so also did its neck turn, and the spear shaft swung out of reach.

  This gave Hurok time to unlimber his stone axe.

  Springing forward, the Drugar planted both feet to either side of the fallen boy, sheltering the youth with his body. Then, as the xunth espied him and struck at this new adversary, Hurok swung the heavy axe with every ounce of the strength in his mighty arms.

  He literally smashed the xunth’s skull like an eggshell. Blood and brains squirmed in all directions. The serpent fell to the earth, writhing in slow death spasms. Hurok seized up Jorn and tossed him across one burly shoulder and hastily beat a retreat.

  Having reached a safe distance, he let the boy down and squatted on his hunkers with the others as they watched the slow spasms which contorted the fantastic length of the dying serpent monster.

  The Cro-Magnons regarded Hurok with an emotion which verged upon awe. The strength of that blow had been prodigious, was almost beyond their imagining. And the selfless courage of the Drugar, at springing to the instant defense of one who was not, after all, of his own tribe nor even of his own kind, aroused within their breasts a degree of respect they had not previously entertained toward the Apeman.

  Recovering his breath, Jorn thanked Hurok for his life with simple but heartfelt words. The Apeman merely nodded, saying nothing. To such as Hurok it had been an instinct to come to the defense of a comrade, nothing more. And certainly nothing which required elaborate thanks.

  Shortly thereafter, he went forward and retrieved his spear from the body of the reptile.

  * * * *

  Having rested, however briefly, and refreshed themselves thereby, the party continued on across the plains in the direction of the distant mountains.

  This time, however, a change might have been discerned in the manner in which the Cro-Magnons regarded their hulking and ugly companion. They no longer avoided meeting his eyes or excluded him from the general conversation, although Hurok was, as always, glum and taciturn, despising casual speech.

  But he was no longer quite as much an outsider among them as he had been.

  Later, when the need for sleep overcame them and they were forced to make camp, they sat together around the fire, sharing their small stores of food and drink equally; no longer did Hurok of Kor sit apart from them.

  And when they sought sleeping places amid the meadow grasses, Jorn deliberately chose a nest very near to the place which Hurok had taken for himself.

  If the Apeman noticed, he made no comment. At length, Jorn spoke up a shade timidly.

  “Good sleeping, O Hurok,” the boy said.

  “Good sleeping to you, Jorn,” grunted Hurok emotionlessly.

  You never know exactly how or when you are going to make a good friend. But
friends come in handy, especially in a world like Zanthodon.

  And Hurok had made a friend.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE MARCH OF THE WARRIORS

  While these events were taking place on the plains to the north of the jungle-clad promontory, yet other things were happening at the scene of our earlier adventures.

  Tharn of Thandar, the magnificent jungle monarch, had by now returned from the cavern-city with all of his warriors, scouts, and huntsmen. The scouring of the cavern-city was complete, and the last of the Gorpaks had been slain; as well, the victorious Cro-Magnons had thoroughly eradicated the hideous, vampiric Sluagghs.

  The pale, languid cavern-folk, now released from their long slavery, tasted freedom for the first time in their lives. One assumes they heartily enjoyed the flavor of it, although the taste was a new one for them.

  Returning from the caverns, with Garth and his Sotharians at his side, Tharn learned from those of the women and the wounded who had remained in the clearing that his daughter, Darya, had been stolen away with the Professor. When he heard that it was the villainous traitor, Fumio, together with Xask, who had done this deed, the brows of Tharn darkened thunderously.

  “We shall enter the jungles at once to pursue the traitor,” he said, his deep voice stern and hard. “They cannot have gone very far.”

  “Eric Carstairs is already on their trail, my Omad,” said one of the wounded. “With him were the Sotharian warriors of his squad, including Varak, and some of our guards, Ragor and Erdon.”

  “Perhaps Eric Carstairs has already caught up with the men who have thieved away the Princess Darya,” said Garth, High Chief of the warriors of Sothar. “In which case, my friend, your vengeance has already been consummated.”

  “We shall see,” said Tharn briefly. Then, after commanding his warriors to make ready for the pursuit in full force, bringing with them the wounded as well, he turned to his brother chief.

  “Will Garth, my friend, accompany us or remain here?”

  “Henceforward,” said Garth simply, “the warriors of Sothar will fight at the side of the warriors of Thandar. We, too, shall march to recover our friends. For, during our captivity to the vile little Gorpaks, I came to admire the courage and patience of the gomad Darya. Had I another daughter, I could wish her to be like your daughter in all ways.”

  The stern visage of the jungle monarch relaxed slightly, and he permitted a smile to lighten the grim set of his lips.

  Without further ado the two tribes began preparations for a full-scale departure. Before Zanthodon was an hour older, they had vanished into the jungles.

  * * * *

  The scouts and huntsmen of the two tribes were arranged in a wide semicircle, so as to comb the brush in advance of the main body of the warriors. Their keen eyes missed little as they glided noiselessly through the trees and bushes, searching for the slightest clue as to the whereabouts of the missing Princess and her abductors.

  Erelong they found the dead body of One-Eye in a small clearing. The ungainly corpse was sprawled in a pool of congealing blood, mouth open, glazed eyes staring sightlessly. Tharn regarded the cadaver with puzzlement: he could not recall having ever seen this Drugar, and as the war party from Kor was believed to have perished to the last warrior in the stampede of the thantors, it baffled him that a Drugar should be in these parts, far from the place where the rest of his kind had been trampled by the lumbering pachyderms.

  One of the Thandarian scouts knelt to examine the corpse. He rose, his expression puzzled.

  “My Omad, the Drugar has been slain in a most peculiar manner, by an edged weapon of strong metal, such as I can scarcely imagine,” the scout reported.

  This only increased the mystery. Perhaps I should explain at this point, that the Cro-Magnons employ knives, axes, spears, and bows; they have never invented the sword and neither have their old adversaries, the Apemen of Kor. If I had been on the scene, I could, of course, have told Tharn that it had been the Barbary Pirates—the Men-That-Ride-Upon-The-Water—who had struck One-Eye down. But Tharn knew nothing of the Barbary Pirates, or very little, having never seen them in action or observed their weapons.

  “We have naught else to learn here,” he said, “so let us continue on.”

  Beyond the jungles, which they traversed without any further discoveries, the Stone Age warriors came eventually to the beach. And there they found and recognized the tracks in the sand which had been made by my comrades and myself when we had gone around the peninsula, hoping to pursue the Pirates.

  As the sandals of the Thandarians and the men of Sothar used different stitching, it was not difficult for the scouts to guess that these were the tracks of myself and my party. It was equally obvious that we had been pursuing those who had carried off Darya.

  The two tribes followed our trail around the promontory and at length discovered the great northern plain. By this time, of course, Hurok and the others were far off across the immensity of the plain, and not even the eagle-like gaze of the Cro-Magnon scouts could have glimpsed them in the distance. But here, of course, the trail ended, for the long grasses wherewith the plain was thickly grown do not hold the footprints of men, and to have found some sign or token of our passage would have been extremely difficult.

  Arms folded upon his mighty chest, Tharn stared broodingly out into the distance. He knew that Eric Carstairs and a party of Thandarian and Sotharian warriors were in close pursuit of his daughter, but nowhere on the plain could he see aught of our whereabouts. In which direction, therefore, should he continue the march? Tharn conferred briefly with his chieftains and with his fellow Omad, Garth, eliciting their suggestions.

  “It would seem wisest to Garth,” said that personage, “that we continue along the shores of the Sogar-Jad. Somewhere farther in that direction, we may yet catch up with the abductors or with their pursuers, or discover some further sign to guide us.”

  This seemed advisable to the mind of Tharn, as well; there was, of course, no reason for him to think of striking out into the center of the plain, which was actually the direction in which we had gone, hoping to find a shortcut. At this region the shoreline bulged outwards, curving back upon itself farther to the north. We had taken the most direct route, straight across the plain, to save time. But this did not occur to the Cro-Magnons.

  They marched north along the coast of the prehistoric ocean, with no idea of where they were going or of what they might find when they got there.

  * * * *

  For some reason, a large number of men do not seem to be able to advance with the speed a single man, or a small party, can attain. And, in the case of the Cro-Magnon tribesmen, they were slowed in their progress by the necessity of favoring those of their number who had been wounded in the battle which freed the cavern-folk from the Gorpaks. As well, a number of the women of Sothar were with them, including Nian, the mate of Garth, and her daughter, Yualla, a lithe, handsome girl who was about the same age as Jorn the Hunter.

  I say this with some reservations, for, in a world without day or night, a world without seasons, whose inhabitants have not the least conception of the passage of time, it is uniquely difficult to judge the age of anyone.

  As they marched along the coast, the hunters of the two tribes, ranging far, found and slew a number of plump uld, and their skillful archers brought down several zomak, an ancestor of the birds of the Upper World which Professor Potter considers to be the archaeopteryx. They are odd-looking and ungainly fowl—imagine a bird with teeth, who has as many scales as he has feathers—but not at all bad tasting. Especially if you happen to be hungry.

  And by this time, the tribes had developed quite an appetite. Finding themselves on the edge of a small stream of fresh water which meandered across the plain to mingle with the waves of the Sogar-Jad, they made camp. While the women built fires and prepared to
cook the game taken by the huntsmen, the men drank, bathed, and rested. While speed was uppermost in the mind of Tharn, a wise chief knows that men must rest from time to time, in order that they may maintain a steady pace. So, while it gnawed at him that they must loiter here, wasting time and yielding yet further advantage to the abductors of his daughter, loiter they must and did, but briefly.

  * * * *

  It is not my intention to narrate the march of the tribesmen in any great detail, not only because nothing in particular happened of interest along the trail, but also because I have more significant events to relate. Suffice it to say that after several wakes and sleeps, the Thandarians and Sotharians reached the point at which the shoreline curves back upon itself, and found the northernmost extremity of the continent.

  Here a broad arm of the underground sea extended like a natural barrier, making further progress impossible. Along this arm of the Sogar-Jad were many small and rocky islands—a veritable archipelago, in fact. They were the roosting places of sea fowl, as could be ascertained by the white droppings with which they were littered.

  But beyond these small islands along the shore, and in the very midst of the sea, was a large island of naked rock. And it was there that Tharn of Thandar and his men saw a sight such as few of them had ever seen or even imagined.

  It was a ship of the Barbary Pirates.

  With its high, pointed prow and immense spread of canvas, the green banner of Islam fluttering from its height, the vessel was a sight which astounded the cavemen. It would, in fact, have astounded you or me, for such a ship has not sailed the seas of the Upper World within the memory of any living man; only in historical paintings could you have seen such a vessel as now met the gaze of Tharn of Thandar and his companions.