Queen of the Panther World

by Berkeley Lingston

  I listened to the first part of it. Then my thoughts wandered. Lovah had been chosen to give battle to the enemy. Of a sudden I felt fear strike at my innards. I knew then, that I had fallen in love with my Amazon. And I was frightened. They had seemed so few, riding back toward, what? Their doom?

  “We have a long ride ahead, and a dangerous one,” Luria continued. “Talk wastes time . . .”

  IT WAS the longest ride I’d ever been on. Since there was no appreciable change in time, I never knew what was what. We slept, we ate, and we rode, and always the sun was overhead.

  There were times for eating and sleeping and after a while I managed to gain a sort of idea from our sleeping habits of an approximate time. We were on the trail at least one week. The topography held to about the same character until about the last day.

  The first few miles of our ride after the awakening on what I called the seventh day, we rode through a narrow valley set between two high and precipitous hills. We had been in the midst of mountain country for a long time. Suddenly Luria, who was riding at the head of our little column, waved her hand to the right and swerved from the path she’d been riding on, to a narrow trail which led straight up the wall of the cliff.

  The trail straightened and to my horror became part of the wall itself. Even a Rocky Mountain goat would have found it difficult traveling. Not these panthers, though. They moved swiftly, and surely along the narrow trail. Then, with an abruptness which took my breath away, the trail ended against a barrier of rock. I was next to last so I could not see what Luria was doing or where she was going. I saw only the chalky-white face of the wall towering over us. Lipso had stopped and was waiting patiently to go on.

  The panther and its mount directly in front of me began a slow advance and Lipso followed. I saw then where we were heading and my wonder was boundless. A path had been hewed like a tunnel directly into the cliff. And for the first time I knew darkness on Pola.

  It was instant. I don’t know how the animals managed to find their way. Instinct, I suppose. But the darkness was too much for me. I couldn’t see my nose in front of my face. And since our footfalls were muffled we seemed to be traveling in the silence of a tomb.

  Once more the transition from dark to light was instantaneous. We were in a shallow amphitheatre but one which stretched for limitless distances. We rode up to join Luria. She looked out over the mists and said in a small childish voice:

  “The valley of the mists, the lair of the beast. My father took me and Mokar here once in the long ago. Mokar has never forgotten. Look . . .”

  We followed the line of her outstretched finger and an involuntary shiver shook my frame. Never had I seen a more forbidding place. The mists were like feathers of smoke. They filled the place in breath, width and height. Now and then the mists would part for an instant and black damp rock would show monstrous shapes like a scene from Hell. Strange hissing noises came alive to lend added terror to the prospect. Luria’s shoulders squared and turning to us, she said in dry, sure tones:

  “We gain nothing here. The Groana bird lies there. Let us be on our way. One thing. The beast of flame lies in wait. Watch for him.”

  There was but one trouble with being on our way. The instant we moved into the mists it was like stepping into a thick fog. I know I was riding alongside one of the two huge women who were Luria’s personal guards. The next I knew, Lipso and I were alone in this strange and terrifying world.

  Lipso sensed it immediately and his steps became cautious and slow. He snuffled loudly nor was he alone. The rest of them also used their noses rather than their eyes. The mists would part now and then giving us glimpses of what lay beyond. It also permitted us to see whether we were still together. We weren’t. Once I saw Hank. He looked a bit bewildered and his head was moving from side to side as though in search of Luria. The mists closed down and once more we groped our way through the fog.

  I echoed in a minor chord the sudden scream which arose from the mists. It was a human scream. And hard on its heels came a roar which turned me into a block of ice. Lipso grunted a low growl and his body tensed, the muscles bunching under me as though it was getting ready to spring.

  Like magic the mists parted altogether and I saw the whole of this horrendous place. We were in a grotto. Directly in front of me was one of the women guards. By her side was Hank. I as usual was the last in the parade. Off to one side away from the rest was Luria. But all of us were looking at what lay before us.

  IT WAS a nightmare. The body of the beast was a good thirty feet in length. I recognized it as the same in species as those we had encountered in the pit. But this one was the daddy of them all. Smoke and fire came from its nostrills. The great triangular head moved back and forth like a snake’s. And lying under the ridiculous paws was the broken body of the other amazon . . .

  “Back!” Luria shouted. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Hank’s shout was lost in the roar which came from the animal’s throat. I was too terrified to move. I could only watch the spectable which followed with a fascinated horror. I noticed little things; the fact that the guard must have come onto the cave that was the beast’s lair unaware of its occupant; that the panther she rode must have thrown her in his panic to escape, because she was lying face upward on her back; I saw too that the grotto was immense, the entrance being at least a hundred feet in height.

  Then the mists closed in again.

  Lovah’s admonition came to mind. That if I was ever in a spot to give Lipso his head. I let the reins go slack and the shape below me moved back and forth in its tracks without making a forward step. When the beast did go forward it was slowly. A rank odor so strong I had to hold my breath at intervals, wafted in to us from ahead. The roars had increased in both intensity and constancy. And now they were closer . . .

  And again the mists lifted.

  Lipso halted in his progress. A snarl rose in his throat. The tableaux had evolved in action. Luria too must have stopped when the scene was obscured. Now she went into action. Her lovely body was bent forward until it seemed to lie along the sleek black length of the panther, her spear was couched low, the long needle-tip pointed straight for the beast ahead. I saw her heels dig into Mokar’s side. And with a ferocious roar, Mokar leaped forward.

  I yelped in horror as Lipso followed Mokar’s lead. There had been some sort of telepathic orders from either Mokar or his mistress. Because the beasts of Hank and the other guard also shot toward the beast in the grotto entrance. Luria reached the beast first though we couldn’t have been more than ten feet behind. The last fifteen feet Mokar left his feet in a tremendous bound. The terror ahead rose on its hind legs, the tiny paws waving ridiculously toward the woman and her mount. But the terrible snout was open and the rows of huge teeth were an obstacle I never dreamed I’d have to face, directed toward the foolhardy things challenging it.

  At the very last second Mokar changed direction with a wondrously lithe movement of his body and instead of coming in from the front, came in from the side. Then Lipso was in the air too. Instinctively I brought my spear to a position similar to the one Luria had used.

  A violent roar of rage shook the air.

  Luria had driven her spear straight into the leathery skin of the beast’s throat. She hadn’t waited for the thing to retaliate. Mokar had seen to it. His mission accomplished, Mokar turned tail and leaped to safety. But Lipso wasn’t that fortunate.

  I was a lot more clumsy than Luria had been. My spear glanced off the thick skin and flew to one side. My thoughts had been on the destructive power of the great teeth and jaws. I’d forgotten about his tail. Suddenly it swished around and caught Lipso full in the side. I heard him grunt softly and felt the beast below me go limp. I barely managed to fall to one side as Lipso was knocked a half dozen feet by the blow. He lay where he fell nor did he so much as move a muscle.

  Now the thing had something it could vent its spleen on. I managed to get to my feet just as the beast reached me. I had been g
iven a sword. I went for it like an outlaw goes for the Colt at his hip when the Marshall comes for him. I drew it just as I felt the beast’s rank breath on my face and saw the saw-teeth within a foot of me. I leaped to one side and as I did swung the long blade.

  THE sword went right through the ugly snout. The most frightful roar of all went up and a thick terribly odorous mucous flowed out of the wound in a torrent. The stench of it was overpowering. There was a confused sound of shouting as I backed off a couple of feet. But I was strictly intent on the thing in front of me. It hadn’t given up the battle. It still had a tail and too obviously no intelligence. Though the wound I had given it was terrible, the beast seemed unaware of it. Its tail swished out again but this time I was on the watch for it. And this time I wasn’t alone.

  Hank’s voice was low but full of strength:

  “Okay, pal. Let’s go to work.”

  This time it was we who attacked. Hank took one side and I the other. We leaped in, our swords swinging with perhaps not the finesse of the others’, but certainly with better effect. For every time we struck, the steel plowed right through. Either the thickness of skin was deceptive or our strength was greater than we had ever imagined it to be. The whole slaughter couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds. The last of the pieces to be dissected was the tail. Two swipes, one a forehand the other a backhand, and the tail was just a memory for Nightmare Moe.

  In the meantime the other guard had joined us. Her first thrust with the spear had been a good one. She had managed to withdraw the weapon before her paavan leaped to safety. Now she stood by our side and jabbed with it like a probing needle. I wondered why until quite suddenly the beast sank down and rolled slowly over. The thing had a spot through which he could be dealt a mortal bow. The gal did it with one jab.

  We stopped our swinging and stood looking at each other, our breaths coming in shallow gasps. The woman, though the label sounded silly, towered over us and had the muscles of a foundry worker. Shook her head in admiration and said:

  “Truly, you two are the greatest warriors in all Pola. Never have I seen such sword strokes. Never have I seen such strength. The Habasi is not faced calmly. And this one is truly the largest I have ever seen. His skin is like the thick bark of the Ofas tree which is like a metal. Yet your blades sliced him as though he were meat ready for the table . . .”

  She continued to shake her head in wordless admiration. I noticed that

  Hank, however, was no longer basking in the glow of that admiration. His head was bent to one side. Suddenly he snapped the fingers of his free hand and whirled to me.

  “Luria! Where is she?”

  The mists seemed to have lifted with some degree of finality. At any rate, they no longer enveloped us with their foggy, tenuous fingers. There was nothing to be seen of Luria or Mokar.

  The wide nostrils of the woman spread in anger. She bent in a semicrouch, as though she were sniffing a danger not to be seen. Hank, too, kept looking from one side of the tortured bit of ground as though he thought the girl had fallen among some of the rocks. As usual, when it came to Luria, Hank was the first to guess at her whereabouts. He gathered she hadn’t fled the scene. He must have also reasoned then that there was but one place she could be, the grotto that had been the Habasi’s home.

  Without a word or look, Hank whirled and leaped toward the entrance. I followed but not with as much enthusiasm. In fact the woman was on Hank’s heels. There was a dim light as we came into the grotto proper. It died slowly until we were running in total darkness after the first few hundred feet. Suddenly, as though someone had turned on dim lights all over the cave, a radiance came to life. It wasn’t much but it was enough to light our way.

  WE WERE running on some sort of moss, for our footsteps were soundless. The cave was dry and rather cool. It led straight back and at a slightly downward grade. Suddenly we came against a blank wall. I mean just that. There were no forks in the road we had been running. The cave ended up against that blank wall.

  “What the . . .” Hank growled. “But this doesn’t make sense.”

  “Does anything in this goofy place?” I asked.

  “Then where did Luria go?” he asked.

  In the meantime the woman had been moving along the wall. Suddenly she bent and began a loud sniffling some two feet from the ground.

  “Mokar,” she announced, “has been here. His scent is strong here . . .”

  Hank took her at her word. But me, I was skeptical.

  “Well,” I ventured, “then the only conclusion is that she vanished into thin air. And knowing the young lady as well as we do, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  “Uh, uh,” Hank said, shaking his head doggedly. “There wouldn’t be any reason for it.”

  “No? Perhaps her old man was a smart guy and put this Groana Bird in a place where only his daughter could get at it.”

  “Then why did he keep it a secret?” Hank asked.

  I had no answer for that.

  In the meantime the woman had been busy. Her fingers tapped the surface, ran lightly across the face, as though in search of some crack not seen by the eyes. Suddenly she let out a bark of triumph. We stepped quickly to her side.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  For an answer she slammed the palm of her hand against the rock. It spun away from her and before our astonished eyes we saw a long narrow room, high-ceilinged and with walls of natural rock. At the far end we saw Mokar loling at his ease. Of Luria, nothing was to be seen. Of course we realized what had happened. The wall swung on a pivot. Luria’s bodyguard had reasoned that since the trail ended there it had to continue beyond. Her sense of smell had told her that Mokar had come to that point. Unless they had disappeared into air, they had to be somewhere beyond the wall.

  Hank was first to step through. I followed and the woman brought up the rear. We saw it simultaneously. In one corner of the room was an immense bird cage. Luria stood beside it crooning something to a brilliantly colored bird which rocked back and forth on a perch. She turned, saw us, smiled a welcome, and turned back to the bird. We came over and ranged ourselves beside the girl. I looked at the bird with curiosity.

  They could call it what they wanted, Groana Bird, holy bird, or anything else. As far as I was concerned it was a polly. Hank had the same sentiments.

  “A cockatoo,” he said in a low voice.

  “Aah, shut up,” the bird suddenly screached.

  “Shut up yourself,” Hank blazed.

  “Okay, if that’s what you want,” the bird said.

  Luria turned an angry face to us.

  “And just when I had soothed the Groana Bird,” she said through slitted lips. “I could, I could . . .” her voice trailed off in helpless syllables.

  “Groana, Shmoana,” I said. “What is this? He’s nothing but a parrot. What’s all the fuss about?”

  “Yeah,” the parrot said. “What’s all the fuss for?”

  “Do you mean,” Hank asked, “that this is the holy bird your father held in such high esteem?”

  “The wisest animal in the whole world,” Luria said. “What he says becomes law. We must bring him back with us.”

  “So okay,” I said. “Only let’s get out of this dungeon. It’s beginning to give me the creeps.”

  I had a swell idea. That is until they began searching for the door to open the cage and discovered there was none. The bars were set close enough to hold the bird prisoner. I wondered how they had placed him inside. The bird watched our parade around his cage with cocked head and jaundiced eye. After a few moments of it he broke out in his raucous voice:

  “Let’s not keep up this silly dance. Besides, I’m getting hungry. Let’s get me out of this place.”

  “I’d like to twist that fool head of yours from those feathers,” I said viciously.

  “Ha-ha!” the bird crowed. “So would a lot of them. So come and get me . . .”

  I SAW red then. I saw a lot of other colors, all on the bird, and I had a w
ild desire to tear that bird in two. I stalked forward, grabbed the bars and twisted, even though I knew I was being foolish. After all, even a dope like me could see they were made to hold something a lot stronger than a bird. But I was mad . . .

  They bent as though they were made of spaghetti. There was a last raucous crow of delight, a flash of color past my eyes and the voice of the bird behind me:

  “Thanks, pal. I was getting tired of being a bird in a cage. Me, without no gilt . . .”

  I whipped around and there was our little feathered friend perched on the shoulder of Luria. I was still seeing red. I gave him a fiendish look (I hoped) and stalked toward the two. Luckily, Hank stopped me.

  “Aah, let ’im come,” the bird said. “I’ll tear ’im in two, or three. I got lots of numbers.”

  “But only one life, bird. You ain’t a cat. Just remember that,” I mumbled darkly.

  The parrot cocked his head to one side, gave Luria a sidelong look from his bright eyes and said:

  “Where’d you find the squares, beautiful? What dopes! Especially the one who talks.”

  “Oh, Groana Bird,” Luria said. “We have searched long for you. The days are dark on Pola since my father left to join his soul-mates . . .”

  That blasted bit of feathers and beak just couldn’t keep quiet.

  “That’s what I kept tellin’ the old boy. Better watch your knittin’ or they’re gonna take that sweater apart before you’re through with it. So he perled when he shoulda knit and see what happened. But like yap-jaw says, this dungeon’s beginning to give me the creeps. And I’ve been here a lot longer than he. So . . .”

  Luria’s sigh of happiness, as she turned and started back, was like a song to Hank. He stepped close to her side and grinned down at her from his vantage of two inches with a grin that had it been wider would have set his ears on the other side of his head. Oh, well, I thought, now that the worst is over and we ain’t got nothing else to do except pick up the marbles, maybe she’ll send us back and I can finish that story for Fa . . .