The Return of Tharn

by Howard Browne

  CHAPTER VIII

  A PRIZE FOR VOKAL

  "I tell you it is useless, Jotan," Tamar said. "For three suns now wehave beat the jungle searching for some sign of her. How long do youexpect to keep up this useless hunt?"

  There were five of them in the group: Jotan, Tamar and three of theformer's best fighting men. They were seated on a fallen log at the edgeof a narrow stream, having finished washing away the stains of jungletravel only minutes before. Directly overhead hung the midday sun,flooding them with humid heat, and hemming them in on all sides stoodtowering giants of the forest.

  Jotan shook his head and said nothing. The strain and hopelessness ofthe last three days had aged him visibly: there were new lines in hisface and his eyes were haggard. He recognized his injustice insubjecting his friends to the dangers of jungle travel, especially whentheir number was so small; but Dylara meant everything to him and hecould not give her up without a struggle.

  "I beg of you," Tamar persisted; "give up the search that we may turnabout and rejoin the others. We are not equipped to follow this trailall the way back to Sephar. Already we have lost two of our men--one ofthem the only man among us who was qualified to track her down. For allwe know she may be dead--the victim of one of the numerous catsinfesting this section of the country."

  "You may return if you like," snapped Jotan, stung by that last remark."I am going on--alone if necessary! Oh, I know why you want to call itoff," he went on, scowling. "You never had any use for her because sheis a girl of the caves instead of a nobleman's daughter. But whether youlike it or not, Dylara is the only woman I shall ever love and I amgoing to find her--or give my life in the attempt."

  Tamar, hearing, knew his friend meant exactly what he said. It wasuseless to plead with him on the basis of not being able to pick up hertrail. But there was another way--and he bored into it, playing it upfor all it was worth.

  "Your life is your own, Jotan," he said stiffly. "But do you have theright to sacrifice the lives of the rest of us in a quest that iscompletely hopeless? If we had found anything to indicate we were on theright trail I would not for an instant try to dissuade you. It is true Ido not think the girl worthy of your love--but that is not important.You do love her and I would fight against the world in defense of yourchoice."

  "But to go on this way without a single lead to show us we have even thefaintest chance for success, to throw away the lives of these threemen--and our own--is rank folly! Perhaps you regard it as some sort ofadmirable determination; in truth it is sheer stubbornness."

  For a long time Jotan sat there staring with unseeing eyes at thesluggishly moving waters of the tiny river. There was no denying thetruth in Tamar's words. He knew his best friend meant every word of hisstatement that he would back Jotan's choice of a mate against a world;he had proved that back in Sephar by saving Dylara's life by a bit ofquick thinking, when he might as easily have let a plot against her goon to its inevitable end. Equally as undeniable was his statement thatit was sheer injustice to sacrifice needlessly the lives of loyal men onwhat could only be classified as a fool's errand.

  Impulsively he turned to one of the three warriors sitting in a stolidrow beside him. "Tell me, Itak," he said, "what is your greatest desireat this moment?"

  "To serve you, noble Jotan," the man replied promptly and with completehonesty.

  "And after that?"

  Itak's dark face split in a wide smile. "When we left for Ammad, my matewas heavy with child. I would like to learn if I have a son or adaughter."

  Slowly Jotan rose from the log and stretched his long, powerful arms."We have rested long enough," he said, his face empty of all emotion."Let us be on our way--back to join our companions!"

  Open relief showed in the three warriors' faces. Only Tamar fullyunderstood what those words had cost his friend and he stood up and laida comforting hand on his shoulder. For only a second he left it thereand neither spoke.

  Then packs were swung to stalwart backs and the five men disappearedamong the trees along the narrow game trail leading into the south--andAmmad.

  * * * * *

  Consciousness returned to Dylara at the moment the spider man wasplacing her roughly on a heap of foul-smelling grasses. In the almostimpenetrable darkness she was aware that his hands were movinglingeringly along the contours of her body and in sudden terror shestruck out at his face, guided by the sound of hoarse rapid breathing.

  Her nails struck home and she raked them fiercely across an unseencheek, bringing forth a startled cry of pain and anger. An open handcaught her heavily above the ear and once more her senses swam, leavingher weak and defenseless.

  Dimly she was aware that the awful creature was dropping to its kneesbeside her and once more long slender hair-covered fingers tugged at hertunic.

  And then there was a startled grunt, a flurry of motion--and she wasalone. Even as she started up wonderingly the floor of the swinging hutvibrated sharply under a heavy impact, followed by the sounds of furiousstruggle.

  What it all meant, Dylara did not know. Perhaps one of the otherspider-men, jealous of her captor's prize, had come to take her forhimself. Or perhaps the spider-man's mate had arrived to protect thesanctity of her home.

  Whatever the reason, it was Dylara's chance--and she took it withouthesitation. Hugging the walls to keep free of the two battling figuresrolling about the floor, she edged her way swiftly toward the smallaperture that served as a door, then dropped to her knees and crawledthrough. At any moment she expected one of those slender hands to closeabout one of her ankles; but that did not happen and she gained one ofthe branches outside.

  Never in all her life before had the daughter of Majok descended from atree with such reckless abandon--but never before had she so strong amotive for haste. In fact she slipped and fell the last ten feet, herheart bounding into her throat as she toppled into Stygian blackness.

  She was on her feet like a cat, not stopping to learn if the fall hadinjured her, and ran blindly into the tangled fastness of brush, vine,creeper and tree. Thorns tore at her skin and tunic, brambles tuggedpainfully at her hair, the stems of bushes tripped her up, trees loomedup too late for her to avoid slamming into them.

  But Dylara was impervious to pain and heedless of obstacles. On and onshe went, stumbling, running, crawling--fighting to put distance betweenher and the ugly monstrosities in those conical, tree-top huts.

  How long this mad flight endured or how far it took her Dylara was neverto know. But at last overtaxed muscles rebelled, her laboring lungsrefused their task, and the cave girl collapsed in a pitiful heap amonga tangled maze of head-high bushes.

  Twice she sought to rise and go on. But each time her legs turned towater beneath her and she sank back to earth. Tears of utterhelplessness flooded her eyes; she put her head down against onearm--and in that instant she fell sound asleep.

  When she awakened night had fled and sunlight, pale and without warmthafter filtering through layer upon layer of foliage, made visible herimmediate surroundings.

  * * * * *

  She got shakily to her feet and stood there swaying a little as outragedmuscles reminded her painfully of last night's mad flight. Little linesof dried blood on her arms and legs marked where thorns had raked herand she realized her body was one aching mass of bruises. Added to thiswas an inflexible stiffness brought on by sleeping on damp earth.

  But all this was relatively unimportant. She was free once more--free tobegin her long journey back to the cave of her father. She must hastenback to the trail which Jotan and his men had followed from Ammad andretrace her way southward toward home.

  And at that moment the full impact of her predicament came home withstunning force.

  She was utterly and completely lost! Whether the trail to Sephar was tothe east or west of where she now stood was as unknown to her as theopposite side of Uda, the moon. True her goal lay to the north; butunless she could locate the original path Jotan had
followed, she mightspend the rest of her life picking a way through the towering mountainsand endless plains between.

  Surging panic cut her legs from under her and she dropped into a sittingposition on a fallen log and buried her face in her hands. For a longtime she sat thus, fighting back her tears, trying to think logically.But what use was logic in this tangled wilderness of growing things?

  Still, she told herself, she could not sit there forever, an unresistingmorsel for the first meat-eater to come along. She stood up, brushedaway an accumulation of leaves, thorns and dirt from her tunic, andstruck resolutely out toward the east, pushing her way slowly throughthe walls of plant life everywhere about her.

  Monkeys raced and chattered among the branches overhead and disturbedrodents and the crawling things that infest the rotting jungle floorfled from her path. After a dozen yards she was bathed in perspirationand her skin seemed to crawl with the dampness.

  If only she could find some sort of pathway that would allow her to makeprogress without battling this ocean of pulpy, slimy vegetation--afooting solid enough to prevent sinking to her ankles with every step.Three different times she narrowly avoided treading on snakes--small,brightly colored reptiles whose bite would have meant a lingering death;and once she nearly collapsed with fright when a looping vine caught herabout the neck unexpectedly and she thought it the folds of a python.

  And then, after an hour of this, she stumbled unexpectedly into anelephant path, its powdery surface marked by the passage of numerousother animals. Unfortunately for her purpose it ran almost east and westinstead of north and after following it into the east for the betterpart of two hours, it began gradually to veer southward, taking herfurther and further from the caves of her father.

  Her only hope was that sooner or later she would come upon anintersecting trail that would lead northward. The thought of leaving thenarrow strip of open ground and plunging back into that green maze wasmore than she could endure. And so she went on, staggering now and thenunder the lashes of heat and weariness, finding an occasional waterholeto quench her thirst and stripping fruit from trees and bushes tosatisfy hunger.

  Near nightfall she came upon a large clearing through which flowed awide shallow stream. It had been several hours since last water hadpassed her lips and sight of the river lifted her spirits. She pushedher way through a heavy growth of reeds on the near bank, knelt anddrank thirstily, then slipped out of her tunic and submerged her entirebody in the brackish liquid.

  Emerging at last, she dried her body with handfuls of grasses, herlithe, sweetly rounded figure gleaming like an image molded of pure goldin the fading sunlight. Her spirits were soaring again, for when firstleaving the water she had glimpsed the beginnings of a second trail intothe forest--a trail pointing straight as a spear shaft toward the north.

  Already her plans were made. She would spend the night among thehigh-flung branches of that tree at the trail's entrance, when dawn cameagain she would start out once more--this time toward home.

  Donning her tunic she ran lightly toward the tree, its base buried amonga heavy growth of bushes.

  While from the depths of tangled undergrowth near the bole of that tree,a pair of glowing yellow eyes were fixed in an unblinking stare upon theswiftly approaching girl!

  * * * * *

  A storm was blowing up. Tharn, belly flat against a broad branch whilehe gnawed the sweet pulpy interior of a hard-shelled fruit, caught thesigns of it in the scent of the air, in the uneasy pattern of a shiftingbreeze, in the faintly yellowish cast of the sky overhead. He mentionedthe possibility to Trakor, who, wedged into a fork nearby, was dozing inthe heat of day.

  "A nice dry cave would come in handy if the rain comes," the youthobserved. "I know how Gerdak's warriors hated being caught in a storm.They say the jungle is never more dangerous, with winds blowing branchesthrough the air with the speed of flying spears, great trees beinguprooted to crash down and crush the unlucky, while Rora, the lightning,flickers angrily about their heads."

  "It is a part of jungle living," Tharn said philosophically. "This onewill not come for half a sun yet--if it comes at all. Or it may be onlya little storm."

  "And if it is a bad one?" Trakor asked.

  "Then we find a very big tree that is not too old and stand under ituntil it passes."

  "But sometimes storms last for many suns!"

  "Not at this season. The rain may fall for suns on end but then the windis not too strong and there is no danger in moving about."

  This was the sixth day since he and Trakor had set out in sustainedpursuit of those Ammadians who were holding Dylara. They traveled mostlyduring the morning and afternoon hours, laying up during the heat ofday. To Trakor every hour brought new confidence, increasing dexterityin tree-top travel and his store of jungle lore, under the experttutelage of Tharn, increased by leaps and bounds. He could stalk Neela,the zebra, or Bana, the deer, across wide stretches of grasslands and,more often than not, get close enough to this wariest of all prey tobring one down with a single spear cast. Tharn had spent all of one sunmaking him a bow, and with it and a handful of arrows from Tharn's ownquiver the boy had learned to handle the weapon with some degree ofsuccess. No member of the cat family had faced him and his new-foundabilities thus far, but the time must eventually come and he lookedforward to it with ill-concealed impatience.

  But it was in the trees where Trakor excelled. Already he could keeppace with Tharn for short periods, although he was far from being ableto match his friend's over-all agility and stamina. Only when it came toracing swiftly through the trees in the blackness of night was hehopelessly outclassed; for here success depended on an uncanny kind ofsixth sense that Tharn had managed to develop only by constant practiceand use since almost the day he was able to walk.

  Nor was Trakor capable of such quick thinking as that displayed by hishero. A sudden development would freeze Trakor momentarily, while Tharn,because of both environment and heredity possessed reflexes that wouldhave put Rora, the lightning, to shame, would already have the situationin hand.

  And as the days passed the bond between the two of them increased instrength and permanence. To Trakor, Tharn was even more a god than onthat day he had dropped from the skies to save the youth from the fangsof Sadu. He sought to emulate everything about him--his expression, hiswalk, his way of speaking--even his way of thinking. Almost every wordthe mighty Cro-Magnard uttered was stored deep within the mind of hisworshiping companion, to be secretly mulled over and absorbed. As forTharn, he admired the boy's boundless enthusiasm, his unflagging desireto master the lore of the jungle, his uncomplaining acceptance ofhardship and his quiet courage.

  To Tharn the jungles and plains of his world made up all he wanted fromlife. To range far and wide in search of adventure, to match his witsand prowess against its savage denizens, animal and human, had made thatlife complete. With the advent of Dylara, and love, fresh horizons hadopened before his eyes, but not once had he pictured life with her ashis mate as closing the door on his previous existence. He would haveher, he reasoned, and the jungle too.

  * * * * *

  But with the admission of Trakor still another phase presented itself.Self-sufficient as he had always been, even unto childhood, lonelinesswas no more than a puzzling word. But now he caught himself thinking ofranging those jungles and plains with a companion--one nearly his ownage--and the thought pleased him more than he permitted to show. As thedays passed the resolve grew to bring Trakor with him and Dylara back tohis own people. Always there would be the three of them--Dylara, Trakor,Tharn, inseparable.

  The eddying gusts of wind suddenly brought a strangely familiar scent toTharn's sensitive nostrils, dispelling his mood of reverie and bringinghim instantly upright on the swaying branch.

  Trakor, startled by the abrupt move, looked up at him sharply. Tharn wasstanding with head thrown slightly back, his nostrils quivering, hisentire body as motionless as though cut from st
one.

  "What is it, Tharn?"

  Tharn's eyes went to the boy and in them was something that broughtTrakor beside him instantly.

  "Come," the cave lord said.

  Side by side they set off through the trees, following the winding pathfar below. Tharn was moving swiftly, and when he elected to do so few inall the jungle could match his pace. Trakor, to his consternation, beganto fall steadily behind and he put on a fresh burst of speed, takingchances he ordinarily would never have dreamed of. Despite this, Tharncontinued to widen the gap and within minutes the youth lost sight ofhim altogether.

  The passage of both was practically soundless, for that is important forsurvival in the wild. As a result Trakor was unable to make use of hisears in trailing the other, but as Tharn had continued on above thepathway, it would seem logical that he would continue to do so. Hehesitated to call out, for to do so, he thought, would be to confess hislesser ability; besides a cry might serve to warn whatever had excitedTharn's interest.

  While far ahead of him now, Tharn raced onward, his face anexpressionless mask, his heart thudding with desperate hope.

  * * * * *

  Five dust-covered, disheveled men moved steadily along a winding gametrail, the rays of a noon-day sun pouring down on their tunic-clad backsthrough rifts in the arching branches overhead. They moved in singlefile without speaking, almost without thinking, their every energyintent only on cutting down the distance between them and the majorportion of their party.

  Jotan was at the rear of the column, Tamar and he alternating at holdingdown this exposed position. The back of the warrior ahead of him was tenor twelve feet distant--a space Jotan almost automatically maintained.

  The trail underfoot swerved abruptly to by-pass an especially heavygrowth of trees and momentarily Jotan was out of sight of hiscompanions. A dozen more strides and he too would make the turn andrejoin them.

  A sudden rustling among the branches directly overhead caused him tolook up in alarm, just as a crushing weight struck full upon hisshoulders and drove him to his knees. Steel fingers sought and instantlyfound a hold on his neck, choking back an instinctive cry for help.

  Jotan was a powerful, fully trained warrior, with muscles superior tomost of his kind. Yet in the first few seconds of struggle he realizedwith sinking heart that his strength was as a child's when compared tothat of the unseen and silent creature on his back.

  A film began to form before his protruding eyes, his senses reeled, hislaboring lungs fought for air--then blackness poured into his brain.

  ... Slowly the fog of unconsciousness left Jotan of Ammad and at last heopened his eyes. At sight of the half-naked man crouched over himinstant recognition dawned in his expression. "You!" he gasped.

  "I," said Tharn impassively, "Where is she?"

  "I do not know."

  "You lie!" The cave lord's hand shot out and sank incredibly powerfulfingers into the Ammadian's bare arm. "Tell me where she is or I willkill you!"

  Jotan raised a shaking hand and massaged the aching muscles of histhroat where those mighty fingers had left their mark. He saw now thathe was high in the branches of a tree, that sitting on a branch behindhis captor was another cave man--a youth, rather--who was watching himfrom inscrutable eyes.

  "She never really believed you were dead," the Ammadian said slowly,almost as though thinking aloud. "I tried to tell her no man comesthrough the Games of the God alive. Even now I can hardly believe thatyou are actually here."

  Tharn was not to be side-tracked. "Where is she?" he growled. "For thelast time--or do I choke the information from you?"

  "That will not be necessary, my friend," Jotan said sadly. "For all Iknow Dylara may be dead."

  Nothing changed in Tharn's expression but his fingers bit sharply intoJotan's arm bringing an involuntary cry to the Ammadian's lips. "What doyou mean?"

  Whereupon the young nobleman of Ammad recounted the events of thatterrible night when the lions had fallen upon his followers and sentDylara racing for the safety of the trees. Tharn heard him out, his faceas empty of emotion as though carved from granite.

  "For three suns," Jotan said in closing, "we searched the jungle for asign of her. But to no avail. Either the lions got her or she issomewhere to the north, making her way back to the caves of her people.Two suns ago my men and I gave up and we were on our way back to rejointhe rest of our party when you found me."

  "Where is this place from which Dylara fled Sadu?"

  "A sun's march to the south."

  Tharn nodded. "You may return to your friends," he said. "If she isstill alive I will find her. If she is dead, or if I find her alive andlearn that you have harmed her, I will come back and kill you!"

  Jotan shrugged. Not for an instant did he doubt that the young giantmeant exactly what he said. Somehow his own life seemed unimportant withDylara gone. He knew that, alive or dead, Dylara was lost to him andthat he would never see her again.

  He shook off his thoughts. "Then I am free to go?"

  "Yes."

  "Where will I find my friends?"

  "The trail where I found you is directly below. They have discoveredyour absence and have backtracked in search of you."

  Without another word Jotan rose to his feet and began the long descentgroundward.

  Once the intervening foliage hid the Ammadian from view, Tharn said toTrakor, "A sun's march to the south," he said. "We should make it inhalf that time--perhaps less. Come."

  Side by side the two Cro-Magnards set off through the leafy reaches ofthe trees.

  * * * * *

  Dylara, only a few yards from the trail's mouth, came to a sudden halt.Years of elbow rubbing with the jungle and its inhabitants reminded herthat trail mouths a short distance from water were where Sadu and Tarlokwere most likely to be lying in wait for game. And this was the time ofday the meat-eaters began their search for food.

  Standing there near the clearing's edge, she peered intently at thewaist-high grasses shrouding the boles of trees on both sides of thetrail. A light breeze stirred them softly, and at one spot directlybeneath a jungle patriarch's broad boughs, a trailing vine swayed inunison with the wind.

  But wait! That vine was quivering unsteadily, then moving _against_ thebreeze! Instantly Dylara's eyes were fixed on that spot. Little bylittle her searching gaze made out the outlines of some amorphous shapecrouching motionless behind a curtain of grasses.

  Imagination? Perhaps, she told herself. But the jungle dweller withoutit soon left his bones to bleach along the trails. Cautiously she took abackward step ... another, and yet a third.

  The long grasses at that point were very still now as the breeze died.Was she being overly careful--running from shadows? A tree stump, afallen log--any of several explanations would cover that motionless bulklying there.

  Suddenly the brooding silence was torn apart by a thunderous roar andSadu, the lion, aware that his prey was on the point of escape, sprangfrom the depths of foliage and bore down upon her with express-trainspeed, snarling and growling as he came.

  Even as Dylara turned to flee, she knew her life was finished, thatnothing could save her now. Any hope that she would reach safety amongthe trees was futile; the nearest was long yards away and Sadu wouldhave buried his talons and fangs in her defenseless flesh while she wasstill far short of escape.

  Yet so strong was the urge of self-preservation that she was racing likethe wind for sanctuary despite the uselessness of flight; while behindher Sadu was cutting down the gap between them as though the Cro-Magnardprincess were standing still.

  The knowledge that his prey was inescapably doomed did not cause Sadu toloiter along the way or grow over-confident. He judged the interveningspace with a practiced eye; and, at precisely the right moment, helaunched his great, heavy-maned body in the final Gargantuan leap thatwould end full in the center of that smoothly tanned back.

  It was then that Dylara caught a foot in a tangle of gra
sses and plungedheadlong!

  Sadu, soaring in a majestic parabola, overshot his mark and landed afull two yards beyond. Instantly he wheeled to pounce on his dazedprey--and in that instant twelve heavy warspears tore into his exposedflank!

  The combined impact of those dozen flint heads knocked him to theground. Fountains of blood darkened his shimmering hide; his legsscrambled madly to bring him upright--then he slumped back and moved nomore.

  Dylara, wide-eyed and shivering, was rising to her feet when a horde ofwhite-tunicked Ammadians hemmed her in. One of them, a tall,square-shouldered warrior of middle-age, caught one of her arms andhelped her up.

  Still dazed by her narrow escape from death, Dylara looked about thecircle of curious faces. None of these men was familiar, although theirdress and appearance told her into whose hands she had fallen.

  "Who are you, woman?" demanded the square-shouldered one roughly, "andwhat are you doing thus far from Ammad?"

  She met his stern gaze unflinchingly. "I am Dylara, daughter of Majok,and I do not belong in Ammad. Let me go at once!"

  * * * * *

  The man's eyes narrowed speculatively. "What have we here?" he said, anappraising gleam in his eyes. "Your bearing and appearance is that of anobleman's daughter; your words have the sound of the cave-dwellers.Which are you, anyway?"

  Briefly, Dylara weighed her chances of deluding this sharp-eyed man intobelieving her the daughter of some Ammadian. Even as the thought came toher she realized such a story would never stand up. Either way he wouldtake her to Ammad; and from the expressions of some of those warriorscrowding about her and feasting their eyes on her face and figure, shewould be better off telling the truth. The mere mention of Jotan's name,while expunging her last hope of being released, would at least save herfrom possible molestation....

  "I am the noble Jotan's," she said, thankful that the earnest young manwas not around to hear that declaration. "I was accompanying him fromSephar to Ammad when an attack by lions separated us."

  The Ammadian leader's expression was one she could not analyze. He said,almost humbly, "Perhaps you are the daughter of some Sepharian noble?"

  It might have been wise for her to make such a claim. But strong withinthis lovely girl was pride of race and a faint contempt for thesecomparatively frail and dull-witted people.

  "No," she said, head held high, "I am not a Sepharian. I am the daughterof Majok, chief of a tribe. I was captured by the Sepharians and I wasgiven to Jotan."

  The man's bow was a travesty on humbleness. "It is an honor to meet aslave of the noble Jotan. I am Ekbar, captain of the guard of the nobleVokal. You will find my master one who can properly appreciate suchbeauty and charm as yours. Come, let us hasten on that you may thequicker become known to him!"

  Dylara felt the blood drain from her face. "You fool! Do you think thenoble Jotan would allow such to happen? Were your master to lay so muchas a hand on me, Jotan would kill him!"

  "You think Jotan's slaves mean so much to him?" Ekbar said mockingly.

  "I am no slave," Dylara blazed. "I am to be Jotan's mate."

  The other's smile broadened. "I'm afraid Jotan is past needing a mate.You see, Jotan is dead!"