The Return of Tharn Part 20

"Where will I find my friends?"

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

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

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

Side by side the two Cro-Magnards set off through the leafy reaches of the 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 her that trail mouths a short distance from water were where Sadu and Tarlok were most likely to be lying in wait for game. And this was the time of day the meat-eaters began their search for food.

Standing there near the clearing's edge, she peered intently at the waist-high gra.s.ses shrouding the boles of trees on both sides of the trail. A light breeze stirred them softly, and at one spot directly beneath a jungle patriarch's broad boughs, a trailing vine swayed in unison with the wind.

But wait! That vine was quivering unsteadily, then moving _against_ the breeze! Instantly Dylara's eyes were fixed on that spot. Little by little her searching gaze made out the outlines of some amorphous shape crouching motionless behind a curtain of gra.s.ses.

Imagination? Perhaps, she told herself. But the jungle dweller without it soon left his bones to bleach along the trails. Cautiously she took a backward step ... another, and yet a third.

The long gra.s.ses at that point were very still now as the breeze died.

Was she being overly careful--running from shadows? A tree stump, a fallen log--any of several explanations would cover that motionless bulk lying there.

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

Even as Dylara turned to flee, she knew her life was finished, that nothing could save her now. Any hope that she would reach safety among the trees was futile; the nearest was long yards away and Sadu would have buried his talons and fangs in her defenseless flesh while she was still far short of escape.

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

The knowledge that his prey was inescapably doomed did not cause Sadu to loiter along the way or grow over-confident. He judged the intervening s.p.a.ce with a practiced eye; and, at precisely the right moment, he launched his great, heavy-maned body in the final Gargantuan leap that would end full in the center of that smoothly tanned back.

It was then that Dylara caught a foot in a tangle of gra.s.ses and plunged headlong!

Sadu, soaring in a majestic parabola, overshot his mark and landed a full two yards beyond. Instantly he wheeled to pounce on his dazed prey--and in that instant twelve heavy warspears tore into his exposed flank!

The combined impact of those dozen flint heads knocked him to the ground. Fountains of blood darkened his s.h.i.+mmering hide; his legs scrambled madly to bring him upright--then he slumped back and moved no more.

Dylara, wide-eyed and s.h.i.+vering, was rising to her feet when a horde of white-tunicked Ammadians hemmed her in. One of them, a tall, square-shouldered warrior of middle-age, caught one of her arms and helped her up.

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

"Who are you, woman?" demanded the square-shouldered one roughly, "and what 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, an appraising gleam in his eyes. "Your bearing and appearance is that of a n.o.bleman'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 into believing her the daughter of some Ammadian. Even as the thought came to her she realized such a story would never stand up. Either way he would take her to Ammad; and from the expressions of some of those warriors crowding about her and feasting their eyes on her face and figure, she would 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 her from possible molestation....

"I am the n.o.ble Jotan's," she said, thankful that the earnest young man was not around to hear that declaration. "I was accompanying him from Sephar to Ammad when an attack by lions separated us."

The Ammadian leader's expression was one she could not a.n.a.lyze. He said, almost humbly, "Perhaps you are the daughter of some Sepharian n.o.ble?"

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

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

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

Dylara felt the blood drain from her face. "You fool! Do you think the n.o.ble Jotan would allow such to happen? Were your master to lay so much as 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!"

CHAPTER IX

TRAKOR'S MISTAKE

It was close to nightfall when Tharn and Trakor reached the clearing where Jotan's party had been attacked by lions several nights before.

Ashes from the long-dead fires still showed their outlines, tracked now by the hoofs and paws of jungle beasts. An air of desolation seemed to hang above the scene like the miasmic vapors from some foul swamp.

The two Cro-Magnards knelt at the stream and quenched their thirst. For nearly an hour the two young warriors sat side by side on the bank without speaking, while gradually shadows from the encircling wall of trees stretched farther and farther across the glade. And then with the suddenness peculiar to tropical climes night filled the forest and the voices of hunters and hunted rose and fell about the clearing.

Trakor stirred uneasily as the roar of Sadu, monarch of the jungle night, rolled across the forest aisles from nearby. His ears, far sharper now from constant use, caught a faint stirring among the river reeds a dozen yards from where Tharn and he were seated; and an instant later those rustling stalks parted and Tarlok, the leopard, slunk into the open.

The young man from Gerdak's caves sat very still, hardly daring to breathe, as the lithe, powerfully muscled feline stood clearly revealed in the light of stars. For a long moment the cat stood as motionless as some beautifully carved statue, then gracefully bent its neck to dip the soft furry muzzle into the water.

Trakor felt a cool breeze against his face and knew why Tarlok failed to sense the presence of Tharn and him. What, he wondered, would happen if Siha, the wind, should suddenly reverse its course and bring their scent to Tarlok's sensitive nostril's? Would that terrible engine of destruction spring instantly upon them, rending and tearing before they could give effective battle? It was an interesting problem to weigh, although Trakor felt he could do it far more justice from a seat on some lofty branch.

Tarlok finished slaking his thirst and without an instant's hesitation turned and vanished among the reeds. Trakor listened to the almost inaudible sounds of the cat's pa.s.sage and felt a little glow of pride. A moon ago he would have mistaken those rustlings as the pa.s.sage of Siha--if he had heard them at all.

Tharn stirred. "I am hungry!"

"And I!" agreed Trakor, abruptly aware that he had not eaten since mid-morning.

"Let us find a comfortable branch for the night, then I will hunt food while you wait there."