Death Stalks the Princess
As Mog, the sullen, shuffled across the narrow strip of cleared ground toward the game trail into the jungle labyrinth, he was mentally congratulating himself at the ease with which he had obtained a desirable mate. Within little more than a sun from now he would be exhibiting his prize to the envious eyes of the men and the jealous stares of the shes.
Mog was moving down-wind, and so engrossed was he with self-congratulations that he utterly failed to sense the presence of a tawny shape hidden in the thick growth at the trail's mouth.
It was Sadu, the lion, crouching there, massive head flattened to the ground, hindquarters beneath a taut frame, waiting for the approaching prey to move within the radius of his spring.
On came the Neanderthal. Suddenly a terrible roar came from the ground almost at his feet, and a huge body flashed from the cloaking verdure and leaped at the hairy chest of the astonished man-thing.
Mog's reaction was instinctive. As Sadu's roar broke the silence, the Hairy One tossed Alurna aside and swung up his massive club to beat off the attack.
But in vain. Mog had been too well ambushed to stage an effective defense. Full on his shoulders fell the awful weight of the great cat, the club brushed aside as though it did not exist, and Mog went down as though pole-axed.
With wide distended jaws Sadu lowered his head past the futilely flailing arms. There was a sickening crunch of bone as giant fangs closed on the face of the struggling figure, and Mog, the sullen, was no more.
Alurna, prostrate where Mog had tossed her a few feet away, watched the grisly drama with frightened eyes. During the brief interval in which Sadu had made his kill, she might have risen and taken to her heels, but a paralysis of fear kept her motionless.
Now Sadu rose to his feet, shook himself until the thick mane fairly flew, then placed a heavily taloned paw on his prey and turned his leonine head to look slowly about.
At last his round yellow eyes came to rest on the prone figure of the girl. For an endless moment he regarded her with a fixed, unblinking stare; then the wrinkled lips curled back, exposing blood-reddened teeth, while from the cavernous chest came a low growl that coursed up and down the girl's spine like icy fingers.
For what seemed ages to Alurna that stare never wavered. The long graceful body with its tremendous sinews seemed to expand larger and larger until it loomed great as that of an elephant. She could feel a scream of horror and protest forming in her throat; but before it could find utterance; Sadu swung his head back to the corpse and settled down to feed.
Alurna felt a wave of relief so intense she nearly fainted; it required several minutes to beat down her weakness sufficiently to think of escape.
Some twenty paces to her left towered a mighty tree, its wide branches offering a secure haven could she but reach them. Only half that distance, however, separated her and the lion; and if she made a break for the tree, Sadu could be upon her before she had taken half a dozen steps.
But the beast might not try to stop her. The princess Alurna knew nothing of lions and their habits. Only in the arena during the Games had she seen a live one and then always from a distance. And so she resolved to lie quiet and wait for the animal to be done with its feeding. Perhaps then it would rise and stalk back into the jungle, leaving her unmolested.
The young woman lay perfectly still, trying to close her ears to sounds of grinding teeth and splintering bones. Once she shut her eyes on the revolting picture of Sadu at dinner, but opened them at once. To watch fragments of Mog disappearing into that monstrous maw was bad enough; but to see nothing, while an overwrought imagination sent the beast slinking toward her, was more than human nerves could endure.
Suddenly Sadu rose from the Neanderthal's body and gave voice to a low ominous growl. Alurna saw that the cat's attention was fixed on something beyond her, and she cautiously turned her head toward the cliff.
A few feet below the upper edge were several man-like figures clinging to the vertical surface. Carefully, each inched its way downward, testing each foot-and hand-hold before continuing on.
For a brief, ecstatic moment the girl took them to be warriors from Sephar; but then she saw they were creatures identical to her late captor, and suddenly heightened hopes plunged to a new depth of misery.
Sadu stood as a statue of bronze, the lazy jungle breeze ruffling his tawny mane, narrowed eyes intent on the slow-moving figures. For several minutes he stood thus, then lowering his head he seized the corpse of Mog by one arm and dragged it from sight deep into the luxurious growth of vegetation beside the trail. Not once during this change of position did he glance toward the watching girl.
The moment Sadu disappeared from view, Alurna sprang to her feet and plunged blindly into the jungle at a point farthest removed from the beast. Her only thought was to put all the distance possible between Sadu and herself. She dared not take to the open for fear the Hairy Men would catch sight of her and hunt her down.
For nearly two hours she struggled on, tearing her way through a tangled confusion of creepers, trees, ferns, broken branches and bushes. Several times she tripped and fell headlong, only to rise and stumble onward. Her tunic was stained and torn, thorns and branches having ripped the material in many places.
At last, after unwittingly changing her course many times, she sank to the ground beside the hole of a great tree in the center of a small clearing deep within the heart of the primeval forest.
Completely exhausted she lay half-conscious on the soft carpet of grasses, her tortured lungs laboring to bring oxygen to an overtaxed heart. Gradually her eyes closed, her heart slowed its mad tempo, she breathed more calmly as fear left her. As from a great distance came the low monotonous hum of insects, the subdued twitter of birds and rustlings from many leaves. Alurna slept....
When she sat up, several hours later, the glade was filled with the half-light that presages nightfall. She stood up and looked about, aware of the danger she had courted by sleeping on the ground in a territory where savage animals were so plentiful.
Abruptly the fading dusk deepened into darkness. The girl's tiny supply of courage fled with the light, leaving a frightened child to grope her way to the base of the lofty tree, where she managed to climb among the branches.
Here she found two thick boughs close together and extending horizontally outward in about the same plane. Sitting with her back against the rough trunk, she stretched tired legs along the two branches and composed herself to wait for the dawn.
Scarcely was she settled than the scream of a great cat sounded beneath her, and she heard the animal on the ground at the foot of the tree. For a short time it circled the clearing, then came the sound of rustling undergrowth and Jalok, the panther, was gone.
That night was the longest Alurna had ever known. The chill dampness of the nocturnal jungle penetrated to the innermost parts of her body until she was certain she would never again be warm. The single thin garment she was wearing was no protection; in fact, it added to her discomfort by absorbing moisture from the damp air.
Later, the heavy blackness about her was dispelled by rays of the full moon as it climbed until it seemed to hang close to the mighty tree that sheltered her. So bright was the glare that Alurna could see objects so small as to escape notice during the day. Several times she saw tiny rodents scurrying across the clearing, and once she saw little Sleeza kill and swallow a field mouse.
Twice she heard large bodies moving in the tangled fastness about the clearing, but what made the sounds remained a mystery. At frequent intervals the savage roars and screams of fierce beasts reached her ears, but always from a distance.
At last the seemingly endless night began to wane, and near daybreak the girl dozed fitfully.
When next she opened her eyes the sun had risen, flooding the glade with life-giving, hope-reviving rays. Alurna rose, unkinked muscles cramped from long hours in an unfamiliar position, and descended slowly to the ground. She was aware of being very hungry as well as possessed of a raging thirst. Acting on these needs she entered the forest to search for water and food.
Shortly thereafter, and solely by chance, she came to a small swift-moving mountain stream. Here she knelt and drank deep of the cold water, then, greatly refreshed, rose, and set about gathering fruit from the plentiful supply everywhere about her.
After eating, she bathed in the river, its waters soothing to the scratches and bruises of yesterday's mad dash through the jungle.
By the time she had dressed again, the sun was quite high. While she had been in the water she had caught sight of a narrow game trail leading in the direction she was confident Sephar lay. Spirits soaring, she started out for home, her step springy with confidence.
By noon the sun's heat had become so oppressive that she stopped in the shelter of a tree to rest. She was tempted to climb into the branches and sleep for a while; but the thought of being forced to spend another night in this wilderness drove away that temptation. It could not be much farther, she reasoned, before the base of the great plateau about Sephar was reached.
Her sweat-streaked face set in stubborn lines, the daughter of Urim stepped once more into the trail and plodded doggedly on. And every step was taking her farther and farther from her home.
It was not long after, that Tarlok, the leopard, his belly empty from a night of fruitless hunting, caught scent of her. Slowly, with infinite stealth, he slunk upwind, keeping within the jungle's edge until he caught sight of the girl's bowed shoulders.
Tarlok's jowls dripped with anticipation. Of all creatures known to him, none was more easily taken than man. A quick stalk, a sudden spring—and once again Tarlok would feed.
Nearer and nearer he approached, moving warily lest the girl take alarm and climb high into some tree. When almost abreast of her, he boldly stepped into the trail, not ten feet behind his unsuspecting prey.
It was then that Alurna, warned perhaps by some subtle sense, turned around.
Vulcar of Sephar and his band of twenty warriors having safely descended the precipice at the same point where Alurna had inched her way down earlier that day, assembled at the mouth of a pathway into the unchartered wood before them.
"They probably came this way," Vulcar said. "Look about for some sign of their passage."
A few minutes later a shout of triumph from one of the party brought the others to his side. He was pointing to a mark in the trail's dust—the large square imprint of a great flat foot, grotesquely human.
Vulcar smiled with grim satisfaction. "We are on the right track," he declared. "Let us go on; we have work to do."
As unwittingly as though it did not exist they passed the spot where their princess had entered the jungle. They did not see the broken and twisted greenery in the forest wall, and had they done so they could not have interpreted its meaning.
The men of Urb, versed in jungle lore, had found her trail at once, just as they had picked out Mog's bones where Sadu had left them. But Urim's daughter held no interest for any one of them, and they had made no effort to track her down.
For the balance of the day Vulcar and his companions pushed ahead on their mission of rescue—or revenge. Because they were smaller and more active they covered ground much more quickly than their bulky quarry. Consequently they were rapidly overtaking the five Neanderthals.
Near sunset the winding path debouched into a small clearing, through which ran a fair-sized stream. Here the pursuers found the first positive indication they were on the right track. On the near bank of the river were ashes of a small fire, still warm to the touch. Scattered about it were the gnawed bones of Muta, the boar—already picked clean by hordes of ants.
At first, Vulcar's men had clamored to dash ahead in hot pursuit. But the hawk-faced leader decided against it, saying a short rest and full bellies would help them to fight better than if they were worn and hungry.
"But if we wait," argued one, "the Hairy Men may reach their caves. We cannot fight against an entire tribe of them."
Vulcar shook his head. "Had they been close to their caves," he pointed out, "they would not have stopped to eat and rest. No; we will stop for a little while and eat of the food we carry; then we can go on even more quickly than before.
"Five of us will go slightly ahead of the others. In case the Hairy Men find that many are following them they may run away. If they see only five, however, they are sure to attack. Then the balance of us will fall upon them!"
There was no gainsaying the soundness of Vulcar's plan. Even the most action-eager warrior saw its beauty. And so the men dropped to the ground beside the river, ate of the cured strips of meat carried in their shoulder pouches, and drank from the river.
After a short rest period, Vulcar called them together and gave the word that began the last stage of the journey.
While only a short distance ahead, Urb and his four companions plodded slowly on toward their distant homes.
Darkness was not far in the offing, and Urb was inwardly debating on ordering the men to the trees for the night, when Tolb, at the rear of the column, voiced a low note that arrested the others in mid-stride. Turning as one, the five stood motionless, their ears, keen as those of Sadu, himself, cocked to catch and interpret what Tolb had heard.
Urb, wise old campaigner, was first to identify the sounds. "Men!" he grunted. "The hairless ones! Hide."
Silently each Neanderthal man stepped behind a trunk of one of the trees lining the path. Mighty clubs swung ready in steel fingers; narrowed eyes beneath overhanging brows scanned the open ground of the trail. The minutes lengthened....
And then five white-tuniced figures appeared at the far end of the path and came on at a half-trot. Slung across their shoulders were short bows; at their backs hung arrow-filled containers, and in their right hands dangled clubs, smaller than those used by the Neanderthals but still formidable weapons.
Not until the group had drawn abreast the ambushers did Urb give the signal. Then his fingers closed on a dry branch, and five immense bludgeons hurtled toward the startled Sepharians.
It requires far more skill to hit a moving target than a stationary one. Then, too, the half-light near the end of day does not add to the chances of a successful cast.
Three of the clubs missed their marks altogether, one struck a shoulder glancingly, while the fifth crashed into the base of a neck, snapping the spine and killing the stricken man instantly.
Behind the cudgels blundered the Hairy Ones, drawing flint knives as they came. If they had expected to catch the enemy unprepared and demoralized, however, they were badly disappointed.
A barrage of Sepharian clubs flashed to meet them. Two found marks: one striking Kor alongside the skull, knocking him flat; the other caught Urb, himself, a glancing blow atop the head that made his knees buckle briefly.
The Neanderthal chieftain recovered quickly and with an angry bellow sprang at the nearest white-clad figure. Disregarding the darting knife, Urb caught him by the tunic with one hand and drove his fist with inhuman force full into the Sepharian's face.
There was a dull crunching sound of crumpling bones and the hairless one slumped forward, his face from hairline to chin driven through the back of his head.
The two remaining guards were still in the fight, seeking to out-maneuver their less agile foemen and knife them from behind. The shifting feet stirred up dust from the trail until a cloud enveloped the fighters.
And then a ringing shout echoed above the panting, twisting bodies, and into battle came the balance of the Sepharians.
At sight of these enemy reinforcements, Urb and his three remaining henchmen turned and fled, leaving the fallen Kor where he lay. The newcomers pursued them for a short distance, then, seeing they were empty-handed, turned back.
Vulcar called his men together, determined the extent of any injuries, then turned his attention to the bodies in the trail. Coolly he ran his knife through the throat of the still stunned Kor. A brief examination proved the other two casualties to be quite dead.
After detailing four men to scoop out shallow graves for their late comrades, Vulcar sent the others into the foliage on either side of the trail to find Alurna. He believed she had been bound and gagged to prevent any warning of the ambuscade, and he pictured her as lying helpless nearby, awaiting release.
Until long after darkness, Vulcar and his men searched for their princess. Again and again they shouted her name, straining to catch an answering cry that did not come. Finally, after hours of systematic effort, in which every inch of ground for yards around was combed, the realization came that Urim's daughter was as lost to them as though they had remained in Sephar.
To Vulcar, the awful truth came as a sickening blow. So certain of success had he been at learning they were close on the heels of the Hairy Men, that the final disappointment almost drove him mad. All he could see was hopeless suffering dulling Urim's eyes and lining his face.... Vulcar beat his fists together in impotent fury at his own helplessness.
Reluctantly he gave the signal to abandon the search, and with bowed shoulders and bent head the captain led his command back toward Sephar and a waiting father.
Dylara sat beside a tiny brook and allowed its cool waters to chill her aching ankle. It had begun to swell again from the strain of a full day's slow progress, even though she had stopped many times to give it rest.
An hour from now it would be sunset. Soon the forest denizens would be coming here to drink. Soon, too, would come the meat-eaters, to lurk beside the pathway, awaiting Bana and Neela, whose succulent flesh they loved.
The cave-girl bent and washed the dust from her hands and face, drying the skin with grass. Then she rose and retraced her steps to the base of a tall tree. Favoring her ankle as best she could, Dylara climbed well above the ground, sought and found a properly placed limb on which she could spend the night, and fell promptly into dreamless sleep.
She had no more than closed her eyes when a group of eight men passed below the branches of her tree and stopped at the water's edge. One of the eight walked slowly back and forth on the near bank, his head lowered, studying the ground.
He halted suddenly, stooped lower, eyes intent on something there. Then he beckoned to the others.
"Look!" he exclaimed. "There, in the mud. See those marks? She sat here, bathing her feet. And here!—here are the prints of bare feet."
Jotan, following the pointing finger, nodded, his handsome face shining. "They must be hers. Are they recent, Modilk?"
"So recent," said the long-faced Modilk solemnly, "that the slave-girl must be within a few minutes of us."
Javan spoke now, his voice worried. "Where are we to spend the night, Jotan? The big cats will be hunting soon; we must find a safe place."
Jotan slapped his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "We'll find Dylara first," he said, "then make camp for the night. A circle of brush fires will keep the lions and leopards away."
The eight men waded the stream, not bothering to remove their sandals, and pressed on into the north.
While a stone's throw behind them, aloft in the branches of a leafy tree, slept the girl they were seeking.