Pursuit
The instant Tharn felt his foot press the unseen hand he wheeled soundlessly and sprang to the door. Closing his fingers about the latch, he stood there, waiting. To rush out now would be certain to awaken the disturbed sleeper; otherwise the man might blame the mishap on one of his companions and go back to sleep without investigating further.
He heard a stirring in the darkness.
"Jotan."
In the utter darkness of the room the single word sounded loud as a thunder-clap.
"Jotan," said the voice again.
"Uh?" came an answering grunt.
"Are you awake?"
"I wasn't—until you woke me," said Jotan testily.
"I think somebody stepped on my fingers," the first voice said. "They feel like it, anyway."
"You must have rolled over on them, Javan. Go back to sleep."
Tharn followed the conversation with interest, surprised that he could understand the words. He waited patiently and without panic for the speakers to act or to return to sleep.
"I tell you, my hand was stepped on," Javan insisted.
"What are you two talking about?" broke in a third voice.
"Javan claims someone has been walking on him," explained Jotan. "Make a light; he'll not sleep until we search the place."
Tharn heard one of the men rise and fumble about in a corner of the room. Suddenly a flame sputtered and took hold, lighting the room's interior with a feeble glow.
Waiting no longer, Tharn twisted the latch and tried to draw open the door. But something had gone wrong; he could not stir the heavy planks.
"There!" Javan shouted. "At the door! Didn't I tell—"
With a bound Jotan leaped from his bed and plunged forward, catching Tharn at the knees. The cave-man braced himself, then bent and grasped his attacker about the waist.
Jotan was a strong, agile man. As a rough-and-tumble fighter he had few equals. But when the arms of the intruder encircled his body and tore away his hold as though he were a child, he knew he stood no chance.
The Sepharian gasped aloud as he felt himself swung aloft. He had a swift glimpse of the awe-stricken faces of his friends; then his flying body hurtled across the room to crash against them with sickening force, sending all three to the floor, half-stunned.
Tharn seized the door-latch once more and surged back with all his strength. There followed the sound of splintering wood as latch, bolt and strike were torn away. A second later he had gained the street.
By the time those within were ready to attempt pursuit, the cave-man was a block away, running with the long easy strides of a trained athlete.
As he ran, Tharn drew his knife for any misguided person who might wish to bar his path. He was slowly drawing away from his shouting pursuers, when he caught sight of a second group of warriors not far ahead and coming at a run toward him.
Turning sharply into a side street, Tharn dashed on for a short distance, only to pull up short. The roadway ended here, nor were there streets on either side. Behind him the Sepharians had turned the corner and were bearing down upon him.
Tharn was no stranger to danger or sudden death. Life in the jungles and on the vast plains had little else to offer. Fear and panic were not likely to prolong life; Tharn knew not the meaning of either.
And so it was, that as the angry fighting-men rushed toward him, they were to find no terror-stricken creature at bay. Indeed, so savage was the bearing of their quarry that the Sepharians hesitated, then came to a full stop a few paces away.
They were many, at least a score, but the sight of the Cro-Magnon's brawny frame and rippling muscles gave a dubious aspect to the whole affair; nor was the stone knife in one powerful hand a matter to be lightly dismissed.
It was during this brief armistice that one Lukor, awakened by the tumult outside his windows opened the door of his home with the ill-advised intention of making an investigation.
"I am surprised—" he began; but an instant later he was infinitely more surprised when the impact of a naked shoulder into his stomach flung him against the far corner of the room.
Tharn's jungle-trained ears had caught the sound of a bar being lifted, and so swiftly had he acted that the door was slammed shut and the bar replaced before Jotan, first to recover, could send his weight crashing against the planks.
The moonlight filtering through the latticed windows revealed an open doorway in the opposite wall, and Tharn passed into an inner room. There were no windows here, and he stumbled over various furnishings before he came upon a rude staircase.
Taking three at a time, he bounded up the steps to the chamber above. Below he could hear the impact of bodies against the lattice-work of the windows. His enemies were getting no aid from the dazed Lukor; he had not yet regained his breath or his courage.
Without hesitation, Tharn crossed the room to its single large window and looked down. He was just in time to see the curtain of branches at the window beneath give way and man after man clamber through.
They did not all go in, however; five armed guards took up positions in the street. The Cro-Magnon had hoped to drop to the street as soon as the coast was clear, but now that avenue of escape was closed.
Something must be done, and quickly, Tharn realized, were he to outwit those whose feet were even now pounding on the stairs. Thrusting head and shoulders out the window, he looked up and saw, a few feet away, the roof's edge.
Quickly Tharn balanced himself on the narrow sill, his back to the street. Raising to his tip-toes he reached gingerly up. His finger tips were a full six inches short of the roof's edge!
A lone chance remained: he must jump for it. To fail would plummet him to the street below—to certain capture and possible injury. The sinews of his legs tensed; then he rose upward in a cat-like leap.
There was a second of breathless uncertainty; then his fingers closed on a flat stone surface.
Barely had the dangling feet cleared the upper edge of the aperture when the horde burst through the doorway. Finding no occupant, they dashed to the window and called to the watchers below, only to learn the forest-man had not re-entered the street. A thorough search of the room convinced them the man they sought had left the building, and they blamed the men below for having permitted his escape; in turn to be jeered at as cowards for not searching Lukor's premises more carefully.
It was a puzzled crowd of disgruntled warriors that finally gave up the hunt. Some of the more superstitious were inclined to believe it was no human they sought—an evil spirit, perhaps, that had faded back into nothingness.
While a block away, Tharn, having fled from one roof to another, dropped easily to earth and set out for the huge white palace he had glimpsed from the house-tops.
The Princess Alurna was finding it impossible to sleep. For hours she had lain wide-eyed, tossing fitfully, seeking the rest that would not come. Before her mind's eye persisted the image of Jotan as she had first seen him; in her ears were the sound of his voice and the echo of his laugh.
Why must her thoughts stay with this handsome visitor? Had her imperious heart given way at last?
She tried to thrust out the idea, to submerge it beneath a wave of derision; but to no avail. The image prevailed, calling attention to a splendid body and compelling features.
Finally she rose and went to the low wide window. Kneeling there she rested her arms on the broad sill, looking out over the sleeping streets and buildings, silent and brooding beneath the moon's splendor. Far out beyond the walls surrounding Sephar she could see the dark primeval forest, and she shivered a little although the night was warm. Faintly to her ears, across the stillness came the distant challenge of a lion. Again she shuddered, and brought her gaze back to Sephar's streets. The minutes passed slowly....
Suddenly she half rose in surprise as the almost naked figure of a man bounded from the shadows of a building across from the palace, and, entering the grounds, passed from sight somewhere below.
What did it mean? Was a resident of Sephar entering the palace for some mysterious reason of his own? Hardly. None would be so rash. Then, too, the figure had not been clad in the short tunic, usual dress of all Sepharians.
No; that shadowy figure meant danger. Jumping to her feet she ran to the door and flung it open. At her appearance the two warriors in the corridor sprang hastily forward.
"Get Vulcar at once," she cried. "Someone is trying to get into the palace!"
The moon's liquid rays did not reach the palace wall where Tharn was standing now. The white, smooth stone gleamed dully in the half light.
Moving as only the jungle-wise can move, he began to skirt the building, seeking an opening large enough to admit his giant frame. His bare feet were soundless on the grass; he was but a white shadow of a man.
There was no scarcity of windows, but all were barred by slender columns of stone. To attempt to force them would be a noisy method at best. If he meant to find and rescue Dylara he must resort to stealth and cunning alone. For all his herculean strength he would be helpless against an entire city.
He was nearing one corner of the building when his eyes caught sight of a narrow slit-like break in the stone just above the level of his head. There was no indication of bars, and as it appeared large enough to admit him, he caught the lip and drew himself up and within.
The awful stench that smote his nostrils nearly drove him back to the ground. He had no way of knowing, of course, that he had stumbled across a refuse chute; it was from this vent that waste was thrown into containers below.
Holding his breath, he clambered a short distance along the sloping stone, thrust away a wooden screen and stood upright.
He was in complete darkness. Moving slowly forward, his outthrust hands struck a wooden panel which proved to be a door. A second later he had solved the latch and stepped through.
Here, light came through several windows. He was in the palace kitchens, although his limited experience did not enable him to identify them as such. Across the room was a closed door; he directed his steps toward it.
Silently the door swung open, and the cave-man paused on the threshold of a large room, occupied by a massive table and numerous backless stools.
Tharn took in all that with a single swift glance. Something was moving beyond the hangings screening off the room ahead.
The curtains parted and five guards-men filed into the room. After glancing hastily about, they passed silently through to the kitchens.
As the last one disappeared from view, a disembodied shape merged from beneath the long table and vanished into the room beyond.
Aside from its furnishings it, too, was empty.
On went Tharn, combing each successive chamber for a sign of human life. He was determined not to quit this place until completely satisfied Dylara was held elsewhere. The task, not easy at best, would prove even more difficult with the palace guards on the lookout for an intruder.
Stronger by the minute was the realization that this strange race of people, who were capable of erecting their own caves of stone, who could make strange weapons to throw tiny spears with unbelievable accuracy, whose hands could shape such a variety of articles—were sadly lacking in the qualities without which Tharn could never have arrived at young manhood.
That five men could pass at arm's length from him and yet remain unaware of his nearness, was inconceivable to the man of the caves. Were their noses ornaments, he wondered, that they could not sense a hidden foe? Were their wits so dull they could pass up so obvious a hiding place as he had chosen?
No wonder that they had erected a great wall between them and the jungle! His lip curled with contempt as he pictured an army of them scattering before the charge of Sadu.
By this time he had reached the great hall inside the palace main entrance. A giant skylight high up in the ceiling, its cover removed during the dry season, admitted cold moonlight in a brilliant cascade of light that left no shadows or darkened corners.
From the center of the vast hall rose a gigantic staircase of stone to the second floor. Tharn, reasoning that the palace sleeping quarters would be above, stole warily toward the stairway.
And then a horde of armed men broke unexpectedly from a doorway across the hall, and spying Tharn, bore down upon him, uttering a chorus of exultant yells as they came.
One tremendous bound brought Tharn to the steps, up which he fled with all the speed of Jalok, the panther. Three spears hurled with senseless enthusiasm, fell short of their intended mark. But the shouts of alarm and excitement were fast arousing other inhabitants of the building. From somewhere above, Tharn heard a door slam, followed by the sound of running feet in the upper corridor to his left. Hence the moment he reached the landing he turned right and raced along the still deserted hallway, his naked feet soundless on the bare stone.
Because of the fugitive's silent approach, four guards, who stood facing in the opposite direction, did not hear him as he rounded a turn of the corridor and came toward them. At sight of those backs, Tharn slid to a stop and turned to retrace his steps.
Again he halted. To his quick ears came sounds of footsteps from the hall he had just left. With retreat cut off from both sides, he had but one chance for escape.
Choosing at random one of several doors on either side of the corridor, Tharn pushed it open, and still keeping an eye on the men outside, slipped within a softly lighted room. After gently closing the door, he turned—to stare into the startled eyes of the princess Alurna!
Tharn's first thought was that the girl would cry out in terror at his sudden entrance. Before she could recover her wits he had grasped her about the waist with one arm, at the same time clapping a hand across her lips.
Alurna lay within the circle of that mighty arm, making no effort to free herself. She was desperately afraid, more afraid than she could remember before.
The cave-man found himself on the horns of a dilemma. He had no wish to slay a woman; indeed he knew he could not, no matter what the provocation. On the other hand, were he to free her, she could have the guards here within seconds.
Their eyes met. Tharn was surprised that all trace of fear was masked within the cool gray-green depths, although the rapid pounding of her heart told him she was frightened.
Revealed to him with the quick intuition of a wild creature was something of this girl's true nature. He sensed she could be coldly calculating; that neither qualm nor principle would keep her from furthering her own ends. That, given the chance, she would betray him, he never doubted; but something told him she would never be driven to a rash act through ungovernable hysteria alone.
He removed his hand from her mouth, but held it ready to silence her again.
"What," whispered Alurna, "do you want here?"
Tharn shook his head. Any discussion, now, would be pointless. He must go on. At the far end of the room was a large unbarred opening—a possible avenue of escape.
Hesitating no longer he released the girl, pushed her aside and made for the window.
Alurna, confident now that this nocturnal prowler meant her no harm, remained standing where he had left her. While awaiting his next move, she fell to studying him from across the room.
He was the embodiment of physical perfection; certainly the most beautifully formed male she had ever seen before. The smooth brown body bespoke of suppleness and the nimble agility of a cat, despite banded layers of iron muscles rippling beneath an unclouded skin.
The face, with its frank, grave eyes, impressed her as being both handsome and highly intelligent. There was an air of majestic nobility in his posture and the poise of his well-shaped head that would have aroused envy in the heart of any Sepharian.
A muffled knocking at the door startled her; but before she could respond, the Cro-Magnon slipped past her to lower the bar into place.
Again came the soft, insistent knock. Tharn stepped close beside the princess, pointed at the door and then to her lips, at the same time pressing the point of his knife gently against her side. The meaning was clear; she must send away, unwarned, whoever was outside.
"Who is there?" she called.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, princess," came a muffled reply, "but the man you warned us of is somewhere near here. Have you seen or heard anything more of him?"
Alurna paused for a second, weighing her chances. But the cave-man's cold gaze conquered the temptation.
"No," she said, "I have seen nothing more of him. Go now, that I may sleep."
Tharn heard the man outside move away. Satisfied that he had gained a brief respite from discovery, he returned to the window.
He pinched out the flaming wick in the dish of fat standing on a wooden bracket nearby, to prevent someone in the grounds below seeing him at the window. In the moonlight he could see several groups of warriors about the grounds—patrols, posted to prevent him from leaving the building. But Tharn had no intention of leaving until Dylara was free to go with him.
From the floor above, and not far to his left, there jutted out a tiny balcony, its slender stone columns topped with a balustrade of the same material. As Tharn's eyes lingered there, an idea popped suddenly into his mind.
After placing the bowl of grease on the floor, he tore the bracket from the wall and wrenched one of its supporting wooden rods away. This done, he tied one end of his grass rope to the exact center of the thick cylinder and returned to the window.
Holding the free end of the rope in one hand, he poised the length of wood, spear-fashion, aimed carefully, then launched it toward the stone supports of the balustrade above and to his left.
Like an arrow it sped up and out, to pass cleanly between two of the columns. Hauling in the slack, Tharn felt the rod catch lengthwise above him; and though he tugged with all the strength of his arms, the rope remained secure.
Without a backward glance, the cave-man swung into space, at the same time clambering hand over hand up the swinging strands. As his feet left the ledge, he heard the door of the girl's room fly open and her voice ring out.
The echo of that call had not faded as young Tharn closed a hand on the balcony's rail, pulled himself over and leaped through the window beyond.
The chamber he had entered was dimly lighted by the moon's rays. Its dense shadows might conceal a score of armed foes; but Tharn had no time to exercise caution. Three giant strides served to close the gap between window and doorway. To find the latch required only an instant; and slowly, lest the door squeak a protest, he swung it back sufficiently to look out into the corridor. Finding it empty of life, he stepped out, gently closing the door behind him.
To his right, a short distance down the hall, were two great doors, both closed; to his left, a long stretch of gallery with doors on either side. The sight of these latter held Tharn's attention, for all were barred from the outside. Behind one of those barred entrances, he reasoned, might be Dylara.
Stepping quietly to the first he pressed an ear to the crack. Hearing nothing, he lifted the bar with infinite care and looked in.
The room beyond was deserted. He shut the door, replaced the plank and went on to the next. It, too, was empty.
Working his way gradually forward, he had covered perhaps half the hallway and was in the act of lifting another bar from its catches, when the double doors at the far end of the gallery were thrown open and a swarm of soldiers came racing through. Before Tharn could attempt to find cover, he had been seen, and with shouts of satisfaction the men ran toward him.
Realizing he was greatly outnumbered, the man of the caves turned to flee; but to his consternation another group of Sepharians appeared at the corridor's opposite end and, warned by the shouts of their fellows, had caught sight of the giant intruder.
Tharn knew he was trapped! To enter one of the cubicles he had been searching would mean hopeless imprisonment. Once he was within, the enemy had only to slip the bar into place.
It appeared his lone chance for freedom was to cut a way through a living wall of armed men. Once past them, Tharn felt confident they could not overtake him.
Like two angry waves, the Sepharians hurled themselves on the lone Cro-Magnon. But the steel muscles and incredible agility that had brought their owner through encounters with savage dwellers of jungle and plain were not to be so easily subdued as Sephar's warriors had supposed.
Tharn sprang to meet them, charging full into their midst. Catching the nearest foeman about the waist, the cave-man swung him bodily from the floor and hurled him, a screaming projectile of fear, into the faces of his companions.
