With a lightning sweep of one knotted fist Gerdak struck the infuriated boy squarely in the face. So terrible the force of the blow that Trakor's feet completely left the ground and he fell, unconscious, a full ten feet from where he had been standing.
Even as the boy's body was falling Tharn acted. With a catlike bound he reached the chief, fastened a hand about the man's bull neck and lifted him into the air. Holding the dazed Gerdak in a grip of steel he began to shake him until bones creaked in protest and his senses fled and he hung, limp and lifeless, in the circle of those mighty fingers.
As Gerdak crumbled to the ground, his spellbound warriors came to life. With shouts of rage they leaped forward to close upon the stranger who had dared to lay hands on their chief. But the agility and muscles that had brought their owner through countless jungle battles were more than Gerdak's warriors had reckoned with.
With a panther-like leap Tharn reached Trakor's prone figure. Snatching it from the ground to a place across his shoulder the cave lord turned and raced for the safety of the forest. Behind him came a shouting, cursing mob of raging fighting-men, brandishing spears and knives of flint. Had they thrown those spears within the first few seconds, the outcome would have been certain and Gerdak avenged. But they did not, and seconds later Tharn and his burden were lost among the shadows of overhanging trees.
For more than an hour Gerdak's warriors ranged the vicinity in search of the pair, thrusting their spears among the tangled undergrowth and racing along the game trail on the chance their quarry was following it. Finally they reluctantly abandoned the hunt and returned to where the body of their chief still lay on the clearing floor. Discovering a spark of life yet remaining, they bore him to his cave and after a while succeeded in bringing him back to consciousness.
It would be many suns before Gerdak fully recovered from his experience, but deeply planted in his dull-witted mind were the seeds of fear—fear that the mighty stranger called Tharn might return.
A weaving, bobbing sensation was Trakor's first impression as his hurt brain struggled back to consciousness. Beneath him was warm smooth flesh, and now and then he felt the brush of leaves or a vine against his back and sides.
When he opened his eyes he found himself being borne at a rapid pace through the forest top. For a moment he was unable to grasp the meaning of his strange position, then a familiar voice said, almost in his ear: