CHAPTER XIII
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.