Jupiter wiped the sweat off his forehead, and instantly realized that he had regained control of his muscles.
It was dusk, a hazy burnt amber twilight that made everything appear as if he were wearing tinted glasses. The pink-skins had broken camp, loaded the Rik'gans, formed them into a caravan. A detachment of fighting men moved to the head of the procession.
Jupiter's cage was equipped like the others with stretcher poles. Two squat porters approached and lifted it to their shoulders, moved into line with the other captives. One of the Anolyns gave a blast on a horn. The head of the caravan moved into the jungle.
Imperceptibly, darkness had fallen, but no lights were lit. The inhabitants of this strange world seemed to see as well by night as by day.
Jupiter could feel his bearers fall into a rough trot. The cage swayed, jolted rhythmically—an upsetting motion. He felt progressively worse and worse.
"Damn!" he thought miserably; "it's making me seasick!"
The next two weeks were a period of orientation for Jupiter. The caravan travelled by night to avoid the heat. They were fed twice daily—a thick gruel-like substance in which chunks of meat and vegetables had been diced—and it never varied.
Neither did Jupiter's guard ever leave him. He was an aloof, ferocious man with a hawk nose, a copper-red skin and pale blue eyes—ice blue eyes. His name, Jupiter learned, was Reiloc and he regarded the cavepeople with contempt, the porters with scorn, the pink-skins with loathing.
As they wound down out of the mountains onto a broad plain, Jupiter had managed to pick up a smattering of the language from Lete who occupied the cage just ahead.