Warrior of the Dawn Part 25

"And yet," he said slowly, "we may be able to make use of this information. If I could be sure ... Orbar! Call to my rooms the Council of Priests." He was speaking rapidly, now, his face flushed with excitement. "This may be the day of our deliverance!"

Tharn lay flat on his back on a heap of furs and watched a pattern of sunlight on the wall above his head. Today was his second as a captive, and already his patience was wearing thin. He knew, now, why the other cave-men imprisoned here wore constant expressions of aloof sullenness.

To be cooped behind rock walls day after day instead of being free to roam forest and plain as they had done since boyhood, was enough to sour any temper.

He wondered where Katon had been taken. Shortly after the noonday meal, his friend had held a long whispered conversation with two of the guards--a conversation of considerable importance, to judge from Katon's expression. He had said nothing to Tharn about it in the hour between the conference and the arrival of two men who had taken him away.

Tharn gave up trying to find an answer to the puzzle and dozed off. He was awakened a half hour later by the sound of the cell door opening. He raised his head in time to see Katon enter with two palace guards.

Without hesitation the three approached Tharn's couch and he rose to meet them.

"Come, Tharn," said Katon hurriedly. "Urim is waiting for you."

The cave man did not move. "Why?" he asked laconically.

"It is my doing," Katon explained impatiently. "I went to him with an idea, and he thinks enough of it to send for you."

Tharn was satisfied. He could trust Katon. Besides, it would be good to quit this dank place--if only for a little while.

Heedless of curious stares from the other prisoners, Tharn and Katon pa.s.sed from the room, a guard leading the way. And shortly afterward they stopped before the door of Urim's apartment. In response to their knock, a hollow voice bade them enter.

Tharn could hardly credit his eyes at the change in the man who slumped dejectedly on a couch near the far wall. In place of the proud ruler who had ordered him to the pits, was a hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed old man.

At the entrance of Tharn and the others, Urim slowly lifted his head and looked full into the calm gray eyes of the giant savage. Under their quiet, sympathetic expression a gleam of hope flickered into his own tired eyes and he squared his shoulders.

"Have you told this man of your plan?" he asked Katon.

"No, Urim," replied the Sepharian. "I thought you might wish to do so."

Urim transferred his attention to the cave-man. "Yesterday," he said, "my daughter was taken by a band of Hairy Men. What do you know about such men?"

Tharn smiled. "Since I was a little boy I have heard many stories by men who have fought the Hairy Ones. They are slow and clumsy and do not think quickly. The warriors of my tribe do not fear them."

"Good!" Urim exclaimed. "Now I will tell you why I sent for you.

"When Katon, here, was told by one of the guards that Alurna had been taken, he came to me with a suggestion. He thinks that by reason of your wide knowledge of the world outside our walls, you might be able to trail these Hairy Men to their caves and rescue my daughter--if she still lives.

"Do this, and you and your mate shall go free--and Katon, too. But if you fail to return with Alurna within the moon, the life of your mate is forfeit."

Tharn frowned thoughtfully. "If I do not find your daughter, yet return alone, what reward is mine?"

"None! It would be as though you had not set foot beyond Sephar's gates."

"Which means I must take part in the Games; and Dylara remains a slave."

The cave-man was thinking aloud.

Then: "I agree, Urim. I will start at once."

Little n.o.bar, the monkey, awakened Dylara by dropping empty bean pods on her upturned face. She blinked in the sunlight filtering through the leaves, and sat up.

Her first thought was that she was actually free. Yet to be accomplished was the task of learning the direction in which lay the caves of her people, then crossing that distance alone, exposed to many dangers.

Dylara, in her accustomed environment, was a resourceful young woman.

The prospect of a long journey--just how long a journey she could only surmise--concerned her far less than had the prospects of a lifetime of slavery in Sephar. All her life she had rubbed elbows with jungle beasts. Since infancy the green wilderness of the forest had been her front yard. Night after night she had gone to sleep with the roars of lions and the hunting squalls of leopards for a lullaby. She had learned to respect and avoid Sadu and Tarlok and Jalok--but not to fear them.

She knew they hunted man only when other food was denied them--and that was seldom. She knew that a tall tree was a sure haven from all three; for Sadu could not climb at all, while Jalok and Tarlok would not venture among the smaller limbs able to bear her weight but not theirs.

From the freshly risen sun's position Dylara realized she had slept the entire night on this narrow branch. As she drowsily reviewed the previous day's events, she remembered her injured ankle and bent hurriedly to examine it.

She was relieved to find hardly any swelling there, nor was the damage to strained ligaments so great as she at first had feared. Rising, she tested her weight on the one foot and found that, beyond an occasional twinge, it would support her.

Slowly she worked her way down to earth and stepped into the trail. Here she waited a few minutes, planning her next move. She finally decided to follow the path westward away from Sephar until a cross-trail to the north turned up. Such a route would eventually lead her to the heights from which she had first looked upon Sephar. From that point on, finding the caves of Majok should not be impossible.

She skirted the clearing containing the house of Rydob, walking within the jungle's fringe to avoid being seen by anyone who might be within the building, and soon was traveling due west.

As she moved slowly ahead, limping slightly, she noticed the imprints of monstrous, man-like feet in the dust of the path. At first she examined the marks closely; but her limited woodcraft did not permit their identification, and she gave up trying.

The makers of those strange prints, Urb and his savage band, were plodding westward along the same path only a few hours ahead of the cave-girl.

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, ma.s.sive 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 ma.s.sive 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 p.r.o.ne 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.