"She wanted it done. Meltor said she ordered him to take the girl to the house of Rydob outside Sephar. He was to take her there and kill her, then hide the body so no one would know what had happened to her."
Jotan paled. "Where is this house of Rydob?"
Fordak gave directions. When he had finished, Jotan said: "Tamar, get three or four of our men and meet Javan and me at the Gate of the Setting Sun. Hurry!"
Tamar went out.
"Get our weapons together, Javan," Jotan ordered. "We'll meet the others at the gate."
Javan was slow to comprehend. "Where are we going?"
"Into the jungle," said Jotan evenly. "To the house of Rydob!"
Alurna had slept well during the mid-day heat. When she awakened, her first thought was of Meltor and his errand. Lying there, the room darkened against the blazing sun, she allowed herself to think of Jotan, smiling when she realized he was free, now, to fall in love with her. No longer was there a barbarian slave-girl to blind him to the beauty and charm of Urim's daughter.
After a while she sat up, stretched her soft muscles with all the sleek satisfaction of a jungle cat, and summoned Anela.
The slave-girl was aiding her in effecting a leisurely toilet a little later, when a brief rap sounded at the door.
"That must be Meltor," Alurna said contentedly. "Let him in, Anela."
But when the door was opened, it was another man who stood there, his tunic torn and stained, his broad plump face lined with suffering.
"It's Fordak!" cried Anela.
The man staggered to a stool and dropped onto it, exhausted.
"I came as soon as I could, princess," he babbled. "I came to tell you so you would not punish me. They forced me to tell; they burned me until I told them. I would have come sooner, but the ropes were tight."
Alurna shut him off with a gesture. "What are you trying to tell me?" she demanded. "Whomade you tellwhat?"
"The men from Ammad." Fordak was beginning to gain control over his shaken nerves. "Jotan and Tamar and Javan. They tortured me until I told them where Meltor had taken the slave-girl."
Rapidly he related all that had taken place in the visitors' apartment. Being no fool, he exaggerated the amount of suffering he had endured; thus might the heart of Alurna be touched with pity.
When Fordak was done, Alurna went to the window and stood there, her back to the others, staring into the grounds below. What was she to do? Jotan was already on his way to the house of Rydob. If Meltor had wasted no time, Jotan could not possibly arrive soon enough to save Dylara from death.
But would Meltor do his work promptly? There was a cruel streak in the man—the same characteristic that made a leopard toy with a victim for hours before putting an end to its misery. And that girl had been very beautiful....
She turned. "You may go, Fordak."
The man was worried. "I could not keep from telling, princess. They burned—"
"Get out!"
Fordak got unhappily to his feet and limped from the room.
"Quick, Anela!" said the princess. "Get to Vulcar at once. I want five of his most trusted men to meet me at the Gate of the Setting Sun. Should he ask questions, tell him I will explain later. Go!"
"Where are you going, princess?" the slave-girl asked as she started for the door.
"Into the jungle," was the calm reply. "To the house of Rydob!"
Seven men stood in a group at the mouth of a trail. Behind them lay a tract of matted jungle, over them towered the branches of forest kings, and directly before them was a small clearing containing a rambling, one-storied building of gray stone, weather-stained and unkempt.
"That must be the place, Jotan," said one of the men. "It answers the description you gave us."
Jotan nodded. "They must still be in there. Otherwise we should have met this Meltor on his way back. If only we have arrived in time.
"We must spread out, then come up to the house from all sides. Two of you go with Tamar and circle around to the east. Keep within the jungle's fringe that you may not be seen from the house. The rest of us will close in from this side. You have five minutes to reach your places. Go."
The minutes dragged by. None of the four appeared to feel an urge to talk. A heavy silence had fallen on the jungle about them. Even the hum of insects, the voices of the gaily-colored birds, the chattering monkeys, were stilled. The same strange tenseness that precedes a tropical storm, an atmosphere of impending conflict, seemed to hang over them.
Jotan straightened. "They've had time enough. Come on."
The four men stepped into the clearing, spread fan-wise, and headed for the building, moving at a half-trot.
The door was closed. In absolute silence they stepped over the heap of bones that once had been Rydob, mounted the steps and halted there.
Carefully Jotan closed his fingers about the latch. The heavy planks swung inward enough to satisfy him that there was no bar in place.
Suddenly Jotan drew back and drove his shoulder against the wood with all his weight behind it. The door flew open and the four men came piling into the room, knives of stone held in readiness.
That mad rush came to an abrupt halt, and what the men saw brought a chorus of astonished exclamations from their lips.
Flat on his back in the center of the room, partially hidden behind an overturned table, lay Meltor of Sephar. From his left breast stood the hilt of a stone knife, its blade buried deep. He was quite dead.
The girl was gone.
For several moons now, Urb, the Neanderthal, and his tribe had found it increasingly difficult to locate game in the neighborhood of the family caves. The reason could be any one of several: a nearby water-hole dried up until the rainy season came again; a family of lions holed up close by; an absence of adequate pasturage.
Urb sat crouched near the foot of a lofty escarpment that contained the tribal caves. His deep-sunk button eyes, beneath beetling brows, indifferently watched the young ones of the tribe playing about the clearing between jungle and cliff. Below a flattened, shapeless wedge of nose, his thick pendulous lips worked in and out in worried and laborious thought. As leader of his tribe, Urb was concerned about the lack of game.
It had been comparatively cool here in the shadows of the scarp during most of the morning; but with noon growing near, the sun's direct rays began to penetrate the thick growth of black coarse hair with which Urb's gross body was almost entirely covered.
And so he rose at last and, like the great bull ape he so closely resembled, clambered awkwardly but quickly to one of the caves.
Just inside the entrance he squatted his two hundred and fifty pounds on a boulder and fell to watching Gorb, his eldest son, put final touches to a flint spear head. After heating the bit of rock in a small fire for several minutes, Gorb would withdraw it, hastily touch a spot near the edge with a drop of water which caused a tiny bit of the flint to scale away, then repeat the entire process. It was a long and tedious task; but Gorb had that untiring patience given to those for whom time has no meaning. Eventually, his perseverance would reward him with a fine weapon.
Urb was secretly proud of his son. Even as a boy, Gorb had shown no interest in hunting or in war. Beneath his sharply receding forehead was the brain and soul of a true artist—a soul that found its expression by the creation of implements of the chase and of battle. No other member of Urb's tribe could even approach the artistry Gorb put into his work; no other could fashion a spear so true in balance; none could produce a flint knife so keen-edged and well-formed.
The half-finished spear head reminded Urb of his own immediate problem.
"Gorb," he said, "only two kills have our men made in the past five suns, although all have gone forth each day to hunt. It is not because Narjok or Bana or Muta run away before we can kill them. We cannot find them at all; only twice in those five suns have we come upon the spoor of any one of them."
Gorb paused at his work and drew a hairy forearm across his sweaty face. "Last night," he said, "long after Dyta had found his lair, I heard Sadu roaring and growling among the trees. It was the noise of a hungry Sadu; he, too, was angry because there is no meat."
Urb grunted. Since the day before, he had been turning an idea over in his slow-moving mind, and now he sought to put it into words.
"Tomorrow," he said, "when Dyta first awakens, some of us will look for caves far from here. I will go; Boz and Kor and Tolb and you, Gorb, will go with me. There are many hills; there will be many caves in them, and much meat in grasslands nearby. When we find a good place we will come back for the others of our tribe."
"Good!" approved Gorb, turning back to his labors. "It has been many suns since I have eaten all the meat I can hold. I will go with you, Urb."
Early the next morning a little band of Neanderthal men descended the escarpment and set out toward the rising sun. They were six; besides those named by Urb, Mog, the sullen, had been taken. All were armed with huge flint-studded hardwood clubs, so heavy that only an arm of great strength might wield one; rude knives of flint and short-shafted spears completed their armament.
They moved along with the curious shuffling gait peculiar to their kind alone. Their passage seemed to diffuse an atmosphere of terror and dread, striking dumb the countless denizens of the teeming jungle. Urb was in the lead, his small black eyes darting about for the first sign of danger, ears and nose alert lest Sadu or Jalok or Tarlok find him and his fellows unprepared. But if any of the more formidable beasts were near, they remained concealed. Only Pandor, the elephant, neglected to give the Hairy Men a wide berth when several were together—Pandor, who feared no creature that walked or flew or wriggled.
The shaggy-coated males moved steadily ahead, their objective a group of low mountains far to the east, the upper portions of which were clearly discernible on the few occasions the band crossed a clearing of any consequence.
At noon they halted on the reed-covered banks of a shallow river; and while Urb and Tolb hunted game, the others rested beneath the broad boughs of a jungle patriarch.
Soon the two hunters returned, bearing between them the still warm carcass of Muta, the wild boar. Each of the six hacked off a juicy portion and devoured it raw, blood matting the hair of face and chest.
After drinking at the river's brink, the brute-men stretched out beneath the trees, covered their faces with huge fronds of a palm tree and slept until mid-afternoon. Urb roused them, then, and once more the savage band took up their march.
Darkness was near when the six passed through a fringe of jungle and paused at the foot of a lofty cliff. Urb, deciding too little daylight remained for them to attempt scaling the vertical slope, ordered the Neanderthals back into the forest.
Here they supped on flesh of the boar killed earlier in the day, then sought couches among the tree branches. During daylight it was all very well to sleep in comfort on the jungle floor; but during the night it was safer aloft. The great cats usually laid up during the day, digesting the previous night's kill; but once Uda, the moon, made an appearance, the forest abounded with hungry carnivora.
With the first rays of the morning sun the six men began the perilous climb. Slow-moving and awkward, they made hard going of the ascent, but their tremendous strength aided them where lesser muscles would have failed altogether, and finally the crest was reached.
Here they stood at the edge of a great tableland, clothed with primeval forest from which, in the distance, loomed four low mountain peaks. Game seemed plentiful; as they watched, a herd of antelope grazing to their left caught their scent and bounded away across a narrow ribbon of grassland which lay between the forest and the plateau's edge. A band of monkeys chattered and scolded at them from the safety of middle terraces, while a cloud of raucous-voiced birds rose with a whirring beat of wings and flew deeper inland.
Not far to their right was the entrance to a narrow deep-worn game trail leading into tangled mazes of brush, creeper, vine and trees. It was toward this trail that Urb turned his footsteps, motioning for his companions to follow.
"Here is food enough," he exulted. "If we can find caves in those hills, we will go back to fetch the rest of our people."
In silence the six frightful, man-like creatures faded into the black shadows of the overhanging forest, their goal the towering heights at the far end of this plateau.
And directly between them and their objective lay Sephar, mysterious city of an unknown race.
Dylara lay face down on a broad branch, her head pillowed on a heap of moss, biting her lips to keep back tears of bitter anguish. The swollen ankle throbbed steadily, its pain almost unbearable.
And she had been so close to freedom! From her place high in the tree she could see the stone walls of Rydob's dwelling, evil and grim in the sun. Behind those walls lay the dead body of Meltor, slain by his own knife.
She felt no regret for having killed him. It had been his life—or hers. When he had lunged across the table in an attempt to stab her, she, acting by instinct rather than thought, had thrust her weight against the table. Meltor, off balance, went over backwards, his head striking hard against the floor. Before he could regain his wits Dylara had torn the knife from his hand. He cried out once in mortal fear as the blade swung high, flung up a futile hand to ward off the blow, and died as polished flint pierced his heart.
No—she felt no regret for having killed him. What she did regret was the mad impulse that had sent her running blindly into the open air. So anxious had she been to flee that horrible place that she had no eyes for what lay in her path. As a result, one heel had trod full on the whitened skull of Rydob the hermit. Dylara's ankle had twisted beneath her, pitching her headlong into a tangle of vines at the base of the steps.
She was up at once; but the injured ankle buckled under her weight and she had fallen again, crying out in agony.
For a little while she had remained there, stroking the injured member, already swollen and turning blue. Finally she got to her hands and knees and, with many pauses, crawled toward the trees ringing the clearing.
How she managed to clamber into the branches of one giant tree and work her way a full fifty feet above the ground, Dylara was never to know. So awful was the pain that her mind seemed numbed; only an unflagging determination drove her on. She stopped at last, on a thick bough and lay there, completely exhausted.
It was comparatively cool there in the shelter of the foliage. Soft jungle breezes stirred the branch gently and she was soon asleep. A bird twittered and cooed close by, and the wind blew lightly across the troubled face, smoothing its tired lines....
And as the weary, pain-wracked girl lay sleeping, four heavily armed men stepped into the clearing and moved stealthily toward the house of Rydob. They entered; and after a few minutes, reappeared at the doorway, to be joined by three other warriors who had come up to the building from the rear.
"It seems hardly possible," Jotan was saying, "for a mere girl to kill a grown warrior. For all we know, another man may have slain Meltor and made off with Dylara."
"It's my guess," said Tamar, "that the girl caught Meltor off guard and stuck a knife in him. She's not like the women we know, Jotan. Hers has been a wild, primitive life, filled with danger. Because of it, she would be far more resourceful than Sepharian women have need of being. Taking a life probably means nothing to her.
"No," he concluded, "I've an idea she's well on her way back to her caves by now."
Javan, impatiently listening to the conversation, touched Jotan's arm nervously.
"There is no point in staying here," he complained. "It will be dark soon, and the jungle is no place to be after sundown."
Jotan smiled wanly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course. I have no right to expose you and Tamar to danger on my account.
"We will return to Sephar now. But tomorrow I shall return here with a warrior who is versed in tracking. With his help I should be able to learn what has happened to Dylara."
"We will go with you," Tamar said quietly. And Javan nodded agreement.
The seven entered the game trail and started back toward distant Sephar. Jotan led the way, his wide shoulders drooping disconsolately. It was clear the loss of the lovely cave-girl had hurt him deeply.
The return journey was about half completed when Jotan stopped suddenly and raised a cautioning hand.
"Listen!" he exclaimed softly.
The seven cocked their ears alertly.
Faintly, mingled with the everyday noises of the jungle, came sounds of murmuring voices and the tramp of feet from around a bend in the trail ahead.
"Probably warriors from Sephar, hunting game," Tamar said. "Let's join them; they may have news for us."
Jotan frowned. "Hunters don't go blundering about so carelessly," he reminded. "Hide in the undergrowth until we can make sure."
A moment later, six human figures appeared in the path. Five were fighting-men of Sephar—all well armed. The sixth was a girl in a close-fitting tunic that emphasized the lithe softly-curved body it covered. Her face was set in determined lines as she moved on, looking neither to the right nor the left.
Tamar, lying next to Jotan behind a screen of vines, nudged his friend.
"Alurna!" he breathed. "What can she be doing here?"
"Looks as though Fordak was telling the truth," Jotan whispered. "Sheismixed up in this. He must have got free and gone to her with the story.
"Well, let her go to Rydob's house. She'll find little there to please her!"
As soon as the princess and her escorts were out of sight, Jotan called his men from their hiding places and they took up their interrupted progress toward Sephar.
Urb, the Neanderthal, was beginning to tire. He and his five hairy companions had been on the march since Dyta had risen, and even now the sun was hunting a new lair for the night. From the frequency with which those behind him were stumbling, he judged they, too, were tiring.
But the mountains were close, now. He and his men were almost certain to reach them before darkness came. There they might find caves near grasslands rich in game. Urb's mouth watered and he was aware of being very hungry.
A faint breeze, blowing lightly against their backs, changed its course suddenly and came whipping in from the west. As it flicked across their faces the six Hairy Ones came to an abrupt halt, standing stiffly as though turned to stone.
Urb sniffed in short rapid inhalations, his unkempt visage twisted in a ferocious scowl.
"Men!" he grunted. "The hairless ones! It has been long since we have found such. Hide!"
With a degree of soundlessness surprising in such clumsy bodies, the six Neanderthals faded into the mazes of undergrowth at either side of the path.
Hardly were they hidden, when Alurna and her five companions came into sight. They were moving slowly, the girl limping slightly from a bruised heel, her sandals scuffed and dusty.
The girl stopped and turned to the others. "Is it much farther, Adbor? I don't think I can take another step."
"Courage, my princess," smiled Adbor, a tall, slender man with a great shock of blond hair. "A short distance more and we shall be there."
Alurna sank down on a fallen log, removed her sandal and rubbed the bruised heel.
"I'm afraid you'll have to carry me from here on," she sighed. "My feet ache terribly."
Silently the foliage parted an arm's length from the girl's half-bent figure, and in the gap were framed the brutal faces of Urb and Mog, the sullen. Urb gave the female only a passing glance; his attention was riveted on the five unsuspecting men. The woman was not armed—the men were; and it was the males who must die before they could bring their weapons into use.
Meanwhile, the stunted mind of Mog, the sullen, was laboriously following an altogether different trend of thought from that of his leader. His unblinking pig-like eyes were intent on the sweetly curved back directly in front of him, and he was increasingly aware of what an altogether desirable bit of femininity this hairless she actually was. His tongue moistened suddenly dry lips and he shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.
Urb waited no longer. Slowly he brought up his left hand, caught a small branch between his fingers, then suddenly clenched his fist.
The wood snapped with a sharp clear sound, freezing the five Sepharian guards into instant immobility.
But not for long.
As the sound of breaking wood rose on the still air, six grotesque figures rose in a rough semi-circle about the group in the trail, and simultaneously five mighty stone-incrusted bludgeons were hurled with unbelievable force and accuracy.
The startled Sepharians never succeeded in bringing their own weapons into play. Before they could fully comprehend their danger all five were stretched on the jungle path. Three were dead as they fell, heads crushed like brittle twigs; another died almost as quickly, his back snapped as a dry branch is snapped beneath the broad feet of Pandor, the elephant.
Only one still lived, a club having dealt him a glancing blow aside the head, laying his flesh open in a great gash and rendering him senseless. Gorb was more adept at making clubs than he was in their use....
Five clubs were thrown; there should have been six. Only Mog, the sullen, retained his hold on his murderous weapon. As his fellows loosed their cudgels, Mog sprang forward, caught the paralyzed girl about the waist with one immense hairy arm, and before the others could fathom his intentions, had turned and fled back along the pathway as quickly as his short bowed legs could carry him.
The remaining five watched Mog's hurried flight until he had passed from sight. His purpose in stealing the she was clear; their surprise came only from his way of taking her—and the fact that seldom did a Hairy Man mate with a member of another race. But then Mog was a surly brute, unable to find among his own people a mate willing to endure his temper and moods.
The Neanderthal men gathered about the bodies of the five guards. Gorb, true to character, took up several of the scattered weapons and examined them closely, noting with envy that they had been fashioned with far greater skill than he possessed. He puzzled long over the bows and arrows, but his limited intelligence could make nothing of them and he finally cast them aside.
At last the five took up their march toward the distant mountains. They moved more cautiously now than before, realizing they might meet more of the hairless men.
Urb, still in the lead, noticed, a while later, that the forest was beginning to thin out. Soon he caught a glimpse of a plain marking the edge of the woods. He paused, nose searching the humid breeze.
They edged forward at a brief guttural command from their leader, until they came to open ground.
Before them, beyond level grassland, rose the gray stone walls of Sephar, looming huge and impressive in the light of early evening. White tuniced warriors lolled before broad gates leading to many stone buildings beyond.
Urb shook his head regretfully. "We must look elsewhere for caves," he said. "To make our homes near here would mean much fighting with the hairless ones. It is better to go where we may live in peace. Come."
With bowed shoulders and awkward shuffling gait the five frightful men turned back for the long journey to the distant caves of their people.
Soon they were filing silently past the five motionless bodies in the center of the trail. And through narrowed, blood-filled eyes, through a red film of hate and pain, Adbor, Sepharian warrior, watched them go, and planned a sanguinary revenge as payment for the death of his four friends and the theft of the princess Alurna, daughter of his king.
Two hours later, just as the night's first shadows fell across the path, a searching party found his unconscious body face down in the rotting vegetation of the trail. Tenderly they lifted him up, cradling the blond, blood-soaked thatch in their arms, and bore him back to the city. There, men trained and schooled in the treatment of wounds, did all they could to revive the numbed brain of a courageous warrior.
They were only partially successful. With closed eyes Adbor gasped out, in a few broken sentences, his story of death and abduction. Something of his former strength seemed to come back to him as he spoke. Raising on one elbow, his eyes now wide and staring beyond those about him, he cried out, shrill and loud:
"Give me my spear—my bow! I will follow them! I will—"
His voice broke and he fell back limply. Adbor was dead.
Above that still form men looked at one another in silence and in horror. The Hairy men! Creatures so seldom seen as to be almost mythical, but whose savage and brutal natures were known from horror tales told at many a dinner table and about many a camp fire.
Vulcar was the first to speak. "I must take word to Urim. For the last two hours he has been storming about the palace demanding he be told where Alurna is. Now, I don't know what he will say—or do...."
He shrugged. "Make preparations to send out a searching party the first thing in the morning. I will lead it."
Slowly the hawk-faced warrior set out for the palace with the message that must wither the stalwart heart of him for whom Vulcar cared above all others.
Alurna had been conscious of a bobbing, rocking sensation for some time before she opened her eyes to the world about her. For a moment she watched the procession of thick greenery at right angles to the direction in which she seemed to be moving; then sudden recollection flooded her mind and she awoke to the horror of her position.
It was then that she became aware of the hairy back beneath her and a great calloused hand clamped about her wrists.
Instinctively she attempted to struggle free; but the nightmarish brute only tightened his grip and without pausing in his loping gait turned a snarling, bestial countenance toward her. At the sight, Alurna felt her senses reel and she closed her eyes with a shudder of loathing.
Mog, satisfied his captive would remain passive, transferred his attention to the path underfoot. The hairy one was beginning to regret the decision that had cost him the companionship of his fellows. To cross, safely, the miles of jungle and forest between his present position and the caves of his tribe, would require all his strength and cunning.
Alone, armed only with club and spear, he could prove fairly easy prey to any one of many enemies. Jalok, the panther, agile and fearless and wantonly cruel; Conta, the cave bear, who fought on his hind legs; Tarlok, the leopard, beneath whose spotted hide lay such strength that by comparison Mog's stalwart thews were as nothing. And then there was Sleeza, the giant snake, whose slimy coils held the strength of ten Mogs.
Most fearsome of all, however, was Sadu, the lion, tawny of coat and shaggy of mane, whose absolute fearlessness, speed of attack and irascible temper, backed by steel sinews and mighty fangs, caused the balance of jungle folk to give him a wide berth.
Above and about the lumbering monstrosity and its still, white burden, scampered, flew, slunk and crawled the superabundant life of this green world, their voices and movements adding to the vast ocean of sound rising and falling about the ill-assorted pair.
While far behind them came Urb and the others; but the distance between was growing rapidly greater so swiftly was Mog covering the ground.
And then, with almost frightening suddenness, Dyta, the sun, disappeared from the heavens and darkness fell upon the jungle. The Neanderthal mouthed a few disapproving grunts, peered about nervously, then swung sharply to his left and forced his way through foliage to the base of a great tree.
Alurna clung fearfully to the shaggy neck as the great brute pulled himself into the lower branches. With the coming of night her fear was intensified a thousandfold; but even more than she feared Mog was her dread of the brooding jungle and its savage inhabitants. She reproached herself silently for venturing from the security of Sephar's walls. Woman-like, she blamed Jotan for everything—had he not fallen in love with the cave-girl nothing like this would have happened.
Mog paused upon a broad bough well above the ground. Placing Alurna in a sitting position here, her back against the tree's bole, he tore free a length of stout vine and bound her wrists securely behind her back.
Satisfied his prize would be helpless to escape, Mog let himself down on a branch directly under her and sought a comfortable position in which to sleep out the night.
Alurna, hemmed in by a wall of blackness which her untrained eyes were unable to penetrate, could hear the Hairy One as he settled himself. She knew there would be no sleep for her this night; she was far too frightened to think of closing her eyes for an instant.
Seconds later she was sound asleep; and though the balance of the night was made hideous with the savage voices of jungle denizens, the exhausted princess did not stir.
A rough hand shook her awake. She shrank away with a whimper of fear at sight of Mog's forbidding face a few inches from her own. The Neanderthal freed her wrists by breaking their bonds with his powerful fingers, then swung her once more to his back and slid to the ground.
Noon found them at the outskirts of the forest. Mog had pushed ahead far more quickly than he had thought possible. Alone, without allies, he feared an attack at any moment from some forest dweller. There would be no safety for him until he was safe in the caves of his tribe.
With the forest behind him, Mog trotted across the narrow ribbon of grasses to the lip of the almost vertical cliff overlooking the tree-filled valley below. A portion of the boar killed two days before was cached in one of those trees; once he and his captive were safely down the cliff they could eat without wasting time in a search for food.
But Mog began to realize it would prove no small matter to transport the girl down the abrupt incline. Indeed, it would require all his own strength and limited agility to get himself down without the added burden of a helpless she.
Then came the thought that she might be able to do so without his aid. Not ungently he lowered her to her feet and signed that she should start down. When Alurna, correctly interpreting his gesture, glanced at the hard earth so far below, she gasped aloud and drew back, trembling.
Mog, sullen and short-tempered at best, did not intend wasting time in coaxing her. Raising a bulky fist, he shook it threateningly under her nose, then once more pointed to the edge of the precipice.
Alurna could not help but feel she preferred death by falling to being mauled by this uncouth beast-man. And so, gritting her teeth and tensing her muscles to control their trembling, she lowered herself over the brink and began the tortuous descent.
Those long agonizing moments which followed were to live forever in the memory of Alurna, princess of Sephar. Slowly, inch by inch, she worked her way downward, feeling in an agony of suspense for footholds where she was confident no such holds existed. At times her entire weight was suspended by her fingers alone, while both feet searched for some projection to which her sandaled foot would cling. She knew, now, it would have been wise to have tossed her sandals down first; her bare feet would have held to the rock with more certainty—but it was too late for that.
Gradually she sank farther and farther from the lip of the escarpment. She dared not glance above or below; her gaze was glued continuously on the uneven surface over which she was passing. Her fingers were raw and bleeding by this time; but she clenched her lip between white teeth and went on.
At last the strain, both to limbs and to nerves, was nearing the breaking point. Alurna knew she could not hold on much longer; if she failed to reach the valley floor soon, she must fall the balance of the way. Then, as the desire to loose her grip, whatever the consequences, seemed too overpowering to resist, her feet came to rest on level ground.
Tired, high-pitched nerves gave way, and Alurna sank to the ground and burst into tears. Had she acted at once, she might have escaped, for Mog was still fifty feet above her.
But she was conscious only of relief from the peril just undergone; and Mog found her huddled in a pitiful heap at the very spot where her feet had first touched solid earth.
Lifting her easily to his wide back, he took up his club from where he had dropped it from above, and moved at a half-trot toward the nearby forest.
While from the depths of a tangled maze of cloaking underbrush, at the very point he was nearing, two baleful yellow eyes were fixed in unblinking attention upon him and the girl he carried!
The morning after Alurna's capture, twenty warriors were assembled in front of Sephar's palace. It was evident they awaited someone, for their eyes turned often to the great doors.
And then came Vulcar, arms laden with an assortment of weapons. Rapidly he handed them out to the twenty until each was fully armed. This done he barked out an order and the men formed into ranks, four abreast and five deep.
His hawk-like face set in stern lines, Vulcar faced them. "Warriors of Sephar," he began, "you know what has happened to the daughter of our king. You know, too, that five of your comrades died trying to save her. Most of you knew and admired Adbor. I saw Adbor die. He died while calling for his weapons, eager to take up the trail of those who had stolen the princess.
"To you goes the honor of avenging your comrades and returning the princess to her father, alive ... or dead."
As the calm voice ceased, a score of right arms shot up and a resounding shout rose from twenty throats.
"Then come," said Vulcar quietly, and turned to lead the way.
But before the men could move to follow him, a deep voice from the palace doorway bade them wait.
Clothed in the simple harness of an ordinary warrior, and fully armed, Urim descended the steps and came up to Vulcar.
"I will go with you," he said simply.
Vulcar had been afraid of this. Urim no longer was a young man; to take him along might cost Sephar a ruler, as well as its favorite daughter.
"O Urim," he said, "may I say a few words to you before we go?...
"My king, trust me and these warriors to find Alurna. They are young and fully trained. For hours they can press onward so rapidly that anyone less hardened would drop behind within an hour. To slacken their speed for one less trained might cost much precious time."
Urim, ready to override any protests, could not help but see the logic of the words. For several moments he stood with bowed head while impulse battled with good judgment.
"Take your men and go without me, my friend," he said at last, his voice unsteady. "I am an old man, and useless. I should only delay you."
He turned and strode back into the palace before the troubled Sepharian could frame a reply.
Ten minutes later the twenty and one entered the trail that led past the scene of Alurna's capture the day before.
Half an hour later another band of men filed through the western gates of Sephar and entered the mouth of the same path. There were eight in the group: Jotan, Javan and Tamar with five of the warriors who had come with them on the long journey from Ammad to Sephar. Their destination, now, was the house of Rydob, and with them was a man adept at following a spoor, however faint.
Tarlok, the leopard, crouching among the dense foliage of a thick branch above the trail, watched them pass. Soundlessly he bared glistening fangs, and his yellow eyes narrowed into twin slits of hate. Tarlok detested these two-legged creatures; but even greater was his fear of them, for his mate had fallen, a moon ago, beneath the sharp sticks of such man-things.
Hardly had word of Alurna's disappearance flashed through Sephar, that same morning, than a young under-priest was seeking admittance to the secret chambers of Pryak, high-priest to the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud.
It was no simple matter to gain the subterranean apartment far beneath the temple. Only a chosen few had ever set foot within the holy-of-holies; this young man was not one of them. But his excited manner and the announcement of information "for Pryak alone" had brought him to the very door of the high-priest's suite. But here he was stopped by Orbar, second only to Pryak, himself.
Tidor was no fool. To be first to acquaint his chief with important information could gain him recognition as a loyal and conscientious follower. Men had risen high with such a beginning.
And so when Orbar sought to learn what word Tidor had brought, he was met by the unchanging retort: "I will tell Pryak—none other!"
Finally Orbar began to lose patience. "You may not see the most-high," he snapped. "Tell me what you know and I will pass it on—if it be worth-while repeating. Come, tell me, or I will teach you what it means to cross Orbar!"
Tidor trembled inwardly. He had heard gossip as to the fate of some who had angered Orbar. He was about to blurt out the news, when there came a sudden interruption.
The door to Pryak's apartment banged open and a short, frail-appearing man appeared in the doorway. He was well past middle-age, with sparse graying hair that straggled untidily past the neck line of his tunic. His wrinkled face was twisted in anger, and his shifty, close-set eyes of watery blue glared at the two men before him.
"What means this clamor, Orbar?" he demanded shrilly. "By the God, am I to be disturbed by petty wrangling on my own door-step? Who is this youth?"
Orbar's manner was humble, now. "Tidor, an under-priest, has come with word which he claims is of great importance. I tried to learn from him if the information was worthy of your attention, Most High, but he will tell me nothing."
Pryak turned on the young man. "What is this news?"
Tidor gulped. "O Voice of the God," he said shakily, "I have learned that Alurna, daughter of hated Urim, was stolen yesterday while in the jungle. A roving band of Hairy Men killed her guards and took her.
"An hour ago Vulcar and twenty men left to hunt for her. Urim stays at the palace, sick and miserable, waiting Vulcar's return."
Pryak's scowl had deepened as the youth spoke. "And you call that important? What do I care if that soft-hearted fool loses a worthless daughter? A sound whipping will teach you to—"
Suddenly the high priest fell silent. The anger twisting his features began to fade—replaced by a cunning, scheming expression no less repellent....
"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 passed 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 Nobar, 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.
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.
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 prone 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.
For what seemed ages to Alurna that stare never wavered. The long graceful body with its tremendous sinews seemed to expand larger and larger until it loomed great as that of an elephant. She could feel a scream of horror and protest forming in her throat; but before it could find utterance; Sadu swung his head back to the corpse and settled down to feed.
Alurna felt a wave of relief so intense she nearly fainted; it required several minutes to beat down her weakness sufficiently to think of escape.
Some twenty paces to her left towered a mighty tree, its wide branches offering a secure haven could she but reach them. Only half that distance, however, separated her and the lion; and if she made a break for the tree, Sadu could be upon her before she had taken half a dozen steps.
But the beast might not try to stop her. The princess Alurna knew nothing of lions and their habits. Only in the arena during the Games had she seen a live one and then always from a distance. And so she resolved to lie quiet and wait for the animal to be done with its feeding. Perhaps then it would rise and stalk back into the jungle, leaving her unmolested.
The young woman lay perfectly still, trying to close her ears to sounds of grinding teeth and splintering bones. Once she shut her eyes on the revolting picture of Sadu at dinner, but opened them at once. To watch fragments of Mog disappearing into that monstrous maw was bad enough; but to see nothing, while an overwrought imagination sent the beast slinking toward her, was more than human nerves could endure.
Suddenly Sadu rose from the Neanderthal's body and gave voice to a low ominous growl. Alurna saw that the cat's attention was fixed on something beyond her, and she cautiously turned her head toward the cliff.
A few feet below the upper edge were several man-like figures clinging to the vertical surface. Carefully, each inched its way downward, testing each foot-and hand-hold before continuing on.
For a brief, ecstatic moment the girl took them to be warriors from Sephar; but then she saw they were creatures identical to her late captor, and suddenly heightened hopes plunged to a new depth of misery.
Sadu stood as a statue of bronze, the lazy jungle breeze ruffling his tawny mane, narrowed eyes intent on the slow-moving figures. For several minutes he stood thus, then lowering his head he seized the corpse of Mog by one arm and dragged it from sight deep into the luxurious growth of vegetation beside the trail. Not once during this change of position did he glance toward the watching girl.
The moment Sadu disappeared from view, Alurna sprang to her feet and plunged blindly into the jungle at a point farthest removed from the beast. Her only thought was to put all the distance possible between Sadu and herself. She dared not take to the open for fear the Hairy Men would catch sight of her and hunt her down.
For nearly two hours she struggled on, tearing her way through a tangled confusion of creepers, trees, ferns, broken branches and bushes. Several times she tripped and fell headlong, only to rise and stumble onward. Her tunic was stained and torn, thorns and branches having ripped the material in many places.
At last, after unwittingly changing her course many times, she sank to the ground beside the hole of a great tree in the center of a small clearing deep within the heart of the primeval forest.
Completely exhausted she lay half-conscious on the soft carpet of grasses, her tortured lungs laboring to bring oxygen to an overtaxed heart. Gradually her eyes closed, her heart slowed its mad tempo, she breathed more calmly as fear left her. As from a great distance came the low monotonous hum of insects, the subdued twitter of birds and rustlings from many leaves. Alurna slept....
When she sat up, several hours later, the glade was filled with the half-light that presages nightfall. She stood up and looked about, aware of the danger she had courted by sleeping on the ground in a territory where savage animals were so plentiful.
Abruptly the fading dusk deepened into darkness. The girl's tiny supply of courage fled with the light, leaving a frightened child to grope her way to the base of the lofty tree, where she managed to climb among the branches.
Here she found two thick boughs close together and extending horizontally outward in about the same plane. Sitting with her back against the rough trunk, she stretched tired legs along the two branches and composed herself to wait for the dawn.
Scarcely was she settled than the scream of a great cat sounded beneath her, and she heard the animal on the ground at the foot of the tree. For a short time it circled the clearing, then came the sound of rustling undergrowth and Jalok, the panther, was gone.
That night was the longest Alurna had ever known. The chill dampness of the nocturnal jungle penetrated to the innermost parts of her body until she was certain she would never again be warm. The single thin garment she was wearing was no protection; in fact, it added to her discomfort by absorbing moisture from the damp air.
Later, the heavy blackness about her was dispelled by rays of the full moon as it climbed until it seemed to hang close to the mighty tree that sheltered her. So bright was the glare that Alurna could see objects so small as to escape notice during the day. Several times she saw tiny rodents scurrying across the clearing, and once she saw little Sleeza kill and swallow a field mouse.
Twice she heard large bodies moving in the tangled fastness about the clearing, but what made the sounds remained a mystery. At frequent intervals the savage roars and screams of fierce beasts reached her ears, but always from a distance.
At last the seemingly endless night began to wane, and near daybreak the girl dozed fitfully.
When next she opened her eyes the sun had risen, flooding the glade with life-giving, hope-reviving rays. Alurna rose, unkinked muscles cramped from long hours in an unfamiliar position, and descended slowly to the ground. She was aware of being very hungry as well as possessed of a raging thirst. Acting on these needs she entered the forest to search for water and food.
Shortly thereafter, and solely by chance, she came to a small swift-moving mountain stream. Here she knelt and drank deep of the cold water, then, greatly refreshed, rose, and set about gathering fruit from the plentiful supply everywhere about her.
After eating, she bathed in the river, its waters soothing to the scratches and bruises of yesterday's mad dash through the jungle.
By the time she had dressed again, the sun was quite high. While she had been in the water she had caught sight of a narrow game trail leading in the direction she was confident Sephar lay. Spirits soaring, she started out for home, her step springy with confidence.
By noon the sun's heat had become so oppressive that she stopped in the shelter of a tree to rest. She was tempted to climb into the branches and sleep for a while; but the thought of being forced to spend another night in this wilderness drove away that temptation. It could not be much farther, she reasoned, before the base of the great plateau about Sephar was reached.
Her sweat-streaked face set in stubborn lines, the daughter of Urim stepped once more into the trail and plodded doggedly on. And every step was taking her farther and farther from her home.
It was not long after, that Tarlok, the leopard, his belly empty from a night of fruitless hunting, caught scent of her. Slowly, with infinite stealth, he slunk upwind, keeping within the jungle's edge until he caught sight of the girl's bowed shoulders.
Tarlok's jowls dripped with anticipation. Of all creatures known to him, none was more easily taken than man. A quick stalk, a sudden spring—and once again Tarlok would feed.
Nearer and nearer he approached, moving warily lest the girl take alarm and climb high into some tree. When almost abreast of her, he boldly stepped into the trail, not ten feet behind his unsuspecting prey.
It was then that Alurna, warned perhaps by some subtle sense, turned around.
Vulcar of Sephar and his band of twenty warriors having safely descended the precipice at the same point where Alurna had inched her way down earlier that day, assembled at the mouth of a pathway into the unchartered wood before them.
"They probably came this way," Vulcar said. "Look about for some sign of their passage."
A few minutes later a shout of triumph from one of the party brought the others to his side. He was pointing to a mark in the trail's dust—the large square imprint of a great flat foot, grotesquely human.
Vulcar smiled with grim satisfaction. "We are on the right track," he declared. "Let us go on; we have work to do."
As unwittingly as though it did not exist they passed the spot where their princess had entered the jungle. They did not see the broken and twisted greenery in the forest wall, and had they done so they could not have interpreted its meaning.
The men of Urb, versed in jungle lore, had found her trail at once, just as they had picked out Mog's bones where Sadu had left them. But Urim's daughter held no interest for any one of them, and they had made no effort to track her down.
For the balance of the day Vulcar and his companions pushed ahead on their mission of rescue—or revenge. Because they were smaller and more active they covered ground much more quickly than their bulky quarry. Consequently they were rapidly overtaking the five Neanderthals.
Near sunset the winding path debouched into a small clearing, through which ran a fair-sized stream. Here the pursuers found the first positive indication they were on the right track. On the near bank of the river were ashes of a small fire, still warm to the touch. Scattered about it were the gnawed bones of Muta, the boar—already picked clean by hordes of ants.
At first, Vulcar's men had clamored to dash ahead in hot pursuit. But the hawk-faced leader decided against it, saying a short rest and full bellies would help them to fight better than if they were worn and hungry.
"But if we wait," argued one, "the Hairy Men may reach their caves. We cannot fight against an entire tribe of them."
Vulcar shook his head. "Had they been close to their caves," he pointed out, "they would not have stopped to eat and rest. No; we will stop for a little while and eat of the food we carry; then we can go on even more quickly than before.
"Five of us will go slightly ahead of the others. In case the Hairy Men find that many are following them they may run away. If they see only five, however, they are sure to attack. Then the balance of us will fall upon them!"
There was no gainsaying the soundness of Vulcar's plan. Even the most action-eager warrior saw its beauty. And so the men dropped to the ground beside the river, ate of the cured strips of meat carried in their shoulder pouches, and drank from the river.
After a short rest period, Vulcar called them together and gave the word that began the last stage of the journey.
While only a short distance ahead, Urb and his four companions plodded slowly on toward their distant homes.
Darkness was not far in the offing, and Urb was inwardly debating on ordering the men to the trees for the night, when Tolb, at the rear of the column, voiced a low note that arrested the others in mid-stride. Turning as one, the five stood motionless, their ears, keen as those of Sadu, himself, cocked to catch and interpret what Tolb had heard.
Urb, wise old campaigner, was first to identify the sounds. "Men!" he grunted. "The hairless ones! Hide."
Silently each Neanderthal man stepped behind a trunk of one of the trees lining the path. Mighty clubs swung ready in steel fingers; narrowed eyes beneath overhanging brows scanned the open ground of the trail. The minutes lengthened....
And then five white-tuniced figures appeared at the far end of the path and came on at a half-trot. Slung across their shoulders were short bows; at their backs hung arrow-filled containers, and in their right hands dangled clubs, smaller than those used by the Neanderthals but still formidable weapons.
Not until the group had drawn abreast the ambushers did Urb give the signal. Then his fingers closed on a dry branch, and five immense bludgeons hurtled toward the startled Sepharians.
It requires far more skill to hit a moving target than a stationary one. Then, too, the half-light near the end of day does not add to the chances of a successful cast.
Three of the clubs missed their marks altogether, one struck a shoulder glancingly, while the fifth crashed into the base of a neck, snapping the spine and killing the stricken man instantly.
Behind the cudgels blundered the Hairy Ones, drawing flint knives as they came. If they had expected to catch the enemy unprepared and demoralized, however, they were badly disappointed.
A barrage of Sepharian clubs flashed to meet them. Two found marks: one striking Kor alongside the skull, knocking him flat; the other caught Urb, himself, a glancing blow atop the head that made his knees buckle briefly.
The Neanderthal chieftain recovered quickly and with an angry bellow sprang at the nearest white-clad figure. Disregarding the darting knife, Urb caught him by the tunic with one hand and drove his fist with inhuman force full into the Sepharian's face.
There was a dull crunching sound of crumpling bones and the hairless one slumped forward, his face from hairline to chin driven through the back of his head.
The two remaining guards were still in the fight, seeking to out-maneuver their less agile foemen and knife them from behind. The shifting feet stirred up dust from the trail until a cloud enveloped the fighters.
And then a ringing shout echoed above the panting, twisting bodies, and into battle came the balance of the Sepharians.
At sight of these enemy reinforcements, Urb and his three remaining henchmen turned and fled, leaving the fallen Kor where he lay. The newcomers pursued them for a short distance, then, seeing they were empty-handed, turned back.
Vulcar called his men together, determined the extent of any injuries, then turned his attention to the bodies in the trail. Coolly he ran his knife through the throat of the still stunned Kor. A brief examination proved the other two casualties to be quite dead.
After detailing four men to scoop out shallow graves for their late comrades, Vulcar sent the others into the foliage on either side of the trail to find Alurna. He believed she had been bound and gagged to prevent any warning of the ambuscade, and he pictured her as lying helpless nearby, awaiting release.
Until long after darkness, Vulcar and his men searched for their princess. Again and again they shouted her name, straining to catch an answering cry that did not come. Finally, after hours of systematic effort, in which every inch of ground for yards around was combed, the realization came that Urim's daughter was as lost to them as though they had remained in Sephar.
To Vulcar, the awful truth came as a sickening blow. So certain of success had he been at learning they were close on the heels of the Hairy Men, that the final disappointment almost drove him mad. All he could see was hopeless suffering dulling Urim's eyes and lining his face.... Vulcar beat his fists together in impotent fury at his own helplessness.
Reluctantly he gave the signal to abandon the search, and with bowed shoulders and bent head the captain led his command back toward Sephar and a waiting father.
Dylara sat beside a tiny brook and allowed its cool waters to chill her aching ankle. It had begun to swell again from the strain of a full day's slow progress, even though she had stopped many times to give it rest.
An hour from now it would be sunset. Soon the forest denizens would be coming here to drink. Soon, too, would come the meat-eaters, to lurk beside the pathway, awaiting Bana and Neela, whose succulent flesh they loved.
The cave-girl bent and washed the dust from her hands and face, drying the skin with grass. Then she rose and retraced her steps to the base of a tall tree. Favoring her ankle as best she could, Dylara climbed well above the ground, sought and found a properly placed limb on which she could spend the night, and fell promptly into dreamless sleep.
She had no more than closed her eyes when a group of eight men passed below the branches of her tree and stopped at the water's edge. One of the eight walked slowly back and forth on the near bank, his head lowered, studying the ground.
He halted suddenly, stooped lower, eyes intent on something there. Then he beckoned to the others.
"Look!" he exclaimed. "There, in the mud. See those marks? She sat here, bathing her feet. And here!—here are the prints of bare feet."
Jotan, following the pointing finger, nodded, his handsome face shining. "They must be hers. Are they recent, Modilk?"
"So recent," said the long-faced Modilk solemnly, "that the slave-girl must be within a few minutes of us."
Javan spoke now, his voice worried. "Where are we to spend the night, Jotan? The big cats will be hunting soon; we must find a safe place."
Jotan slapped his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "We'll find Dylara first," he said, "then make camp for the night. A circle of brush fires will keep the lions and leopards away."
The eight men waded the stream, not bothering to remove their sandals, and pressed on into the north.
While a stone's throw behind them, aloft in the branches of a leafy tree, slept the girl they were seeking.