The Complete Hok the Mighty

by Manly Wade Wellman

  “When Zhik warns us,” replied Hok gravely. “It may be many days yet.”

  AND the remainder of the summer went in peace. Hok and his new allies hunted successfully and ate well. Once a lone Gnorrl ventured close, to be speared and exhibited to the strangers as an example of what they must face sooner or later. The greatest item of preparation was the fashioning, by every person in the three parties of new javelins—sheafs and faggots of javelins, some with tips of flint, others armed with whittled and sharpened bone.

  With the first chill of autumn, Zhik and his two younger brothers came loping into camp, dirty but sound. With them they brought the news that Hok had long awaited with mixed attitudes of anxiety and determination.

  The Gnorrls were on the march. Up north in their country a blizzard had come, and it had nipped the brutal race into action. They were advancing slowly but steadily into their old haunts in the south.

  “We are ready to meet them here,” said Zorr at once, but Hok had another idea.

  “No, not here. A day’s march toward them is the best place.”

  Quickly he gave orders. Only the children remained at the camp before the cave. Barp and Unn were ordered to take charge there, but teased and begged until at the last moment Hok included them in the expeditionary force that numbered full thirty men, women and boys. In the morning they set out northward.

  Hok, pausing at a certain damlike heap of stones, lifted his palm to signal a halt. Then he gazed as if for the first time at the rocky slope beyond the narrow level between it and the swift waters.

  “We shall fight the Gnorrls here,” he said definitely, and almost added that he was sure of winning.

  Zorr and Nukl moved forward from their own groups, coming up at Hok’s elbows. They, too, studied the ground that Hok was choosing for battle. “How shall we fight them if there are so many?” Nukl asked.

  Hok pointed at the slope. “That leads to the top of a bluff,” he said. “The Gnorrls will come from the north side, and will not climb, but will enter the pass between it and the river. They can come upon us only a few at a time, and we will have these rocks for a protection.”

  “How do you know that they will choose the pass?” was Zorr’s question.

  “They may go to the west, and through those trees.”

  Hok shook his head. “Before they come, we will set the trees afire—the sap is almost out of them. And the Gnorrls will go east, into the pass.” Zorr and Nukl glanced at each other, and nodded. Then Zorr addressed Hok again: “It sounds like a good plan, better than any other. What shall we do?”

  “Zhik says that there are more than ten tens of Gnorrls. A few of us shall meet them on the plain beyond here, and make them angry. Then those few will run and draw them into the pass. After that, it will be as I say.”

  He gestured toward the crown of the slope. “You, Zorr, shall be the leader there, with most of the men, to throw javelins upon the Gnorrls when they are close together and rushing into the narrow pass.”

  “But you?” prompted Zorr.

  “I shall go, with my three brothers, to meet the Gnorrls.”

  “Me, too,” said Rivv, who had come forward and overheard part of the discussion. “I can run almost as fast as you.”

  “Very well,” granted Hok over his shoulder. “You, too, Rivv. Now we must camp. First we will get ready, as far as possible,. Are the women here with the extra javelins?”

  “They are,” Nukl answered him. “Then I want some—as many as ten—laid midway between here and the far end of the pass.” He turned around. “Oloana!” he called. “Bring the javelins that you have.”

  She came obediently, and they went together to lay the weapons at the point he had chosen. For a moment he studied them, then on inspiration picked them up and thrust their heads into the earth, the shafts pointing almost straight upward. “They will be easier to the hand,” he commented.

  “Why do you do that?” asked Oloana.

  “You will find out,” said her mate, rather darkly. Again he raised his voice. “Zhik, are you back there? You and Dwil take more javelins to the north end of the pass, and stick them there as I do here.”

  Zhik shouted comprehension of the order, and shortly afterward went trotting by with Dwil. When the two rows of spears had been set in place, all four young people returned to the barrier of stones. It was nearly evening. Hok, Zorr, and Nukl, as chiefs of their respective bands, kindled fires with appropriate ceremonies. Then there was cooking and discussion. Hok repeated his defense plan for all to hear.

  “The women will stay back of these stones,” he concluded, “except those who go, before battle, to set fire to the trees. I do not want anybody to run, unless the Gnorrls get the upper hand. Then those who are able must try to get back to the cave. The Gnorrls will have a hard time capturing that.”

  All nodded understanding, and both Zorr and Nukl spoke briefly to their own parties, in support of Hok’s arrangement.

  “When will the Gnorrls be here?” Hok then asked his brothers, for the benefit of all listeners.

  “Tomorrow,” replied Zhik. “Probably before the sun is high.”

  “Good,” said Hok. “We must be awake by dawn, and take our places for the fight. Tonight we shall sleep, and be strong and fresh.”

  But as the camp settled to repose, he could not sleep. Neither Oloana nor Zhik could induce him to lie down. For hours after all had dozed away, he sat in the brisk chili of the night, on a large stone of the barrier. Now and then he weighed his axe in hand, or picked up a javelin and felt its shaft for possible flaws. When he did close his eyes, he slept sitting up. Four or five times he started awake, trembling from dreams that the enemy was upon him.

  CHAPTER IX

  Conquest

  THE Gnorrls were up betimes the next morning, stretching, grumbling, fighting for drinking room at the creekside. A light frost patched the ground, and necessitated building up of the fires that had burned low overnight. There was considerable bad feeling here and there, because some who had brought abundant food would not share with those who had little or none; but three or four of the largest and oldest sternly curbed all debate, even striking with clubs those who persisted. At length the advance began.

  The formation was simple, but it must have been arranged and commanded by the wisest of those dark psyches the workings of which no human being can understand or even imagine. The fighting males of the horde went first, in a single line, close-drawn and several deep. In front walked the chiefs—perhaps their chieftainship was one of tradition or election, perhaps physical superiority, perhaps chance. All bore weapons—clubs, stones, or cleft sticks with pebbles in place for casting. Some carried the rough spears they had made in imitation of the javelins that had wrought such havoc among the Gnorrl-people.

  Behind this wave of armed males came the females and the young, in a completely disorganized mass. Possibly they were held in that position as a supporting body in case of defeat, more probably they attended simply as curious watchers of the triumph that seemed already achieved. Sometimes the half-grown cubs of this rearward body would scamper forward as if to join the fighting males, but they were always driven back with warning yells and sometimes with missiles.

  That the Gnorrls were able to communicate, to think ahead, and to obey their leaders can be demonstrated by the fact that they maintained their formation and their forward advance while the sun mounted higher and higher toward the top of the sky.

  The morning was considerably beyond its halfway point when, pushing through a belt of scrubby willow that marked the dry bed of an old creek, the foremost of the Gnorrls came out upon a plain with the river to the left and a bluff beyond.

  First of all they saw a great cloud of murky vapor above the trees that grew to the right of the bluff—smoke. Tongues of flame flickered among the branches. The Gnorrls faltered in their advance. Through that woods they had intended to go, and to kill men, their foes and persecutors on the rolling meadows beyond. Now they must go far
to the west and so avoid the fire, or negotiate the narrow pass between bluff and river.

  EVEN as their strange minds comprehended the new factor in the campaign, and before they could grapple with it for answer, a loud and mocking whoop sprang up from the quiet ground before them. A tall, tawny man in leopard skin rose into view from behind a bunch of dried thistles, so close to their ranks that several Gnorrls marked and recognized his features—it was Hok, their foremost tormentor. A moment later an answering yell, from several throats at once, echoed from a point due east. Almost at the river bank four more young men popped up from a little hollow in the earth.

  The Gnorrls blared their own challenge, a fearful blast of rage and menace. Before it swelled, Hok had cast one, then the other of his javelins. The second was in the air before the first had struck down a leader of the Gnorrls, and it flew beyond its fellow to pierce the heavy paunch of a warrior in the ranks. Then Hok yelled again, in derision and invitation, and began to run—not back toward the burning trees or the face of the bluff, but almost parallel with the front of the Gnorrl array.

  As he did so, his companions by the river threw their javelins, four in a volley and then four more. At that close range, barely forty paces, there was little chance of missing. Every javelin of the eight took effect, and four or perhaps five of the stricken Gnorrls died on the spot or within moments. An earth-shaking howl of execration went up from the army of brute-men, and the whole left wing of it charged full at the four audacious javelin casters, who turned, laughing, and fled. The right wing had crumpled upon itself to follow and overtake Hok, who still raced along the front of the line. A rain of ill-aimed missiles fell almost upon him, but the range, though short for a javelin in good hands, was too great for accuracy with stones or clubs. As the Gnorrls lumbered with deadly intent upon him, came almost within reach, Hok swerved to his right and made for the pass.

  For him, at least, it was a chase that taxed him to the utmost. Zhik, Rivv and the two younger lads ran easily away from their pursuers, but Hok, who had fled at an angle to draw the right-hand portion of the massed Gnorrls after him, had a near thing of it. So close did the swiftest Gnorrls win to him that they stretched out huge, eager hands in readiness to clutch him. But at that point he, too, turned into the straight line toward the pass and ran in earnest, four flying strides to three of the best Gnorrl.

  Zhik and Rivv had reached the point where the bluff rose, and a moment later Barp and Unn caught up. There, at the head of the narrow lane between rock and water, they came to an abrupt stop, and the Gnorrls as they ran heavily thought that these amazing adversaries were calmly plucking reeds or saplings that grew there in a clump. But the reeds were javelins, and Hok stooped as he ran, to let them hiss over his back. Two of his closest pursuers fell in midleap, somersaulting and writhing. That gave him a moment to run slower, whirl around, shout new insults and make again a gesture of invitation to the conflict. Three more of those nearest him collapsed before javelins thrown by the men at the head of the pass. Then Hok had joined his companions, and they were dashing along beyond the bluff.

  That the Gnorrls were not cowardly was plain from their headlong and unfaltering charge against the shrewd javelin-volleys that had found more than a dozen targets; but they could be cautious as well. The moment the leaders reached the head of the pass, they stopped, as any sagacious wild thing should. Their instinct demanded that they investigate before plunging blindly in.

  As they peered down the narrow strip of beach, on which the flying backs of Hok and the others shrank and shrank with increasing distance, more Gnorrls caught up, paused and peered, too. Then the rest arrived, in a swarm that closed in upon itself, pushing, cramping, chattering, eager to know what went on ahead.

  UPON that clot of life, that gathered while the leaders studied the situation during a dozen breaths’ spaces, fell destruction. From the crown of the bluff overhead came javelins and more javelins, and the yells of triumphant marksmen who take pride in seeing their casts fly home. Zorr, Nukl and nine others were hurling shafts as swiftly as they could seize them from the great scattered store at their feet.

  The fire took effect in the midst of the packed throng, and for a moment or so the Gnorrls in that central position were all that experienced and comprehended what was happening. They did considerable screaming and milling before the outer edge of the pack, which could move in defense and retaliation, understood and peeled away and dashed with a fine show of courage at the foot of the bluff.

  The Gnorrls could climb, even where human hands and feet might fail at the steep ascent; but it was foolish and vain to advance against the defenders above. Laughing boisterously in their security, Zorr’s and Nukl’s men centered their attention upon this scaling party. Not a javelin went wrong, and only one Gnorrl reached the brink of the level space above. Him they allowed to mount up and up, after the others had been picked off or had retreated. Mouthing his inarticulate war-cry, he scrambled pluckily up among them; and every man of the eleven stabbed home in his hairy body.

  In the meantime, Hok and his four companions had come to a halt once again, midway down the pass. Their saucy yells and capers stung the pursuers into motion as before. There was a great struggle to rush down the narrow way, so much of an effort to be first that half a dozen or more of the Gnorrls were thrust by their fellows into the rapid water, where they were whipped howling away and under, helpless to fight to shore. Meanwhile, the fugitives waited only until the rush was well under way before snatching more javelins from where they seemingly sprouted and sending them singing into the face of the attack. So narrow was the front, so close together the Gnorrls, that half a dozen casts raised a veritable heap of bodies, damming for a moment the onset of the others. And yet again the decoy party, not one of whom had suffered so much as a scratch, turned and fled, distancing all pursuit.

  The Gnorrls stubbornly followed, while javelins from in front and from the height above claimed lives and lives. A new blizzard of flint points seemed to pour from a heaped barrier of rocks. To this they charged panting, and now their enemies did not run. They thrust and hacked from behind their defense, and more poured down from the slope, striking from the flank. Women at the rear screamed encouragement and threw javelins. When the supply was gone, they threw firebrands and rocks.

  One who fights thus hand to hand remembers little about it afterward, nor cares to. He is only glad when it is over. It does not make much difference even to realize that he has won.

  HOK would not hold his head still as Oloana tried to lay a broad green leaf upon the gash that showed the bare white bone of his chin-point.

  “How many are killed?” he asked once more.

  “Zorr, my father, is only stunned,” she replied. “For a time we thought that Rivv would be our chief.”

  “I am your chief,” Hok reminded her. “Nukl is dead?”

  “Yes, and Kaga. Perhaps Zhik will lead that party after this.”

  “I think that Zhik will limp always.” Hok’s voice was low, but Zhik, sprawling nearby, overheard.

  “I shall not limp always,” he shouted defiantly. Then he shut his mouth and gritted his teeth as Dwil dragged strongly upon his ankle. She, too, turned a protesting face toward Hok.

  “The leg bone is broken,” she conceded, “but I will put sticks on each side, and hold the break shut with clay. My people know how to cure lameness of this sort. He will walk before winter is over.”

  “Kaga is dead,” said Oloana again, “and I think three more of those who were on the high ground. They charged and killed many Gnorrls, but the Gnorrls were able to get at them. They had no barrier of stones.” She smoothed down the leaf. Hok’s blood was thickening under it and would hold it in place.

  Barp, spitting blood from broken teeth, was returning from a survey of the pass.

  “How many are dead?” asked Hok.

  “I do not know. Very many. Far north I could hear the others crying, like rabbits in the snare.”

  “I am glad
that some were left alive,” said Hok suddenly. “They will always be afraid to come back here, and will tell other Gnorrls, and the young ones who are born after them, of how terrible we are.”

  Barp did not share this approval of the situation. “I want to fight Gnorrls again some time,” he said, rather wistfully.

  Hok put out his hand to cuff affectionately the lad’s untidy head. “Wait,” he counseled. “You have many years. There is enough game country for all of us who are left alive, but more men will come. When this country is crowded, you and others can go north and capture new ground from the Gnorrls.”

  “And when the Gnorrls are all killed?”

  “That will take a very long time,” said Hok, “but when the Gnorrls are all killed, men will own everything.”

  [*] The flint weapons of these early dawn men were quite excellently chiseled, done with painstaking care, and an amazing accurateness. They were far superior to the rough, crude hand axes of the Neanderthal. Their edges were sometimes razor sharp, and their shapes ranged from perfect spear tips, to a variety of axes (to which handles were cleverly attached) to slim-bladed knives and even double-edged tools.—Ed.

  THE LEGENDARY LAND OF ATLANTIS

  ALL peoples and continents have memories of it, so it must have existed—fair, lost Atlantis, the land that was the greatest in all the ancient world for strength and beauty, and was swallowed by the maw of ocean.

  Where did that bright country once rise? An island in mid-Atlantic, of which only the mountain-tops show today as the Azores and the Canaries? In the heart of the Sahara, near the peaks called Atlas? In the Gulf of Mexico, teaching Aztec and Maya to pronounce the mystic word Atl?

  Or was it the vast rick valley between the continents, the warm, green country that glaciers never touched, that existed when our fathers, the first of the true men, were wresting Europe from the bestial paws of the monstrous Neanderthalers? That valley is filled with blue water today, and is called the Mediterranean—the midst of the Earth. Its forests and meadows are drowned; but from them may have come the people who bore and cradled culture in the nations around that inmost sea—nations “like frogs around a puddle,” as said Plato, who also knew of Atlantis.