Sacrifice for the Quagga God (A Bunduki Jungle Adventure Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  As in her adoptive cousin’s case, Dawn had found that when the Land-Rover in which they were riding had gone over the edge of the Gambuti Gorge the clothing she was wearing had been changed for the costume in which she was now clad. Although they were primitive in appearance, she seemed completely at home in the garments.

  Short, sleeveless, laced by leather thongs from the waist to its low cut décolleté, the one-piece dress of soft cow eland’s hide clung to her thirty-eight inch bust, twenty-inch waist and thirty-six inch hips as if molded to her magnificent contours. It and a pair of leopard skin briefs were all she wore. Her archer’s armguard and pigskin glove had either been left behind or were in the possession of the Mun-Gatahs along with her Randall Model 1 ‘All Purpose’ fighting knife, seventy pounds’ draw weight Ben Pearson Marauder Take-Down hunting bow, bow- and back-quiver and twenty-two Micro-Flite arrows.

  Five foot eight inches in height, twenty years of age, Dawn was an exceptionally attractive young woman. Her tawny hair was naturally curly and kept short for convenience, framing an almost classically beautiful face. Tanned to a rich golden brown, like all the exposed portions of her magnificently curvaceous body, her features denoted breeding, intelligence, strength of will and determination. Power-packed, yet not un-feminine muscles rippled under her sleek skin. When she moved, it was with the fluid grace of a highly trained and very competent athlete.

  In view of her present unpleasant situation, it was well for Dawn that she possessed such qualities. Equally fortunate was she in springing from a stock which did not quail in the face of adversity. Her other great asset was that—by virtue of her birth, upbringing and educational background—she was well prepared to face up to the savage life on Zillikian. xix

  Recovering consciousness, to find herself a prisoner in the hands of the Mun-Gatahs, she had needed all her strength of will and fortitude. The shock had been made all the more traumatic because of the memories of her happiness up to the point where the Elders had drugged her and because of the uncertainty regarding Bunduki’s fate.

  In spite of the mental turmoil, Dawn had refused to panic or to fall into such a state of desperation and depression that she could not think of the future. Instead, once she had thrown off the effects of the drug, she had given the matter her complete and undivided attention. What she had discovered and concluded was neither conducive to complacency nor optimism.

  Firstly, the girl’s six-strong escort were all men. They wore leather breastplates, which were considered to be an unnecessary encumbrance when dealing with the pacific and unresisting members of the Telonga nation. So, even before it was confirmed by their conversations, she had guessed that they were not regular members of the People-Taker’s entourage.

  Secondly, to make any hope of escaping even more remote, she was being transported in a sturdy bamboo cage. It was on a small four-wheeled cart drawn by a quartet of domesticated zebras well suited to light haulage work. She had not been allowed outside the cage, which was clearly designed for its purpose. Not only had food and drinks been passed through the bars, but the cage even had the means to ensure privacy when she had to answer the calls of nature. A canvas-like canopy could be let down from the roof and covered a hole—unfortunately far too small to offer a way out—in the bed of the cart.

  Being retained within the cage was a mixed blessing. While it had reduced the chances of escape, it had also ruled out something worse.

  Despite her previous experiences as a prisoner of the Mun-Gatahs, Dawn had been perturbed by the possibility of being sexually assaulted. It had not happened during her earlier delivery into captivity, but there had been a woman in the party who had taken her from her original captors and escorted her to the High Priest. Elidor had warned her male companions that Dryaka wanted Dawn for his personal use, but he too had made no attempt to molest her while she was in his power. She did not know to what extent her current immunity depended on the High Priest’s continued interest in her, but was grateful for it.

  From various comments which had been passed, the girl had had one consolation to sustain her. Despite having been tortured, the village’s Elders had refused to divulge Bunduki’s whereabouts. So he was at liberty and would, as soon as he was able, be coming to her rescue. In fact, he might already have set out.

  Dawn did not know how long she had been unconscious, but believed it was well over a day. Nor did she think it was likely that Bunduki would have recovered in a shorter time. Whilst confident that he was searching for her, she had given her consideration to how she might either escape or do something to slow down her captors. The latter might prove to be the more important under the circumstances. Such was the quality of the tuh-gatahs which she had learned was the name for the animals pulling the cart—that the party was able to make good time. In all probability, the Mun-Gatahs who had raided the village had retrieved the four riding gatahs which had fallen into Bunduki and Dawn’s hands after a fight with members of the People-Taker’s escort. So Bunduki would be on foot, she assumed, and unable to travel as quickly as she was being transported.

  There had been no opportunity for the girl to achieve her second intention during the two days that she had been travelling in a conscious state, but she had made a discovery which had given her hope of effecting an escape.

  The cage-carts were standard equipment taken by all Mun-Gatah raiding parties to facilitate the transporting of dangerous, or particularly valuable and recalcitrant captives. Secured to the bed of the cage so as to be immovable, the cage was made from such stout pieces of bamboo that she could not hope to break them. They were fastened together by strips of rawhide.

  Although the People-Taker’s entourage had always taken the vehicle in which Dawn was imprisoned when making their collections, it had never been required for restraining the Telongas. Nor had there been the opportunity for many years to make use of it to secure any other kind of captive. So it had been neglected and, while the bars were unaffected, some of the rawhide bindings had become frayed. Dawn had nothing with which to cut her way to freedom, but she believed that she could break her. way out if the opportunity presented itself.

  Every day while on the move, the girl had stood at the rear of the cage as if looking back in the hope of seeing rescuers. Actually, she had been twisting and shoving at the bar she was clutching. The strains she had imposed were having their effect in weakening the bindings. Noticing the dilatory behavior of the guard, she had taken advantage of it and meant to go on with her work. She knew that by doing so she ran the risk of detection. However, if the events of the past two days were anything to go by, the worse that would happen was her captors would repair the damage and keep a closer watch on her activities in future.

  Going to the rear of the cage without disturbing the guard, Dawn took hold of the bar upon which she had devoted her time and efforts. Manipulating it, she found that it was moving with far greater ease. If all went well, she hoped to complete the destruction of the securing thongs and, by squeezing through the gap, make good her escape. Provided that she was able to reach the darkness beyond the glow of the fire without being detected, she felt sure that she could evade any pursuit and find a safe hiding place before sunrise.

  A few seconds after the girl had started working on the bar, the banar-gatah gelding belonging to the commander of the escort gave a snort and moved restlessly. Its hobbles prevented it from going more than a couple of steps, but it stared into the darkness. However, its actions were not duplicated by the rest of the animals and it did not disturb the sleeping warriors.

  Unfortunately, where Dawn was concerned, the guard’s head snapped up when the banar-gatah snorted. Reaching for the lance that he had laid alongside him, he gazed suspiciously in the direction that his superior’s mount was looking. After a few seconds, he glanced at the gatahs. Even the one which had brought him from his reverie appeared to have settled down.

  Having stood still at the guard’s first movement, Dawn was watching him. She hoped that he would
be satisfied no danger was threatening the camp and relax. Instead of returning to his negligent behavior, he turned his gaze to the cart. Knowing that to do otherwise would be likely to arouse his suspicions, the girl remained where she was. Coming to his feet, without picking up his lance, he walked towards the cart.

  For all her immunity from sexual or other abuses, Dawn was far from easy in her mind as she watched the warrior approaching. The youngest of the party, riding what she now knew to be called a grar-gatah gelding, he was swaggering, arrogant, but conscious of being the lowest ranking member present. She had noticed how eagerly he had tried to impress either her or his companions with his prowess as a rider and fighting man. Frequently he had boasted in her hearing of the deeds he had performed. If his stories were true, and she was inclined to believe them, he had taken a prominent part in the torture of the village’s Elders. What was more, he had clearly taken great delight in inflicting the torment upon them. Such a man would be a very dangerous proposition if he was crossed or antagonized in any way.

  ‘What are you doing, foreign girl?’ the warrior demanded, holding his voice down while trying to retain its tough timbre.

  ‘Nothing,’ Dawn replied, keeping her hands on the bamboo bar. To have snatched them away might have drawn the young man’s attention to it and led to the discovery that she had contrived to weaken it. ‘I was lying down, but got up to stretch my legs—’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ the warrior interrupted with a leer, still speaking quietly and darting a glance at the fire. ‘Are you too frightened to sleep?’

  Suddenly the girl realized why her interrogator was employing a much quieter mode of conversation than his usual loud and bombastic manner. He did not want to waken his companions. There could be a sinister motive behind his consideration, but she was willing to gamble on being able to turn it to her advantage if he opened the cage to try to assault her. Knowing that she might require the knowledge, her family had permitted—even encouraged—her to attain proficiency in several forms of unarmed combat. So she hoped to be able to render the young man hors de combat and escape before any alarm could be raised.

  ‘Frightened!’ Dawn snorted, contriving to adopt an appropriate resonance to her words without disturbing the sleeping Mun-Gatahs. ‘What have I to be frightened over?’

  ‘Dr—Lord Dryaka wants your weapons,’ the warrior answered, irritated by the girl’s attitude. However, he was too cautious to speak disrespectfully in case the High Priest should hear of the omission of the honorific. ‘Not that the Mun-Gatahs have any use for such a thing, xx but your bow is broken and he won’t be pleased when he sees it. That’s a good reason to be frightened.’

  Dawn did not reply for a moment. However, there was no need for her to have the comment explained. As she had not been expecting to need the Marauder bow until at least the morning after the wedding feast, she had removed the steel retaining pin and reduced its sixty inch length by half for easy storage. While the Mun-Gatahs had brought the two sections, either they had failed to find the pin in the pouch of her back-quiver, or had not understood its purpose. Whatever the reason, they had been unable to assemble the weapon. Nor had they shown any especial eagerness to do so and she had not been pressed too hard to enlighten them.

  ‘I don’t fear Dr—Lord Dryaka,’ the girl sneered, parodying the warrior’s way of mentioning the High Priest in the hope of antagonizing him and leading him into indiscretion. She saw anger coming to his swarthy face and went on in the same derogatory fashion, ‘He couldn’t hold me the last time I let your people catch me. Nor could his woman beat me although my wrists were bound.’

  ‘You’ll not escape this time!’ the young man warned, grabbing a bar—luckily not the one upon which Dawn had been working—and swinging on to the end of the cart. As she withdrew an involuntary step, he grinned. ‘I just hope that some of your people come to try to save you. But, if they’re no braver than the Telongas—’

  Although the girl had intended to stand her ground, she had not been able to prevent herself from drawing away when the warrior climbed up to confront her at close quarters. However, the reaction was only momentary. Halting, she stared over his shoulder as if she was seeing something frightening coming from out of the darkness.

  It was an old trick!

  But it worked!

  Startled and fooled by Dawn’s expression, the young man swung around to find out what was causing her reaction. He was reaching across to the hilt of his sword, but did not have the opportunity to draw the weapon.

  Returning to the rear of the cage even more quickly than she had left it, Dawn thrust her arms through the bars. Like a flash she was obtaining a double hold which her father had taught her, from his experiences as an espionage agent in World War II, during the lessons she had shared with Bunduki as a youngster.

  Before the warrior realized either that he had been tricked, or his peril, Dawn’s left palm was covering his mouth while its thumb and forefinger squeezed upon and closed his nostrils. Not only did it stop him from crying out, but he was unable to breathe. However, that was only a part—and not the most serious portion—of his troubles.

  Working in smooth co-ordination with its mate, the girl’s other hand clamped upon the young man’s throat. Feeling like twin steel spikes, so savage was the force that she exerted, the thumb and forefinger located and gouged into the collection of nerve centers, which formed pressure points on either side of the windpipe just beneath the angles of the jaw.

  Taken by surprise, strong as the young warrior undoubtedly was, he could do nothing to break the girl’s grips upon him. Nor was he able to struggle for long and raising the alarm was out of the question. Not only was the hold of his neck so excessively painful that it numbed his thought processes, the pressure cut off the flow of blood to his head. Inside fifteen agonizing seconds, during which he was partly repaid for the torment he had helped to inflict upon the Telonga Elders, his desperately unavailing movements ended and he hung limply in his assailant’s grasp.

  Waiting until she was satisfied that the victim was not merely pretending to be unconscious; Dawn removed her left hand from his mouth. She supported his weight with her other fist until she had passed the arm around his throat. Maintaining him in his upright posture by that means, she employed her liberated hand to relieve him of his sword. After a glance to make sure that none of the warriors around the fire had awakened, although the lack of an outcry suggested all was well, she lowered him silently to the ground. With that accomplished, she set to work cutting through the rawhide thongs. As the girl had anticipated, the sharp blade of the sword made short work of the cage’s fastenings.

  Too short!

  Obviously, Dawn had severed a main fastening. No less than four of the upright bars separated from the top of the cage and, to her horror, began to tilt outwards. There was, she realized, no way in which she could prevent them all from falling. She might be able to grab hold of one, or—providing she risked the noise which would be caused by dropping the sword—even two, but the remainder would evade her.

  The girl’s alarm proved to be needless. Although freed from the top, the bars were still fastened at the bottom. So, despite the upper ends moving, they were retained and did no more than incline in a way which left a gap through which she could emerge without difficulty.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Dawn stepped carefully out of the cage. On dropping to the ground, she bent over the warrior.; To her relief, she discovered that he was still breathing. Obnoxious and brutal as he had been, she was pleased that she had not killed him.

  Conscious of the weight of the sword in her hand, Dawn glanced at the men by the fire. The nearest of them was the banar-gatah gelding riding leader of the escort and, across his saddle lay her belt with the Randall Model 1 ‘All Purpose’ fighting knife in its sheath. What was more, close by, she could see the two halves of her bow and the arrow-filled quivers.

  ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll leave them,’ Dawn told herself silently.r />
  Advancing with the same stealth that had characterized her earlier movements, the girl looked like a stalking leopardess and was almost as dangerous. For all that, she was not acting out of pure bravado. Having escaped from the cage, she knew that she was faced with surviving in a savage and primitive land until she could rejoin Bunduki. To do so, she was going to need weapons with which to defend herself. While she was a first class fencer with an epee or a saber, handling a Mun-Gatah sword required a different technique to either. She and Bunduki had made practice with two obtained from the , members of the People-Taker’s escort who were killed at the Jey-Mat Telonga village, but she felt disinclined to rely upon the sword in an emergency if she could lay hands on her own arms.

  Watching the warriors, ready to turn and flee at the first sign of movement, Dawn drew nearer to her goal. None of them stirred, or showed the slightest sign of waking. The banar-gatak rider was lying with his back towards her, wrapped in his brown cloak.

  Wanting to have her hands free, the girl stuck the point of the sword into the ground and left it there. She went by the bow and quivers, meaning to retrieve her knife first. The belt on which it was sheathed had been buckled so it could be suspended from the man’s saddle horn. Hardly daring to breathe, she bent and her right hand closed around the sambur horn ‘finger grip’ hilt. Her left took hold of the belt. Even as she started to lift it free, the warrior gave a grunt and rolled on to his back.