The Zanthodon MEGAPACK ™: The Complete 5-Book Series

by Lin Carter

  After the meal was slain, cleaned, cooked and eaten, while all those not stationed on sentry duty were bedding down for the sleeping period, Tharn stood with strong arms folded upon his mighty breast, staring with brooding eyes back across the plain and the abyss to the edges of the jungle.

  There Garth and his mate, Nian, joined him.

  “Is all easy in your heart, my brother?” the High Chief of Sothar solicitously inquired. Tharn nodded somberly.

  “My country of Thandar lies only a few wakes’ march to the south of these jungles,” he said. “Very soon we will return to our villages and you will enter the new home of your people, and our tribes will be joined in friendship forever. It is only that I wish that Eric Carstairs and his warriors, and Darya the gomad were with us.”

  Garth nodded understandingly, saying nothing. He knew that Zanthodon is always full of surprises, and that in the weird subterranean cavern world, the unexpected usually happens.

  They turned away to seek their rest, leaving Tharn to brood on the missing.

  CHAPTER 22

  WHEN COMRADES MEET

  “What the devil am I supposed to do with you!” repeated the Professor, and indeed it was a bit of a problem.

  Baron Von Kohler regarded him thoughtfully.

  “If I may ask a question, Herr Doktor,” he said, “then permit me to inquire, now that the war is over and ended, are our two countries still enemies?”

  Professor Potter slowly shook his head.

  “No, as a matter of fact, sir, they are firm friends and allies,” he said reluctantly. The German officer smiled.

  “Then, since we are no longer at war with each other, cannot you and I, and the pretty fraulein here, emulate our governments and be, if not exactly friends—for friendship must be earned before it is returned—at least allies?”

  The Professor thought it over, chewing on his moustache.

  Von Kohler smiled. “After all, we are civilized white men marooned in an unknown world among primitive savages and terrible beasts, a world torn by storm and earthquake, where deadly perils are to be found on every side. Should not civilized gentlemen stand together against the common dangers with which we are so continuously beset?”

  The Professor looked at him with candid suspicion.

  “Your words are persuasive, and peaceable, my dear Baron,” he admitted. “But it is difficult for me to decide whether they are honestly representative of the emotions within your heart, or, as seems more than likely, prompted by the fact that my spearpoint is leveled at that same organ.

  “In a word, sir,” he added bluntly, “I do not know whether I can trust you.”

  The officer nodded thoughtfully, with a charming smile. “Your caution is only common sense, I suppose,” he admitted. “And were I in your position, sir, I have no doubt that I would feel the same. Well, then, what are we to do? I cannot remain long absent from my camp, for my superior is gravely injured and, before long, one of the two men under my command will come looking for me. If you will permit me to return to my camp, I give you my word of honor as an officer and a gentleman that I shall neither interfere with your own freedom nor attempt to molest either you or the young fraulein.”

  They both glanced at the Mauser which lay at their feet.

  “I am, however, reluctant to brave the hazards of these jungles without the comfort and security of my rifle,” Von Kohler added.

  “I can understand that,” muttered the Professor fretfully. “As I am reluctant to permit you to resume possession of the firearm, while the girl and myself have nothing wherewith to defend ourselves against you save for these flimsy spears.”

  “We are on the horns of a dilemma, then, as one of your English poets has so graphically put it,” said the officer. “In all candor, Herr Doktor, I wish that I could think of a way in which to demonstrate decisively to you that my men and I mean you and the young lady no harm, and would in fact desire to become friends and allies with you and your people. But, alas, I have nothing but the words uttered from a sincere heart—”

  At that moment someone cleared his throat behind them.

  “Herr Oberlieutenant, I am here!” said a guttural voice in German. The Professor felt his heart sink into his boots, or would have, if he had been wearing any boots, which he was not.

  He turned to see a second German in tattered army uniform, leveling a Mauser rifle at himself and Darya.

  Heaving a gusty sigh, the old scientist let the spear drop to the ground as Von Kohler knelt and recovered his own rifle, which he snapped to safety and slung over his shoulder.

  “Thank you, Schmidt, your intervention is a timely one,” he said crisply. Then, turning to the old scientist, he said with equal crispness:

  “And now, Herr Doktor, the conditions are reversed. How does it please you to no longer have the upper hand?”

  * * * *

  My hunters had mostly returned with game, which we cleaned and began to cook. We had dug a fire pit in the sandy shores of the underground sea, and were relaxing when a far-off halloo called to our attention the return of the missing hunter, Varak.

  His companions were such a surprising and a welcome sight that we sprang to our feet in delighted amazement.

  “Jorn! Yualla!” I exclaimed. The two youngsters were grinning broadly as we crowded around, all talking excitedly at once. Since none of us had ever expected to see them alive and whole again, our excitement was understandable.

  “Yualla,” I said, hugging the smiling girl, “your father, Garth, will certainly be relieved to see you, for he long since presumed you slain by the thakdol.”

  “Where is my father, and our people?” she asked. I pointed into the jungles.

  “The tribes are on their way south to the land of Thandar, your new home,” I said. “Nor are they very far ahead, for we but recently parted from the host in order to find Hurok of Kor—”

  Jorn, who had grown to love the huge, hulking old fellow during their march across the plains of the north to the range of mountains known as the Walls of Zar, grabbed my arm.

  “What has become of Hurok?” he demanded. I shrugged helplessly.

  “He left us during the sleep-period,” I explained. “We tracked him here, to the shores of the Sogar-Jad, but can go no farther. We believe that he returned to his island homeland for some reason, but whether or not he will return to rejoin us on the mainland, we do not know.”

  “Have you seen Niema?” interrupted Yualla of Sothar, looking around her, hoping to see her new friend.

  “Who is Niema?” I asked.

  “A beautiful, tall woman,” Jorn informed us, “who joined us in the mountains and captured Xask and that little villain, Murg.”

  “Xask and Murg, eh?” growled huge Gundar at my side. “Are those two still about?” The giant Goradian had known of Xask’s villainies while a gladiator, fighting at my side in the arena of Zar during the Great Games. And he had heard tell of Murg since then. We all looked at one another with grim consternation, for while nobody had much to fear from pitiful little Murg, Xask was a wily and cunning foe, and an adversary to be reckoned with.

  “Jorn forgot to tell you that Niema is black of skin,” offered Yualla. My frown cleared, for now I recognized the name as that of the black woman for whom Zuma had been searching.

  I opened my mouth to say as much, when the swift movement of events made my remark unnecessary.

  Varak yelled excitedly, pointing with his spear. We turned to look down the beach and saw a most welcome sight, indeed. For toward us strode a grinning Zuma with his arm about the supple waist of a stunningly handsome black woman garbed and armed as he…and behind them waddled the huge, hairy form of Hurok of Kor, accompanied by a smaller, slighter Korian, obviously the female of the species.

  Before long we were all toget
her again, and many tales were told and Zuma introduced us to his mate, Niema of the Aziru, while Hurok made us known to his she, Gorah of Kor.

  Niema greeted us modestly, beaming with happiness at finding her beloved Zuma, but Gorah was more timid and reluctant and hung back shyly, saying little and half afraid to meet our eyes. She had seen very few of the panjani and had always been taught to regard them as her implacable enemies, and the enemies of all her kind.

  For our part, however, we looked the Neanderthal woman over with frank curiosity, never having before seen a female of the race. As I have mentioned, Gorah was smaller and lighter of build than her mighty mate, and where his muscular body was thatched with matted russet fur, her skin was less hairy than his, and the fur was more downlike and silky, a lovely shade of coppery-red. It grew on her forearms to the elbow, and on her heavy thighs, and a patch grew between her shoulder-blades, while the hair on her head was heavier and longer than Hurok’s. As well, her features were less crude and more refined than his, although she was certainly not to be considered handsome beside the Cro-Magnon women.

  Still and all, in the eyes of Hurok she was beautiful, and, after all, that’s what really mattered.

  “Now we are missing only the old man, your friend, for our number to be complete once again,” sighed Varak, sliding his arm around his own mate, little Ialys of Zar. I nodded grimly.

  “I would have thought the old fool would have returned quite a while ago,” I grumbled, “since the volcanic action has subsided long since.” And it was true: an hour or so had gone by since the eruption and earthquake had shaken the jungle and split the southern plain, and still Professor Potter had not returned to our camp.

  “Then it is the suggestion of Zuma that we go and find the old man,” said that warrior.

  By this time we had all eaten, sharing our food with the new arrivals, who were rested from their various exertions and adventures, so we broke camp, extinguished the cook-fire by raking dry sand over the glowing coals, took up our weapons and entered the jungles.

  “See! Did not Varak speak the truth awhile back?” exclaimed Varak, pointing to where a crude mark had been cut in the bark of a tall cycad.

  And I remembered that he had earlier predicted that the Professor would not be foolish enough to try to go through the jungle without blazing a trail so that he could find his way back to our encampment on the beach, since one part of the jungle looks so very much like every other part of the jungle, and it is easy to lose one’s way therein—especially if one lacks the Zanthodonians’ innate sense of direction.

  “Thank heaven for small favors!” I said grumpily.

  Following the trail the Professor had left, we moved swiftly through the jungle country.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE LOST TRAIL

  With a gloomy look on his face, Professor Percival P. Potter surrendered his spear and Darya did likewise, while Manfred Von Kohler stood smiling at his ease, his own rifle now slung upon one shoulder.

  “Well, sir, we are your prisoners now, for the sudden appearance of your comrade has quite effectively turned the tables,” said the old scientist stiffly.

  Von Kohler smiled broadly and clicked his boot heels together, inclining his head in a brief nod.

  “I thank you, Herr Doktor! And I must admit that this turn of events pleases me deeply, for it gives me precisely the sort of opportunity I was just wishing for.”

  While the Professor and Darya looked at him uncomprehendingly, the officer turned to the second soldier who stood at the far side of the glen, his rifle leveled.

  “Corporal Schmidt!”

  “Ja, Herr Oberlieutenant?”

  “You will oblige me by putting up your rifle,” said the officer crisply. Schmidt blinked, but obeyed, slinging the Mauser over his shoulder.

  Von Kohler turned to the Professor and the Cro-Magnon princess.

  “Herr Doktor, if you and the fraulein would likewise oblige me, you would take up your weapons again,” he said.

  The Professor wasted no time in stooping to snatch up his spear and Darya took up her own.

  “Now you are armed again, and our firearms are across our shoulders,” said the Baron. “Corporal Schmidt’s unexpected appearance on the scene has granted me the very opportunity I wanted—the perfect way to prove to you and the fraulein that I and my soldiers wish to be your allies, not your captors or even your enemies!”

  The Professor gaped.

  “Well, upon my soul,” he stammered helplessly. But Darya proved herself quicker on the uptake than was the savant. With a warm, generous smile, she shouldered her spear and stepped forward to lay the palm of her hand lightly upon the breast of the German officer. It was the simple Cro-Magnon equivalent of a friendly handshake, the welcome to a new ally.

  And the officer gallantly returned the gesture in his own way, by lifting her hand gently to his lips with a courtly bow which the jungle girl privately thought charming.

  “Now that these matters have been settled,” Von Kohler said, turning to Professor Potter again, “I really must return to my Colonel; I could wish that you and the fraulein might accompany Schmidt and me back to our camp to enjoy what rude hospitality we have to offer, but if you wish to return to your own camp, I will certainly understand, and let us part as friends, on the understanding that the world is small and we shall all doubtless meet again.”

  The Professor cleared his throat.

  “Kerr-hem! Well, and as for that, we have not been absent long enough to be seriously missed, or to cause our friends to worry concerning our safety and welfare, and…Holy Hippocrates, sir, I have some little understanding of medicine, and feel obligated to offer your Colonel whatever help I may be able to give—”

  “I am delighted to accept your kind offer, Herr Doktor! Our camp lies in that direction—Schmidt! Fall in behind to guard our rear.”

  And with those words, Manfred Von Kohler turned, offering Darya his hand to assist her over a fallen tree, and the four of them disappeared in the underbrush.

  * * * *

  Xask followed Darya, the Professor, and the two German’s back to their camp in the jungle, with poor Murg whimpering at his heels. The vizier was afire with lust to get his hands on one of the thunder-weapons with which the strangers seemed so lavishly equipped. Surely, before very long, an opportunity for him to do so would present itself, for neither the Professor nor Darya knew that he was anywhere in the vicinity, and the German soldiers were not even aware of his existence.

  From the cover of the underbrush between the tall trees, he and Murg observed as the party entered the camp. Yet another soldier was on guard with yet another Mauser rifle, and he clicked his heels and saluted with the weapon as the Oberlieutenant came up to him. They conferred briefly, and then Von Kohler led his guests to the rude hut where an older, white-haired man lay on a crude litter. His garments had been torn away from his side, and a gory mass of bandages was held there by strips of cloth. It would seem that the Colonel had been gored in the side by a beast, and from the looks of him, Xask shrewdly guessed that the older man had not very long to live.

  The camp was situated at the edge of a small stream, with its back against the shelter of large rocks. Bedrolls were neatly lined up beside a small fire which crackled merrily, browning plucked-and-gutted zomaks suspended above the flames on a spit made from tree branches.

  While the Professor knelt to gingerly undo the wad of blood-soaked bandages and examined Colonel Dostman’s injuries, Xask quickly surveyed the camp. Obviously, when the next sleeping-period came, the bedrolls would be occupied, with at least one of the Germans standing guard lest hostile natives or dangerous beasts attack the sleeping men.

  Xask had no way of guessing which of the German soldiers would occupy which bedroll, but he noticed that one of the rolls of blankets was nearer to the hu
ge rocks than were the others. He thought he could circle the camp without causing any sound, and, with a little bit of luck, creep through the boulders to purloin one of the thunder-weapons, which would doubtless be laid on the greensward beside its slumbering owner.

  Finding a secure niche, he curled up on a bed of dry leaves between the enormous roots of a giant tree, and patiently awaited his chance to steal the rifle; leaving Murg to watch the camp.

  * * * *

  For a time we followed the trail the Professor had blazed on the trees of the jungle without difficulty. He seemed to be heading directly south and east, heading straight for Fire Mountain without diverging from his path, save to go around natural obstacles.

  And then, quite suddenly, the trail of marked trees ended. He went on a bit, then paused, looking around. This section of the jungle seemed no different in any way from the other parts of the jungle, and we could not at once determine the reason why the blaze marks had ended so abruptly.

  “Perhaps the old man, your friend, was frightened by one of the great beasts,” suggested Warza to me. I shrugged.

  “Maybe, but I don’t see any signs of the passage of a beast large enough to have scared the Professor into flight,” I said. And indeed there were no trampled underbrush, broken branches, or footprints in the turf which would have suggested the sudden arrival on the scene of a dangerous predator.

  “A vandar prowls silently, gliding through the bushes, and seldom leaves prints,” Jorn pointed out. I had to agree with him, and, armed only with a spear, the Professor would certainly have taken flight before the advance of the giant sabertooth, rather than staying around to fight the cat with so flimsy a weapon.

  I turned to Zuma, who, with his sharp eyes and wilderness training, was the best scout in my retinue of companions.

  “Perhaps we should stay here, Zuma, while you circle about to see if you can pick up the trail of the Professor,” I suggested.