by J. T. Edson
A burly ocha-gatah rider detached himself from the quartet who were on foot and slouched towards Bunduki. Glancing from the big blond to the knife, the man did a double take as he realized belatedly that there was something wrong.
‘Hey!’ the man yelped, springing forward and reaching for his sword. ‘You’re not a Mun-Gatah! Who—?’
The question went unfinished. Instead of answering, Bunduki thrust out his left fist. It caught the man just below the breast bone, halting and folding him onto the right hook that was the blond giant’s follow-up attack. Lifted upright, the man went over on to his back.
Attracted by their companions yell, all but the banar-gatah rider kneeling by Charole turned. Seeing their companion felled, the three of them rushed at Bunduki. Looking around, the kneeling man realized that the Protectress’s rescuer was not a Mun-Gatah. Immediately he wanted to know where he had acquired his garments. What was more, in addition to any information the blond giant might possess, he would make a fine sacrifice for the Quagga God.
‘Take him alive!’ roared the banar-gatah rider, coming to his feet and going to help enforce his command.
That proved to be much easier said than done.
Hearing their leader and being aware of what would happen if they should go against his wishes, the men did not attempt to draw their swords. Instead, they fanned out and closed on Bunduki from three different points. Like the other warriors with whom he had fought, each of the trio wanted to gain the acclaim of capturing him. So they were acting as individuals rather than a team.
Swifter than his companions, the man coming from the blond giant’s left was nearest and received first attention. Catching the forward driving right wrist with his left hand, Bunduki prevented it from reaching him and snapped a side kick into the man’s ribs. Having done so, the big blond threw up his right hand to deflect the punch being thrown by the nearest warrior on that side and halted the advance of the other with a back kick to the body.
Although still shaken by her experience, Charole had recovered sufficiently to sit up and take notice. She saw Bunduki dealing with the first three attackers. Then, as the banar-gatah rider rushed up and the blond giant ducked under his grabbing hands. Catching the man around the knees, Bunduki straightened and pitched him head over heels.
Watched by the fascinated woman, the three men flung themselves en masse at the blond giant. They were, as she knew, trained warriors as good as any in the Mun-Gatah nation. Yet, for all their capability, they could not subdue the big stranger, even with the help of the banar-gatah rider.
It took the combined efforts of the entire hunting party to quell Bunduki. Nor did they succeed for a good fifteen minutes (as he measured time). Throughout it, he used every bit of skill and strength he possessed, calling upon the various unarmed combat techniques which he had acquired. By the end of the fight, three of the Mun-Gatahs were down with broken bones and a fourth lay dead, his neck snapped like a rotten twig.
Standing and looking down at the blond giant’s mighty body, now bruised, bloody and stripped to only the leopard skin loincloth, Charole felt a sense of elation. At last, providing she could win him over, she was certain she had found a man who was capable of helping her to overthrow the High Priest.
Chapter Fifteen – I Alone Stand Between You And Death
‘You fight very well, Dawn of the Apes,’ Dryaka remarked, entering the main section of his pavilion tent carrying the Randall Model 1 fighting knife in his right hand. ‘They tell me that Elidor’s jaw is broken. She always did talk too much, so it might be an improvement.’
Dawn Drummond-Clayton was puzzled and not a little perturbed as she watched the High Priest of the Mun-Gatah nation approaching. While the oil lamps which had been lit at sundown did nothing to soften the savage lines of his features, he seemed almost jovial and friendly.
After having defeated Elidor, the girl had expected to be beaten up by the two serving women, or put to torture if not killed. Instead, apart from having been kept manacled by the hobbles and under observation at all times to prevent her from trying to remove them, she had practically been treated like a guest.
On their return from attending to the unconscious Elidor, the women had carried out the High Priest’s orders regarding the prisoner. They had bathed the dried blood from Dawn’s face, allowed her to drink and had given her a good meal. From the way they had talked and acted, the girl had concluded that they were not entirely averse to the beating she had given to their superior.
Accepting that—watched as she was by the women and with male guards close by—there could be no hope of escape, Dawn had not attempted to do so. After the meal, she had made a bed from some of the pillows and rested on it. She had wanted to rebuild her strength in case an opportunity to get away should present itself, or to be ready if Elidor came back in search of revenge.
The rest of the afternoon had passed without incident. Despite the reason Dryaka had given to the Elders for having Dawn brought into his pavilion, he had not attempted to question her. In fact, he had left her in the care of his adherents and had gone off about some business of his own.
Night had fallen before the High Priest had returned. From the expression on his face as he stalked from the main entrance to his sleeping quarters, the girl concluded that whatever the business which had occupied him had been it had failed to come up to his expectations. However, apart from glancing at Dawn and asking the serving women if all was well, he had taken no notice of her. She estimated that over an hour had elapsed since she had last seen him.
‘Bring food, then leave us,’ Dryaka ordered, without giving the girl an opportunity to answer his comment about Elidor.
‘My father and his men will be coming to rescue me,’ Dawn stated, as the High Priest sat on the cushion which one of the serving women had placed in front of her. ‘You’ve seen how effective even a woman’s bow and arrows can be. Many of your people will die if I’m harmed.’
‘Yes,’ Dryaka said, showing no perturbation over the warning. Instead, he looked pointedly at the knife in his hand and went on, ‘Your “Suppliers” have given you excellent weapons. Far better than anything we’ve received. Where and how do they make their deliveries?’
‘I don’t know—’ Dawn began, genuinely puzzled by the question.
‘And you claim to be the daughter of the Apes’ leader!’ Dryaka ejaculated, before the girl could finish. ‘Don’t trifle with me, or it will be the worse for you. I alone stand between you and death. Charole wants your blood for killing her eagle. Only I can give you the chance of fighting for your life instead of being sacrificed to the Quagga God.’
Dawn had been meaning to say that she did not know what the High Priest had meant by ‘Suppliers’. She had hoped to obtain information about a matter which had been puzzling her.
After the girl had rested earlier in the day, having no desire to let her muscles become stiffened by inactivity, she had risen and started to walk around. Although she had not been permitted to leave, she had studied the camp from the pavilions front and rear entrances. Then she had turned her attention to the interior of the tent.
Like Bunduki when he had been looking at the property of the dead Mun-Gatah warriors, Dawn was puzzled by what she saw. The materials from which the pavilion and its furnishings were made were of a far higher and more sophisticated quality than she would have believed her captors were capable of producing. In fact, they had the feel and appearance of modern synthetic fabrics. The lamps, weapons and other metallic objects that she had examined also seemed to have been made by machines.
Apparently the Mun-Gatahs and, judging from the High Priest’s question, the other primitive nations had some source of supply which was capable of manufacturing their requirements. Yet, even if such a technically advanced people had wanted to retain a monopoly on trading with the otherwise undiscovered races, it was unlikely that they would be able to keep their activities a secret.
Unless, of course, Dawn’s theory regarding
her whereabouts should be correct.
Fantastic and unbelievable as it seemed, the girl was growing even more certain that she had guessed the truth.
‘Come now,’ Dryaka went on, interrupting Dawn’s train of thought and adopting a more placatory attitude after having delivered the threat. He also dropped his voice and darted a glance at the kitchen portion of the pavilion, continuing, ‘I’m willing to tell you that our “Suppliers” put them in the caves beneath the Quagga God’s temple.’
‘I don’t know where our “Suppliers” make their deliveries,’ Dawn answered and, seeing anger darken her interrogator’s face, knew that she would have to do better than that. Having noticed how he had behaved and spoken when giving her the information, she had an inspiration. ‘I’m Tarzan’s youngest daughter. Only he and his oldest son and daughter are allowed to know the secret.’
Being aware that the subject of the mysterious ‘Suppliers’ was taboo amongst his own people and the other races with whom he had come into contact, Dryaka was willing to accept the girl’s explanation. However, he was disappointed as he always was whenever he made an attempt to solve the mystery of the ‘Suppliers’. He had hoped that the ‘Apes’ might have different beliefs on the subject, or that Dawn—being the ‘daughter’ of her nation’s leader—had access to the required information.
‘Where is your home?’ the High Priest asked, raising his voice to its previous level as he left the potentially dangerous business of discussing the “Suppliers”.
‘On the edge of the jungle, far to the east,’ Dawn replied.
‘What brought you to the land of the Mun-Gatahs?’ Dryaka inquired.
‘I had often heard of your people,’ the girl lied, but so convincingly that she might have been speaking the truth. ‘So I thought I would come and see what you were really like. Then a lion frightened my mount—’
‘Your people are riders?’ Dryaka interrupted.
‘We are,’ Dawn confirmed, and decided, in view of his surprise, that a little boasting might not come amiss. ‘But our mounts are bigger, stronger and faster than anything I’ve seen here.’
‘It’s very strange that I’ve never heard of you,’ Dryaka said, pensively and almost dubiously.
‘Our land is very far away,’ the girl countered. ‘And we guard its borders jealously. We usually stay within them and kill any strangers who try to enter.’
‘I see,’ the High Priest grunted. On various occasions, Mun-Gatah raiding parties or individuals had disappeared without a trace. They could have fallen foul of the “Apes”. That would explain why none had returned to bring news of a well-armed and dangerous nation. ‘How many of your people are there?’
‘We have five large cities,’ Dawn told him, seeking a happy medium between failing to impress him with her “nation’s” numbers, and arousing suspicion through over-exaggeration.
‘Five!’ Dryaka repeated, in a mixture of awe and disbelief. ‘No other nation has more than one!’
‘We aren’t like the other, nations,’ Dawn pointed out with complete conviction and well simulated disdain.
From the brief flicker of emotion which crossed the High Priest’s swarthy face, the girl guessed that her thrust had gone home. So it had. Dryaka dropped his gaze to the Randall knife and remembered the quality of her bow and arrows, realizing that all were far superior to anything that the Mun-Gatahs and other nations owned.
‘I’m sorry for the way you were treated, Dawn,’ the High Priest declared, trying to look contrite and pleasant. ‘It was all the fault of those fools I sent to ask you to come and visit me in peace.’
At that moment, preventing Dryaka from continuing with the lying apology, the flaps at the rear of the pavilion were opened. Looking about him in a nervous manner, a short, chubby man entered. He wore the undecorated attire of a grar-gatah rider, but did not have the appearance of being a warrior.
‘I bring news, Lord Dryaka!’ the newcomer announced hurriedly, throwing a glance towards the closed front entrance and speaking in a low voice. Then his gaze swung to Dawn and he pointed at her. ‘Charole has brought in a prisoner. He is a very big man, dressed like a Telonga, but with skin like this woman’s. His hair is white, but he isn’t old and he is very muscular. The knife they took from him is almost as long as our swords and like no other I’ve ever seen.’
Only by exercising all of her self control could Dawn hold her emotions in check. Even so, she failed to prevent herself giving a little gasp as the import of the man’s information struck her. Unless she was mistaken, he had brought terrible news. The person whom he described sounded very much like her adoptive cousin.
If it was Bunduki, he too had fallen into the hands of the Mun-Gatahs!
Fortunately for the girl, her involuntary and brief response had gone unnoticed by the High Priest. He was scowling malevolently at the newcomer, a spy whom he had planted in the Protectress’s retinue.
‘I’ve heard nothing of this,’ Dryaka protested, for the arrival of a prisoner—particularly one as unusual as this man appeared to be—would normally have attracted sufficient attention to be reported to him. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Soon after sundown,’ the spy replied and went on hurriedly in exculpation. ‘I haven’t been able to get away until now, my lord. She had him brought to her pavilion secretly after it was dark. He is still there and she is treating him as well as—very well.’
‘Is she? Dryaka growled, guessing that the man had intended to say, “as well as you are treating this girl.”, or words to that effect. ‘And you say that she’s alone with him?’
‘She was, my lord, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I mustn’t stay long, my lord, or I may be missed. There is something else I have to tell you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Talgum and Altab came a few minutes ago, although she had said she was not to be disturbed. They brought a small bag which they said had come from your pavilion.’
‘A small bag?’ Dryaka spat out and Dawn could see that he was deeply perturbed. ‘What was in it?’
‘Only some black dust,’ the man answered in an offhand fashion, meaning to go on by explaining that he would not have bothered to come and interrupt the High Priest except that Charole had appeared to be very excited over the contents of the bag.
There was, however, nothing off-hand about the way Dryaka responded on hearing the reply.
‘The Thunder Powder!’ the High Priest almost bellowed, springing to his feet and dropping the Randall knife. Without bothering to retrieve the weapon, he dashed towards his sleeping quarters, snarling, ‘If she’s got any of it, I’ll have somebody’s life!’
~*~
‘And just what might this be?’ demanded Charole, staring disdainfully at the small pile of black powder which the leader of the party who had captured Bunduki was pouring on to her pavilions table.
‘I don’t know,’ Talgum answered, speaking thickly due to his badly swollen mouth. Stopping the flow, he placed the bag alongside the Smithsonian bowie knife on the table. For a moment, he stared enviously at the weapon. Then, darting a hate-filled scowl at its owner, he went on, ‘The woman said it was what Zongaffa was making for Dryaka.
Lounging on the cushions which the Protectress had placed near the table for him, with his wrists linked together by a set of hobbles, but otherwise unfettered, Bunduki studied the powder. He thought he recognized it. If he had, it might enable him to escape.
On recovering consciousness, the blond giant had been surprised to find that he had not received any more serious injuries than the various bruises and abrasions gathered during the fighting. He had soon discovered that he owed his salvation to the influence of the beautiful, sensual, if disheveled woman whose life he had saved. For all that, he had sensed there was more than gratitude behind her protection.
Although Bunduki had been taken to a nearby stream where his injuries were given the same treatment as the warriors who had suffered at his hands, Charole had insisted t
hat they should delay rejoining their companions until after night had fallen.
While they were waiting, Charole and Talgum had questioned Bunduki about how he had come into possession of the Mun-Gatah garments and zebras. Knowing that to refuse supplying the information could have painful consequences, he had invented a story of how he had been attacked by, and had killed, three members of the People-Takers escort. Having identified the animals as belonging to some of the High Priest’s adherents, his interrogators had seemed more pleased than angry at what he had told them.
The blond giant had discovered, by listening to his captors, that his adoptive cousin was already a prisoner of the Mun-Gutahs. From what had been said, he had deduced that he was to be taken to the camp in which she was being held. It had been that, even more than a realization of the futility of trying to fight his way to freedom which had caused him to put aside the notion of attempting to escape while he was still in the hands of such a small party. He had wanted to be in a position where he might be able to help Dawn before doing anything that would cause his captors to increase the simple bonds of restraint which secured him.
From the way Bunduki’s captors had behaved as they were bringing him into their camp, he had deduced that they wished to keep his presence a secret. On coming into sight of their companions’ zebras, which were grazing and resting at liberty but under the eyes of guards, the banar-gatah rider—although as yet the blond giant had not learned the Mun-Gatahs’ social distinctions—had gone ahead. Returning, he had warned that some of the High Priest’s adherents were on duty watching over the herd. At the Protectress’s orders, Bunduki had been made to dismount. Escorted by Talgum and two of the ocha-gatah riders, he had been taken to the camp on foot by a route which had kept them out of sight of the guards.
