Queen of the Panther World

by Berkeley Lingston

  Strange cries rang out as we crossed the border between light and darkness. Rank odors filled our nostrils. It took several seconds for our eyes to accustom themselves to the gloom. Fitful rays of light seeped through the tangled foliage. But nowhere was to be seen a single area even a few feet across on which the blessed sun fell.

  As we proceeded deeper I became aware of hidden creatures, some quite large, stalking us from the borders of brush which were walls too thick to penetrate. Now and then one of these creatures let out a sound to betray its presence. There were roars which could come only from the throats of a paavan, shrieks which terrified because one didn’t know or could imagine their owners. My hair stood on end for so long a time I thought it was starched.

  “Where are we bound for?” I asked, and suddenly realized I’d spoken in a whisper.

  “In a little while we will come to our trysting place,” Lovah said.

  She knew what she was talking about, all right. Quite suddenly the trees thinned and I caught a vista of an immense meadow. Then the trees closed in again. But as though the glimpse of the promised haven lent wings to the feet of the paavans, they sped forward with increased speed. Too much speed. Because when we passed the last line of trees we were traveling at such speed we couldn’t stop or disperse. The ambush which had been laid for us was perfect.

  THEY must have known of it. Or perhaps Jimno and Lovah hadn’t done such a good job, or perhaps, more reasonably, they had tortured someone into telling the hidden secret. But they fell on us with the force of limitless numbers.

  At least ten of them surrounded Lovah and myself. They were mounted on the monstrous lizard things. In the still-tangled brush before the open meadow, their mounts had the speed of ours. It was the pay-off, I thought, as I began to flay about me with the sticker Lovah had given me.

  The ones who surrounded my gal and me were women. For the barest second I had some misgivings about using the sword in my fist. But only until one of them missed me with a wild swing. Then I swung. The blade went through her like a knife going through soft butter. Her mount kept moving forward and for a second her body hung together. Then the top half separated from the bottom and rolled off. But I hadn’t time to gloat over it. These dames were crazy. They’d spur up and jab and swing, get in each other’s way, all trying to knock us off at one time. Lovah had gone to the proper school. Her timing would have made Joe Louis green with envy. Nor did she waste motions in wild swinging. Every stroke of her sword was clipped and sharp. If only I wasn’t behind her.

  I proved the handicap. And the denoument. For in one of my wild swings I knocked her off balance. And myself off the paavan. I reached wildly with my free hand, tried to maintain a semblance of equilibrium, and in the end got neither and fell off. The women fell on me with savage screams of exultation. How I managed to fight my way clear of the forest of cleaver-like blades which thirsted for my blood, is a mystery to me. But somehow I did, to get to a nearby tree. I wanted the protection of its thick trunk. I knew it was only a temporary respite. Still I could not give up hope.

  That I did not escape to my temporary haven without damage went without saying. Why Hank and I had never exchanged our garments for the more protective, though scantier garb of the Polans, I do not know. But at that moment, with my back to the thick tree trunk, I wished we had. I was bleeding from several nicks and one gash; a sword had ripped across the flesh of my chest, splattering me with a crimson rain. It wasn’t a mortal blow, only a flesh wound, but I knew that if I didn’t receive attention it would prove damaging. Far more so than the other wounds I got.

  My shirt hung by scattered slivers of blood-soaked threads to my body. One sleeve had been torn completely away. The blood had run down into my trousers which were torn by the briars and looked more ragged than a hobo’s. I sweated and stank like a draught horse on a hot summer’s day. And I was beseiged by a dozen women who thirsted for my life. The instant I was unmounted six others had come up on the run. I hacked away inexpertly but with telling damage. And gradually the sheer strength I displayed won both their admiration and their respect.

  I managed a quick glance around during a short breathing spell. We weren’t doing so well. I could see any number of riderless paavans. Of Luria and Hank nothing . . . Then they were at me again. Once more I took up the seemingly endless task. And this time it was harder. No longer did they come at me together, getting in each other’s way, fouling up their sword play and making themselves easy marks for my blade.

  This time they came at me singly and in quick succession. And on dancing feet. My swings were a little wilder, a little slower. I stopped after a moment and waited until one came in range before swinging. Again they changed their tactics. This time two came at me at once, one from right and the other from the left. And while I tried to keep both off, two more came from in front. I knew it was but a matter of a short while and they would wear me down. Nor was I wrong. Three times in a row I got the point of a sword in me, not deeply, but damagingly.

  I HAD a last resort. Hy speed afoot. I could outrun them. Suddenly I leaped straight forward. I jabbed twice, missed one and got the second, and lost my sword in the maneuver. It went in too deeply and I had no time to pull it free. But I no longer cared. For coming toward me at a full gallop, was Lovah. I had lost sight of her after I had been knocked off her paavan. I could see as we rushed to meet each other that she too had not escaped unscathed from the fray. One arm hung limp, there was a bloody streak across the Arm white flesh of a shoulder. But her eyes were ablaze and her face alight.

  We were almost at meeting’s point when I suddenly sprawled face downward in the marshy loam I was in. A creeper had tripped me. I struggled to get to my feet. But after two tries my knees gave way and I fell, rolling to my back.

  The sky, seen through the filigree of black branches never looked so blue. Of course there were no clouds, just the cerulean blue which merged into the gold of the eternal sun. All this in the space of seconds. Then another something intruded into the scope of my vision. It was only a sidewise glance. Terror and death was coming my way. The most gigantic woman I’d ever seen was leaping toward me on huge splay feet, in her hand a sword fully ten feet long. Her expression was demoniac with transfigured fury. Her great breasts were bare and like those of monstrous cattle. I was powerless to move. The sweat was a sour river pouring down my face, saturating me in its stench. I felt a horror beyond words as she slid to a halt at my very side. Then the sword was lifted high above her head, her both hands clenched about the hilt . . . Eons went by, worlds were born and died, civilizations crumbled and death marched to mufflled drum beats and stepped before me and bared its horrendous snout to my eyes and its cavernous mouth opened to swallow me . . . and the sword shot downward!

  I heard the thin screech and swish of it, felt its cold breath on my cheek but saw it not. My eyes were closed for that infinitesimal instant. They opened and I saw its silvery length quivering and undulating beside my cheek like a frustrated pendulum. To one side stood the giantess her hands tight about the blade of a sword which stuck out of both sides of her thick throat. She was trying to free her flesh of its grasp. Then her hands fell to her sides and a thick stream of blackish-blood poured from her mouth, her nose, her throat, and enveloped her in a redly-funereal garment.

  “Quickly!” a voice came from above me.

  I looked dazedly in its direction. There she was, my Lovah, a delight to my eyes and a balm to my soul and a saviour of my flesh. Her hand, firm and strong as a man’s reached down and took my lax fingers and hauled me erect. I let myself go limp across the thickly-muscled shoulders of her paavan. Her fingers fell lightly across my sent courage coursing through me. I bent my head back and she brought her face down and once more our lips met, not as they had before, in passion, but in the gentle caress of true love.

  Her hand lay across my shoulder as we turned to face the enemy. Fear had been banished from our hearts though our arms were gone from us . . .

  Th
ey surrounded us. They were many and though they were armed and we were not they moved carefully, as though they could not believe our state or the fact that there were only two of us. We waited for their stings to bite us . . .

  “Alive! Take them alive!” one of them called unexpectedly. “The man is the one who escaped the Pit!”

  THE beast across which I lay stank to high heaven. I was bound hand and foot and lay belly down across its rump. Behind me rode one of the Amazons. Somewhere behind Lovah rode prisoner also. Now and then we passed clumps of dead and though it was impossible to count them, I could see when the bobbing motion of the elk-lizard allowed, that the greater part of the heaps of dead were Loko’s people rather than Luria’s. Not that I received any consolation from it. Now that I had passed safely through the period of shock following the battle, I could see again with at least a small measure of equanamity what lay ahead. The future to put it in technicolor, wasn’t very bright. In fact someone had exposed the film before shooting. For some reason I had stopped bleeding. I was on the weak side but at least I wasn’t going to bleed to death. Hooray for me, I thought. They’re probably saving me for a fate worse than death. I wouldn’t have given a hang had it not been for Lovah.

  Oddly enough our ride was shorter than any I had gone on willfully or otherwise. Whether my senses had dulled to time in this strange land or whether the ride was short it didn’t take us long. The pueblos of Loko’s town hove into view shortly.

  There were lines of people waiting our arrival. I could feel their hatred though I could not see them. I could feel as we passed through the oddly silent cordon of hating men, women and children, that we were the objects of their hate, and possibly of their revenge. I could understand it too. We, Jovah and I, were the symbols of the death many of Loko’s people met. Oh, it was true that we weren’t directly responsible. But we were here, and we were prisoner. We rode a gamut there under the hot sun and not a finger was raised in our defense. I heard Lovah’s first shriek of pain, her first outcry. There were no more: I suffered the tortures of the damned until we reached our goal. For from my own experience, I knew what Lovah must have gone through. They had used their fists, clubs, their teeth and nails and feet on me. Stones had pelted me until it seemed as though there wasn’t a whole bone in my body. But I was damned if I’d let a single sound of pain escape me. And Lovah had allowed only the first cry to pass her lips.

  Those were the physical things. There were dirtier, nastier things, ordure and worse which stung us. But at the end we came within the orbit of Loko’s palace and some small measure of safety from the crowd. Our bonds were cut and even as I staggered around on stumbling feet I saw that Lovah was all right. But they gave us no rest. Once more I met the long halls and corridors of Loko’s palace. And once more we were dragged before the dais on which stood the table and throne. This time Loko, Captain Mita and the giant warrior sat without their women. I gathered it was a change of time.

  Loko no longer looked the benevolent old man. His face was no longer benign or wise. It was twisted in an expression of absolute rage. Saliva, white-frothed like foam had gathered at the corners of his mouth and hung suspended like soap bubbles.

  “Little beasts! . . . Animals! . . . Traitors, she-devil and he-devil . . . You thought to make small of me . . . but my trap caught you . . . Ahh! That they did not make it strong enough for the archdevil woman, Luria. But she will not escape long. Already they seek her . . . She will be found. By her hair, by her toe nails will I have her dragged before me! And also her consort, the devil from another world! . . . He didn’t bring a magic more powerful than what I possess.”

  “Aah, shut up!” I snarled up at the shrieking old loon. “You sound like you’re losing your marbles. Not that you ever had any.”

  MY WORDS stopped the tirade. I thought I caught a gleam of admiration in Mita’s eyes. But the old man had the floor and he was going to keep it. Suddenly he grinned and I noticed for the first time that he had no teeth. Well, after all if I were as old as he I don’t imagine I’d have any either.

  “The fool teaches the wise,” he said. “You are quite right, my friend . . .”

  “Don’t call me friend,” I said sharply. “. . . I permitted my emotions the upper hand. But only for the moment. In anger. Now they must savor another pleasure. This one, however, I had promised myself on your first escape. I had thought to hold myself until I had your friend and the woman, Luria, altogether . . .”

  Once more I broke in:

  “I’ll never dance at your wedding, you old goat, but I hope to caper at your funeral.”

  “. . . but since that isn’t possible at this moment, I will contain myself for the present. Of course I must have the satisfaction of a partial enjoyment. Slaves! The whips!”

  I was too weak to fight. I was too weak to even stand. But I was damned if I’d give way. Not so long as there was breath in my body, or so I thought.

  They bound us together face to face. Not just our hands and feet but strands of wire-rope about our waists and legs also. I could see the man who had the whip to be used on Lovah and she could see the one who was to do the dirty work on me. But neither could see their respective whippers. They shoved us around until they had us satisfactorily arranged to Loko’s liking.

  “Lean your head on my shoulder,” I said. “If it gets bad, honey, take a good bite out of my shoulder, cry, sing, do anything but scream. I won’t be able to take that . . .”

  All the time I was talking I was waiting. I had an idea the old devil on the dais was going to give the signal for the torture to begin by a nod of his head. His mind operated that way. It was the reason why he had us placed in profile to those on the platform. He knew the psychological torture we were going through.

  I had always wondered what could be the most terrible thing in the world. I found it out then. Waiting! Just plain waiting for anything. Especially when you know it’s going to be unpleasant. I could get a very unsatisfactory glimpse of Loko and the others from a corner of one eye. It wasn’t enough to define movements, or even to see the shake of a head, but I could see them. As the seconds dragged by I tried to turn my head to see more. The men who had bound us were masters of their art. So subtly had they wrought with the strands of wire rope that though I could move my head it was only to the part of an inch. More, and I would strangle.

  My attention was suddenly focused on the bronzed giant who was standing, whip in hand, behind Lovah. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were like those of some Atlas. He had stood impassive and immobile while others had pushed us about. Suddenly he flexed his arms, the muscles rippling, flesh-like-water. The immensely long whip coiled writhingly on the stone floor, as though it were a snake in agony. I saw then, that the lash was divided in three parts, like a very long thonged leash. He raised the whip and moved it about. Faster and faster until it began to sing in the air. Suddenly he snapped it. The sound was like that of a pistol shot. Lovah, who was unaware of what was going on gave a startled movement of fear. I looked in her eyes and grinned.

  “Gonna be tough,” I said. “I love you, honey . . . It’s a hell of a time to say that. But maybe it’ll help.”

  “Love?” she whispered. “It is a strange word. But we have such a word here if I think it is what you mean. I love you too, man of another world. You are the first I have ever said that to. Nor will I ever say it to another. I was afraid only this moment. But now, why, it is as though fear never existed. Are we not together? Are we not bound to each other, body to body? Surely, if it is within the bounds of reason, so will our souls be bound. But not with strands of rope, but with the infinitely greater fibres of love, as you call it. Do not worry, man of mine, I will not cry out, though they beat me to eternity.” If I had had tears I would have shed them. If I had had the strength to tear myself from the prison they had bound me in I would have ripped their torture cell to bits and them with it. But I could not. I could do nothing but wait. Wait . . . THE TERROR OF A WORD WHICH BECOMES A SOMETHING PHY
SICAL . . .

  THEN there was no more waiting. The word had been translated into the deed. I heard the swish of the fibre snake. It made an eerie whistling sound as it zipped through the air. And hit! . . .

  For an instant the shock was so great I could do nothing, say nothing. All I could do was feel. Once I had written of liquid fire being poured on someone. I suddenly knew how that hero of the pulps felt. Pain was like ecstasy, pain was like suddenly losing the world one was in and in an instant being brought into another world. I didn’t even hear the sound of the second stroke. Only the feel of it.

  Pain became translated into something else. Colors. First there was blackness. Just an oily pool of black into which your mind sank. That was with the first blow. The second brought a tinge of red into the blackness. After the third I stopped counting. Just the colors and the pain. Reds and purples and black, always the black like a curtain which burned when one went behind of and out of it.

  The pain was something else. It always began with the area which had been hit, then spread. It was like the thin sound of a single violin string which had been plucked. The sound leaps from the thin wood panelling and spreads instantly in all direction. So with the pain I felt. Every single inch of me vibrated to the feel of pain.

  Of a sudden I heard a voice.

  Well, maybe it wasn’t a voice I heard. Maybe it could best be called a sound. Surely, I would have thought, had I been capable of thinking, nothing like that could be called a voice. It wasn’t human, nor was it animal. I knew what it was, though. It was the sound of pain! It was the cry of the tortured and the damned. It was the sound of man being beaten, whipped, terrorized. It was the cry of all humanity wrapped up in a single throat.

  Oh, do not think there is no limit to pain. There is. I began to develope an odd immunity to it. Not that it wasn’t always present. Only it became pushed into the background. Taking its place, as though in compensation, a new world was conceived. It was a strange world. There were only three people in it, Loko, Lovah and myself.