Jongor- the Complete Tales

by Robert Moore Williams

  Capt. Robert Gordon’s plane was smashed in a forced landing as he tried to fly over Lost Land. He and his bride escaped from the crash alive but they found escape from the country impossible. Here a son was born to them. They named him John. John’s first babyish efforts to pronounce his name had resulted in “Jon-Gor.” He could say no more than that. So “Jongor,” he became to his adoring parents. When Jongor was twelve years old, the pterodactyls killed his father and mother. He was left alone in Lost Land, in a, country where danger lurked in the movement of every twig, where death waited beside every water hole. The boy managed to survive and has grown into a black-haired giant of a man.

  Alan Hunter, a youth in search of adventure, also managed to penetrate Lost Land. He was lost there, and Ann, his sister, had put off her gay social life in New York to go to this wild country in search of him. She finds Jongor and Jongor finds Alan. The three are on their way out of Lost Land when the present story opens.—Ed.

  [2] Teros. This was the name Jongor had given to the pterodactyls, those immense flying reptiles whose fossil remains are still found in many places on earth. They are extinct everywhere except in Lost Land.—Ed.

  [3] The secret of this water writing remains unknown, but the suggestion has been made that the instruments in the temple of the water god were really radio transmitters of an unusual kind. Inasmuch as Jongor had no receiving set, but still was able, upon approaching water, to receive the message intended for him, psychic forces must also have been involved, in effect amounting to a kind of mental radio. Water writing was an ingenious invention, but because transmission was one-way, with no means provided so the receiver could answer a message, it was not a very effective method of communication.—Ed.

  [4] ‘Roos. Kangeroos. Hunted for their hides. Also trapped alive, for shipment to zoos in foreign countries.—Ed.

  [5] Like the water writing of Queen Nesca, the crystal was some form of mental radio. By means of it, Jongor could reach the mind of the dino—his name for dinosaur—and force it to obey his commands. Probably the beast did not know the real origin of the impulses coming into its mind, but nonetheless, it obeyed them. In some ways, the device was similar to mental telepathy, on which a great mass of evidence has been accumulated in recent years. The human mind—the suggestion is made that all minds, whether human, animal, or insect—radiates impulses that, under certain not well understood conditions, may be received by other minds. The crystal provided a means of controlling the telepathic powers latent in every mind.—Ed.

  [6] Lost Land is, in reality, an outpost of the vast lost Pacific continent of Mu, which, according to evidence to be found in the area today, was swallowed up by the ocean many thousands of years ago. The statues on Easter Island, the remains of vast cities still visible in certain shallow Pacific waters, all point to the probability that Mu once existed. During the time of Mu’s glory, a colony was established in the Australian sub-continent. After Mu was lost the colony remained. The regenerate descendants of these long-lost Murians still survive in Lost Land. The crystal which Jongor had found had been lost by some Murto—his name for the Murians—long ago. With it, they too, could control the dinosaurs. The suggestion has been made that, by means of the crystal, the Murians were able to use dinosaurs much as we use horses, are beasts of burden.—Ed.

  [7] The Murtos still possessed some of the scientific devices developed by the ancient Murians. However they have lost all understanding of the nature of the instruments, which they regard as magic and use according to formulae handed down for generations, with no conception of the underlying principle. Once the devices are out of order, the Murtos do not know how to repair them.—Ed.

  [8] Ann Hunter bad been held captive by the Murtos. It was then that she had learned their language.—Ed.

  “WATCH out!” Jongor said moving carefully.

  Behind him, Ann and Alan Hunter stopped in midstride, while their eyes ranged the forest around them. “I don’t see anything,” Ann said, her rising voice betraying her fear and anxiety.

  “I don’t either,” her brother answered. “But if Jongor says to watch out, you can bet he has some reason for it. Look! What’s he going to do now?”

  Ahead of them, Jongor’s broad, heavily-muscled back was still visible. Spear held ready in his right hand, he was moving slowly forward. His manner indicated that he suspected there might be some danger close ahead but that he was not sure yet.

  Across his back, the great bow which he always carried was visible. The feathered ends of arrows could be seen projecting from the quiver. He turned his head, called out in a soft voice to the two: “You stay there.”

  “What is it?” Ann called.

  Jongor shook his head, did not answer.

  “If we have any more trouble getting out of this place,” the girl said softly to her brother, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.” Although the words she spoke indicated the possibility of distress, her whole appearance was the exact opposite. Clad in deerskin and wearing the deerskin moccasins that Jongor had made for her, her cheeks showing the glow of perfect health, she looked as if she could stand anything. Or take anything. The light rifle which she carried in two very capable brown hands made her look like a modern Diana.

  “Lost Land[*] is trouble’s natural home,” her brother answered. “Anybody who gets into this place finds trouble. If he tries to get out, he finds more trouble.”

  His eyes ranged around the vast semicircle of swamp and jungle. In the far distance, tall mountains marked the natural boundaries of this lost country. Behind them, miles away, was the spot where the Murtos still lived in squalor in a city which had once been a great mining town, thousands of years in the past. Far to the right, he could see the spot where the Arklans, the centaurs of lost antiquity, had once lived and died. All around them stretches of open water were visible, water broken by islands, by clumps of trees. In these swamps lived alligators thirty feet long.

  “BUT Buck up, Sis,” Alan spoke again. “As long as Jongor is with us, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  His frank appraisal of the man in leopard-skin breechclout ahead of them was based on past, experience. Both Alan and Ann had seen this man of the jungle in action. Both had unlimited confidence in him. Without him, each knew they would have little chance of surviving long enough to escape from Lost Land.

  Somewhere in the grove of trees ahead of them a frightened bird twittered. Far off in the swamps, a bull alligator bellowed. Everything seemed normal, for Lost Land.

  “I don’t hear or see anything,” Ann spoke again, restlessly. She lifted the light rifle she carried in the crook of her arm to the ready position. “But just in case . . .”

  Her brother did the same. “When you don’t see or hear anything in this place, that’s the time to watch out,” Alan said. “What the heck is that?” His voice lifted sharply.

  Out of the grove of trees ahead of them came a man who was at least nine feet tall. Clad in what seemed to be a suit of armor, a thick-plumed helmet on his head, a heavy, two-bladed battle axe grasped in both hands, he advanced straight toward Jongor.

  “Where—where did that come from?” Alan Hunter gasped.

  “Jongor, get away!” Ann screamed.

  Jongor stood his ground. His spear was lifted, the bright blade glittered in the sunlight.

  The girl lifted the light rifle that she carried. If Jongor had no more sense than to stand and be killed by a giant in armor, she would do what she could to protect him. Her eyes went along the sights.

  Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound and the gun was knocked from her hands by a club. As she turned startled eyes in the direction from which the club had been thrown, she saw something that sent a paralyzing fear through her body.

  “Murtos!” she screamed.

  Out of the trees on the right, the degenerate monkey-men were pouring in a roaring flood. Beside her, she saw Alan throw tip his rifle and fire one quick shot. A charging Murto went down. But Alan had time t
o fire only the one shot, and then the wave of charging Murtos were upon them.

  “Jongor!” she screamed.

  She saw him turn his head in her direction, one quick glance. At the same instant, the armor-clad giant rushed forward and struck down with his huge axe straight at Jongor.

  One glimpse she got of the giant before she was knocked to the ground. A Murto fell on top of her.

  JONGOR, advancing toward the grove of trees, had expected to find a group of Murtos hiding there. His keen ears had caught a slight sound which indicated the presence of the monkey-men of Lost Land. He had no fear of them; he was sure he could send them running.

  When the giant came striding out of the grove of trees, Jongor was thoroughly surprised. He thought he knew Lost Land fairly well, but in all that vast expanse of territory he had never seen anything like this.

  The sharp spat of the girl’s rifle, and her scream, broke the shock that held him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the charging Murtos. He would have turned then and gone to Ann’s rescue, but the monster was upon him.

  “Ho!” the creature shouted. “Ho, pygmy! Die!” And he brought the axe down with enough strength behind it to have split Jongor from head to toe.

  Only the axe didn’t land on its target. Somehow, at the last minute, its victim had moved, had twisted to one side,.

  “Uh!” the astounded giant grunted. The axe was buried deep in the ground. He stared at it stupidly. The Murtos had promised him a reward for killing this insignificant creature, and he intended to finish his job.

  But as he tried to wrench the weapon from the ground, Jongor’s spear came up. With all his strength behind it, Jongor rammed the spear against the giant’s chest.

  The tough chain armor turned the point aside. But under the force of the blow, the giant was thrust backward. He fell heavily, nothing harmed except his dignity. Snatching at the handle of the axe, he came scrambling to his feet.

  “Help!” Ann Hunter’s voice came.

  Jongor was already turning to see what had happened to Ann and Alan. He saw they were down under what looked to be a tidal wave of Murtos. And the Murtos, having captured Ann and Alan, were turning toward him.

  One Murto he recognized. Great Orbo, the leader of the bunch. Orbo was flinging up a hand and pointing toward him.

  “Get him!” Great Orbo ordered.

  One Murto, or a dozen Murtos, Jongor could handle. But a whole swarm of the monkey-men were coming toward him. Near him, that incredible giant was tugging his axe out of the ground.

  THERE was only one thing Jongor could do—run. If he could get away, there would be a day of reckoning for the Murtos, possibly also for the giant. Already the monster was swinging the axe at him again.

  “Get him!” Great Orbo yelled. “Two extra wives for the one who catches him!”

  The Murtos poured after the jungle lord as he fled for the grove of trees.

  He did not see the thrown club whirling through the air, did not know that a club had been thrown until it hit him. The blow was a savage one. The club struck the back of his head just at the base of the brain.

  As he went down, blackness closed over him.

  The blackness lasted but an instant. Then he was on his feet and running again. If any damage had been done to him, it did not show in his gait.

  But no human being who ever lived could withstand such a blow from a thrown club and not suffer damage.

  ANN HUNTER, stumbling along, her hands tied behind her back with a rope which was held by a Murto following her, felt the tears stream down her cheeks. All hope of escaping from this land was gone. Nothing could save her now, not even Jongor. Besides, she had seen Jongor run. She repeated that fact over and over again, as if she were not prepared even yet to believe what her eyes had seen.

  “What did you expect him to do, stay there and get his skull split open?” her brother pointed out. “Even Jongor couldn’t lick twenty to thirty Murtos and that—” he paused, groping for words to describe the creature striding along ahead of them. “—that giant!”

  Calazao, the giant, was walking with Great Orbo. Calazao had the battle axe swung over his shoulder and he was talking freely, in a voice that had the tones of remote thunder in it.

  “I would have killed him; I do not know how he got away from me,” Calazao was saying. “The next time I see him, I’ll fix him, but good.” He spoke in the language of the Murtos, which both Ann and Alan understood.

  “The next time you see him, you will probably run so fast your shadow won’t be able to keep up with you!” Ann shouted.

  “Shhh, Sis!” Alan expostulated. “Anyhow, a minute ago you were wailing because Jongor had run away, now you’re yelling what he is going to do when he comes back.”

  Calazao and Great Orbo turned their heads. “Ho! So he is coming back, is he? Ho, so I will run from him, will I? Ho!” Calazao swung the battle axe experimentally around his head. He repeated again what he would do to Jongor.

  “Sometimes it pays to keep your mouth shut, Sis,” Alan Hunter advised. “Calazao will be on the watch for Jongor now,”

  “He would be on the watch anyhow,” Ann answered.

  “Move along, you.” The Murto holding the rope emphasized his command by jerking it, with the result that the girl was pulled off her feet.

  “Get up, get up,” the Murto said, kicking her.

  “You jerked her to the ground, now you’re kicking her because she fell!” Alan Hunter raged. Weaponless, his hands tied behind his back, he butted the Murto in the stomach with his head.

  The monkey-man fell over backward. When he scrambled to his feet, he was waving a dub. Rage showed in his close-set eyes. “I’ll fix you for that.”

  “Stop it, stop it!” Orbo screamed. “I’ll have your tail cut off it you disobey me.”

  “He hit me!” the enraged Murto yelled.

  “When I hit you, you will know you have really been hit!” Orbo answered. “I’ll have your tail cut off for sure if you utter another word.”

  Under this threat, the sullen Murto subsided. Ann and Alan got slowly to their feet and resumed their march. Obviously they were being taken back again to the old city of the Murtos.

  IN physical appearance, the Murtos were shorter than the average human, but they were more heavily built, their squat muscular bodies covered with thin, soft fur. They looked a lot like gorillas, though none of them was as big or as heavy as the great apes. The size and the shape of their heads indicated an almost human intelligence. They looked like beast men, creatures which had evolved past the level of beasts but had not quite reached the human level. Their resemblance to animals was further increased by the fact that each possessed a long, bushy tail.

  Among the Murtos, not only was the possession of this tail a mark of achievement, but a bigger, better tail entitled its possessor to the respect of the others. Great Orbo, the leader and ruler, had a tail that was long enough to curl around his neck. It was also extremely bushy. Except for hammered metal ornaments on their arms, the Murtos were entirely naked. Their weapons consisted of clubs and short spears.

  As she stumbled along, Ann furtively watched the jungle on both sides of her. Jongor would find her, he would rescue her. She had no doubt whatsoever that this gray-eyed jungle giant, who had managed to survive his whole life here in the vast treacherous hell of Lost Land, could do anything he set his mind on doing.

  Umber, the second in command of this group, came past her, moving toward the head of the column. He paused to leer at her. “Female, how would you like to belong to me?”

  “I’d rather be dead,” the miserable girl answered.

  Umber grinned at her.

  “You get on about your business,” Alan Hunter spoke.

  “This for you!” Rage showed in the Murto’s eyes. Lifting the spear he carried, he brought the flat of the blade hard up against the head of the youth.

  “You leave him alone,” Ann screamed.

  Umber bared fighting fangs i
n what he thought was a placating grin, and moved up to the head of the column where Orbo and Calazao were finding a path through the jungle growth. Alan got slowly to his feet. Blood was streaming down his cheek where the blade of the spear had landed.

  “Are you hurt, Alan?”

  The youth ran his fingers over his cheek. His eyes glinted. “Some day I hope to catch that Murto when both of us have the same weapon!”

  Up ahead of them, Orbo, Umber and Calazao were engaged in heated talk.

  “She is to be the bride of the Sun,” Orbo was saying. “That was decided long ago. “Or the bride of the Great Lost God, if he should speak and claim her.”

  Ann Hunter shuddered. These creatures were sun worshippers, their god was the flaming orb of light that moved across the sky each day. To be the bride of the sun meant being sacrificed on the altar of the sun. She did not know what the Great Lost God was, and did not want to learn.

  “That is what she will be,” Orbo was saying. “Unless she is not perfect enough to become the bride of the sun. In which case I shall keep her for myself.”

  “It looks as if whichever way it goes, you are going to get the raw end of the deal, Sis,” Alan Hunter said, his voice desperate.

  Again Ann’s eyes swept the jungle around her, looking, praying, for Jongor. “He’ll come,” she told herself over and over again. “He’ll find us.”

  IT was well for the peace of mind of Ann Hunter that she could not let Jongor at that moment. He was leisurely stalking a deep in an open glade. In his mind was only the thought that he was hungry, that the deer would make an excellent and appetizing meal. In his mind was no thought whatsoever of Ann or Alan Hunter.

  So far as he was concerned, they had never existed.