TANAR OF PELLUCIDAR

                         EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

                              ACE BOOKS, INC.
                      1120 Avenue of the Americas
                           New York 36, N.Y.

       This Ace edition follows the text of the first hard-cover
              book edition, originally published in 1929.

   <i>Cover art and title page illustration by Roy Krenkel, Jr.</i>

                      To Joan Burroughs Pierce II


          Edgar Rice Burroughs <i>available in Ace Books:</i>

                      AT THE EARTH'S CORE (F-156)
                         THE MOON MAID (F-157)
                          PELLUCIDAR (F-158)
                         THE MOON MEN (F-159)
                     THUVIA, MAID OF MARS (F-168)
                  TARZAN AND THE LOST EMPIRE (F-169)
                     THE CHESSMEN OF MARS (F-170)

                           Printed in U.S.A.




                                CONTENTS


                               Prologue

                               Introduction

                             I Stellara

                            II Disaster

                           III Amiocap

                            IV Letari

                             V The Tandor Hunter

                            VI The Island of Love

                           VII “Korsars!”

                          VIII Mow

                            IX Love and Treachery

                             X Pursuit

                            XI Gura

                           XII “I Hate You!”

                          XIII Prisoners

                           XIV Two Suns

                            XV Madness

                           XVI The Darkness Beyond

                          XVII Down to the Sea

                               Conclusion




                                PROLOGUE


Jason Gridley is a radio bug. Had he not been, this story never would
have been written. Jason is twenty-three and scandalously good
looking—too good looking to be a bug of any sort. As a matter of fact,
he does not seem buggish at all—just a normal, sane, young American, who
knows a great deal about many things in addition to radio; aeronautics,
for example, and golf, and tennis, and polo.

But this is not Jason’s story—he is only an incident—an important
incident in my life that made this story possible, and so, with a few
more words of explanation, we shall leave Jason to his tubes and waves
and amplifiers, concerning which he knows everything and I nothing.

Jason is an orphan with an income, and after he graduated from Stanford,
he came down and bought a couple of acres at Tarzana, and that is how
and when I met him.

While he was building he made my office his headquarters and was often
in my study and afterward I returned the compliment by visiting him in
his new “lab,” as he calls it—a quite large room at the rear of his
home, a quiet, restful room in a quiet, restful house of the
Spanish-American farm type—or we rode together in the Santa Monica
Mountains in the cool air of early morning.

Jason is experimenting with some new principle of radio concerning which
the less I say the better it will be for my reputation, since I know
nothing whatsoever about it and am likely never to.

Perhaps I am too old, perhaps I am too dumb, perhaps I am just not
interested—I prefer to ascribe my abysmal and persistent ignorance of
all things pertaining to radio to the last state; that of
disinterestedness; it salves my pride.

I do know this, however, because Jason has told me, that the idea he is
playing with suggests an entirely new and unsuspected—well, let us call
it wave.

He says the idea was suggested to him by the vagaries of static and in
groping around in search of some device to eliminate this he discovered
in the ether an undercurrent that operated according to no previously
known scientific laws.

At his Tarzana home he has erected a station and a few miles away, at
the back of my ranch, another. Between these stations we talk to one
another through some strange, ethereal medium that seems to pass through
all other waves and all other stations, unsuspected and entirely
harmless—so harmless is it that it has not the slightest effect upon
Jason’s regular set, standing in the same room and receiving over the
same aerial.

But this, which is not very interesting to any one except Jason, is all
by the way of getting to the beginning of the amazing narrative of the
adventures of Tanar of Pellucidar.

Jason and I were sitting in his “lab” one evening discussing, as we
often did, innumerable subjects, from “cabbages to kings,” and coming
back, as Jason usually did, to the Gridley wave, which is what we have
named it.

Much of the time Jason kept on his ear phones, than which there is no
greater discourager of conversation. But this does not irk me as much as
most of the conversations one has to listen to through life. I like long
silences and my own thoughts.

Presently, Jason removed the headpiece. “It is enough to drive a fellow
to drink!” he exclaimed.

“What?” I asked.

“I am getting that same stuff again,” he said. “I can hear voices, very
faintly, but, unmistakably, human voices. They, are speaking a language
unknown to man. It is maddening.”

“Mars, perhaps,” I suggested, “or Venus.”

He knitted his brows and then suddenly smiled one of his quick smiles.
“Or Pellucidar.”

I shrugged.

“Do you know, Admiral,” he said (he calls me Admiral because of a
yachting cap I wear at the beach), “that when I was a kid I used to
believe every word of those crazy stories of yours about Mars and
Pellucidar. The inner world at the earth’s core was as real to me as the
High Sierras, the San Joaquin Valley, or the Golden Gate, and I felt
that I knew the twin cities of Helium better than I did Los Angeles.

“I saw nothing improbable at all in that trip of David Innes and old man
Perry through the earth’s crust to Pellucidar. Yes, sir, that was all
gospel to me when I was a kid.”

“And now you are twenty-three and know that it can’t be true,” I said,
with a smile.

“You are trying to tell me it is true, are you?” he demanded, laughing.

“I never have told any one that it is true,” I replied; “I let people
think what they think, but I reserve the right to do likewise.”

“Why, you know perfectly well that it would be impossible for that iron
mole of Perry’s to have penetrated five hundred miles of the earth’s
crust, you know there is no inner world peopled by strange reptiles and
men of the stone age, you know there is no Emperor of Pellucidar.” Jason
was becoming excited, but his sense of humor came to our rescue and he
laughed.

“I like to believe that there is a Dian the Beautiful,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed, “but I am sorry you killed off Hooja the Sly One. He
was a corking villain.”

“There are always plenty of villains,” I reminded him.

“They help the girls to keep their ‘figgers’ and their school girl
complexions,” he said.

“How?” I asked.

“The exercise they get from being pursued.”

“You are making fun of me,” I reproached him, “but remember, please,
that I am but a simple historian. If damsels flee and villains pursue I
must truthfully record the fact.”

“Baloney!” he exclaimed in the pure university English of America.

Jason replaced his headpiece and I returned to the perusal of the
narrative of an ancient liar, who should have made a fortune out of the
credulity of book readers, but seems not to have. Thus we sat for some
time.

Presently Jason removed his ear phones and turned toward me. “I was
getting music,” he said; “strange, weird music, and then suddenly there
came loud shouts and it seemed that I could hear blows struck and there
were screams and the sound of shots.”

“Perry, you know, was experimenting with gunpowder down there below, in
Pellucidar,” I reminded Jason, with a grin; but he was inclined to be
serious and did not respond in kind.

“You know, of course,” he said, “that there really has been a theory of
an inner world for many years.”

“Yes,” I replied, “I have read works expounding and defending such a
theory.”

“It supposes polar openings leading into the interior of the earth,”
said Jason.

“And it is substantiated by many seemingly irrefutable scientific
facts,” I reminded him—“open polar sea, warmer water farthest north,
tropical vegetation floating southward from the polar regions, the
northern lights, the magnetic pole, the persistent stories of the
Eskimos that they are descended from a race that came from a warm
country far to the north.”

“I’d like to make a try for one of the polar openings,” mused Jason as
he replaced the ear phones.

Again there was a long silence, broken at last by a sharp exclamation
from Jason. He pushed an extra headpiece toward me.

“Listen!” he exclaimed.

As I adjusted the ear phones I heard that which we had never before
received on the Gridley wave—code! No wonder that Jason Gridley was
excited, since there was no station on earth, other than his own,
attuned to the Gridley wave.

Code! What could it mean? I was torn by conflicting emotions—to tear off
the ear phones and discuss this amazing thing with Jason, and to keep
them on and listen.

I am not what one might call an expert in the intricacies of code, but I
had no difficulty in understanding the simple signal of two letters,
repeated in groups of three, with a pause after each group: “D.I., D.I.,
D.I.,” pause; “D.I., D.I., D.I.,” pause.

I glanced up at Jason. His eyes, filled with puzzled questioning, met
mine, as though to ask, what does it mean?

The signals ceased and Jason touched his own key, sending his initials,
“J.G., J.G., J.G.” in the same grouping that we had received the D.I.
signal. Almost instantly he was interrupted—you could feel the
excitement of the sender.

“D.I., D.I., D.I., Pellucidar,” rattled against our ear-drums like
machine gun fire. Jason and I sat in dumb amazement, staring at one
another.

“It is a hoax!” I exclaimed, and Jason, reading my lips, shook his head.

“How can it be a hoax?” he asked. “There is no other station on earth
equipped to send or to receive over the Gridley wave, so there can be no
means of perpetrating such a hoax.”

Our mysterious station was on the air again! “If you get this, repeat my
signal,” and he signed off with “D.I., D.I., D.I.”

“That would be David Innes,” mused Jason.

“Emperor of Pellucidar,” I added.

Jason sent the message, “D.I., D.I., D.I.,” followed by, “what station
is this,” and “who is sending?”

“This is the Imperial Observatory at Greenwich, Pellucidar; Abner Perry
sending. Who are you?”

“This is the private experimental laboratory of Jason Gridley, Tarzana,
California; Gridley sending,” replied Jason.

“I want to get into communication with Edgar Rice Burroughs; do you know
him?”

“He is sitting here, listening in with me,” replied Jason.

“Thank God, if that is true, but how am I to know that it is true?”
demanded Perry.

I hastily scribbled a note to Jason: “Ask him if he recalls the fire in
his first gunpowder factory and that the building would have been
destroyed had they not extinguished the fire by shoveling his gunpowder
onto it?”

Jason grinned as he read the note, and sent it.

“It was unkind of David to tell of that,” came back the reply, “but now
I know that Burroughs is indeed there, as only he could have known of
that incident. I have a long message for him. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” replied Jason.

“Then stand by.”

And this is the message that Abner Perry sent from the bowels of the
earth; from The Empire of Pellucidar.




                              INTRODUCTION


It must be some fifteen years since David Innes and I broke through the
inner surface of the earth’s crust and emerged into savage Pellucidar,
but when a stationary sun hangs eternally at high noon and there is no
restless moon and there are no stars, time is measureless and so it may
have been a hundred years ago or one. Who knows?

Of course, since David returned to earth and brought back many of the
blessings of civilization we have had the means to measure time, but the
people did not like it. They found that it put restrictions and
limitations upon them that they never had felt before and they came to
hate it and ignore it until David, in the goodness of his heart, issued
an edict abolishing time in Pellucidar.

It seemed a backward step to me, but I am resigned now, and, perhaps,
happier, for when all is said and done, time is a hard master, as you of
the outer world, who are slaves of the sun, would be forced to admit
were you to give the matter thought.

Here, in Pellucidar, we eat when we are hungry, we sleep when we are
tired, we set out upon journeys when we leave and we arrive at our
destinations when we get there; nor are we old because the earth has
circled the sun seventy times since our birth, for we do not know that
this has occurred.

Perhaps I have been here fifteen years, but what matter. When I came I
knew nothing of radio—my researches and studies were along other
lines—but when David came back from the outer world he brought many
scientific works and from these I learned all that I know of radio,
which has been enough to permit me to erect two successful stations; one
here at Greenwich and one at the capital of The Empire of Pellucidar.

But, try as I would, I never could get anything from the outer world,
and after a while I gave up trying, convinced that the earth’s crust was
impervious to radio.

In fact we used our stations but seldom, for, after all, Pellucidar is
only commencing to emerge from the stone age, and in the economy of the
stone age there seems to be no crying need for radio.

But sometimes I played with it and upon several occasions I thought that
I heard voices and other sounds that were not of Pellucidar. They were
too faint to be more than vague suggestions of intriguing possibilities,
but yet they did suggest something most alluring, and so I set myself to
making changes and adjustments until this wonderful thing that has
happened but now was made possible.

And my delight in being able to talk with you is second only to my
relief in being able to appeal to you for help. David is in trouble. He
is a captive in the north, or what he and I call north, for there are no
points of compass known to Pellucidarians.

I have heard from him, however. He has sent me a message and in it he
suggests a startling theory that would make aid from the outer crust
possible if—but first let me tell you the whole story; the story of the
disaster that befell David Innes and what led up to it and then you will
be in a better position to judge as to the practicability of sending
succor to David from the outer crust.

The whole thing dates from our victories over the Mahars, the once
dominant race of Pellucidar. When, with our well organized armies,
equipped with firearms and other weapons unknown to the Mahars or their
gorilla-like mercenaries, the Sagoths, we defeated the reptilian
monsters and drove their slimy hordes from the confines of The Empire,
the human race of the inner world for the first time in its history took
its rightful place among the orders of creation.

But our victories laid the foundation for the disaster that has
overwhelmed us.

For a while there was no Mahar within the boundaries of any of the
kingdoms that constitute The Empire of Pellucidar; but presently we had
word of them here and there—small parties living upon the shores of sea
or lake far from the haunts of man.

They gave us no trouble—their old power had crumbled beyond recall;
their Sagoths were now numbered among the regiments of The Empire; the
Mahars had no longer the means to harm us; yet we did not want them
among us. They are eaters of human flesh and we had no assurance that
lone hunters would be safe from their voracious appetites.

We wanted them to be gone and so David sent a force against them, but
with orders to treat with them first and attempt to persuade them to
leave The Empire peacefully rather than embroil themselves in another
war that might mean total extermination.

Sagoths accompanied the expedition, for they alone of all the creatures
of Pellucidar can converse in the sixth sense, fourth dimension language
of the Mahars.

The story that the expedition brought back was rather pitiful and
aroused David’s sympathies, as stories of persecution and unhappiness
always do.

After the Mahars had been driven from The Empire they had sought a haven
where they might live in peace. They assured us that they had accepted
the inevitable in a spirit of philosophy and entertained no thoughts of
renewing their warfare against the human race or in any way attempting
to win back their lost ascendancy.

Far away upon the shores of a mighty ocean, where there were no signs of
man, they settled in peace, but their peace was not for long.

A great ship came, reminding the Mahars of the first ships they had
seen—the ships that David and I had built—the first ships, as far as we
knew, that ever had sailed the silent seas of Pellucidar.

Naturally it was a surprise to us to learn that there was a race within
the inner world sufficiently far advanced to be able to build ships, but
there was another surprise in store for us. The Mahars assured us that
these people possessed firearms and that because of their ships and
their firearms they were fully as formidable as we and they were much
more ferocious; killing for the pure sport of slaughter.

After the first ship had sailed away the Mahars thought they might be
allowed to live in peace, but this dream was short lived, as presently
the first ship returned and with it were many others manned by thousands
of bloodthirsty enemies against whose weapons the great reptiles had
little or no defense.

Seeking only escape from man, the Mahars left their new home and moved
back a short distance toward The Empire, but now their enemies seemed
bent only upon persecution; they hunted them, and when they found them
the Mahars were again forced to fall back before the ferocity of their
continued attacks.

Eventually they took refuge within the boundaries of The Empire, and
scarcely had David’s expedition to them returned with its report when we
had definite proof of the veracity of their tale through messages from
our northernmost frontier bearing stories of invasion by a strange,
savage race of white men.

Frantic was the message from Goork, King of Thuria, whose far-flung
frontier stretches beyond the Land of Awful Shadow.

Some of his hunters had been surprised and all but a few killed or
captured by the invaders.

He had sent warriors, then, against them, but these, too, had met a like
fate, being greatly outnumbered, and so he sent a runner to David
begging the Emperor to rush troops to his aid.

Scarcely had the first runner arrived when another came, bearing tidings
of the capture and sack of the principal town of the Kingdom of Thuria;
and then a third arrived from the commander of the invaders demanding
that David come with tribute or they would destroy his country and slay
the prisoners they held as hostages.

In reply David dispatched Tanar, son of Ghak, to demand the release of
all prisoners and the departure of the invaders.

Immediately runners were sent to the nearest kingdoms of The Empire and
ere Tanar had reached the Land of Awful Shadow, ten thousand warriors
were marching along the same trail to enforce the demands of the Emperor
and drive the savage foe from Pellucidar.

As David approached the Land of Awful Shadow that lies beneath
Pellucidar’s mysterious satellite, a great column of smoke was
observable in the horizonless distance ahead.

It was not necessary to urge the tireless warriors to greater speed, for
all who saw guessed that the invaders had taken another village and put
it to the torch.

And then came the refugees—women and children only—and behind them a
thin line of warriors striving to hold back swarthy, bearded strangers,
armed with strange weapons that resembled ancient harquebuses with
bell-shaped muzzles—huge, unwieldy things that belched smoke and flame
and stones and bits of metal.

That the Pellucidarians, outnumbered ten to one, were able to hold back
their savage foes at all was due to the more modern firearms that David
and I had taught them to make and use.

Perhaps half the warriors of Thuria were armed with these and they were
all that saved them from absolute rout, and, perhaps, total
annihilation.

Loud were the shouts of joy when the first of the refugees discovered
and recognized the force that had come to their delivery.

Goork and his people had been wavering in allegiance to The Empire, as
were several other distant kingdoms, but I believe that this practical
demonstration of the value of the Federation ended their doubts forever
and left the people of the Land of Awful Shadow and their king the most
loyal subjects that David possessed.

The effect upon the enemy of the appearance of ten thousand well-armed
warriors was quickly apparent. They halted, and, as we advanced, they
withdrew, but though they retreated they gave us a good fight.

David learned from Goork that Tanar had been retained as a hostage, but
though he made several attempts to open negotiations with the enemy for
the purpose of exchanging some prisoners that had fallen into our hands,
for Tanar and other Pellucidarians, he never was able to do so.

Our forces drove the invaders far beyond the limits of The Empire to the
shores of a distant sea, where, with difficulty and the loss of many
men, they at last succeeded in embarking their depleted forces on ships
that were as archaic in design as were their ancient harquebuses.

These ships rose to exaggerated heights at stern and bow, the sterns
being built up in several stories, or housed decks, one atop another.
There was much carving in seemingly intricate designs everywhere above
the water line and each ship carried at her prow a figurehead painted,
like the balance of the ship, in gaudy colors—usually a life size or a
heroic figure of a naked woman or a mermaid.

The men themselves were equally bizarre and colorful, wearing gay cloths
about their heads, wide sashes of bright colors and huge boots with
flapping tops—those that were not half naked and barefoot.

Besides their harquebuses they carried huge pistols and knives stuck in
their belts and at their hips were cutlasses. Altogether, with their
bushy whiskers and fierce faces, they were at once a bad looking and a
picturesque lot.

From some of the last prisoners he took during the fighting at the
seashore, David learned that Tanar was still alive and that the chief of
the invaders had determined to take him home with him in the hope that
he could learn from Tanar the secrets of our superior weapons and
gunpowder, for, notwithstanding my first failures, I had, and not
without some pride, finally achieved a gunpowder that would not only
burn, but that would ignite with such force as to be quite satisfactory.
I am now perfecting a noiseless, smokeless powder, though honesty
compels me to confess that my first experiments have not been entirely
what I had hoped they might be, the first batch detonated having nearly
broken my ear-drums and so filled my eyes with smoke that I thought I
had been blinded.

When David saw the enemy ships sailing away with Tanar he was sick with
grief, for Tanar always has been an especial favorite of the Emperor and
his gracious Empress, Dian the Beautiful. He was like a son to them.

We had no ships upon this sea and David could not follow with his army;
neither, being David, could he abandon the son of his best friend to a
savage enemy before he had exhausted every resource at his command in an
effort toward rescue.

In addition to the prisoners that had fallen into his hands David had
captured one of the small boats that the enemy had used in embarking his
forces, and this it was that suggested to David the mad scheme upon
which he embarked.

The boat was about sixteen feet long and was equipped with both oars and
a sail. It was broad of beam and had every appearance of being staunch
and seaworthy, though pitifully small in which to face the dangers of an
unknown sea, peopled, as are all the waters of Pellucidar, with huge
monsters possessing short tempers and long appetites.

Standing upon the shore, gazing after the diminishing outlines of the
departing ships, David reached his decision. Surrounding him were the
captains and the kings of the Federated Kingdoms of Pellucidar and
behind these ten thousand warriors, leaning upon their arms. To one side
the sullen prisoners, heavily guarded, gazed after their departing
comrades, with what sensations of hopelessness and envy one may guess.

David turned toward his people. “Those departing ships have borne away
Tanar, the son of Ghak, and perhaps a score more of the young men of
Pellucidar. It is beyond reason to expect that the enemy ever will bring
our comrades back to us, but it is easy to imagine the treatment they
will receive at the hands of this savage, bloodthirsty race.

“We may not abandon them while a single avenue of pursuit remains open
to us. Here is that avenue.” He waved his hand across the broad ocean.
“And here the means of traversing it.” He pointed to the small boat.

“It would carry scarce twenty men,” cried one, who stood near the
Emperor.

“It need carry but three,” replied David, “for it will sail to rescue,
not by force, but by strategy; or perhaps only to locate the stronghold
of the enemy, that we may return and lead a sufficient force upon it to
overwhelm it.”

“I shall go,” concluded the Emperor. “Who will accompany me?”

Instantly every man within hearing of his voice, saving the prisoners
only, flashed a weapon above his head and pressed forward to offer his
services. David smiled.

“I knew as much,” he said, “but I cannot take you all. I shall need only
one and that shall be Ja of Anoroc, the greatest sailor of Pellucidar.”

A great shout arose, for Ja, the King of Anoroc, who is also the chief
officer of the navy of Pellucidar, is vastly popular throughout The
Empire, and, though all were disappointed in not being chosen, yet they
appreciated the wisdom of David’s selection.

“But two is too small a number to hope for success,” argued Ghak, “and
I, the father of Tanar, should be permitted to accompany you.”

“Numbers, such as we might crowd in that little boat, would avail us
nothing,” replied David, “so why risk a single additional life? If
twenty could pass through the unknown dangers that lie ahead of us, two
may do the same, while with fewer men we can carry a far greater supply
of food and water against the unguessed extent of the great sea that we
face and the periods of calm and the long search.”

“But two are too few to man the boat,” expostulated another, “and Ghak
is right—the father of Tanar should be among his rescuers.”

“Ghak is needed by The Empire,” replied David. “He must remain to
command the armies for the Empress until I return, but there shall be a
third who will embark with us.”

“Who?” demanded Ghak.

“One of the prisoners,” replied David. “For his freedom we should
readily find one willing to guide us to the country of the enemy.”

Nor was this difficult since every prisoner volunteered when the
proposal was submitted to them.

David chose a young fellow who said his name was Fitt and who seemed to
possess a more open and honest countenance than any of his companions.

And then came the provisioning of the boat. Bladders were filled with
fresh water, and quantities of corn and dried fish and jerked meat, as
well as vegetables and fruits, were packed into other bladders, and all
were stored in the boat until it seemed that she might carry no more.
For three men the supplies might have been adequate for a year’s voyage
upon the outer crust, where time enters into all calculations.

The prisoner, Fitt, who was to accompany David and Ja, assured David
that one fourth the quantity of supplies would be ample and that there
were points along the route they might take where their water supply
could be replenished and where game abounded, as well as native fruits,
nuts and vegetables, but David would not cut down by a single ounce the
supplies that he had decided upon.

As the three were about to embark David had a last word with Ghak.

“You have seen the size and the armament of the enemy ships, Ghak,” he
said. “My last injunction to you is to build at once a fleet that can
cope successfully with these great ships of the enemy and while the
fleet is building—and it must be built upon the shores of this sea—send
expeditions forth to search for a waterway from this ocean to our own.
Can you find it, all of our ships can be utilized and the building of
the greater navy accelerated by utilizing the shipyards of Anoroc.

“When you have completed and manned fifty ships set forth to our rescue
if we have not returned by then. Do not destroy these prisoners, but
preserve them well for they alone can guide you to their country.”

And then David I, Emperor of Pellucidar, and Ja, King of Anoroc, with
the prisoner, Fitt, boarded the tiny boat; friendly hands pushed them
out upon the long, oily swells of a Pellucidarian sea; ten thousand
throats cheered them upon their way and ten thousand pairs of eyes
watched them until they had melted into the mist of the upcurving,
horizonless distance of a Pellucidarian seascape.

David had departed upon a vain but glorious adventure, and, in the
distant capital of The Empire, Dian the Beautiful would be weeping.




                                   I
                                STELLARA


The great ship trembled to the recoil of the cannon; the rattle of
musketry. The roar of the guns aboard her sister ships and the roar of
her own were deafening. Below decks the air was acrid with the fumes of
burnt powder.

Tanar of Pellucidar, chained below with other prisoners, heard these
sounds and smelled the smoke. He heard the rattle of the anchor chain;
he felt the straining of the mast to which his shackles were bent and
the altered motion of the hull told him that the ship was under way.

Presently the firing ceased and the regular rising and falling of the
ship betokened that it was on its course. In the darkness of the hold
Tanar could see nothing. Sometimes the prisoners spoke to one another,
but their thoughts were not happy ones, and so, for the most part, they
remained silent—waiting. For what?

They grew very hungry and very thirsty. By this they knew that the ship
was far at sea. They knew nothing of time. They only knew that they were
hungry and thirsty and that the ship should be far at sea—far out upon
an unknown sea, setting its course for an unknown port.

Presently a hatch was raised and men came with food and water—poor,
rough food and water that smelled badly and tasted worse; but it was
water and they were thirsty.

One of the men said: “Where is he who is called Tanar?”

“I am Tanar,” replied the son of Ghak.

“You are wanted on deck,” said the man, and with a huge key he unlocked
the massive, hand-wrought lock that held Tanar chained to the mast.
“Follow me!”

The bright light of Pellucidar’s perpetual day blinded the Sarian as he
clambered to the deck from the dark hole in which he had been confined
and it was a full minute before his eyes could endure the light, but his
guard hustled him roughly along and Tanar was already stumbling up the
long stairs leading to the high deck at the ship’s stern before he
regained the use of his eyes.

As he mounted the highest deck he saw the chiefs of the Korsar horde
assembled and with them were two women. One appeared elderly and ill
favored, but the other was young and beautiful, but for neither did
Tanar have any eyes—he was interested only in the enemy men, for these
he could fight, these he might kill, which was the sole interest that an
enemy could hold for Tanar, the Sarian, and being what he was Tanar
could not fight women, not even enemy women; but he could ignore them,
and did.

He was led before a huge fellow whose bushy whiskers almost hid his
face—a great, blustering fellow with a scarlet scarf bound about his
head. But for an embroidered, sleeveless jacket, open at the front, the
man was naked above the waist, about which was wound another gaudy sash
into which were stuck two pistols and as many long knives, while at his
side dangled a cutlass, the hilt of which was richly ornamented with
inlays of pearl and semi-precious stones.

A mighty man was The Cid, chief of the Korsars—a burly, blustering,
bully of a man, whose position among the rough and quarrelsome Korsars
might be maintained only by such as he.

Surrounding him upon the high poop of his ship was a company of beefy
ruffians of similar mold, while far below, in the waist of the vessel, a
throng of lesser cutthroats, the common sailors, escaped from the
dangers and demands of an arduous campaign, relaxed according to their
various whims.

Stark brutes were most of these, naked but for shorts and the inevitable
gaudy sashes and head cloths—an unlovely company, yet picturesque.

At The Cid’s side stood a younger man who well could boast as hideous a
countenance as any sun ever shone upon, for across a face that might
have taxed even a mother’s love, ran a repulsive scar from above the
left eye to below the right hand corner of the mouth, cleaving the nose
with a deep, red gash. The left eye was lidless and gazed perpetually
upward and outward, as a dead eye might, while the upper lip was
permanently drawn upward at the right side in a sardonic sneer that
exposed a single fang-like tooth. No, Bohar the Bloody was not
beautiful.

Before these two, The Cid and The Bloody One, Tanar was roughly dragged.

“They call you Tanar?” bellowed The Cid.

Tanar nodded.

“And you are the son of a king!” and he laughed loudly. “With a ship’s
company I could destroy your father’s entire kingdom and make a slave of
him, as I have of his son.”

“You had many ships’ companies,” replied Tanar; “but I did not see any
of them destroying the kingdom of Sari. The army that chased them into
the ocean was commanded by my father, under the Emperor.”

The Cid scowled. “I have made men walk the plank for less than that,” he
growled.

“I do not know what you mean,” said Tanar.

“You shall,” barked The Cid; “and then, by the beard of the sea god,
you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head. Hey!” he shouted to one of his
officers, “have a prisoner fetched and the plank run out. We’ll show
this son of a king who The Cid is and that he is among real men now.”

“Why fetch another?” demanded Bohar the Bloody. “This fellow can walk
and learn his lesson at the same time.”

“But he could not profit by it,” replied The Cid.

“Since when did The Cid become a dry nurse to an enemy?” demanded Bohar,
with a sneer.

Without a word The Cid wheeled and swung an ugly blow to Bohar’s chin,
and as the man went down the chief whipped a great pistol from his sash
and stood over him, the muzzle pointed at Bohar’s head.

“Perhaps that will knock your crooked face straight or bump some brains
into your thick head,” roared The Cid.

Bohar lay on his back glaring up at his chief.

“Who is your master?” demanded The Cid.

“You are,” growled Bohar.

“Then get up and keep a civil tongue in your head,” ordered The Cid.

As Bohar arose he turned a scowling face upon Tanar. It was as though
his one good eye had gathered all the hate and rage and venom in the
wicked heart of the man and was concentrating them upon the Sarian, the
indirect cause of his humiliation, and from that instant Tanar knew that
Bohar the Bloody hated him with a personal hatred distinct from any
natural antipathy that he might have felt for an alien and an enemy.

On the lower deck men were eagerly running a long plank out over the
starboard rail and making the inboard end fast to cleats with stout
lines.

From an opened hatch others were dragging a strapping prisoner from the
kingdom of Thuria, who had been captured in the early fighting in the
Land of Awful Shadow.

The primitive warrior held his head high and showed no terror in the
presence of his rough captors. Tanar, looking down upon him from the
upper deck, was proud of this fellow man of the Empire. The Cid was
watching, too.

“That tribe needs taming,” he said.

The younger of the two women, both of whom had stepped to the edge of
the deck and were looking down upon the scene in the waist, turned to
The Cid.

“They seem brave men; all of them,” she said. “It is a pity to kill one
needlessly.”

“Poof! girl,” exclaimed The Cid. “What do you know of such things? It is
the blood of your mother that speaks. By the beards of the gods, I would
that you had more of your father’s blood in your veins.”

“It is brave blood, the blood of my mother,” replied the girl, “for it
does not fear to be itself before all men. The blood of my father dares
not reveal its good to the eyes of men because it fears ridicule. It
boasts of its courage to hide its cowardice.”

The Cid swore a mighty oath. “You take advantage of our relationship,
Stellara,” he said, “but do not forget that there is a limit beyond
which even you may not go with The Cid, who brooks no insults.”

The girl laughed. “Reserve that talk for those who fear you,” she said.

During this conversation, Tanar, who was standing near, had an
opportunity to observe the girl more closely and was prompted to do so
by the nature of her remarks and the quiet courage of her demeanor. For
the first time he noticed her hair, which was like gold in warm
sunlight, and because the women of his own country were nearly all dark
haired the color of her hair impressed him. He thought it very lovely
and when he looked more closely at her features he realized that they,
too, were lovely, with a sunny, golden loveliness that seemed to reflect
like qualities of heart and character. There was a certain feminine
softness about her that was sometimes lacking in the sturdy,
self-reliant, primitive women of his own race. It was not in any sense a
weakness, however, as was evidenced by her fearless attitude toward The
Cid and by the light of courage that shone from her brave eyes.
Intelligent eyes they were, too—brave, intelligent and beautiful.

But there Tanar’s interest ceased and he was repulsed by the thought
that this woman belonged to the uncouth bully, who ruled with an iron
hand the whiskered brutes of the great fleet, for The Cid’s reference to
their relationship left no doubt in the mind of the Sarian that the
woman was his mate.

And now the attention of all was focused on the actors in the tragedy
below. Men had bound the wrists of the prisoner together behind his back
and placed a blindfold across his eyes.

“Watch below, son of a king,” said The Cid to Tanar, “and you will know
what it means to walk the plank.”

“I am watching,” said Tanar, “and I see that it takes many of your
people to make one of mine do this thing, whatever it may be.”

The girl laughed, but The Cid scowled more deeply, while Bohar cast a
venomous glance at Tanar.

Now men with drawn knives and sharp pikes lined the plank on either side
of the ship’s rail and others lifted the prisoner to the inboard end so
that he faced the opposite end of the plank that protruded far out over
the sea, where great monsters of the deep cut the waves with giant backs
as they paralleled the ship’s course—giant saurians, long extinct upon
the outer crust.

Prodding the defenseless man with knife and pike they goaded him forward
along the narrow plank to the accompaniment of loud oaths and vulgar
jests and hoarse laughter.

Erect and proud, the Thurian marched fearlessly to his doom. He made no
complaint and when he reached the outer end of the plank and his foot
found no new place beyond he made no outcry. Just for an instant he drew
back his foot and hesitated and then, silently, he leaped far out, and,
turning, dove head foremost into the sea.

Tanar turned his eyes away and it chanced that he turned them in the
direction of the girl. To his surprise he saw that she, too, had refused
to look at the last moment and in her face, turned toward his, he saw an
expression of suffering.

Could it be that this woman of The Cid’s brutal race felt sympathy and
sorrow for a suffering enemy?

Tanar doubted it. More likely that something she had eaten that day had
disagreed with her.

“Now,” cried The Cid, “you have seen a man walk the plank and know what
I may do with you, if I choose.”

Tanar shrugged. “I hope I may be as indifferent to my fate as was my
comrade,” he said, “for you certainly got little enough sport out of
him.”

“If I turn you over to Bohar we shall have sport,” replied The Cid. “He
has other means of enlivening a dull day that far surpass the tame
exercise on the plank.”

The girl turned angrily upon The Cid. “You shall not do that!” she
cried. “You promised me that you would not torture any prisoners while I
was with the fleet.”

“If he behaves I shall not,” said The Cid, “but if he does not I shall
turn him over to Bohar the Bloody. Do not forget that I am Chief of
Korsar and that even you may be punished if you interfere.”

Again the girl laughed. “You can frighten the others, Chief of Korsar,”
she said, “but not me.”

“If she were mine,” muttered Bohar threateningly, but the girl
interrupted him.

“I am not, nor ever shall be,” she said.

“Do not be too sure of that,” growled The Cid. “I can give you to whom I
please; let the matter drop.” He turned to the Sarian prisoner. “What is
your name, son of a king?” he asked.

“Tanar.”

“Listen well, Tanar,” said The Cid impressively. “Our prisoners do not
live beyond the time that they be of service to us. Some of you will be
kept to exhibit to the people of Korsar, after which they will be of
little use to me, but you can purchase life and, perhaps, freedom.”

“How?” demanded Tanar.

“Your people were armed with weapons far better than ours,” explained
The Cid; “your powder was more powerful and more dependable. Half the
time ours fails to ignite at the first attempt.”

“That must be embarrassing,” remarked Tanar.

“It is fatal,” said The Cid.

“But what has it to do with me?” asked the prisoner.

“If you will teach us how to make better weapons and such powder as your
people have you shall be spared and shall have your freedom.”

Tanar made no reply—he was thinking—thinking of the supremacy that their
superior weapons gave his people—thinking of the fate that lay in store
for him and for those poor devils in the dark, foul hole below deck.

“Well?” demanded The Cid.

“Will you spare the others, too?” he asked.

“Why should I?”

“I shall need their help,” said Tanar. “I do not know all that is
necessary to make the weapons and the powder.”

As a matter of fact he knew nothing about the manufacture of either, but
he saw here a chance to save his fellow prisoners, or at least to delay
their destruction and gain time in which they might find means to
escape, nor did he hesitate to deceive The Cid, for is not all fair in
war?

“Very well,” said the Korsar chief; “if you and they give me no trouble
you shall all live—provided you teach us how to make weapons and powder
like your own.”

“We cannot live in the filthy hole in which we are penned,” retorted the
Sarian; “neither can we live without food. Soon we shall all sicken and
die. We are people of the open air—we cannot be smothered in dark holes
filled with vermin and be starved, and live.”

“You shall not be returned to the hole,” said The Cid. “There is no
danger that you will escape.”

“And the others?” demanded Tanar.

“They remain where they are!”

“They will all die, and without them I cannot make powder,” Tanar
reminded him.

The Cid scowled. “You would have my ship overrun with enemies,” he
growled.

“They are unarmed.”

“Then they certainly would be killed,” said The Cid. “No one would
survive long among that pack an’ he were not armed;” he waved a hand
contemptuously toward the half naked throng below.

“Then leave the hatches off and give them decent air and more and better
food.”

“I’ll do it,” said The Cid. “Bohar, have the forward hatches removed,
place a guard there with orders to kill any prisoner who attempts to
come on deck and any of our men who attempts to go below; see, too, that
the prisoners get the same rations as our own men.”

It was with a feeling of relief that amounted almost to happiness that
Tanar saw Bohar depart to carry out the orders of The Cid, for he knew
well that his people could not long survive the hideous and unaccustomed
confinement and the vile food that had been his lot and theirs since
they had been brought aboard the Korsar ship.

Presently The Cid went to his cabin and Tanar, left to his own devices,
walked to the stern and leaning on the rail gazed into the hazy
upcurving distance where lay the land of the Sarians, his land, beyond
the haze.

Far astern a small boat rose and fell with the great, long billows.
Fierce denizens of the deep constantly threatened it, storms menaced it,
but on it forged in the wake of the great fleet—a frail and tiny thing
made strong and powerful by the wills of three men.

But this Tanar did not see, for the mist hid it. He would have been
heartened to know that his Emperor was risking his life to save him.

As he gazed and dreamed he became conscious of a presence near him, but
he did not turn, for who was there upon that ship who might have access
to this upper deck, whom he might care to see or speak with?

Presently he heard a voice at his elbow, a low, golden voice that
brought him around facing its owner. It was the girl.

“You are looking back toward your own country?” she said.

“Yes.”

“You will never see it again,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice,
as though she understood his feelings and sympathized.

“Perhaps not, but why should you care? I am an enemy.”

“I do not know why I should care,” replied the girl. “What is your
name?”

“Tanar.”

“Is that all?”

“I am called Tanar the Fleet One.”

“Why?”

“Because in all Sari none can outdistance me.”

“Sari—is that the name of your country?”

“Yes.”

“What is it like?”

“It is a high plateau among the mountains. It is a very lovely country,
with leaping rivers and great trees. It is filled with game. We hunt the
great ryth there and the tarag for meat and for sport and there are
countless lesser animals that give us food and clothing.”

“Have you no enemies? You are not a warlike people as are the Korsars.”

“We defeated the warlike Korsars,” he reminded her.

“I would not speak of that too often,” she said. “The tempers of the
Korsars are short and they love to kill.”

“Why do you not kill me then?” he demanded. “You have a knife and a
pistol in your sash, like the others.”

The girl only smiled.

“Perhaps you are not a Korsar,” he exclaimed. “You were captured as I
was and are a prisoner.”

“I am no prisoner,” she replied.

“But you are not a Korsar,” he insisted.

“Ask The Cid—he will doubtless cutlass you for your impertinence; but
why do you think I am not a Korsar?”

“You are too beautiful and too fine,” he replied. “You have shown
sympathy and that is a finer sentiment far beyond their mental
capability. They are—”

“Be careful, enemy; perhaps I am a Korsar!”

“I do not believe it,” said Tanar.

“Then keep your beliefs to yourself, prisoner,” retorted the girl in a
haughty tone.

“What is this?” demanded a rough voice behind Tanar. “What has this
thing said to you, Stellara?”

Tanar wheeled to face Bohar the Bloody.

“I questioned that she was of the same race as you,” snapped Tanar
before the girl could reply. “It is inconceivable that one so beautiful
could be tainted by the blood of Korsar.”

His face flaming with rage, Bohar laid a hand upon one of his knives and
stepped truculently toward the Sarian. “It is death to insult the
daughter of The Cid,” he cried, whipping the knife from his sash and
striking a wicked blow at Tanar.

The Sarian, light of foot, trained from childhood in the defensive as
well as offensive use of edged weapons, stepped quickly to one side and
then as quickly in again and once more Bohar the Bloody sprawled upon
the deck to a well delivered blow.

Bohar was fairly foaming at the mouth with rage as he jerked his heavy
pistol from his gaudy sash and aiming it at Tanar’s chest from where he
lay upon the deck, pulled the trigger. At the same instant the girl
sprang forward as though to prevent the slaying of the prisoner.

It all happened so quickly that Tanar scarcely knew the sequence of
events, but what he did know was that the powder failed to ignite, and
then he laughed.

“You had better wait until I have taught you how to make powder that
will burn before you try to murder me, Bohar,” he said.

The Bloody One scrambled to his feet and Tanar stood ready to receive
the expected charge, but the girl stepped between them with an imperious
gesture.

“Enough of this!” she cried. “It is The Cid’s wish that this man live.
Would you like to have The Cid know that you tried to pistol him,
Bohar?”

The Bloody One stood glaring at Tanar for several seconds, then he
wheeled and strode away without a word.

“It would seem that Bohar does not like me,” said Tanar, smiling.

“He dislikes nearly every one,” said Stellara, “but he hates you—now.”

“Because I knocked him down, I suppose. I cannot blame him.”

“That is not the real reason,” said the girl.

“What is, then?”

She hesitated and then she laughed. “He is jealous. Bohar wants me for
his mate.”

“But why should he be jealous of me?”

Stellara looked Tanar up and down and then she laughed again. “I do not
know,” she said. “You are not much of a man beside our huge Korsars—with
your beardless face and your small waist. It would take two of you to
make one of them.”

To Tanar her tone implied thinly veiled contempt and it piqued him, but
why it should he did not know and that annoyed him, too. What was she
but the savage daughter of a savage, boorish Korsar?

When he had first learned from Bohar’s lips that she was the daughter
and not the mate of The Cid he had felt an unaccountable relief, half
unconsciously and without at all attempting to analyze his reaction.

Perhaps it was the girl’s beauty that had made such a relationship with
The Cid seem repulsive, perhaps it was her lesser ruthlessness, which
seemed superlative gentleness by contrast with the brutality of Bohar
and The Cid, but now she seemed capable of a refined cruelty, which was,
after all, what he might have expected to find in one form or another in
the daughter of the Chief of the Korsars.

As one will, when piqued, and just at random, Tanar loosed a bolt in the
hope that it might annoy her. “Bohar knows you better than I,” he said;
“perhaps he knew that he had cause for jealousy.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, enigmatically, “but no one will ever know, for
Bohar will kill you—I know _him_ well enough to know that.”




                                   II
                                DISASTER


Upon the timeless seas of Pellucidar a voyage may last for an hour or a
year—that depends not upon its duration, but upon the important
occurrences which mark its course.

Curving upward along the inside of the arc of a great circle the Korsar
fleet ploughed the restless sea. Favorable winds carried the ships
onward. The noonday sun hung perpetually at zenith. Men ate when they
were hungry, slept when they were tired, or slept against the time when
sleep might be denied them, for the people of Pellucidar seem endowed
with a faculty that permits them to store sleep, as it were, in times of
ease, against the time when sleep might be denied them, against the more
strenuous periods of hunting and warfare when there is no opportunity
for sleep. Similarly, they eat with unbelievable irregularity.

Tanar had slept and eaten several times since his encounter with Bohar,
whom he had seen upon various occasions since without an actual meeting.
The Bloody One seemed to be biding his time.

Stellara had kept to her cabin with the old woman, who Tanar surmised
was her mother. He wondered if Stellara would look like the mother or
The Cid when she was older, and he shuddered when he considered either
eventuality.

As he stood thus musing, Tanar’s attention was attracted by the actions
of the men on the lower deck. He saw them looking across the port bow
and upward and, following the direction of their eyes with his, he saw
the rare phenomenon of a cloud in the brilliant sky.

Some one must have notified The Cid at about the same time, for he came
from his cabin and looked long and searchingly at the heavens.

In his loud voice The Cid bellowed commands and his wild crew scrambled
to their stations like monkeys, swarming aloft or standing by on deck
ready to do his bidding.

Down came the great sails and reefed were the lesser ones, and
throughout the fleet, scattered over the surface of the shining sea, the
example of the Commander was followed.

The cloud was increasing in size and coming rapidly nearer. No longer
was it the small white cloud that had first attracted their attention,
but a great, bulging, ominous, black mass that frowned down upon the
ocean, turning it a sullen gray where the shadow lay.

The wind that had been blowing gently ceased suddenly. The ship fell off
and rolled in the trough of the sea. The silence that followed cast a
spell of terror over the ship’s company.

Tanar, watching, saw the change. If these rough seafaring men blenched
before the threat of the great cloud the danger must be great indeed.

The Sarians were mountain people. Tanar knew little of the sea, but if
Tanar feared anything on Pellucidar it was the sea. The sight,
therefore, of these savage Korsar sailors cringing in terror was far
from reassuring.

Someone had come to the rail and was standing at his side.

“When that has passed,” said a voice, “there will be fewer ships in the
fleet of Korsar and fewer men to go home to their women.”

He turned and saw Stellara looking upward at the cloud.

“You do not seem afraid,” he said.

“Nor you,” replied the girl. “We seem the only people aboard who are not
afraid.”

“Look down at the prisoners,” he told her. “They show no fear.”

“Why?” she asked.

“They are Pellucidarians,” he replied, proudly.

“We are all of Pellucidar,” she reminded him.

“I refer to The Empire,” he said.

“Why are you not afraid?” she asked. “Are you so much braver than the
Korsars?” There was no sarcasm in her tone.

“I am very much afraid,” replied Tanar. “Mine are mountain people—we
know little of the sea or its ways.”

“But you show no fear,” insisted Stellara.

“That is the result of heredity and training,” he replied.

“The Korsars show their fear,” she mused. She spoke as one who was of
different blood. “They boast much of their bravery,” she continued as
though speaking to herself, “but when the sky frowns they show fear.”
There seemed a little note of contempt in her voice. “See!” she cried.
“It is coming!”

The cloud was tearing toward them now and beneath it the sea was lashed
to fury. Shreds of cloud whirled and twisted at the edges of the great
cloud mass. Shreds of spume whirled and twisted above the angry waves.
And then the storm struck the ship, laying it over on its side.

What ensued was appalling to a mountaineer, unaccustomed to the sea—the
chaos of watery mountains, tumbling, rolling, lashing at the wallowing
ship; the shrieking wind; the driving, blinding spume; the
terror-stricken crew, cowed, no longer swaggering bullies.

Reeling, staggering, clutching at the rail Bohar the Bloody passed Tanar
where he clung with one arm about a stanchion and the other holding
Stellara, who would have been hurled to the deck but for the quick
action of the Sarian.

The face of Bohar was an ashen mask against which the red gash of his
ugly scar stood out in startling contrast. He looked at Tanar and
Stellara, but he passed them by, mumbling to himself.

Beyond them was The Cid, screaming orders that no one could hear. Toward
him Bohar made his way. Above the storm Tanar heard The Bloody One
screaming at his chief.

“Save me! Save me!” he cried. “The boats—lower the boats! The ship is
lost.”

It was apparent, even to a landsman, that no small boat could live in
such a sea even if one could have been lowered. The Cid paid no
attention to his lieutenant, but clung where he was, bawling commands.

A mighty sea rose suddenly above the bow; it hung there for an instant
and then rolled in upon the lower deck—tons of crushing, pitiless,
insensate sea—rolled in upon the huddled, screaming seamen. Naught but
the high prow and the lofty poop showed above the angry waves—just for
an instant the great ship strained and shuddered, battling for life.

“It is the end!” cried Stellara.

Bohar screamed like a dumb brute in the agony of death. The Cid knelt on
the deck, his face buried in his arms. Tanar stood watching, fascinated
by the terrifying might of the elements. He saw man shrink to puny
insignificance before a gust of wind, and a slow smile crossed his face.

The wave receded and the ship, floundering, staggered upward, groaning.
The smile left Tanar’s lips as his eyes gazed down upon the lower deck.
It was almost empty now. A few broken forms lay huddled in the scuppers;
a dozen men, clinging here and there, showed signs of life. The others,
all but those who had reached safety below deck, were gone.

The girl clung tightly to the man. “I did not think she could live
through that,” she said.

“Nor I,” said Tanar.

“But you were not afraid,” she said. “You seemed the only one who was
not afraid.”

“Of what use was Bohar’s screaming?” he asked. “Did it save him?”

“Then you were afraid, but you hid it?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. “I do not know what you mean by fear. I
did not want to die, if that is what you mean.”

“Here comes another!” cried Stellara, shuddering, and pressing closer to
him.

Tanar’s arm tightened about the slim figure of the girl. It was an
unconscious gesture of the protective instinct of the male.

“Do not be afraid,” he said.

“I am not—now,” she replied.

At the instant that the mighty comber engulfed the ship the angry
hurricane struck suddenly with renewed fury—struck at a new angle—and
the masts, already straining even to the minimum of canvas that had been
necessary to give the ship headway and keep its nose into the storm,
snapped like dry bones and crashed by the board in a tangle of cordage.
The ship’s head fell away and she rolled in the trough of the great
seas, a hopeless derelict.

Above the screaming of the wind rose Bohar’s screams. “The boats! The
boats!” he repeated like a trained parrot gone mad from terror.

As though sated for the moment and worn out by its own exertions the
storm abated, the wind died, but the great seas rose and fell and the
great ship rolled, helpless. At the bottom of each watery gorge it
seemed that it must be engulfed by the gray green cliff toppling above
it and at the crest of each liquid mountain certain destruction loomed
inescapable.

Bohar, still screaming, scrambled to the lower deck. He found men, by
some miracle still alive in the open, and others cringing in terror
below deck. By dint of curses and blows and the threat of his pistol he
gathered them together and though they whimpered in fright he forced
them to make a boat ready.

There were twenty of them and their gods or their devils must have been
with them, for they lowered a boat and got clear of the floundering hulk
in safety and without the loss of a man.

The Cid, seeing what Bohar contemplated, had tried to prevent the
seemingly suicidal act by bellowing orders at him from above, but they
had no effect and at the last moment The Cid had descended to the lower
deck to enforce his commands, but he had arrived too late.

Now he stood staring unbelievingly at the small boat riding the great
seas in seeming security while the dismasted ship, pounded by the stumps
of its masts, seemed doomed to destruction.

From corners where they had been hiding came the balance of the ship’s
company and when they saw Bohar’s boat and the seemingly relative safety
of the crew they clamored for escape by the other boats. With the idea
once implanted in their minds there followed a mad panic as the
half-brutes fought for places in the remaining boats.

“Come!” cried Stellara. “We must hurry or they will go without us.” She
started to move toward the companionway, but Tanar restrained her.

“Look at them,” he said. “We are safer at the mercy of the sea and the
storm.”

Stellara shrank back close to him. She saw men knifing one another—those
behind knifing those ahead. Men dragging others from the boats and
killing them on deck or being killed. She saw The Cid pistol a seaman in
the back and leap to his place in the first boat to be lowered. She saw
men leaping from the rail in a mad effort to reach this boat and falling
into the sea, or being thrown in if they succeeded in boarding the
tossing shell.

She saw the other boats being lowered and men crushed between them and
the ship’s side—she saw the depths to which fear can plunge the braggart
and the bully as the last of the ship’s company, failing to win places
in the last boat, deliberately leaped into the sea and were drowned.

Standing there upon the high poop of the rolling derelict, Tanar and
Stellara watched the frantic efforts of the oarsmen in the overcrowded
small boats. They saw one boat foul another and both founder. They
watched the drowning men battling for survival. They heard their hoarse
oaths and their screams above the roaring of the sea and the shriek of
the wind as the storm returned as though fearing that some might escape
its fury.

“We are alone,” said Stellara. “They have all gone.”

“Let them go,” replied Tanar. “I would not exchange places with them.”

“But there can be no hope for us,” said the girl.

“There is no more for them,” replied the Sarian, “and at least we are
not crowded into a small boat filled with cutthroats.”

“You are more afraid of the men than you are of the sea,” she said.

“For you, yes,” he replied.

“Why should you fear for me?” she demanded. “Am I not also your enemy?”

He turned his eyes quickly upon her and they were filled with surprise.
“That is so,” he said; “but, somehow, I had forgotten it—you do not seem
like an enemy, as the others do. You do not seem like one of them,
even.”

Clinging to the rail and supporting the girl upon the lurching deck,
Tanar’s lips were close to Stellara’s ear as he sought to make himself
heard above the storm. He sensed the faint aroma of a delicate sachet
that was ever after to be a part of his memory of Stellara.

A sea struck the staggering ship throwing Tanar forward so that his
cheek touched the cheek of the girl and as she turned her head his lips
brushed hers. Each realized that it was an accident, but the effect was
none the less surprising. Tanar, for the first time, felt the girl’s
body against his and consciousness of contact must have been reflected
in his eyes for Stellara shrank back and there was an expression of fear
in hers.

Tanar saw the fear in the eyes of an enemy, but it gave him no pleasure.
He tried to think only of the treatment that would have been accorded a
woman of his tribe had one been at the mercy of the Korsars, but that,
too, failed to satisfy him as it only could if he were to admit that he
was of the same ignoble clay as the men of Korsar.

But whatever thoughts were troubling the minds of Stellara and Tanar
were temporarily submerged by the grim tragedy of the succeeding few
moments as another tremendous sea, the most gigantic that had yet
assailed the broken ship, hurled its countless tons upon her shivering
deck.

To Tanar it seemed, indeed, that this must mark the end since it was
inconceivable that the unmanageable hulk could rise again from the
smother of water that surged completely over her almost to the very
highest deck of the towering poop, where the two clung against the
tearing wind and the frightful pitching of the derelict.

But, as the sea rolled on, the ship slowly, sluggishly struggled to the
surface like an exhausted swimmer who, drowning, struggles weakly
against the inevitability of fate and battles upward for one last gasp
of air that will, at best, but prolong the agony of death.

As the main deck slowly emerged from the receding waters, Tanar was
horrified by the discovery that the forward hatch had been stove in.
That the ship must have taken in considerable water, and that each
succeeding wave that broke over it would add to the quantity, affected
the Sarian less than knowledge of the fact that it was beneath this
hatch that his fellow prisoners were confined.

Through the black menace of his almost hopeless situation had shone a
single bright ray of hope that, should the ship weather the storm, there
would be aboard her a score of his fellow Pellucidarians and that
together they might find the means to rig a makeshift sail and work
their way back to the mainland from which they had embarked; but with
the gaping hatch and the almost certain conclusion to be drawn from it
he realized that it would, indeed, be a miracle if there remained alive
aboard the derelict any other than Stellara and himself.

The girl was looking down at the havoc wrought below and now she turned
her face toward his.

“They must all be drowned,” she said, “and they were your people. I am
sorry.”

“Perhaps they would have chosen it in preference to what might have
awaited them in Korsar,” he said.

“And they have been released only a little sooner than we shall be,” she
continued. “Do you notice how low the ship rides now and how sluggish
she is? The hold must be half filled with water—another such sea as the
last one will founder her.”

For some time they stood in silence, each occupied with his own
thoughts. The bulk rolled in the trough and momentarily it seemed that
she might not roll back in time to avert the disaster of the next
menacing comber, yet each time she staggered drunkenly to oppose a high
side to the hungry waters.

“I believe the storm has spent itself,” said Tanar.

“The wind has died and there has been no sea like the great one that
stove in the forward hatch,” said Stellara, hopefully.

The noonday sun broke from behind the black cloud that had shrouded it
and the sea burst into a blaze of blue and silver beauty. The storm had
passed. The seas diminished. The derelict rolled heavily upon the great
swells, low in the water, but temporarily relieved of the menace of
immediate disaster.

Tanar descended the companionway to the lower deck and approached the
forward hatch. A single glance below revealed only what he could have
anticipated—floating corpses rolling with the roll of the derelict. All
below were dead. With a sigh he turned away and returned to the upper
deck.

The girl did not even question him for she could read in his demeanor
the story of what his eyes had beheld.

“You and I are the only living creatures that remain aboard,” he said.

She waved a hand in a broad gesture that took in the sea about them.
“Doubtless we alone of the entire ship’s company have survived,” she
said. “I see no other ship nor any of the small boats.”

Tanar strained his eyes in all directions. “Nor I,” said he; “but
perhaps some of them have escaped.”

She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

“Yours has been a heavy loss,” sympathized the Sarian. “Besides so many
of your people, you have lost your father and your mother.”

Stellara looked up quickly into his eyes. “They were not my people,” she
said.

“What?” exclaimed Tanar. “They were not your people? But your father,
The Cid, was Chief of the Korsars.”

“He was not my father,” replied the girl.

“And the woman was not your mother?”

“May the gods forbid!” she exclaimed.

“But The Cid! He treated you like a daughter.”

“He thought I was his daughter, but I am not.”

“I do not understand,” said Tanar; “yet I am glad that you are not. I
could not understand how you, who are so different from them, could be a
Korsar.”

“My mother was a native of the island of Amiocap and there The Cid,
raiding for women, seized her. She told me about it many times before
she died.

“Her mate was absent upon a great tandor hunt and she never saw him
again. When I was born The Cid thought that I was his daughter, but my
mother knew better for I bore upon my left shoulder a small, red
birthmark identical with one upon the left shoulder of the mate from
whom she had been stolen—my father.

“My mother never told The Cid the truth, for fear that he would kill me
in accordance with the custom the Korsars follow of destroying the
children of their captives if a Korsar is not the father.”

“And the woman who was with you on board was not your mother?”

“No, she was The Cid’s mate, but not my mother, who is dead.”

Tanar felt a distinct sense of relief that Stellara was not a Korsar,
but why this should be so he did not know, nor, perhaps, did he attempt
to analyze his feelings.

“I am glad,” he said again.

“But why?” she asked.

“Now we do not have to be enemies,” he replied.

“Were we before?”

He hesitated and then he laughed. “I was not your enemy,” he said, “but
you reminded me that you were mine.”

“It has been the habit of a lifetime to think of myself as a Korsar,”
exclaimed Stellara, “although I knew that I was not. I felt no enmity
toward you.”

“Whatever we may have been we must of necessity be friends now,” he told
her.

“That will depend upon you,” she replied.




                                  III
                                AMIOCAP


The blue waters of the great sea known as Korsar Az wash the shores of a
green island far from the mainland—a long, narrow island with verdure
clad hills and plateaus, its coast line indented by coves and tiny
bays—Amiocap, an island of mystery and romance.

At a distance, and when there is a haze upon the waters, it looks like
two islands, rather than one, so low and narrow it is at one point,
where coves run in on either side and the sea almost meets.

Thus it appeared to the two survivors from the deck of the Korsar
derelict drifting helplessly with the sluggish run of an ocean current
and at the whim of vagrant winds.

Time is not even a word to the people of Pellucidar, so Tanar had given
no thought to that. They had eaten many times, but as there was still an
ample supply of provisions, even for a large ship’s company, he felt no
concern upon that score, but he had been worried by the depletion of
their supply of good water, for the contents of many casks that he had
broached had been undrinkable.

They had slept much, which is the way of Pellucidarians when there is
naught else to do, storing energy for possible future periods of long
drawn exertion.

They had been sleeping thus, for how long who may say in the measureless
present of Pellucidar. Stellara was the first to come on deck from the
cabin she had occupied next to that of The Cid. She looked about for
Tanar, but not seeing him she let her eyes wander out over the upcurving
expanse of water that merged in every direction with the blue domed
vault of the brilliant sky, in the exact center of which hung the great
noonday sun.

But suddenly her gaze was caught and held by something beside the
illimitable waters and the ceaseless sun. She voiced a surprised and
joyous cry and, turning, ran across the deck toward the cabin in which
Tanar slept.

“Tanar! Tanar!” she cried, pounding upon the paneled door. “Land, Tanar,
land!”

The door swung open and the Sarian stepped out upon the deck where
Stellara stood pointing across the starboard rail of the drifting
derelict.

Close by rose the green hills of a long shore line that stretched away
in both directions for many miles, but whether it was the mainland or an
island they could not tell.

“Land!” breathed Tanar. “How good it looks!”

“The pleasant green of the soft foliage often hides terrible beasts and
savage men,” Stellara reminded him.

“But they are the dangers that I know—it is the unknown dangers of the
sea that I do not like. I am not of the sea.”

“You hate the sea?”

“No,” he replied, “I do not hate it; I do not understand it—that is all.
But there is something that I do understand,” and he pointed toward the
land.

There was that in Tanar’s tone that caused Stellara to look quickly in
the direction that be indicated.

“Men!” she exclaimed.

“Warriors,” said Tanar.

“There must be twenty of them in that canoe,” she said.

“And here comes another canoeful behind them.”

From the mouth of a narrow cove the canoes were paddling cut into the
open sea.

“Look!” cried Stellara. “There are many more coming.”

One after another twenty canoes moved in a long column out upon the
quiet waters and as they drew steadily toward the ship the survivors saw
that each was filled with almost naked warriors. Short, heavy spears,
bone-tipped, bristled menacingly; stone knives protruded from every
G-string and stone hatchets swung at every hip.

As the flotilla approached, Tanar went to a cabin and returned with two
of the heavy pistols left behind by a fleeing Korsar when the ship had
been abandoned.

“Do you expect to repulse four hundred warriors with those?” asked the
girl.

Tanar shrugged. “If they have never heard the report of a firearm a few
shots may suffice to frighten them away, for a time at least,” he
explained, “and if we do not go on the shore the current will carry us
away from them in time.”

“But suppose they do not frighten so easily?” she demanded.

“Then I can do no more than my best with the crude weapons and the
inferior powder of the Korsars,” he said with the conscious superiority
of one who had, with his people, so recently emerged from the stone age
that he often instinctively grasped a pistol by the muzzle and used it
as a war club in sudden emergencies when at close quarters.

“Perhaps they will not be unfriendly,” suggested Stellara.

Tanar laughed. “Then they are not of Pellucidar,” he said, “but of some
wondrous country inhabited by what Perry calls angels.”

“Who is Perry?” she demanded. “I never heard of him.”

“He is a madman who says that Pellucidar is the inside of a hollow stone
that is as round as the strange world that hangs forever above the Land
of Awful Shadow, and that upon the outside are seas and mountains and
plains and countless people and a great country from which he comes.”

“He must be quite mad,” said the girl.

“Yet he and David, our Emperor, have brought us many advantages that
were before unknown in Pellucidar, so that now we can kill more warriors
in a single battle than was possible before during the course of a whole
war. Perry calls this civilization and it is indeed a very wonderful
thing.”

“Perhaps he came from the frozen world from which the ancestors of the
Korsars came,” suggested the girl. “They say that that country lies
outside of Pellucidar.”

“Here is the enemy,” said Tanar. “Shall I fire at that big fellow
standing in the bow of the first canoe?” Tanar raised one of the heavy
pistols and took aim, but the girl laid a hand upon his arm.

“Wait,” she begged. “They may be friendly. Do not fire unless you must—I
hate killing.”

“I can well believe that you are no Korsar,” he said, lowering the
muzzle of his weapon.

There came a hail from the leading canoe. “We are prepared for you,
Korsars,” shouted the tall warrior standing in the bow. “You are few in
numbers. We are many. Your great canoe is a useless wreck; ours are
manned by twenty warriors each. You are helpless. We are strong. It is
not always thus and this time it is not we who shall be taken prisoners,
but you, if you attempt to land.

“But we are not like you, Korsars. We do not want to kill or capture. Go
away and we shall not harm you.”

“We cannot go away,” replied Tanar. “Our ship is helpless. We are only
two and our food and water are nearly exhausted. Let us land and remain
until we can prepare to return to our own countries.”

The warrior turned and conversed with the others in his canoe. Presently
he faced Tanar again.

“No,” he said; “my people will not permit Korsars to come among us. They
do not trust you. Neither do I. If you do not go away we shall take you
as prisoners and your fate will be in the hands of the Council of the
Chiefs.”

“But we are not Korsars,” explained Tanar.

The warrior laughed. “You speak a lie,” he said. “Do you think that we
do not know the ships of Korsar?”

“This is a Korsar ship,” replied Tanar; “but we are not Korsars. We were
prisoners and when they abandoned their ship in a great storm they left
us aboard.”

Again the Warriors conferred and those in other canoes that had drawn
alongside the first joined in the discussion.

“Who are you then?” demanded the spokesman.

“I am Tanar of Pellucidar. My father is King of Sari.”

“We are all of Pellucidar,” replied the warrior; “but we never heard of
a country called Sari. And the woman—she is your mate?”

“No!” cried Stellara, haughtily. “I am not his mate.”

“Who are you? Are you a Sarian, also?”

“I am no Sarian. My father and mother were of Amiocap.”

Again the warriors talked among themselves, some seeming to favor one
idea, some another.

“Do you know the name of this country?” finally demanded the leading
warrior, addressing Stellara.

“No,” she replied.

“We were about to ask you that very question,” said Tanar.

“And the woman is from Amiocap?” demanded the warrior.

“No other blood flows in my veins,” said Stellara, proudly.

“Then it is strange that you do not recognize your own land and your own
people,” cried the warrior. “This is the island of Amiocap!”

Stellara voiced a low cry of pleased astonishment. “Amiocap!” she
breathed softly, as to herself. The tone was a caress, but the warriors
in the canoes were too far away to hear her. They thought she was silent
and embarrassed because they had discovered her deception.

“Go away!” they cried again.

“You will not send me away from the land of my parents!” cried Stellara,
in astonishment.

“You have lied to us,” replied the tall warrior. “You are not of
Amiocap. You do not know us, nor do we know you.”

“Listen!” cried Tanar. “I was a prisoner aboard this ship and, being no
Korsar, the girl told me her story long before we sighted this land. She
could not have known that we were near your island. I do not know that
she even knew its location, but nevertheless I believe that her story is
true.

“She has never said that she was from Amiocap, but that her parents
were. She has never seen the island before now. Her mother was stolen by
the Korsars before she was born.”

Again the warriors spoke together in low tones for a moment and then,
once more, the spokesman addressed Stellara.

“What was your mother’s name?” he demanded. “Who was your father?”

“My mother was called Allara,” replied the girl. “I never saw my father,
but my mother said that he was a chief and a great tandor hunter, called
Fedol.”

At a word from the tall warrior in the bow of the leading canoe from the
warriors paddled slowly nearer the drifting hulk, and as they approached
the ship’s waist Tanar and Stellara descended to the main deck, which
was now almost awash, so deep the ship rode because of the water in her
hold, and as the canoe drifted alongside, the warriors, with the
exception of a couple, laid down their paddles and stood ready with
their bone-tipped spears.

Now the two upon the ship’s deck and the tall warrior in the canoe stood
almost upon the same level and face to face. The latter was a
smooth-faced man with finely molded features and clear, gray eyes that
bespoke intelligence and courage. He was gazing intently at Stellara, as
though he would search her very soul for proof of the veracity or
falsity of her statements. Presently he spoke.

“You might well be her daughter,” he said; “the resemblance is
apparent.”

“You knew my mother?” exclaimed Stellara.

“I am Vulhan. You have heard her speak of me?”

“My mother’s brother!” exclaimed Stellara, with deep emotion, but there
was no answering emotion in the manner of the Amiocap warrior. “My
father, where is he? Is he alive?”

“That is the question,” said Vulhan, seriously. “Who is your father!
Your mother was stolen by a Korsar. If the Korsar is your father, you
are a Korsar.”

“But he is not my father. Take me to my own father—although he has never
seen me he will know me and I shall know him.”

“It will do no harm,” said a warrior who stood close to Vulhan. “If the
girl is a Korsar we shall know what to do with her.”

“If she is the spawn of the Korsar who stole Allara, Vulhan and Fedol
will know how to treat her,” said Vulhan savagely.

“I am not afraid,” said Stellara.

“And this other,” said Vulhan, nodding toward Tanar. “What of him?”

“He was a prisoner of war that the Korsars were taking back to Korsar.
Let him come with you. His people are not sea people. He could not
survive by the sea alone.”

“You are sure that he is no Korsar?” demanded Vulhan.

“Look at him!” exclaimed the girl. “The men of Amiocap must know the
people of Korsar well by sight. Does this one look like a Korsar?”

Vulhan was forced to admit that he did not. “Very well,” he said, “he
may come with us, but whatever your fate, he must share it.”

“Gladly,” agreed Tanar.

The two quit the deck of the derelict as places were made for them in
the canoe and as the little craft was paddled rapidly toward shore
neither felt any sorrow at parting from the drifting hulk that had been
their home for so long. The last they saw of her, just as they were
entering the cove, from which they had first seen the canoes emerge, she
was drifting slowly with the ocean current parallel with the green shore
of Amiocap.

At the upper end of the cove the canoes were beached and dragged beneath
the concealing foliage of the luxuriant vegetation. Here they were
turned bottom side up and left until occasion should again demand their
use.

The warriors of Amiocap conducted their two prisoners into the jungle
that grew almost to the water’s edge. At first there was no sign of
trail and the leading warriors forced their way through the lush
vegetation, which fortunately was free from thorns and briers, but
presently they came upon a little path which opened into a broad, well
beaten trail along which the party moved in silence.

During the march Tanar had an opportunity to study the men of Amiocap
more closely and he saw that almost without exception they were
symmetrically built, with rounded, flowing muscles that suggested a
combination of agility and strength. Their features were regular, and
there was not among them one who might be termed ugly. On the whole
their expressions were open rather than cunning and kindly rather than
ferocious; yet the scars upon the bodies of many of them and their well
worn and efficient looking, though crude, weapons suggested that they
might be bold hunters and fierce warriors. There was a marked dignity in
their carriage and demeanor which appealed to Tanar as did their
taciturnity, for the Sarians themselves are not given to useless talk.

Stellara, walking at his side, appeared unusually happy and there was an
expression of contentment upon her face that the Sarian had never seen
there before. She had been watching him as well as the Amiocapians, and
now she addressed him in a whisper.

“What do you think of my people?” she asked, proudly. “Are they not
wonderful?”

“They are a fine race,” he replied, “and I hope for your sake that they
will believe that you are one of them.”

“It is all just as I have dreamed it so many times,” said the girl, with
a happy sigh. “I have always known that some day I should come to
Amiocap and that it would be just as my mother told me that it was—the
great trees, the giant ferns, the gorgeous, flowering vines and bushes.
There are fewer savage beasts here than in other parts of Pellucidar and
the people seldom war among themselves, so that for the most part they
live in peace and contentment, broken only by the raids of the Korsars
or an occasional raid upon their fields and villages by the great
tandors. Do you know what tandors are, Tanar? Do you have them in your
country?”

Tanar nodded. “I have heard of them in Amoz,” he said, “though they are
rare in Sari.”

“There are thousands of them upon the island of Amiocap,” said the girl,
“and my people are the greatest tandor hunters in Pellucidar.”

Again they walked on in silence, Tanar wondering what the attitude of
the Amiocapians would be towards them, and if friendly whether they
would be able to assist him in making his way back to the distant
mainland, where Sari lay. To this primitive mountaineer it seemed little
short of hopeless even to dream of returning to his native land, for the
sea appalled him, nor did he have any conception as to how he might set
a course across its savage bosom, or navigate any craft that he might
later find at his disposal; yet so powerful is the homing instinct in
the Pellucidarians that there was no doubt in his mind that so long as
he lived he would always be searching for a way back to Sari.

He was glad that he did not have to worry about Stellara, for if it was
true that she was among her own people she could remain upon Amiocap and
there would rest upon him no sense of responsibility for her return to
Korsar; but if they did not accept her—that was another matter; then
Tanar would have to seek for means of escape from an island peopled by
enemies and he would have to take Stellara with him.

But this train of thought was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from
Stellara. “Look!” she cried. “Here is a village; perhaps it is the very
village of my mother.”

“What did you say?” inquired a warrior, walking near them.

“I said that perhaps this is the village where my mother lived before
she was stolen by the Korsars.”

“And you say that your mother was Allara?” inquired the warrior.

“Yes.”

“This was indeed the village in which Allara lived,” said the warrior;
“but do not hope, girl, that you will be received as one of them, for
unless your father also was of Amiocap, you are not an Amiocapian. It
will be hard to convince any one that you are not the daughter of a
Korsar father, and as such you are a Korsar and no Amiocapian.”

“But how can you know that my father was a Korsar?” demanded Stellara.

“We do not have to know,” replied the warrior; “it is merely a matter of
what we believe, but that is a question that will have to be settled by
Zural, the chief of the village of Lar.”

“Lar,” repeated Stellara. “That is the village of my mother! I have
heard her speak of it many times. This, then, must be Lar.”

“It is,” replied the warrior, “and presently you shall see Zural.”

The village of Lar consisted of perhaps a hundred thatched huts, each of
which was divided into two or more rooms, one of which was invariably an
open sitting room without walls, in the center of which was a stone
fireplace. The other rooms were ordinarily tightly walled and
windowless, affording the necessary darkness for the Amiocapians when
they wished to sleep.

The entire clearing was encircled by the most remarkable fence that
Tanar had ever seen. The posts, instead of being set in the ground, were
suspended from a heavy fiber rope that ran from tree to tree, the lower
ends of the posts hanging at least four feet above the ground. Holes had
been bored through the posts at intervals of twelve or eighteen inches
and into these were inserted hardwood stakes, four or five feet in
length and sharpened at either end. These stakes protruded from the
posts in all directions, parallel with the ground, and the posts were
hung at such a distance from one another that the points of the stakes,
protruding from contiguous posts, left intervals of from two to four
feet between. As a safeguard against an attacking enemy they seemed
futile to Tanar, for in entering the village the party had passed
through the open spaces between the posts without being hindered by the
barrier.

But conjecture as to the purpose of this strange barrier was crowded
from his thoughts by other more interesting occurrences, for no sooner
had they entered the village than they were surrounded by a horde of
men, women and children.

“Who are these?” demanded some.

“They say that they are friends,” replied Vulhan, “but we believe that
they are from Korsar.”

“Korsars!” cried the villagers.

“I am no Korsar,” cried Stellara, angrily. “I am the daughter of Allara,
the sister of Vulhan.”

“Let her tell that to Zural. It is his business to listen, not ours,”
cried one. “Zural will know what to do with Korsars. Did they not steal
his daughter and kill his son?”

“Yes, take them to Zural,” cried another.

“It is to Zural that I am taking them,” replied Vulhan.

The villagers made way for the warriors and their prisoners and as the
latter passed through the aisles thus formed many were the ugly looks
cast upon them and many the expressions of hatred that they overheard,
but no violence was offered them and presently they were conducted to a
large hut near the center of the village.

Like the other dwellings of the village of Lar, the floors of the
chief’s house were raised a foot or eighteen inches above the ground.
The thatched roof of the great, open living room, into which they were
conducted, was supported by enormous ivory tusks of the giant tandors.
The floor, which appeared to be constructed of unglazed tile, was almost
entirely covered by the hides of wild animals. There were a number of
low, wooden stools standing about the room, and one higher one that
might almost have been said to have attained the dignity of a chair.

Upon this larger stool was seated a stern faced man, who scrutinized
them closely and silently as they were halted before him. For several
seconds no one spoke, and then the man upon the chair turned to Vulhan.

“Who are these,” he demanded, “and what do they in the village of Lar?”

“We took them from a Korsar ship that was drifting helplessly with the
ocean current,” said Vulhan, “and we have brought them to Zural, chief
of the village of Lar, that he may hear their story and judge whether
they be the friends they claim to be, or the Korsar enemies that we
believe them to be. This one,” and Vulhan pointed to Stellara, “says
that she is the daughter of Allara.”

“I am the daughter of Allara,” said Stellara.

“And who was your father?” demanded Zural.

“My father’s name is Fedol,” replied Stellara.

“How do you know?” asked Zural.

“My mother told me.”

“Where were you born?” demanded Zural.

“In the Korsar city of Allaban,” replied Stellara.

“Then you are a Korsar,” stated Zural with finality. “And this one, what
has he to say for himself?” asked Zural, indicating Tanar with a nod.

“He claims that he was a prisoner of the Korsars and that he comes from
a distant kingdom called Sari.”

“I have never heard of such a kingdom,” said Zural. “Is there any
warrior here who has ever heard of it?” he demanded. “If there is, let
him in justice to the prisoner, speak.” But the Amiocapians only shook
their heads for there was none who had ever heard of the kingdom of
Sari. “It is quite plain,” continued Zural, “that they are enemies and
that they are seeking by falsehood to gain our confidence. If there is a
drop of Amiocapian blood in one of them, we are sorry for that drop.
Take them away, Vulhan. Keep them under guard until we decide how they
shall be destroyed.”

“My mother told me that the Amiocapians were a just and kindly people,”
said Stellara; “but it is neither just nor kindly to destroy this man
who is not an enemy simply because you have never heard of the country
from which he comes. I tell you that he is no Korsar. I was on one of
the ships of the fleet when the prisoners were brought aboard. I heard
The Cid and Bohar the Bloody when they were questioning this man, and I
know that he is no Korsar and that he comes from a kingdom known as
Sari. They did not doubt his word, so why should you? If you are a just
and kindly people how can you destroy me without giving me an
opportunity to talk with Fedol, my father. He will believe me; he will
know that I am his daughter.”

“The gods frown upon us if we harbor enemies in our village,” replied
Zural. “We should have bad luck, as all Amiocapians know. Wild beasts
would kill our hunters and the tandors would trample our fields and
destroy our villages. But worst of all the Korsars would come and rescue
you from us. As for Fedol, no man knows where he is. He is not of this
village and the people of his own village have slept and eaten many
times since they saw Fedol. They have slept and eaten many times since
Fedol set forth upon his last tandor hunt. Perhaps the tandors have
avenged the killing of many of their fellows, or perhaps Fedol fell into
the clutches of the Buried People. These things we do not know, but we
do know that Fedol went away to hunt tandors and that he never came back
and that we do not know where to find him. Take them away, Vulhan, and
we shall hold a council of the chiefs and then we shall decide what
shall be done with them.”

“You are a cruel and wicked man, Zural,” cried Stellara, “and no better
than the Korsars themselves.”

“It is useless, Stellara,” said Tanar, laying a hand upon the girl’s
arm. “Let us go quietly with Vulhan;” and then in a low whisper, “Do not
anger them, for there is yet hope for us in the council of the chiefs if
we do not antagonize them.” And so without further word Stellara and
Tanar were led from the house of Zural the chief surrounded by a dozen
stalwart warriors.




                                   IV
                                 LETARI


Stellara and Tanar were conducted to a small hut in the outskirts of the
village. The building consisted of but two rooms; the open living room
with the fireplace and a small dark, sleeping apartment. Into the latter
the prisoners were thrust and a single warrior was left on guard in the
living room to prevent their escape.

In a world where the sun hangs perpetually at zenith there is no
darkness and without darkness there is little opportunity to escape from
the clutches of a watchful enemy. Yet never for a moment was the thought
of escape absent from the mind of Tanar the Sarian. He studied the
sentries and as each one was relieved he tried to enter into
conversation with his successor, but all to no avail—the warriors would
not talk to him. Sometimes the guards dozed, but the village and the
clearing about it were always alive with people so that it appeared
unlikely that any opportunity for escape might present itself.

The sentries were changed, food was brought to the prisoners and when
they felt so inclined they slept. Thus only might they measure the lapse
of time, if such a thing occurred to them, which doubtless it did not.
They talked together and sometimes Stellara sang—sang the songs of
Amiocap that her mother had taught her, and they were happy and
contented, although each knew that the specter of death hovered
constantly above them. Presently he would strike, but in the meantime
they were happy.

“When I was a youth,” said Tanar, “I was taken prisoner by the black
people with tails. They build their villages among the high branches of
lofty trees and, at first they put me in a small hut as dark as this and
much dirtier and I was very miserable and very unhappy for I have always
been free and I love my freedom, but now I am again a prisoner in a dark
hut and in addition I know that I am going to die and I do not want to
die, yet I am not unhappy. Why is it, Stellara, do you know?”

“I have wondered about the same thing myself,” replied the girl. “It
seems to me that I have never been so happy before in my life, but I do
not know the reason.”

They were sitting close together upon a fiber mat that they had placed
near the doorway that they might obtain as much light and air as
possible. Stellara’s soft eyes looked thoughtfully out upon the little
world framed by the doorway of their prison cell. One hand rested
listlessly on the mat between them. Tanar’s eyes rested upon her
profile, and slowly his hand went out and covered hers.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I should not be happy if you were not here.”

The girl turned half frightened eyes upon him and withdrew her hand.
“Don’t,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know, only that it makes me afraid.”

The man was about to speak again when a figure darkened the opening in
the doorway. A girl had come bringing food. Heretofore it had been a
man—a taciturn man who had replied to none of Tanar’s questions. But
there was no suggestion of taciturnity upon the beautiful, smiling
countenance of the girl.

“Here is food,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

“Where there is nothing else to do but eat I am always hungry,” said
Tanar. “But where is the man who brought our food before?”

“That was my father,” replied the girl. “He has gone to hunt and I have
brought the food in his stead.”

“I hope that he never returns from the hunt,” said Tanar.

“Why?” demanded the girl. “He is a good father. Why do you wish him
harm?”

“I wish him no harm,” replied Tanar, laughing. “I only wish that his
daughter would continue to bring our food. She is far more agreeable and
much better looking.”

The girl flushed, but it was evident that she was pleased.

“I wanted to come before,” she said, “but my father would not let me. I
saw you when they brought you into the village and I have wanted to see
you again. I never before saw a man who looked like you. You are
different from the Amiocapians. Are all the men of Sari as good looking
as you?”

Tanar laughed. “I am afraid I have never given much thought to that
subject,” he replied. “In Sari we judge our men by what they do and not
by what they look like.”

“But you must be a great hunter,” said the girl. “You look like a great
hunter.”

“How do great hunters look?” demanded Stellara with some asperity.

“They look like this man,” replied the girl. “Do you know,” she
continued, “I have dreamed about you many times.”

“What is your name?” asked Tanar.

“Letari,” replied the girl.

“Letari,” repeated Tanar. “That is a pretty name. I hope, Letari, that
you will bring our food to us often.”

“I shall never bring it again,” she said, sadly.

“And why?” demanded Tanar.

“Because no one will bring it again,” she said.

“And why is that? Are they going to starve us to death?”

“No, the council of the chiefs has decided that you are both Korsars and
that you must be destroyed.”

“And when will that be?” asked Stellara.

“As soon as the hunters return with food. We are going to have a great
feast and dance, but I shall not enjoy it. I shall be very unhappy for I
do not wish to see Tanar die.”

“How are they going to destroy us?” asked the man.

“Look,” said the girl, pointing through the open doorway. There, in the
distance, the two prisoners saw men setting two stakes into the ground.
“There were many who wanted to give you to the Buried People,” said
Letari, “but Zural said that it has been so long since we have had a
feast and a dance that he thought that we should celebrate the killing
of two Korsars rather than let the Buried People have all the pleasure,
and so they are going to tie you to those two stakes and pile dry wood
and brush around you and burn you to death.”

Stellara shuddered. “And my mother taught me that you were a kindly
people,” she said.

“Oh we do not mean to be unkind,” said Letari, “but the Korsars have
been very cruel to us and Zural believes that the gods will take word to
the Korsars that you were burned to death and that perhaps it will
frighten them and keep them away from Amiocap.”

Tanar arose to his feet and stood very straight and stiff. The horror of
the situation almost overwhelmed him. He looked down at Stellara’s
golden head and shuddered. “You cannot mean,” he said, “that the men of
Amiocap intend to burn this girl alive?”

“Why, yes,” said Letari. “It would do no good to kill her first for then
her spirit could not tell the gods that she was burned and they could
not tell the Korsars.”

“It is hideous,” cried Tanar; “and you, a girl yourself, have you no
sympathy; have you no heart?”

“I am very sorry that they are going to burn you,” said Letari, “but as
for her, she is a Korsar and I feel nothing but hatred and loathing for
her, but you are different. I know that you are not a Korsar and I wish
that I could save you.”

“Will you—would you, if you could?” demanded Tanar.

“Yes, but I cannot.”

The conversation relative to escape had been carried on in low whispers,
so that the guard would not overhear, but evidently it had aroused his
suspicion for now he arose and came to the doorway of the hut. “What are
you talking about?” he demanded. “Why do you stay in here so long,
Letari, talking with these Korsars? I heard what you said and I believe
that you are in love with this man.”

“What if I am?” demanded the girl. “Do not our gods demand that we love?
What else do we live for upon Amiocap but love?”

“The gods do not say that we should love our enemies.”

“They do not say that we should not,” retorted Letari. “If I choose to
love Tanar it is my own affair.”

“Clear out!” snapped the warrior. “There are plenty of men in Lar for
you to love.”

“Ah!” sighed the girl as she passed through the doorway, “but there is
none like Tanar.”

“The hateful little wanton,” cried Stellara after the girl left.

“She does not hesitate to reveal what is in her heart,” said Tanar. “The
girls of Sari are not like that. They would die rather than reveal their
love before the man had declared his. But perhaps she is only a child
and did not realize what she said.”

“A child nothing,” snapped Stellara. “She knew perfectly well what she
was saying and it is quite apparent that you liked it. Very well, when
she comes to save you, go with her.”

“You do not think that I intended to go with her alone even though an
opportunity for escape presented itself through her, do you?” demanded
Tanar.

“She told you that she would not help me to escape,” Stellara reminded
him.

“I know that, but it would be only in the hope of helping you to escape
that I would take advantage of her help.”

“I would rather be burned alive a dozen times than to escape with her
help.”

There was a venom in the girl’s voice that had never been there before
and Tanar looked at her in surprise. “I do not understand you,
Stellara,” he said.

“I do not understand myself,” said the girl, and burying her face in her
hands she burst into tears.

Tanar knelt quickly beside her and put an arm about her. “Don’t,” he
begged, “please don’t.”

She pushed him from her. “Go away,” she cried. “Don’t touch me. I hate
you.”

Tanar was about to speak again when he was interrupted by a great
commotion at the far end of the village. There were shouts and yells
from men, mingled with a thunderous noise that fairly shook the ground,
and then the deep booming of drums.

Instantly the men setting the stakes in the ground, where Tanar and
Stellara were to be burned, stopped their work, seized their weapons and
rushed in the direction from which the noise was coming.

The prisoners saw men, women and children running from their huts and
all directed their steps toward the same point. The guard before their
door leaped to his feet and stood for a moment looking at the running
villagers. Then, without a word or backward glance, he dashed off after
them.

Tanar, realizing that for the moment at least they were unguarded,
stepped from the dark cell out into the open living apartment and looked
in the direction toward which the villagers were running. There he saw
the cause of the disturbance and also an explanation of the purpose for
which the strange hanging barrier had been erected.

Just beyond the barrier loomed two gigantic mammoths—huge tandors,
towering sixteen feet or more in height—their wicked eyes red with hate
and rage; their great tusks gleaming in the sunlight; their long,
powerful trunks seeking to drag down the barrier from the sharpened
stakes of which their flesh recoiled. Facing the mammoths was a shouting
horde of warriors, screaming women and children, and above all rose the
thundering din of the drums.

Each time the tandors sought to force their way through the barrier, or
brush aside its posts, these swung about so that the sharpened stakes
threatened their eyes or pricked the tender flesh of their trunks, while
bravely facing them the shouting warriors hurled their stone-tipped
spears.

But however interesting or inspiring the sight might be, Tanar had no
time to spare to follow the course of this strange encounter. Turning to
Stellara, he seized her hand. “Come,” he cried. “Now is our chance!” And
while the villagers were engrossed with the tandors at the far end of
the village, Tanar and Stellara ran swiftly across the clearing and
entered the lush vegetation of the forest beyond.

There was no trail and it was with difficulty that they forced their way
through the underbrush for a short distance before Tanar finally halted.

“We shall never escape them in this way,” he said. “Our spoor is as
plain as the spoor of a dyryth after a rain.”

“How else then may we escape?” asked Stellara.

Tanar was looking upward into the trees examining them closely. “When I
was a prisoner among the black people with long tails,” he said, “I had
to learn to travel through the trees and this knowledge and the ability
have stood me in good stead many times since and I believe that they may
prove our salvation now.”

“You go then,” said Stellara, “and save yourself, for certainly I cannot
travel through the trees, and there is no reason why we should both be
recaptured when one of us can escape.”

Tanar smiled. “You know that I would not do that,” he said.

“But what else may you do?” demanded Stellara. “They will follow the
trail we are making and recapture us before we are out of hearing of the
village.”

“We shall leave no trail,” said Tanar. “Come,” and leaping lightly to a
lower branch he swung himself into the tree that spread above them.
“Give me your hand,” he said, reaching down to Stellara, and a moment
later he had drawn the girl to his side. Then he stood erect and
steadied the girl while she arose to her feet. Before them a maze of
branches stretched away to be lost in the foliage.

“We shall leave no spoor here,” said Tanar.

“I am afraid,” said Stellara. “Hold me tightly.”

“You will soon become accustomed to it,” said Tanar, “and then you will
not be afraid. At first I was afraid, but later I could swing through
the trees almost as rapidly as the black men themselves.”

“I cannot even take a single step,” said Stellara. “I know that I shall
fall.”

“You do not have to take a step,” said Tanar. “Put your arms around my
neck and hold on tightly,” and then he stooped and lifted her with his
left arm while she clung tightly to him, her soft white arms encircling
his neck.

“How easily you lifted me!” she said; “how strong you are; but no man
living could carry my weight through these trees and not fall.”

Tanar did not reply, but instead he moved off among the branches seeking
sure footing and secure handholds as he went. The girl’s soft body was
pressed close to his and in his nostrils was the delicate sachet that he
had sensed in his first contact with Stellara aboard the Korsar ship and
which now seemed a part of her.

As Tanar swung through the forest, the girl marveled at the strength of
the man. She had always considered him a weakling by comparison with the
beefy Korsars, but now she realized that in those smoothly rolling
muscles was concealed the power of a superman.

She found a fascination in watching him. He moved so easily and he did
not seem to tire. Once she let her lips fall until they touched his
thick, black hair and then, just a little, almost imperceptibly, she
tightened her arms about his neck.

Stellara was very happy and then, of a sudden, she recalled Letari and
she straightened up and relaxed her hold. “The vile wanton,” she said.

“Who?” demanded Tanar. “What are you talking about?”

“That creature, Letari,” said Stellara.

“Why she is not vile,” said Tanar. “I thought she was very nice and she
is certainly beautiful.”

“I believe you are in love with her,” snapped Stellara.

“That would not be difficult,” said Tanar. “She seemed very lovable.”

“Do you love her?” demanded Stellara.

“Why shouldn’t I?” asked Tanar.

“Do you?” insisted the girl.

“Would you care if I did?” asked Tanar, softly.

“Most certainly not,” said Stellara.

“Then why do you ask?”

“I didn’t ask,” said Stellara. “I do not care.”

“Oh,” said Tanar. “I misunderstood,” and he moved on in silence, for the
men of Sari are not talkative, and Stellara did not know what was in his
mind for his face did not reflect the fact that he was laughing
inwardly, and, anyway, Stellara could not see his face.

Tanar moved always in one direction and his homing instinct assured him
that the direction lay toward Sari. As far as the land went he could
move unerringly toward the spot in Pellucidar where he was born. Every
Pellucidarian can do that, but put them on the water, out of sight of
land, and that instinct leaves them and they have no more conception of
direction than would you or I if we were transported suddenly to a land
where there are no points of compass since the sun hangs perpetually at
zenith and there is no moon and no stars. Tanar’s only wish at present
was to put them as far as possible from the village of Lar. He would
travel until they reached the coast for, knowing that Amiocap was an
island, he knew that eventually they must come to the ocean. What they
should do then was rather vague in his mind. He had visions of building
a boat and embarking upon the sea, although he knew perfectly well that
this would be madness on the part of a hill dweller such as he.

Presently he felt hungry and he knew that they must have traveled a
considerable distance.

Sometimes Tanar kept track of distance by computing the number of steps
that he took, for by much practice he had learned to count them almost
mechanically, leaving his mind free for other perceptions and thoughts,
but here among the branches of the trees, where his steps were not of
uniform length, he had thought it not worth the effort to count them and
so he could only tell by the recurrence of hunger that they must have
covered considerable distance since they left the village of Lar.

During their flight through the forest they had seen birds and monkeys
and other animals and, on several occasions, they had paralleled or
crossed game trails, but as the Amiocapians had stripped him of his
weapons he had no means of obtaining meat until he could stop long
enough to fashion a bow and some arrows and a spear.

How he missed his spear! From childhood it had been his constant
companion and for a long time he had felt almost helpless without it. He
had never become entirely accustomed or reconciled to carrying firearms,
feeling in the bottom of his primitive and savage heart that there was
nothing more dependable than a sturdy, stone shod spear.

He had rather liked the bow and arrows that Innes and Perry had taught
him to make and use, as the arrows had seemed like little spears. At
least one could see them, whereas with the strange and noisy weapons,
which belched forth smoke and flame, one could not see the projectile at
all. It was most unnatural and uncanny.

But Tanar’s mind was not occupied with such thoughts at this time. Food
was dominant.

Presently they came to a small, natural clearing beside a crystal brook
and Tanar swung lightly to the ground.

“We shall stop here,” he said, “until I can make weapons and get meat
for us.”

With the feel of the ground beneath her feet again Stellara felt more
independent. “I am not hungry,” she said.

“I am,” said Tanar.

“There are berries and fruits and nuts in plenty,” she insisted. “We
should not wait here to be overtaken by the warriors from Lar.”

“We shall wait here until I have made weapons,” said Tanar, with
finality, “and then I shall not only be in a position to make a kill for
meat, but I shall be able better to defend you against Zural’s
warriors.”

“I wish to go on,” said Stellara. “I do not wish to stay here,” and she
stamped her little foot.

Tanar looked at her in surprise. “What is the matter with you, Stellara?
You were never like this before.”

“I do not know what is the matter with me,” said the girl. “I only know
that I wish I were back in Korsar, in the house of The Cid. There, at
least, I should be among friends. Here I am surrounded only by enemies.”

“Then you would have Bohar the Bloody One as a mate, if he survived the
storm, or if not he another like him,” Tanar reminded her.

“At least he loved me,” said Stellara.

“And you loved him?” asked Tanar.

“Perhaps,” said Stellara.

There was a peculiar look on Tanar’s face as his eyes rested upon the
girl. He did not understand her, but he seemed to be trying to. She was
looking past him, a strange expression upon her face when suddenly she
voiced an exclamation of dismay and pointed past him.

“Look!” she cried. “Oh, God, look!”




                                   V
                           THE TANDOR HUNTER


So filled with fear was Stellara’s tone that Tanar felt the hair rise
upon his scalp as he wheeled about to face the thing that had so filled
the girl with horror, but even had he had time to conjure in his
imagination a picture worthy of her fright, he could not have imagined a
more fearsome or repulsive thing than that which was advancing upon
them.

In conformation it was primarily human, but there the similarity ended.
It had arms and legs and it walked erect upon two feet; but such feet!
They were huge, flat things with nailless toes—short, stubby toes with
webs between them. Its arms were short and in lieu of fingers its hands
were armed with three heavy claws. It stood somewhere in the
neighborhood of five feet in height and there was not a vestige of hair
upon its entire naked body, the skin of which was of the sickly pallor
of a corpse.

But these attributes lent to it but a fraction of its repulsiveness—it
was its head and face that were appalling. It had no external ears,
there being only two small orifices on either side of its head where
these organs are ordinarily located. Its mouth was large with loose,
flabby lips that were drawn back now into a snarl that exposed two rows
of heavy fangs. Two small openings above the center of the mouth marked
the spot where a nose should have been and, to add further to the
hideousness of its appearance, it was eyeless, unless bulging
protuberances forcing out the skin where the eyes should have been might
be called eyes. Here the skin upon the face moved as though great, round
eyes were rolling beneath. The hideousness of that blank face without
eyelids, lashes or eyebrows shocked even the calm and steady nerves of
Tanar.

The creature carried no weapons, but what need had it for weapons, armed
as it was with those formidable claws and fangs? Beneath its pallid skin
surged great muscles that attested its giant strength and upon its
otherwise blank face the mouth alone was sufficient to suggest its
diabolical ferocity.

“Run, Tanar!” cried Stellara. “Take to the trees! It is one of the
Buried People.” But the thing was too close to him to admit of escape
even if Tanar had been minded to desert Stellara, and so he stood there
quietly awaiting the encounter and then suddenly, as though to add to
the uncanny horror of the situation, the thing spoke. From its flabby,
drooling lips issued sounds—mumbled, ghastly sounds that yet took on the
semblance of speech until it became intelligible in a distorted way to
Tanar and Stellara.

“It is the woman I want,” mumbled the creature. “Give me the woman, and
the man may go.” To Tanar’s shocked sensibilities it was as though a
mutilated corpse had risen from the grave and spoken, and he fell back a
step with a sensation as nearly akin to horror as he had ever
experienced.

“You cannot have the woman,” said Tanar. “Leave us alone, or I will kill
you.”

An uncanny scream that was a mixture of laugh and shriek broke from the
lips of the thing. “Then die!” it cried, as it launched itself upon the
Sarian.

As it closed it struck upward with its heavy claws in an attempt to
disembowel its antagonist, but Tanar eluded its first rush by leaping
lightly to one side and then, turning quickly, he hurled himself upon
the loathsome body and circling its neck with one powerful arm Tanar
turned suddenly and, bending his body forward and downward, hurled the
creature over his head and heavily to the ground.

But instantly it was up again and at him. Screaming with rage and
frothing at the mouth it stuck wildly with its heavy claws, but Tanar
had learned certain things from David Innes that men of the stone age
ordinarily do not know, for David had taught him, as he had taught many
another young Pellucidarian, the art of self-defense, including boxing,
wrestling and jiu-jitsu, and now again they came into good stead as they
had upon other occasions since he had mastered them and once more he
gave thanks for the fortunate circumstance that had brought David Innes
from the outer crust to Pellucidar to direct the destinies of its human
race as first emperor.

Combined with his knowledge, training and agility was Tanar’s great
strength, without which these other accomplishments would have been of
far lesser value, and so as the creature struck, Tanar parried the
blows, fending the wicked talons from his flesh and with a strength that
surprised his antagonist since it was fully as great as his own.

But what was still more surprising to the monster was the frequency with
which Tanar was able to step in and deliver telling blows to the body
and head that, in its awkwardness and lack of skill, it was unable to
properly protect.

To one side, watching the battle for which she was the stake, stood
Stellara. She might have run away and hidden; she might have made good
her escape, but no such thoughts entered her courageous little head. It
would have been as impossible for her to desert her champion in the hour
of his need as it would have been for him to leave her to her fate and
so she stood there, helpless, awaiting the outcome.

To and fro across the clearing the battlers moved, trampling down the
lush vegetation that sometimes grew so thickly as to hamper their
movements, and now it became apparent to both Stellara and Tanar from
the labored breathing of the creature that it was being steadily worn
down and that it lacked the endurance of the Sarian. However, probably
sensing something of this itself, it now redoubled its efforts and the
ferocity of its attack, and, at the same time, Tanar discovered a
vulnerable spot at which to aim his blows.

Striking for the face he had accidentally touched one of the bulging
protuberances that lay beneath the skin where the eyes should have been.
At the impact of the blow, light as it was, the creature screamed and
leaped backward, instinctively raising one of its claws to the injured
organ and thereafter Tanar directed all his efforts toward placing
further and heavier blows upon those two bulging spots.

He struck again and landed cleanly a heavy blow upon one of them. With a
shriek of pain the creature stepped back and clamped both paws to its
hurt.

They were fighting very close to where Stellara stood. The creature’s
back was toward her and she could have reached out and touched him, so
near was he to her. She saw Tanar spring forward to strike again. The
creature dropped back quite abreast of her and then suddenly lowering
its head it gave vent to a horrid shriek and charged the Sarian with all
the hideous ferocity that it could gather.

It seemed as though it had mustered all its remaining vitality and
thrown it into this last, mad charge. Tanar, his mind and muscles
coördinating perfectly, quick to see openings and take advantage of them
and equally quick to realize the advantages of retreat, leaped backward
to avoid the mad charge and the flailing claws, but as he did so one of
his heels struck a low bush and he fell heavily to the ground upon his
back.

For the moment he was helpless and in that brief moment the creature
could be upon him with those horrid fangs and ripping claws.

Tanar knew it. The thing charging him knew it and Stellara, standing so
close to them, knew it, and so quickly did she act that Tanar had
scarcely struck the ground as she launched herself bodily upon the
charging monster from behind.

As a football player hurls himself forward to tackle an opponent so
Stellara hurled herself at the creature. Her arms encircled its knees
and then slipped down, as he kicked and struggled to free himself, until
finally she secured a hold upon one of his skinny ankles just above its
huge foot. There she clung and the creature lunged forward just short of
Tanar, but instantly, with a howl of rage, it turned to rend the girl.
But that brief instant of delay had been sufficient to permit Tanar to
regain his feet and ere ever the talons or fangs could sink into the
soft flesh of Stellara, Tanar was upon the creature’s back. Fingers of
steel encircled its throat and though it struggled and struck out with
its heavy claws it was at last helpless in the clutches of the Sarian.

Slowly, relentlessly, Tanar choked the life from the monster and then,
with an expression of disgust, he cast the corpse aside and stepped
quickly to where Stellara was staggering weakly to her feet.

He put his arm about her and for a moment she buried her face in his
shoulder and sobbed. “Do not be afraid,” he said; “the thing is dead.”

She raised her face toward his. “Let us go away from here,” she said. “I
am afraid. There may be more of the Buried People about. There must be
an entrance to their underworld near here, for they do not wander far
from such openings.”

“Yes,” he said, “until I have weapons I wish to see no more of them.”

“They are horrible creatures,” said Stellara, “and if there had been two
of them we should both have been lost.”

“What are they?” asked Tanar. “You seem to know about them. Where had
you ever seen one before?”

“I have never seen one until just now,” said she, “but my mother told me
about them. They are feared and hated by all Amiocapians. They are
Coripies and they inhabit dark caverns and tunnels beneath the surface
of the ground. That is why we call them the Buried People. They live on
flesh and wandering about the jungle they gather up the remains of our
kills and devour the bodies of wild beasts that have died in the forest,
but being afraid of our spears they do not venture far from the openings
that lead down into their dark world. Occasionally they waylay a lone
hunter and less often they come to one of our villages and seize a woman
or child. No one has ever entered their world and escaped to tell about
it, so that what my mother has told me about them is only what our
people have imagined as to the underworld where the Buried People dwell
for there has never been any Amiocapian warrior brave enough to venture
into the dark recesses of one of their tunnels, or if there has been
such he has not returned to tell of it.”

“And if the kindly Amiocapians had not decided to burn us to death, they
might have given us to the Buried People?” asked Tanar.

“Yes, they would have taken us and bound us to trees close to one of the
entrances to the underworld, but do not blame my mother’s people for
that as they would have been doing only that which they considered right
and proper.”

“Perhaps they are a kindly people,” said Tanar, with a grin, “for it was
certainly far more kindly to accord us death by burning at the stake
than to have left us to the horrid attentions of the Coripies. But come,
we will take to the trees again, for this spot does not look as
beautiful to me now as it did when we first looked upon it.”

Once more they took up their flight among the branches and just as they
were commencing to feel the urge to sleep Tanar discovered a small deer
in a game trail beneath them, and making his kill the two satisfied
their hunger, and then with small branches and great leaves Tanar
constructed a platform in a tree—a narrow couch, where Stellara lay down
to sleep while he stood guard, and after she had slept he slept, and
then once more they resumed their flight.

Strengthened and refreshed by food and sleep they renewed their journey
in higher spirits and greater hopefulness. The village of Lar lay far
behind and since they had left it they had seen no other village nor any
sign of man.

While Stellara had slept Tanar had busied himself in fashioning crude
weapons against the time when he might find proper materials for the
making of better ones. A slender branch of hard wood, gnawed to a point
by his strong, white teeth, must answer him for a spear. His bow was
constructed of another branch and strung with tendons taken from the
deer he had killed, while his arrows were slender shoots cut from a
tough shrub that grew plentifully throughout the forest. He fashioned a
second, lighter spear for Stellara, and thus armed each felt a sense of
security that had been entirely wanting before.

On and on they went, three times they ate and once again they slept, and
still they had not reached the seacoast.

The great sun hung overhead; a gentle, cooling breeze moved through the
forest; birds of gorgeous plumage and little monkeys unknown to the
outer world flew or scampered, sang or chattered as the man and the
woman disturbed them in their passage. It was a peaceful world and to
Tanar, accustomed to the savage, carnivorous beasts that overran the
great mainland of his birth, it seemed a very safe and colorless world;
yet he was content that nothing was interfering with their progress
toward escape.

Stellara had said no more about desiring to return to Korsar and the
plan that always hovered among his thoughts included taking Stellara
back to Sari with him.

The peaceful trend of Tanar’s thoughts was suddenly shattered by the
sound of shrill trumpeting. So close it sounded that it might almost
have been directly beneath him, and an instant later as he parted the
foliage ahead of him he saw the cause of the disturbance.

The jungle ended here upon the edge of open meadowland that was dotted
with small clumps of trees. In the foreground there were two figures—a
warrior fleeing for his life and behind him a huge tandor, which, though
going upon three legs, was sure soon to overtake the man.

Tanar took the entire scene in at a glance and was aware that here was a
lone tandor hunter who had failed to hamstring his prey in both hind
legs.

It is seldom that man hunts the great tandor single-handed and only the
bravest or the most rash would essay to do so. Ordinarily there are
several hunters, two of whom are armed with heavy, stone axes. While the
others make a noise to attract the attention of the tandor and hide the
sound of the approach of the axe men, the latter creep cautiously
through the underbrush from the rear of the great animal until each is
within striking distance of a hind leg. Then simultaneously they
hamstring the monster, which, lying helpless, they dispatch with heavy
spears and arrows.

He who would alone hamstring a tandor must be endowed not only with
great strength and courage, but must be able to strike two unerring
blows with his axe in such rapid succession that the beast is crippled
almost before it realizes that it has been attacked.

It was evident to Tanar that this hunter had failed to get in his second
blow quickly enough and now he was at the mercy of the great beast.

Since they had started upon their flight through the trees Stellara had
overcome her fear and was now able to travel alone with only occasional
assistance from Tanar. She had been following the Sarian and now she
stood at his side, watching the tragedy being enacted below them.

“He will be killed,” she cried. “Can we not save him?”

This thought had not occurred to Tanar, for was the man not an
Amiocapian and an enemy; but there was something in the girl’s tone that
spurred the Sarian to action. Perhaps it was the instinct in the male to
exhibit his prowess before the female. Perhaps it was because at heart
Tanar was brave and magnanimous, or perhaps it was because that among
all the other women in the world it was Stellara who had spoken. Who may
know? Perhaps Tanar did not know himself what prompted his next act.

Shouting a word that is familiar to all tandor hunters and which is most
nearly translatable into English as “Reverse!” he leaped to the ground
almost at the side of the charging tandor and simultaneously he carried
his spear hand back and drove the heavy shaft deep into the beast’s
side, just behind its left shoulder. Then he leaped back into the forest
expecting that the tandor would do precisely what it did do.

With a squeal of pain it turned upon its new tormentor.

The Amiocapian, who still clung to his heavy axe, had heard, as though
it was a miracle from the gods, the familiar signal that had burst so
suddenly from Tanar’s lips. It had told him what the other would attempt
and he was ready, with the result that he turned back toward the beast
at the instant that it wheeled to charge after Tanar, and as it crashed
into the undergrowth of the jungle in pursuit of the Sarian the
Amiocapian overtook it. The great axe moved swiftly as lightning and the
huge beast, trumpeting with rage, sank helplessly to the ground and
rolled over on its side.

“Down!” shouted the Amiocapian, to advise Tanar that the attack had been
successful.

The Sarian returned and together the two warriors dispatched the great
beast, while above them Stellara remained among the concealing verdure
of the trees, for the women of Pellucidar do not rashly expose
themselves to view of enemy warriors. In this instance she knew that it
would be safer to wait and discover the attitude of the Amiocapian
toward Tanar. Perhaps he would be grateful and friendly, but there was
the possibility that he might not.

The beast dispatched, the two men faced one another. “Who are you,”
demanded the Amiocapian, “who came so bravely to the rescue of a
stranger? I do not recognize you. You are not of Amiocap.”

“My name is Tanar and I am from the kingdom of Sari, that lies far away
on the distant mainland. I was captured by the Korsars, who invaded the
empire of which Sari is a part. They were taking me and other prisoners
back to Korsar when the fleet was overtaken by a terrific storm and the
ship upon which I was confined was so disabled that it was deserted by
its crew. Drifting helplessly with the wind and current it finally bore
us to the shores of Amiocap, where we were captured by warriors from the
village of Lar. They did not believe our story, but thought that we were
Korsars and they were about to destroy us when we succeeded in making
our escape.

“If you do not believe me,” continued the Sarian, “then one of us must
die for under no circumstances will we return to Lar to be burned at the
stake.”

“Whether I believe you or not,” replied the Amiocapian, “I should be
beneath the contempt of all men were I to permit any harm to befall one
who has just saved my life at the risk of his own.”

“Very well,” said Tanar. “We shall go our way in the knowledge that you
will not reveal our whereabouts to the men of the village of Lar.”

“You say ‘we,’” said the Amiocapian. “You are not alone then?”

“No, there is another with me,” replied Tanar.

“Perhaps I can help you,” said the Amiocapian. “It is my duty to do so.
In what direction are you going and how do you plan to escape from
Amiocap?”

“We are seeking the coast where we hope to be able to build a craft and
to cross the ocean to the mainland.”

The Amiocapian shook his head. “That will be difficult,” he said. “Nay,
impossible.”

“We may only make the attempt,” said Tanar, “for it is evident that we
cannot remain here among the people of Amiocap, who will not believe
that we are not Korsars.”

“You do not look at all like the Korsars,” said the warrior. “Where is
your companion? Does he look like one?”

“My companion is a woman,” replied Tanar.

“If she looks no more like a Korsar than you, then it were easy to
believe your story and, I, for one, am willing to believe it and willing
to help you. There are other villages upon Amiocap than Lar and other
chiefs than Zural. We are all bitter against the Korsars, but we are not
all blinded by our hate as is Zural. Fetch your companion and if she
does not appear to be a Korsar, I will take you to my own village and
see that you are well treated. If I am in doubt I will permit you to go
your way; nor shall I mention the fact to others that I have seen you.”

“That is fair enough,” said Tanar, and then, turning, he called to the
girl. “Come, Stellara! Here is a warrior who would see if you are a
Korsar.”

The girl dropped lightly to the ground from the branches of the tree
above the two men.

As the eyes of the Amiocapian fell upon her he stepped back with an
exclamation of shock and surprise.

“Gods of Amiocap!” he cried. “Allara!”

The two looked at him in amazement. “No, not Allara,” said Tanar, “but
Stellara, her daughter. Who are you that you should so quickly recognize
the likeness?”

“I am Fedol,” said the man, “and Allara was my mate.”

“Then this is your daughter, Fedol,” said Tanar.

The warrior shook his head, sadly. “No,” he said, “I can believe that
she is the daughter of Allara, but her father must have been a Korsar
for Allara was stolen from me by the men of Korsar. She is a Korsar and
though my heart urges me to accept her as my daughter, the customs of
Amiocap forbid. Go your way in peace. If I can protect you I shall, but
I cannot accept you, or take you to my village.”

Stellara came close to Fedol, her eyes searching the tan skin upon his
left shoulder. “You are Fedol,” she said, pointing to the red birthmark
upon his skin, “and here is the proof that my mother gave me,
transmitted to me through your blood, that I am the daughter of Fedol,”
and she turned her left shoulder to him, and there lay upon the white
skin a small, round, red mark identical with that upon the left shoulder
of the Amiocapian.

For a moment Fedol stood spellbound, his eyes fixed upon Stellara’s
shoulder and then he took her into his arms and held her closely.

“My daughter!” he murmured. “Allara come back to me in the blood of our
blood and the flesh of our flesh!”




                                   VI
                           THE ISLAND OF LOVE


The noonday sun of Pellucidar shone down upon a happy trio as Fedol
guided Stellara and Tanar towards the village of Paraht, where he ruled
as chief.

“Will they receive us there as friends,” asked Stellara, “or will they
wish to destroy us as did the men of Lar?”

“I am chief,” said Fedol. “Even if they questioned you, they will do as
I command, but there will be no question for the proof is beyond dispute
and they will accept you as the daughter of Fedol and Allara, as I have
accepted you.”

“And Tanar?” asked Stellara, “will you protect him, too?”

“Your word is sufficient that he is not a Korsar,” replied Fedol. “He
may remain with us as long as he wishes.”

“What will Zural think of this?” asked Tanar. “He has condemned us to
die. Will he not insist that the sentence be carried out?”

“Seldom do the villagers of Amiocap war one against the other,” replied
Fedol; “but if Zural wishes war he shall have it ere ever I shall give
up you or my daughter to the burning stake of Lar.”

Great was the rejoicing when the people of Paraht saw their chief, whom
they had thought lost to them forever, returning. They clustered about
him with glad cries of welcome, which were suddenly stilled by loud
shouts of “The Korsars! The Korsars!” as the eyes of some of the people
alighted upon Tanar and Stellara.

“Who cried ‘Korsars’?” demanded Fedol. “What know you of these people?”

“I know them,” replied a tall warrior. “I am from Lar. There are six
others with me and we have been searching for these Korsars, who escaped
just before they were to have been burned at the stake. We will take
them back with us and Zural will rejoice that you have captured them.”

“You will take them nowhere,” said Fedol. “They are not Korsars. This
one,” and he placed a hand upon Stellara’s shoulder, “is my daughter,
and the man is a warrior from distant Sari. He is the son of the king of
that country, which lies far away upon a mainland unknown to us.”

“They told that same story to Zural,” said the warrior from Lar; “but we
did not believe them. None of us believed them. I was with Vulhan and
his party when we took them from the Korsar ship that brought them to
Amiocap.”

“At first I did not believe them,” said Fedol, “but Stellara convinced
me that she is my daughter, just as I can convince you of the truth of
her statement.”

“How?” demanded the warrior.

“By the birthmark on my left shoulder,” replied Fedol. “Look at it, and
then compare it with the one upon her left shoulder. No one who knew
Allara can doubt that Stellara is her daughter, so closely does the girl
resemble her mother, and being Allara’s daughter how could she inherit
the birthmark upon her left shoulder from any other sire than me?”

The warriors from Lar scratched their heads. “It would seem the best of
proof,” replied the warriors’ spokesman.

“It is the best of proof,” said Fedol. “It is all that I need. It is all
the people of Paraht need. Take the word to Zural and the people of Lar
and I believe that they will accept my daughter and Tanar as we are
accepting them, and I believe that they will be willing to protect them
as we intend to protect them from all enemies, whether from Amiocap or
elsewhere.”

“I shall take your message to Zural,” replied the warrior, and shortly
afterward they departed on the trail toward Lar.

Fedol prepared a room in his house for Stellara and assigned Tanar to a
large building that was occupied solely by bachelors.

Plans were made for a great feast to celebrate the coming of Stellara
and a hundred men were dispatched to fetch the ivory and the meat of the
tandor that Fedol and Tanar had slain.

Fedol decked Stellara with ornaments of bone and ivory and gold. She
wore the softest furs and the gorgeous plumage of rare birds. The people
of Paraht loved her and Stellara was happy.

Tanar was accepted at first by the men of the tribe with some
reservations, not untinged with suspicion. He was their guest by the
order of their chief and they treated him as such, but presently, when
they came to know him and particularly after he had hunted with them,
they liked him for himself and made him one of them.

The Amiocapians were, at first, an enigma to Tanar. Their tribal life
and all their customs were based primarily upon love and kindness. Harsh
words, bickering and scolding were practically unknown among them. These
attributes of the softer side of man appeared at first weak and
effeminate to the Sarian, but when he found them combined with great
strength and rare courage his admiration for the Amiocapians knew no
bounds, and he soon recognized in their attitude toward one another and
toward life a philosophy that he hoped he might make clear to his own
Sarians.

The Amiocapians considered love the most sacred of the gifts of the
gods, and the greatest power for good and they practiced liberty of love
without license. So that while they were not held in slavery by
senseless man-made laws that denied the laws of God and nature, yet they
were pure and virtuous to a degree beyond that which he had known in any
other people.

With hunting and dancing and feasting, with tests of skill and strength
in which the men of Amiocap contended in friendly rivalry, life for
Stellara and Tanar was ideally happy.

Less and less often did the Sarian think of Sari. Sometime he would
build a boat and return to his native country, but there was no hurry;
he would wait, and gradually even that thought faded almost entirely
from his mind. He and Stellara were often together. They found a measure
of happiness and contentment in one another’s society that was lacking
at other times or with other people. Tanar had never spoken of love.
Perhaps he had not thought of love for it seemed that he was always
engaged upon some enterprise of the hunt, or contending in some of the
sports and games of the men. His body and his mind were occupied—a
condition which sometimes excludes thoughts of love, but wherever he
went or whatever he did the face and figure of Stellara hovered ever in
the background of his thoughts.

Without realizing it, perhaps, his every thought, his every act was
influenced by the sweet loveliness of the chief’s daughter. Her
friendship he took for granted and it gave him great happiness, but yet
he did not speak of love. But Stellara was a woman, and women live on
love.

In the village of Paraht she saw the girls openly avowing their love to
men, but she was still bound by the customs of Korsar and it would have
been impossible for her to bring herself to tell a man that she loved
him until he had avowed his love. And so hearing no word of love from
Tanar, she was content with his friendship. Perhaps she, too, had given
no more thought to the matter of love than he.

But there was another who did harbor thoughts of love. It was Doval, the
Adonis of Paraht. In all Amiocap there was no handsomer youth than
Doval. Many were the girls who had avowed their love to him, but his
heart had been unmoved until he looked upon Stellara.

Doval came often to the house of Fedol the chief. He brought presents of
skin and ivory and bone to Stellara and they were much together. Tanar
saw and he was troubled, but why he was troubled he did not know.

The people of Paraht had eaten and slept many times since the coming of
Tanar and Stellara and as yet no word had come from Zural, or the
village of Lar, in answer to the message that Fedol had sent, but now,
at last, there entered the village a party of warriors from Lar, and
Fedol, sitting upon the chief’s chair, received them in the tiled living
room of his home.

“Welcome, men of Lar,” said the chief. “Fedol welcomes you to the
village of Paraht and awaits with impatience the message that you bring
him from his friend, Zural the chief.”

“We come from Zural and the people of Lar,” said the spokesman, “with a
message of friendship for Fedol and Paraht. Zural, our chief, has
commanded us to express to you his deep sorrow for the unintentional
wrong that he did your daughter and the warrior from Sari. He is
convinced that Stellara is your daughter and that the man is no Korsar
if you are convinced of these facts, and he has sent presents to them
and to you and with these presents an invitation for you to visit the
village of Lar and bring Stellara and Tanar with you that Zural and his
people may make amends for the wrong that they unwittingly did them.”

Fedol and Tanar and Stellara accepted the proffered friendship of Zural
and his people, and a feast was prepared in honor of the visitors.

While these preparations were in progress a girl entered the village
from the jungle. She was a dark-haired girl of extraordinary beauty. Her
soft skin was scratched and soiled as from a long journey. Her hair was
disheveled, but her eyes were bright with happiness and her teeth
gleamed from between lips that were parted in a smile of triumph and
expectation.

She made her way directly through the village to the house of Fedol and
when the warriors of Lar descried her they exclaimed with astonishment.

“Letari!” cried one of them. “Where did you come from? What are you
doing in the village of Paraht?”

But Letari did not answer. Instead she walked directly to where Tanar
stood and halted before him.

“I have come to you,” she said. “I have died many a death from
loneliness and sorrow since you ran away from the village of Lar, and
when the warriors returned and said that you were safe in the village of
Paraht I determined to come here. And so when Zural sent these warriors
to bear his message to Fedol I followed them. The way has been hard and
though I kept close behind them there were many times when wild beasts
menaced me and I feared that I should never reach you, but at last I am
here.”

“But why have you come?” demanded Tanar.

“Because I love you,” replied Letari. “Before the men of Lar and all the
people of Paraht I proclaim my love.”

Tanar flushed. In all his life he had never been in so embarrassing a
position. All eyes were turned upon him and among them were the eyes of
Stellara.

“Well?” demanded Fedol, looking at Tanar.

“The girl is mad,” said the Sarian. “She cannot love me for she scarcely
knows me. She never spoke to me but once before and that was when she
brought food to Stellara and me when we were prisoners in the village of
Lar.”

“I am not mad,” said Letari. “I love you.”

“Will you have her?” asked Fedol.

“I do not love her,” said Tanar.

“We will take her back to the village of Lar with us when we go,” said
one of the warriors.

“I shall not go,” cried Letari. “I love him and I shall stay here
forever.”

The girl’s declaration of love for Tanar seemed not to surprise any one
but the Sarian. It aroused little comment and no ridicule. The
Amiocapians, with the possible exception of Stellara, took it as a
matter of course. It was the most natural thing in the world for the
people of this island of love to declare themselves publicly in matters
pertaining to their hearts or to their passions.

That the general effect of such a policy was not nor never had been
detrimental to the people as a race was evident by their high
intelligence, the perfection of their physique, their great beauty and
their unquestioned courage. Perhaps the opposite custom, which has
prevailed among most of the people of the outer crust for so many ages,
is responsible for the unnumbered millions of unhappy human beings who
are warped or twisted mentally, morally or physically.

But with such matters the mind of Letari was not concerned. It was not
troubled by any consideration of posterity. All she thought of was that
she loved the handsome stranger from Sari and that she wanted to be near
him. She came close to him and looked up into his face.

“Why do you not love me?” she asked. “Am I not beautiful?”

“Yes, you are very beautiful,” he said; “but no one can explain love,
least of all I. Perhaps there are qualities of mind and character—things
that we can neither see nor feel nor hear—that draw one heart forever to
another.”

“But I am drawn to you,” said the girl. “Why are not you attracted to
me?”

Tanar shook his head for he did not know. He wished that the girl would
go away and leave him alone for she made him feel uneasy and restless
and entirely uncomfortable, but Letari had no idea of leaving him alone.
She was near him and there she intended to stay until they dragged her
away and took her back to Lar, if they were successful in so doing, but
she had determined in her little head that she should run away from them
at the first opportunity and hide in the jungle until she could return
to Paraht and Tanar.

“Will you talk to me?” she asked. “Perhaps if you talk to me you will
love me.”

“I will talk to you,” said Tanar, “but I shall not love you.”

“Let us walk a little way from these people where we may talk,” she
said.

“Very well,” said Tanar. He was only too anxious himself to get away
where he might hide his embarrassment.

Letari led the way down the village street, her soft arm brushing his.
“I should be a good mate,” she said, “for I should love only you, and
if, after a while, you did not like me you could send me away for that
is one of the customs of Amiocap—that when one of two people ceases to
love they shall no longer be mates.”

“But they do not become mates unless they both love,” insisted Tanar.

“That is true,” admitted Letari, “but presently you shall love me. I
know that, for all men love me. I could have for my mate any man in Lar
that I choose.”

“You do not feel unkindly towards yourself,” said Tanar, with a grin.

“Why should I?” asked Letari. “Am I not beautiful and young?”

Stellara watched Tanar and Letari walking down the village street. She
saw how close together they walked and it seemed that Tanar was very
much interested in what Letari had to say to him. Doval was standing at
her side. She turned to him.

“It is noisy here,” she said. “There are too many people. Walk with me
to the end of the village.”

It was the first time that Stellara had ever indicated a desire to be
alone with him and Doval felt a strange thrill of elation. “I will walk
with you to the end of the village, Stellara, or to the end of
Pellucidar, forever, because I love you,” he said.

The girl sighed and shook her head. “Do not talk about love,” she
begged. “I merely wish to walk and there is no one else here to walk
with me.”

“Why will you not love me?” asked Doval, as they left the house of the
chief and entered the main street of the village. “Is it because you
love another?”

“No,” cried Stellara, vehemently. “I love no one. I hate all men.”

Doval shook his head in perplexity. “I cannot understand you,” he said.
“Many girls have told me that they loved me. I think that I could have
almost any girl in Amiocap as my mate if I asked her; but you, the only
one that I love, will not have me.”

For a few moments Stellara was silent in thought. Then she turned to the
handsome youth at her side. “You are very sure of yourself, Doval,” she
said, “but I do not believe that you are right. I would be willing to
bet that I could name a girl who would not have you; who, no matter how
hard you tried to make her, would not love you.”

“If you mean yourself, then there is one,” he said, “but there is no
other.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” insisted Stellara.

“Who is she?” demanded Doval.

“Letari, the girl from Lar,” said Stellara.

Doval laughed. “She throws her love at the first stranger that comes to
Amiocap,” he said. “She would be too easy.”

“Nevertheless you cannot make her love you,” insisted Stellara.

“I do not intend to try,” said Doval. “I do not love her. I love only
you, and if I made her love me of what good would that be toward making
you love me? No, I shall spend my time trying to win you.”

“You are afraid,” said Stellara. “You know that you would fail.”

“It would do me no good if I succeeded,” insisted Duval.

“It would make me like you very much better than I do now,” said
Stellara.

“You mean that?” asked Doval.

“I most certainly do,” said Stellara.

“Then I shall make the girl love me,” said Doval. “And if I do you
promise to be mine?”

“I said nothing of the kind,” said Stellara. “I only said that I should
like you very much better than I do now.”

“Well, that is something,” said Doval. “If you will like me very much
better than you do now that is at least a step in the right direction.”

“However, there is no danger of that,” said Stellara, “for you cannot
make her love you.”

“Wait, and see,” said Doval.

As Tanar and Letari turned to come back along the village street they
passed Doval and Stellara, and Tanar saw that they were walking very
close together and whispering in low tones. The Sarian scowled; and
suddenly he discovered that he did not like Doval and he wondered why
because always he had thought Doval a very fine fellow. Presently it
occurred to him that the reason was that Doval was not good enough for
Stellara, but then if Stellara loved him that was all there was to it
and with the thought that perhaps Stellara loved him Tanar became angry
with Stellara. What could she see in this Doval, he wondered, and what
business had Doval to walk alone with her in the village streets? Had
not he, Tanar, always had Stellara to himself? Never before had any one
interfered, although all the men liked Stellara. Well, if Stellara liked
Doval better than she did him, he would show her that he did not care.
He, Tanar the Sarian, son of Ghak, king of Sari, would not let any woman
make a fool of him and so he ostentatiously put his arm around the slim
shoulders of Letari and walked thus slowly the length of the village
street; nor did Stellara fail to see.

At the feast that was given in honor of the messengers sent by Zural,
Stellara sat by Doval and Tanar had Letari at his side, and Doval and
Letari were happy.

After the feast was over most of the villagers returned to their houses
and slept, but Tanar was restless and unhappy and could not sleep so he
took his weapons, his heavy spear shod with bone, his bow and his
arrows, and his stone knife with the ivory handle, that Fedol the chief
had given him, and went alone into the forest to hunt.

If the villagers slept an hour or a day is a matter of no moment, since
there was no way of measuring the time. When they awoke—some sooner,
some later—they went about the various duties of their life. Letari
sought for Tanar, but she could not find him; instead she came upon
Doval.

“You are very beautiful,” said the man.

“I know it,” replied Letari.

“You are the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen,” insisted Doval.

Letari looked at him steadily for a few moments. “I never noticed you
before,” she said. “You are very handsome. You are quite the handsomest
man that I ever saw.”

“That is what every one says,” replied Doval. “Many girls have told me
that they loved me, but still I have no mate.”

“A woman wants something beside a handsome face in her mate,” said
Letari.

“I am very brave,” said Doval, “and I am a great hunter. I like you.
Come, let us walk together,” and Doval put his arm about the girl’s
shoulders and together they walked along the village street, while, from
the doorway of her sleeping apartment in the home of her father, the
chief, Stellara watched, and as she watched, a smile touched her lips.

Over the village of Paraht rested the peace of Amiocap and the calm of
eternal noon. The children played at games beneath the shade of the
trees that had been left dotting the village here and there when the
clearing had been made. The women worked upon skins, strung beads or
prepared food. The men looked to their weapons against the next hunt, or
lolled idly on furs in their open living rooms—those who were not still
sleeping off the effects of the heavy feast. Fedol, the chief, was
bidding farewell to Zural’s messengers and entrusting to them a gift for
the ruler of Lar, when suddenly the peace and quiet was shattered by
hoarse cries and a shattering burst of musketry.

Instantly all was pandemonium. Then women and warriors rushed from their
homes; shouts, curses and screams filled the air.

“Korsars! Korsars!” rang through the village, as the bearded ruffians,
taking advantage of the surprise and confusion of the villagers, rushed
rapidly forward to profit by the advantage they had gained.




                                  VII
                               “KORSARS!”


Tanar the Sarian hunted through the primeval forest of Amiocap. Already
his repute as a hunter stood high among the men of Paraht, but it was
not to add further luster to his fame that he hunted now. It was to
quiet a restlessness that would not permit him to sleep—restlessness and
a strange depression that was almost unhappiness, but his thoughts were
not always upon the hunt. Visions of Stellara often walked in front of
him, the golden sunlight on her golden hair, and then beside her he saw
the handsome Doval with an arm about her shoulder. He closed his eyes
and shook his head to dispel the vision, but it persisted and he tried
thinking of Letari, the beautiful maiden from Lar. Yes, Letari was
beautiful. What eyes she had; and she loved him. Perhaps, after all, it
would be as well to mate with her and remain forever upon Amiocap, but
presently he found himself comparing Letari with Stellara and he found
himself wishing that Letari possessed more of the characteristics of
Stellara. She had not the character nor the intelligence of the daughter
of Fedol. She offered him none of the restful companionship that had
made his association with Stellara so infinitely happy.

He wondered if Stellara loved Doval, and if Doval loved Stellara, and
with the thoughts he halted in his tracks and his eyes went wide as a
sudden realization burst for the first time upon his consciousness.

“God!” he exclaimed aloud. “What a fool I have been. I have loved her
always and did not know it,” and wheeling about he set off at a brisk
trot in the direction of Paraht, all thoughts of his hunt erased from
his mind.

Tanar had hunted far, much farther than he had thought, but at last he
came to the village of Fedol the chief. As he passed through the hanging
barrier of Paraht, the first people that he saw were Letari and Doval.
They were walking side by side and very close and the man’s arm was
about the slim shoulders of the girl.

Letari looked at Tanar in astonishment as she recognized him. “We all
thought the Korsars had taken you with them,” she cried.

“Korsars!” exclaimed Tanar. “What Korsars?”

“They were here,” said Doval. “They raided the village, but we drove
them off with just a small loss. There were not many of them. Where were
you?”

“After the feast I went into the forest to hunt,” said Tanar. “I did not
know that there was a Korsar upon the island of Amiocap.”

“It is just as well that you were not here,” said Letari, “for while you
were away I have learned that I love Doval.”

“Where is Stellara?” demanded Tanar.

“She was taken by the Korsars,” said Doval. “Thank God that it was not
you, Letari,” and, stooping, he kissed the girl upon the lips.

With a cry of grief and rage Tanar ran swiftly to the house of Fedol the
chief. “Where is Stellara?” he demanded, springing unceremoniously into
the center of the living room.

An old woman looked up from where she sat with her face buried in her
hands. She was the sole occupant of the room. “The Korsars took her,”
she said.

“Where is Fedol then?” demanded Tanar.

“He has gone with warriors to try to rescue her,” said the old woman,
“but it is useless. They, who are taken by the Korsars, never come
back.”

“Which way did they go?” asked Tanar.

Sobbing with grief, the old woman pointed in the direction taken by the
Korsars, and again she buried her face in her hands, grieving for the
misfortune that had overtaken the house of Fedol the chief.

Almost immediately Tanar picked up the trail of the Korsars, which he
could identify by the imprints of their heeled boots, and he saw that
Fedol and his warriors had not followed the same trail, evidencing the
fact that they must have gone in the wrong direction to succor Stellara
successfully.

Sick with anguish, maddened by hate, the Sarian plunged on through the
forest. Plain to his eyes lay the spoor of his quarry. In his heart was
a rage that gave him the strength of many men.

In a little glade, partially surrounded by limestone cliffs, a small
company of ragged, bewhiskered men had halted to rest. Where they had
halted a tiny spring broke from the base of the cliff and trickled along
its winding channel for a short distance to empty into a natural,
circular opening in the surface of the ground. From deep in the bottom
of this natural well the water falling from the rim could be heard
splashing upon the surface of the water far below. It was dark down
there—dark and mysterious, but the bearded ruffians gave no heed either
to the beauty or the mystery of the spot.

One huge, fierce-visaged fellow, his countenance disfigured by an ugly
scar, confronted a slim girl, who sat upon the turf, her back against a
tree, her face buried in her arms.

“You thought me dead, eh?” he exclaimed. “You thought Bohar the Bloody
dead? Well he is not dead. Our boat weathered the storm and passing
close to Amiocap we saw the wreck of The Cid’s ship lying upon the sand.
Knowing that you and the prisoners had been left aboard when we quit the
ship, I guessed that perhaps you might be somewhere upon Amiocap; nor
was I wrong, Stellara. Bohar the Bloody is seldom wrong.

“We hid close to a village which they call Lar and at the first
opportunity we captured one of the villagers—a woman—and from her we
learned that you had indeed come ashore, but that you were then in the
village of your father and we made the woman guide us there. The rest
you know and now be cheerful for at last you are to mate with Bohar the
Bloody and return to Korsar.”

“Rather than that I shall die,” cried the girl.

“But how?” laughed Bohar. “You have no weapons. Perhaps, however, you
will choke yourself to death,” and he laughed uproariously at his own
joke.

“There is a way,” cried the girl, and before he could guess what she
intended, or stay here, she dodged quickly around him and ran toward the
natural well that lay a few hundred feet away.

“Quick!” shouted Bohar. “Stop her!” And instantly the entire twenty
sprang in pursuit. But Stellara was swift and there was likelihood that
they would not overtake her in the short distance that lay before her
and the edge of the abyss.

Fortune, however, was with Bohar the Bloody that day and almost at her
goal Stellara’s foot caught in a tangle of grasses and she stumbled
forward upon her face. Before she could recover her feet the nearest
Korsar had seized her, and then Bohar the Bloody ran to her side and,
taking her from the grasp of the other Korsar, shook her violently.

“You she tarag!” he cried. “For this I shall fix you so that never again
will you run away. When we reach the sea I shall cut off one of your
feet and then I shall know that you will not run away from me again,”
and he continued to shake her violently.

Breaking suddenly and unexpectedly from the dense jungle into the
opening of the glade a warrior came upon the scene being enacted at the
edge of the well. At the moment he thought that Stellara was being
killed and he went mad with rage; nor was his rage any the less when he
recognized Bohar the Bloody as the author of the assault.

With an angry shout he leaped forward, his heavy spear ready in his
hand. What mattered it that twenty men with firearms opposed him? He saw
only Stellara in the cruel grip of the bestial Bohar.

At the sound of his voice the Korsar looked up and instantly Bohar
recognized the Sarian.

“Look, Stellara,” he said, with a sneer. “Your lover has come. It is
well, for with no lover and only one foot you will have no reason at all
for running away.”

A dozen harquebuses had already been raised in readiness and the men
stood looking toward Bohar.

Tanar had reached the opposite edge of the well, only a few yards
distant, when Bohar nodded and there was a roar of musketry and a flash
of flame accompanied by so dense a pall of black smoke that for an
instant the figure of the Sarian was entirely obliterated from view.

Stellara, wide-eyed and trembling with pain and horror, tried to
penetrate the smoke cloud with her frightened eyes. Quickly it lifted,
revealing no sign of Tanar.

“Well done,” cried Bohar to his men. “Either you blew him all to pieces,
or his body fell into the hole,” and going to the edge of the opening he
looked down, but it was very dark there and he saw nothing. “Wherever he
is, at least he is dead,” said Bohar. “I should like to have crushed his
life out with my own hands, but at least he is dead by my command and
the blow that he struck me is wiped out, as Bohar wipes out the blows of
all his enemies.”

As the Korsars resumed the march toward the ocean, Stellara walked among
them with bent head and moist, unseeing eyes. Often she stumbled and
each time she was jerked roughly to her feet and shaken, at the same
time being admonished in hoarse tones to watch her footing.

By the time they reached the seashore Stellara was sick with a high
fever and she lay in the camp of the Korsars for what may have been a
day or a month, too sick to move, while Bohar and his men felled
timbers, hewed planks and constructed a boat to carry them to the
distant shores of Korsar.

Rushing forward to rescue Stellara from the clutches of Bohar, Tanar’s
mind and eyes had been fixed on nothing but the figure of the girl. He
had not seen the opening in the ground and at the instant that the
Korsars fired their harquebuses he had stepped unwittingly into the
opening and plunged to the water far below.

The fall had not hurt him. It had not even stunned him and when he came
to the surface he saw before him a quiet stream moving gently through an
opening in the limestone wall about him. Beyond the opening was a
luminous cavern and into this Tanar swam, clambering to its rocky floor
the moment that he had found a low place in the bank of the stream.
Looking about him he found himself in a large cavern, the walls of which
shone luminously, so considerable was their content of phosphorus.

There was a great deal of rubbish on the floor of the cave—the bones of
animals and men, broken weapons, bits of hide. It might have been the
dumping ground of some grewsome charnal house.

The Sarian walked back to the opening through which the little stream
had borne him into the grotto, but a careful investigation revealed no
avenue of escape in this direction, although he reentered the stream and
swam into the bottom of the well where he found the walls worn so smooth
by the long continued action of falling water that they gave no
slightest indication of handhold or foothold.

Then slowly he made a circuit of the outer walls of the grotto, but only
where the stream passed out at its far end was there any opening—a rough
archway that rose some six feet above the surface of the underground
stream.

Along one side was a narrow ledge and looking through the opening he saw
a dim corridor leading away into the distance and obscurity.

There being no other way in which to search for freedom Tanar passed
along the narrow ledge beneath the archway to find himself in a tunnel
that followed the windings of the stream.

Only here and there small patches of the rock that formed the walls and
ceiling of the corridor threw out a luminosity that barely relieved the
inky darkness of the place, yet relieve it it did so that at least one
might be sure of his footing, though at points where the corridor
widened its walls were often lost in darkness.

For what distance he followed the tunnel Tanar did not know, but
presently he came to a low and narrow opening through which he could
pass only upon his hands and knees. Beyond there seemed to be a much
lighter chamber and as Tanar came into this, still upon all fours, a
heavy body dropped upon his back from above and then another at each
side of him and he felt cold, clammy claws seizing his arms and legs,
and arms encircled his neck—arms that felt against his flesh like the
arms of a corpse.

He struggled but there were too many for him and in a moment he was
disarmed and his ankles and wrists securely bound with tough thongs of
rawhide. Then he was rolled over on his side and lay looking up into the
horrid faces of Coripies, the Buried People of Amiocap.

The blank faces, the corpse-like skin, the bulging protuberances where
the eyes would have been, the hairless bodies, the claw-like hands
combined to produce such a hideous aspect in the monsters as to make the
stoutest of hearts quail.

And when they spoke! The mumbled mouthing revealing yellow fangs
withered the heart in the breast of the Sarian. Here, indeed, was a
hideous end, for he knew that it was the end, since never in all the
many tales the Amiocapians had told him of the Buried People was there
any record of a human being escaping from their clutches.

Now they were addressing him and presently, in their hollow mewing, he
discerned words. “How did you get into the land of the Coripies?”
demanded one.

“I fell into a hole in the ground,” replied Tanar. “I did not seek to
come here. Take me out and I will reward you.”

“What have you to give the Coripies more than your flesh?” demanded
another.

“Do not think to get out for you never shall,” said a third.

Now two of them lifted him lightly and placed him upon the back of one
of their companions. So easily the creature carried him that Tanar
wondered that he had ever overcome the Coripi that he had met upon the
surface of the ground.

Through long corridors, some very dark and others partially lighted by
outcroppings of phosphorescent rock, the creature bore him. At times
they passed through large grottoes, beautifully wrought in intricate
designs by nature, or climbed long stairways carved in the limestone,
probably by the Coripies themselves, only presently to descend other
stairways and follow winding tunnels that seemed interminable.

But at last the journey ended in a huge cavern, the ceiling of which
rose at least two hundred feet above them. This stupendous grotto was
more brilliantly lighted than any other section of the subterranean
world that Tanar had passed through. Into its limestone walls were cut
pathways that zigzagged back and forth upward toward the ceiling, and
the entire surface of the surrounding walls was pierced by holes several
feet in diameter that appeared to be the mouths of caves.

Squatting about on the floor of the cavern were hundreds of Coripies of
all ages and both sexes.

At one end of the grotto, in a large opening, a few feet above the
floor, squatted a single, large Coripi. His skin was mottled with a
purplish hue that suggested a corpse in which mortification had
progressed to a considerable degree. The protuberances that suggested
huge eyeballs beneath the skin protruded much further and were much
larger than those in any other of the Coripies that Tanar had examined.
The creature was, by far, the most repulsive of all the repulsive horde.

On the floor of the grotto, directly before this creature, were gathered
a number of male Coripies and toward this congregation Tanar’s captors
bore him.

Scarcely had they entered the grotto when it became apparent to Tanar
that these creatures could see, a thing that he had commenced to suspect
shortly after his capture, for now, at sight of him, they commenced to
scream and make strange, whistling sounds, and from the openings of many
of the high flung caves within the walls heads protruded and the
hideous, eyeless faces seemed to be bending eyes upon him.

One cry seemed to rise above all others as he was borne across the
grotto towards the creature sitting in the niche. It was “Flesh! Flesh!”
and it sounded grewsome and horrible in its suggestiveness.

Flesh! Yes, he knew that they ate human flesh and it seemed now that
they were but awaiting a signal to leap upon him and devour him alive,
tearing pieces from him with their heavy claws. But when one did rush
upon him there came a scream from the creature in the niche and the
fellow desisted, even as one of his captors had turned to defend him.

The cavern crossed at last, Tanar was deposited upon his feet in front
of the creature squatting in the niche. Tanar could see the great
eyeballs revolving beneath the pulsing skin of the protuberances and
though he could see no eyes, he knew that he was being examined coldly
and calculatingly.

“Where did you get it?” finally demanded the creature, addressing
Tanar’s captors.

“He tumbled into the Well of Sounding Water,” replied one.

“How do you know?”

“He told us so.”

“Do you believe him?”

“There was no other way in which he could enter the land of the
Coripies,” replied one of the captors.

“Perhaps he was leading a party in to slay us,” said the creature in the
niche. “Go, many of you, and search the corridors and the tunnels about
the Well of Sounding Water.” Then the creature turned to Tanar’s
captors. “Take this and put it with the others; we have not yet enough.”

Tanar was now again placed upon the back of a Coripi, who carried him
across the grotto and up one of the pathways cut into the face of the
limestone wall. Ascending this pathway a short distance the creature
turned into one of the cave openings, and Tanar found himself again in a
narrow, dark, winding tunnel.

The tunnels and corridors through which he had already been conducted
had impressed upon Tanar the great antiquity of this underground
labyrinthine world, since there was every evidence that the majority of
these tunnels had been hewn from the limestone rock or natural
passageways enlarged to accommodate the Coripies, and as these creatures
appeared to have no implements other than their heavy, three-toed claws
the construction of the tunnels must have represented the labor of
countless thousands of individuals over a period of many ages.

Tanar, of course, had only a hazy conception of what we describe as the
measurable aspect of duration. His consideration of the subject
concerned itself with the countless millions of times that these
creatures must have slept and eaten during the course of their
stupendous labors.

But the mind of the captive was also occupied with other matters as the
Coripi bore him through the long tunnel. He thought of the statement of
the creature in the niche, as he had ordered Tanar taken into
confinement, to the effect that there were not yet enough. What did he
mean? Enough of what? Enough prisoners? And when there were enough to
what purpose would they be devoted?

But perhaps, to a far greater extent, his mind was occupied with
thoughts of Stellara; with fears for her safety and with vain regret
that he had been unable to accomplish her rescue.

From the moment that he had been so unexpectedly precipitated into the
underground world of the Buried People, his dominant thought, of course,
had been that of escape; but the further into the bowels of the earth he
was carried the more hopeless appeared the outcome of any venture in
this direction, yet he never for once abandoned it though he realized
that he must wait until they had reached the place of his final
confinement before he could intelligently consider any plan at all.

How far the tireless Coripi bore Tanar the Sarian could not guess, but
presently they emerged into a dimly lighted grotto, before the narrow
entrance to which squatted a dozen Coripies. Within the chamber were a
score more and one human being—a man with sandy hair, close-set eyes and
a certain mean, crafty expression of countenance that repelled the
Sarian immediately.

“Here is another,” said the Coripi who had carried Tanar to the cavern,
and with that he dumped the Sarian unceremoniously upon the stone floor
at the feet of the dozen Coripies who stood guard at the entrance.

With teeth and claws they severed the bonds that secured his wrists and
ankles.

“They come slowly,” grumbled one of the guards. “How much longer must we
wait?”

“Old Xax wishes to have the greatest number that has ever been
collected,” remarked another of the Coripies.

“But we grow impatient,” said the first speaker. “If he makes us wait
much longer he may be one of the number here himself.”

“Be careful,” cautioned one of his fellows. “If Xax heard that you had
said such a thing as that the number of our prisoners would be increased
by one.”

As Tanar arose to his feet, after his bonds were severed, he was pushed
roughly toward the other inmates of the room, who he soon was to
discover were prisoners, like himself, and quite naturally the first to
approach him was the other human captive.

“Another,” said the stranger. “Our numbers increase but slowly, yet each
one brings us closer to our inevitable doom and so I do not know whether
I am sorry to see you here or glad because of the human company that I
shall now have. I have eaten and slept many times since I was thrown
into this accursed place and always nothing but these hideous, mumbling
things for company. God, how I hate and loathe them, yet they are in the
same predicament as we for they, too, are doomed to the same fate.”

“And what may that be?” asked Tanar.

“You do not know?”

“I may only guess,” replied the Sarian.

“These creatures seldom get flesh with warm blood in it. They subsist
mostly upon the fish in their underground rivers and upon the toads and
lizards that inhabit their caves. Their expeditions to the surface
ordinarily yield nothing more than the carcasses of dead beasts, yet
they crave flesh and warm blood. Heretofore they had killed their
condemned prisoners one by one as they were available, but this plan
gave only a mouthful of flesh to a very few Coripies. Recently Xax hit
upon the plan of preserving his own condemned and the prisoners from the
outer world until he had accumulated a sufficient number to feast the
entire population of the cavern of which he is chief. I do not know how
many that will be, but steadily the numbers grow and perhaps it will not
be long now before there are enough of us to fill the bellies of Xax’s
tribe.”

“Xax!” repeated Tanar. “Was he the creature sitting in the niche in the
great cavern to which I was first taken?”

“That was Xax. He is ruler of that cavern. In the underground world of
the Buried People there are many tribes, each of which occupies a large
cavern similar to that in which you saw Xax. These tribes are not always
friendly and the most of the prisoners that you see in this cavern are
members of other tribes, though there are a few from the tribe of Xax
who have been condemned to death for one reason or another.”

“And there is no escape?” asked Tanar.

“None,” replied the other. “Absolutely none; but tell me who are you and
from what country? I cannot believe that you are a native of Amiocap,
for what Amiocapian is there who would need ask questions about the
Buried People?”

“I am not of Amiocap,” replied Tanar. “I am from Sari, upon the far
distant mainland.”

“Sari! I never heard of such a country,” said the other. “What is your
name?”

“Tanar, and yours?”

“I am Jude of Hime,” replied the man. “Hime is an island not far from
Amiocap. Perhaps you have heard of it.”

“No,” said Tanar.

“I was fishing in my canoe, off the coast of Hime,” continued Jude,
“when a great storm arose which blew me across the waters and hurled me
upon the coast of Amiocap. I had gone into the forest to hunt for food
when three of these creatures fell upon me and dragged me into their
underworld.”

“And you think that there is no escape?” demanded Tanar.

“None—absolutely none,” replied Jude.




                                  VIII
                                  MOW


Imprisonment in the dark, illy lighted, poorly ventilated cavern weighed
heavily upon Tanar of Pellucidar, and he knew that it was long for he
had eaten and slept many times and though other Coripi prisoners were
brought from time to time there seemed not to be enough to satisfy Xax’s
bloody craving for flesh.

Tanar had been glad of the companionship of Jude, though he never
thoroughly understood the man, whose sour and unhappy disposition was so
unlike his own. Jude apparently hated and mistrusted everyone, for even
in speaking of the people of his own island he mentioned no one except
in terms of bitterness and hatred, but this attitude Tanar generously
attributed to the effect upon the mind of the Himean of his long and
terrible incarceration among the creatures of the underworld, an
experience which he was fully convinced might easily affect and
unbalance a weak mind.

Even in the breasts of some of the Coripi prisoners Tanar managed to
arouse sentiments somewhat analogous to friendship.

Among the latter was a young Coripi named Mow from the grotto of Ictl,
who hated all the Coripies from the grotto of Xax and seemed suspicious
of those from other grottoes.

Though the creatures seemed endowed with few human attributes or
characteristics, yet it was apparent to Tanar that they set a certain
value upon companionship, and being denied this among the creatures of
his own kind Mow gradually turned to Tanar, whose courageous and happy
spirit had not been entirely dampened by his lot.

Jude would have nothing to do with Mow or any other of the Coripies and
he reproached Tanar for treating them in a friendly manner.

“We are all prisoners together,” Tanar reminded him, “and they will
suffer the same fate as we. It will neither lessen our danger nor add to
our peace of mind to quarrel with our fellow prisoners, and I, for my
part, find it interesting to talk with them about this strange world
which they inhabit.”

And, indeed, Tanar had learned many interesting things about the
Coripies. Through his association with Mow he had discovered that the
creatures were color blind, seeing everything in blacks and whites and
grays through the skin that covered their great eyeballs. He learned
also that owing to the restricted amount of food at their command it had
been necessary to restrict their number, and to this end it had become
customary to destroy women who gave birth to too many children, the
third child being equivalent to a death sentence for the mother.

He learned also that among these unhappy Coripies there were no
diversions and no aim in life other than eating. So eager and unvaried
was their diet of fish and toads and lizards that the promise of warm
flesh was the only great event in the tiresome monotony of their deadly
existence.

Although Mow had no words for love and no conception of its
significance, Tanar was able to gather from his remarks that this
sentiment did not exist among the Buried People. A mother looked upon
each child as a threat to her existence and a prophecy of death, with
the result that she loathed children from birth; nor is this strange
when the fact is considered that the men chose as the mothers of their
children the women whom they particularly loathed and hated, since the
custom of destroying a woman who had borne three children deterred them
from mating with any female for whom they might have entertained any
degree of liking.

When not hunting or fishing the creatures squatted around upon their
haunches staring stupidly and sullenly at the floor of their cavern.

“I should think,” said Tanar to Mow, “that, confronted by such a life,
you would welcome death in any form.”

The Coripi shook his head. “I do not want to die,” he said.

“Why?” demanded Tanar.

“I do not know,” replied Mow. “I simply wish to live.”

“Then I take it that you would like to escape from this cavern, if you
could,” suggested Tanar.

“Of course I should like to escape,” said Mow, “but if I try to escape
and they catch me they will kill me.”

“They are going to kill you anyway,” Tanar reminded him.

“Yes, I never thought of that,” said Mow. “That is quite true; they are
going to kill me anyhow.”

“Could you escape?” asked Tanar.

“I could if I had someone to help me,” said Mow.

“This cavern is filled with men who will help you,” said Tanar.

“The Coripies from the grotto of Xax will not help me,” said Mow,
“because if they escape there is no place where they may go in safety.
If Xax recaptures them they will be killed, and the same is true if the
ruler of any other grotto captures them.”

“But there are men from other grottoes here,” insisted Tanar, “and there
are Jude and I.”

Mow shook his head. “I would not save any of the Coripies. I hate them.
They are all enemies from other grottoes.”

“But you do not hate me,” said Tanar, “and I will help you, and so will
Jude.”

“I need but one,” said Mow, “but he must be very strong, stronger than
you, stronger than Jude.”

“How strong?” asked Tanar.

“He must be able to lift my weight,” replied the Coripi.

“Look then,” said Tanar, and seizing Mow he held him high above his
head.

When he had set him down upon the floor again the Coripi gazed at Tanar
for some time. “You are, indeed, strong,” he said.

“Then let us make our plans for escape,” said Tanar.

“Just you and I,” said the Coripi.

“We must take Jude with us,” insisted Tanar.

Mow shrugged his shoulders. “It is all the same to me,” he said. “He is
not a Coripi, and if we become hungry and cannot find other food we can
eat him.”

Tanar made no reply as he felt that it would be unwise to voice his
disgust at this proposal and he was sure that he and Jude together could
prevent the Coripi from succumbing to his lust for flesh.

“You have noticed at the far end of the cavern, where the shadows are so
dense, that one may scarcely see a figure moving there?” asked Mow.

“Yes,” said Tanar.

“There the dim shadows hide the rough, rocky walls and the ceiling there
is lost in total darkness, but in the ceiling is an opening that leads
through a narrow shaft into a dark tunnel.”

“How do you know this?” asked Tanar.

“I discovered it once when I was hunting. I came upon a strange tunnel
leading from that along which I was making my way to the upper world. I
followed it to see where it led and I came at last to the opening in the
ceiling of this cavern, from whence one may see all that takes place
below without being himself seen. When I was brought here as a prisoner
I recognized the spot immediately. That is how I know that one may
escape if he has proper help.”

“Explain,” said Tanar.

“The wall beneath the opening is, as I have discovered, inclined
backward from the floor to a considerable height and so rough that it
can easily be scaled to a little ledge beneath the opening in the
ceiling, but just so far beneath that one may not reach it unaided. If,
however, I could lift you into the opening you could, in turn, reach
down and help me up.”

“But how may we hope to climb the wall without being seen by the
guards?” demanded Tanar.

“That is the only chance of capture that we shall have to take,” replied
Mow. “It is very dark there and if we wait until another prisoner is
brought and their attention is diverted we may be able to succeed in
reaching the opening in the ceiling before we are discovered, and once
there they cannot capture us.”

Tanar discussed the plan with Jude, who was so elated at the prospect of
escape that he almost revealed a suggestion of happiness.

And now commenced an interminable wait for the moment when a new
prisoner might be brought into the cavern. The three conspirators made
it a practice to spend most of their time in the shadows at the far end
of the cavern so that the guards might become accustomed to seeing them
there, and as no one other than themselves was aware of the opening in
the ceiling at this point no suspicions were aroused, as the spot where
they elected to be was at the opposite end of the cavern from the
entrance, which was, in so far as the guards knew, the only opening into
the cavern.

Tanar, Jude and Mow ate and slept several times until it began to appear
that no more prisoners ever would be brought to the cavern; but if no
prisoners came, news trickled in and one item filled them with such
alarm that they determined to risk all upon the hazard of a bold dash
for freedom.

Some Coripies coming to relieve a part of the guard reported that it had
been with difficulty that Xax had been able to suppress an uprising
among his infuriated tribesmen, many of whom had conceived the
conviction that Xax was saving all of the prisoners for himself.

The result had been that a demand had been made upon Xax for an
immediate feast of flesh. Perhaps already other Coripies were on their
way to conduct the unfortunate prisoners to the great cavern of Xax,
where they would be torn limb from limb by the fierce, hunger-mad
throng.

And, true enough, there had been time for but one hunger before the
party arrived to conduct them back to the main grotto of the tribe.

“Now is the time,” whispered Tanar to Mow and Jude, seeing that the
guard was engaged in conversation with the newcomers, and in accordance
with their previously made plan the three started without an instant’s
hesitation to scale the far wall of the cavern.

Upon a little ledge, twenty-five feet from the floor, Tanar halted, and
an instant later Mow and Jude stood upon either side of him. Without a
word the Coripi lifted Tanar to his shoulders and in the darkness above
Tanar groped for a handhold.

He soon found the opening into the shaft leading into the tunnel above,
and, too, he found splendid handholds there so that an instant later he
had drawn himself up into the opening and was sitting upon a small ledge
that entirely encircled it.

Bracing himself, he reached down and seized the hand of Jude, who was
standing upon Mow’s shoulders, and drew the Himean to the ledge beside
him.

At that instant a great shouting arose below them, and glancing down
Tanar saw that one of the guards had discovered them and that now a
general rush of both guard and prisoners was being made in their
direction.

Even as Tanar reached down to aid Mow to the safety of the shaft’s
mouth, some of the Coripies were already scaling the wall below them.
Mow hesitated and turned to look at the enemies clambering rapidly
toward him.

The ledge upon which Mow stood was narrow and the footing precarious.
The surprise and shock of their discovery may have unnerved him, or, in
turning to look downward he may have lost his balance, but whatever it
was Tanar saw him reel, topple and then lunge downward upon the
ascending Coripies, scraping three of them from the wall in his descent
as he crashed to the stone floor below, where he lay motionless.

Tanar turned to Jude. “We cannot help him,” he said. “Come, we had
better get out of this as quickly as possible.”

Feeling for each new handhold and foothold the two climbed slowly up the
short shaft and presently found themselves in the tunnel, which Mow had
described. Darkness was absolute.

“Do you know the way to the surface?” asked Jude.

“No,” said Tanar. “I was depending upon Mow to lead us.”

“Then we might as well be back in the cavern,” said Jude.

“Not I,” said Tanar, “for at least I am satisfied now that the Coripies
will not eat me alive, if they eat me at all.”

Groping his way through the darkness and followed closely by Jude, Tanar
crept slowly through the Stygian darkness. The tunnel seemed
interminable. They became very hungry and there was no food, though they
would have relished even the filthy fragments of decayed fish that the
Coripies had hurled them while they were prisoners.

“Almost,” said Tanar, “could I eat a toad.”

They became exhausted and slept, and then again they crawled and
stumbled onward. There seemed no end to the interminable, inky corridor.

For long distances the floor of the tunnel was quite level, but then
again it would pitch downward, sometimes so steeply that they had
difficulty in clinging to the sloping floor. It turned and twisted as
though its original excavators had been seldom of the same mind as to
the direction in which they wished to proceed.

On and on the two went; again they slept, but whether that meant that
they had covered a great distance, or that they were becoming weak from
hunger, neither knew.

When they awoke they went on again for a long time in silence, but the
sleep did not seem to have refreshed them much, and Jude especially was
soon exhausted again.

“I cannot go much further,” he said. “Why did you lure me into this
crazy escapade?”

“You need not have come,” Tanar reminded him, “and if you had not you
would by now be out of your misery since doubtless all the prisoners
have long since been torn to pieces and devoured by the Coripies of the
grotto of Xax.”

Jude shuddered. “I should not mind being dead,” he said, “but I should
hate to be torn to pieces by those horrible creatures.”

“This is a much nicer death,” said Tanar, “for when we are sufficiently
exhausted we shall simply sleep and awake no more.”

“I do not wish to die,” wailed Jude.

“You have never seemed very happy,” said Tanar. “I should think one as
unhappy as you would be glad to die.”

“I enjoy being unhappy,” said Jude. “I know that I should be most
miserable were I happy and anyway I should much rather be alive and
unhappy than dead and unable to know that I was unhappy.”

“Take heart,” said Tanar. “It cannot be much further to the end of this
long corridor. Mow came through it and he did not say that it was so
great a length that he became either exhausted or hungry and he not only
traversed it from end to end in one direction, but he had to turn around
and retrace his steps after he reached the opening into the cavern which
we left.”

“The Coripies do not eat much; they are accustomed to starving,” said
Jude, “and they sleep less than we.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Tanar, “but I am sure that we are nearing
the end.”

“I am,” said Jude, “but not the end that I had wished.”

Even as they discussed the matter they were moving slowly along, when
far ahead Tanar discerned a slight luminosity.

“Look,” he said, “there is light. We are nearing the end.”

The discovery instilled new strength into both the men and with
quickened steps they hastened along the tunnel in the direction of the
promised escape. As they advanced, the light became more apparent until
finally they came to the point where the tunnel they had been traversing
opened into a large corridor, which was filled with a subdued light from
occasional patches of phosphorescent rock in walls and ceiling, but
neither to the right nor the left could they see any sign of daylight.

“Which way now?” demanded Jude.

Tanar shook his head. “I do not know,” he said.

“At least I shall not die in that awful blackness,” wailed Jude, and
perhaps that factor of their seemingly inevitable doom had weighed most
heavily upon the two Pellucidarians, for, living as these people do
beneath the brilliant rays of a perpetual noonday sun, darkness is a
hideous and abhorrent thing to them, so unaccustomed are they to it.

“In this light, however slight it may be,” said Tanar, “I can no longer
be depressed. I am sure that we shall escape.”

“But in which direction?” again demanded Jude.

“I shall turn to the right,” said Tanar.

Jude shook his head. “That probably is the wrong direction,” he said.

“If you know that the right direction lies to the left,” said Tanar,
“let us go to the left.”

“I do not know,” said Jude; “doubtless either direction is wrong.”

“All right,” said Tanar, with a laugh. “We shall go to the right,” and,
turning, he set off at a brisk walk along the larger corridor.

“Do you notice anything, Jude?” asked Tanar.

“No. Why do you ask?” demanded the Himean.

“I smell fresh air from the upper world,” said Tanar, “and if I am right
we must be near the mouth of the tunnel.”

Tanar was almost running now; exhaustion was forgotten in the unexpected
hope of immediate deliverance. To be out in the fresh air and the light
of day! To be free from the hideous darkness and the constant menace of
recapture by the hideous monsters of the underworld! And across that
bright hope, like a sinister shadow, came the numbing fear of
disappointment.

What, if, after all, the breath of air which was now clear and fresh in
their nostrils should prove to be entering the corridor through some
unscalable shaft, such as the Well of Sounding Water into which he had
fallen upon his entrance into the country of the Buried People, or what,
if, at the moment of escape, they should meet a party of the Coripies?

So heavily did these thoughts weigh upon Tanar’s mind that he slackened
his speed until once again he moved in a slow walk.

“What is the matter?” demanded Jude. “A moment ago you were running and
now you are barely crawling along. Do not tell me that you were mistaken
and that, after all, we are not approaching the mouth of the corridor.”

“I do not know,” said Tanar. “We may be about to meet a terrible
disappointment and if that is true I wish to delay it as long as
possible. It would be a terrible thing to have hope crushed within our
breasts now.”

“I suppose it would,” said Jude, “but that is precisely what I have been
expecting.”

“You, I presume, would derive some satisfaction from disappointment,”
said Tanar.

“Yes,” said Jude, “I suppose I would. It is my nature.”

“Then prepare to be unhappy,” cried Tanar, suddenly, “for here indeed is
the mouth of the tunnel.”

He had spoken just as he had rounded a turn in the corridor, and when
Jude came to his side the latter saw daylight creeping into the corridor
through an opening just in front of them—an opening beyond which he saw
the foliage of growing things and the blue sky of Pellucidar.

Emerging again to the light of the sun after their long incarceration in
the bowels of the earth, the two men were compelled to cover their eyes
with their hands, while they slowly accustomed themselves again to the
brilliant light of the noonday sun of Pellucidar.

When he was able to uncover his eyes and look about him, Tanar saw that
the mouth of the tunnel was high upon the precipitous side of a lofty
mountain. Below them wooded ravines ran down to a mighty forest, just
beyond which lay the sparkling waters of a great ocean that, curving
upward, merged in the haze of the distance.

Faintly discernible in the mid-distance an island raised its bulk out of
the waters of the ocean.

“That,” said Jude, pointing, “is the island of Hime.”

“Ah, if I, too, could but see my home from here,” sighed Tanar, “my
happiness would be almost complete. I envy you, Jude.”

“It gives me no happiness to see Hime,” said Jude. “I hate the place.”

“Then you are not going to try to go back to it?” demanded Tanar.

“Certainly, I shall,” said Jude.

“But, why?” asked Tanar.

“There is no other place where I may go,” grumbled Jude. “At least in
Hime they will not kill me for no reason at all as strangers would do if
I went elsewhere.”

Jude’s attention was suddenly attracted by something below them in a
little glade that lay at the upper end of the ravine, which started a
little distance below the mouth of the tunnel.

“Look,” he cried, “there are people.”

Tanar looked in the direction in which Jude was pointing, and when his
eyes found the figures far below they first went wide with incredulity
and then narrowed with rage.

“God!” he exclaimed, and as he voiced that single exclamation he leaped
swiftly downward in the direction of the figures in the glade.




                                   IX
                           LOVE AND TREACHERY


Stellara, lying upon a pallet of grasses beneath the shade of a large
tree, above the beach where the Korsars were completing the boat in
which they hoped to embark for Korsar, knew that the fever had left her
and that her strength was rapidly returning, but having discovered that
illness, whether real or feigned, protected her from the attentions of
Bohar, she continued to permit the Korsars to believe that she was quite
ill. In her mind there constantly revolved various plans for escape, but
she wished to delay the attempt as long as possible, not only that she
might have time to store up a great amount of reserve strength, but also
because she realized that if she waited until the Korsar boat was
completed it would be unlikely that the majority of the men would brook
delay in departure for the purpose of gratifying any desire that Bohar
might express to pursue and recapture her.

Again, it was necessary to choose a time when none of the Korsars was in
camp and as one of the two, who were detailed to prepare food and stand
guard, was invariably on duty it appeared possible that she might never
have the opportunity she hoped for, though she had determined that this
fact would not prevent her from making an attempt at escape.

All of her hopes in this direction were centered upon one contingency,
which her knowledge of nautical matters made to appear almost a
certainty of the near future, and this was the fact that the launching
of the boat would require the united efforts and strength of the entire
party.

She knew from the discussions and conversations that she had overheard
that it was Bohar’s intention to launch the boat the moment that the
hull was completed and to finish the balance of the work upon it while
it floated in the little cove upon the beach of which it was being
constructed.

This work would require no great amount of time or effort, since the
mast, spars, rigging and sail were ready and at hand; bladders and
gourds already prepared to receive fresh water, and food provisions for
the trip, accumulated by the hunters detailed for this purpose, were
neatly sewn up in hides and stored away in a cool, earth-covered dugout.

And so from her couch of grasses beneath the great tree Stellara watched
the work progressing upon the hull of the boat that was to carry Bohar
and his men to Korsar, and, as she watched, she planned her method of
escape.

Above the camp rose the forested slopes of the hills which she must
cross in her return to Paraht. For some distance the trees were
scattered and then commenced the dense forest. If she could reach this
unobserved she felt that she might entertain high hope of successful
escape, for once in the denser growth she could take advantage of the
skill and experience she had acquired under Tanar’s tutorage and
prosecute her flight along the leafy pathways of the branches, leaving
no spoor that Bohar might follow and at the same time safeguarding
herself from the attacks of the larger and more dangerous beasts of the
forest, for, though few, there were still dangerous beasts upon Amiocap.
Perhaps the most fearsome was the tarag, the giant, saber-toothed tiger
that once roamed the hills of the outer crust. For the tandor she felt
less concern since they seldom attack an individual unless molested; but
in the hills which she must cross the greatest danger lay in the
presence of the tarag and the ryth, the gigantic cave bear or Ursus
Stelaeus, long since extinct upon the outer crust. Of the men of Amiocap
whom she might possibly encounter she entertained little fear, even
though they might be members of tribes other than hers, though she
shuddered at the thought that she might fall into the hands of the
Coripies, as these grotesque monsters engendered within her far greater
fear than any of the other dangers that might possibly beset her way.

The exhilaration of contemplated flight and the high hopes produced
within her at prospects of successfully returning to her father and her
friends were dampened by the realization that Tanar would not be there
to greet her. The supposed death of the Sarian had cast a blight upon
her happiness that naught ever could remove and her sorrow was the
deeper, perhaps, because no words of love had passed between them, and,
therefore, she had not the consolation of happy memories to relieve the
gnawing anguish of her grief.

The work upon the hull of the boat was at last completed and the men,
coming to camp to eat, spoke hopefully of early departure for Korsar.
Bohar approached Stellara’s couch and stood glaring down upon her, his
repulsive face darkened by a malignant scowl.

“How much longer do you intend to lie here entirely useless to me?” he
demanded. “You eat and sleep and the flush of fever has left your skin.
I believe that you are feigning illness in order to escape fulfilling
your duties as my mate and if that is true, you shall suffer for it. Get
up!”

“I am too weak,” said Stellara. “I cannot rise.”

“That can be remedied,” growled Bohar, and seizing her roughly by the
hair, he dragged her from her couch and lifted her to her feet.

As Bohar released his hold upon her, Stellara staggered, her legs
trembled, her knees gave beneath her and she fell back upon her couch,
and so realistic was the manner in which she carried out the deception
that even Bohar was fooled.

“She is sick and dying,” growled one of the Korsars. “Why should we take
her along in an overcrowded boat to eat the food and drink the water
that some of us may be dying for before we reach Korsar?”

“Right,” cried another. “Leave her behind.”

“Stick a knife into her,” said a third. “She is good for nothing.”

“Shut up!” cried Bohar. “She is going to be my mate and she is going
with us.” He drew his two huge pistols. “Whoever objects will stay here
with a bullet in his guts. Eat now, you filthy hounds, and be quick
about it for I shall need all hands and all your strength to launch the
hull when you have eaten.”

So they were going to launch the hull! Stellara trembled with excitement
as the moment for her break for liberty drew near. With impatience she
watched the Korsars as they bolted their food like a pack of hungry
wolf-dogs. She saw some of them throw themselves down to sleep after
they had eaten, but Bohar the Bloody kicked them into wakefulness, and,
at the point of his pistol, herded them to the beach, taking every
available man and leaving Stellara alone and unguarded for the first
time since he had seized her in the village of Fedol the chief.

She watched them as they descended to the hull and she waited until they
seemed to be wholly engrossed in their efforts to shove the heavy boat
into the sea; then she rose from her pallet and scurried like a
frightened rabbit toward the forest on the slopes above the camp.

The hazards of fate, while beyond our control, are the factors in life
which oftentimes make for the success or failure of our most important
ventures. Upon them hang the fruition of our most cherished hope. They
are, in truth, in the lap of the gods, where lies our future, and it was
only by the merest hazard that Bohar the Bloody chanced to glance back
toward the camp at the very moment that Stellara rose from her couch to
make her bid for freedom.

With an oath he abandoned the work of launching the hull, and, calling
his men to follow him, ran hurriedly up the steep slope in pursuit.

His fellows took in the situation at a glance and hesitated. “Let him
chase his own woman,” growled one. “What have we to do with it? Our
business is to launch the boat and get her ready to sail to Korsar.”

“Right,” said another, “and if he is not back by the time that we are
ready we shall sail without him.”

“Good,” cried a third. “Let us make haste then in the hope that we may
be prepared to sail before he returns.”

And so Bohar the Bloody, unaccompanied by his men, pursued Stellara
alone. Perhaps it was as well for the girl that this was true for there
were many fleeter among the Korsars than the beefy Bohar.

The girl was instantly aware that her attempt to escape had been
discovered, for Bohar was shouting in stentorian tones demanding that
she halt, but his words only made her run the faster until presently she
had darted into the forest and was lost to his view.

Here she took to the trees, hoping thereby to elude him even though she
knew that her speed would be reduced. She heard the sound of his advance
as he crashed through the underbrush and she knew that he was gaining
rapidly upon her, but this did not unnerve her since she was confident
that he could have no suspicion that she was in the branches of the
trees and just so long as she kept among thick foliage he might pass
directly beneath her without being aware of her close presence, and that
is precisely what he did, cursing and puffing as he made his bull-like
way up the steep slope of the hillside.

Stellara heard him pass and go crashing on in pursuit, and then she
resumed her flight, turning to the right away from the direction of
Bohar’s advance until presently the noise of his passing was lost in the
distance; then she turned upward again toward the height she must cross
on her journey to Paraht.

Bohar sweated upward until finally almost utter exhaustion forced him to
rest. He found himself in a little glade and here he lay down beneath a
shrub that not only protected him from the rays of the sun, but hid him
from sight as well, for in savage Pellucidar it is always well to seek
rest in concealment.

Bohar’s mind was filled with angry thoughts. He cursed himself for
leaving the girl alone in camp and he cursed the girl for escaping, and
he cursed the fate that had forced him to clamber up this steep hillside
upon his futile mission, and most of all he cursed his absent followers
whom he now realized had failed to accompany him. He knew that he had
lost the girl and that it would be like looking for a particular minnow
in the ocean to continue his search for her, and so, having rested, he
was determined to hasten back to his camp when his attention was
suddenly attracted by a noise at the lower end of the glade.
Instinctively he reached for one of his pistols and to his dismay he
found that both were gone, evidently having slipped from his sash or
been scraped from it as he wallowed upward through the underbrush.

Bohar, despite his bluster and braggadocio, was far from courageous.
Without his weapons he was an arrant coward and so now he cringed in his
concealment as he strained his eyes to discover the author of the noise
he had heard, and as he watched a cunning leer of triumph curled his
hideous mouth, for before him, at the far end of the glade, he saw
Stellara drop from the lower branches of a tree and come upward across
the glade toward him.

As the girl came abreast of his hiding place, Bohar the Bloody leaped to
his feet and confronted her. With a stifled exclamation of dismay
Stellara turned and sought to escape, but the Korsar was too close and
too quick and reaching forth he seized her roughly by the hair.

“Will you never learn that you cannot escape Bohar the Bloody?” he
demanded. “You are mine and for this I shall cut off both your feet at
the ankles when I get you into the boat, so that there will be no chance
whatever that you may again run away from me. But come, mate willingly
with me and it will go less hard with you,” and he drew her slim figure
into his embrace.

“Never,” cried Stellara, and she struck him in the face with her two
clenched fists.

With an oath Bohar seized the girl by the throat and shook her. “You
she-ryth,” he cried, “if I did not want you so badly I should kill you,
and by the god of Korsar if ever you strike me again I shall kill you.”

“Then kill me,” cried Stellara, “for I should rather die than mate with
you,” and again she struck him with all her strength full in the face.

Bohar frothed with rage as he closed his fingers more tightly upon the
girl’s soft neck. “Die, then, you—”

The words died upon his lips and he wheeled about as there fell upon his
ears a man’s loud voice raised in anger.

As he stood there hesitating and looking in the direction of the sound,
the underbrush at the upper end of the glade parted and a warrior,
leaping into the clearing, ran swiftly toward him.

Bohar blanched as though he had seen a ghost, and then, hurling the girl
roughly to the ground, he faced the lone warrior.

Bohar would have fled had he not realized the futility of flight, for
what chance had he in a race with this lithe man, who leaped toward him
with the grace and speed of a deer.

“Go away,” shouted Bohar. “Go away and leave us alone. This is my mate.”

“You lie,” growled Tanar of Pellucidar as he leaped upon the Korsar.

Down went the two men, the Sarian on top, and as they fell each sought a
hold upon the other’s throat, and, failing to secure it, they struck
blindly at one another’s face.

Tanar was mad with rage. He fought like a wild beast, forgetting all
that David Innes had taught him. His one thought was to kill; it
mattered not how just so long as he killed, and Bohar, on the defensive
fighting for his life, battled like a cornered rat. To his advantage
were his great weight and his longer reach, but in strength and agility
as well as courage Tanar was his superior.

Stellara slowly opened her eyes as she recovered from the swoon into
which she had passed beneath the choking fingers of Bohar the Bloody. At
first she did not recognize Tanar, seeing only two warriors battling to
the death on the sward of the glade and guessing that she would be the
prey of him who was victorious. But presently, in the course of the
duel, the face of the Sarian was turned toward her.

“Tanar!” she cried. “God is merciful. I thought you were dead and He has
given you back to me.”

At her words the Sarian redoubled his efforts to overcome his
antagonist, but Bohar succeeded in getting his fingers upon Tanar’s
throat.

Horrified, Stellara looked about her for a rock or a stick with which to
come to the succor of her champion, but before she had found one she
realized that he needed no outside assistance. With a single Herculean
movement he tore himself loose from Bohar and leaped to his feet.

Instantly the Korsar sprang to an upright position and lowering his head
he charged the Sarian—charged like a mad bull.

Now Tanar was fighting with cool calculation. The blood-madness of the
first moment following the sight of Stellara in the choking murderous
fingers of the Korsar had passed. He awaited Bohar’s rush, and as they
came together he clamped an arm around the Korsar’s head, and, turning
swiftly, hurled the man over his shoulder and heavily to the ground.
Then he waited.

Once more Bohar, shaking his head, staggered to his feet. Once more he
rushed the Sarian, and once more that deadly arm was locked about his
head, and once more he was hurled heavily to the ground.

This time he did not arise so quickly nor so easily. He came up
staggering and feeling of his head and neck.

“Prepare to die,” growled Tanar. “For the suffering you have inflicted
upon Stellara you are about to die.”

With a shriek of mingled rage and fright Bohar, gone mad, charged the
Sarian again, and for the third time his great body flew through the
air, to alight heavily upon the hard ground, but this time it did not
arise; it did not stir, for Bohar the Bloody lay dead with a broken
neck.

For a moment Tanar of Pellucidar stood ready over the body of his fallen
foe, but when he realized that Bohar was dead he turned away with a
sneer of disgust.

Before him stood Stellara, her beautiful eyes filled with incredulity
and with happiness.

“Tanar!” It was only a whisper, but it carried to him a world of meaning
that sent thrill after thrill through his body.

“Stellara!” he cried, as he took the girl in his arms. “Stellara, I love
you.”

Her soft arms stole around his neck and drew his face to hers. His mouth
covered her mouth in a long kiss, and, as he raised his face to look
down into hers, from her parted lips burst a single exclamation, “Oh
God!” and from the depth of her half-closed eyes burned a love beyond
all understanding.

“My mate,” he cried, as he pressed her form to him.

“My mate,” breathed Stellara, “while life remains in my body and after
life, throughout death, forever!”

Suddenly she looked up and drew away.

“Who is that, Tanar?” she asked.

As Tanar turned to look in the direction indicated by the girl he saw
Jude emerging from the forest at the upper end of the glade. “It is
Jude,” he said to Stellara, “who escaped with me from the country of the
Buried People.”

Jude approached them, his sullen countenance clouded by its habitual
scowl.

“He frightens me,” said Stellara, pressing closer to Tanar.

“You need not fear him,” said the Sarian. “He is always scowling and
unhappy; but he is my friend and even if he were not he is harmless.”

“I do not like him,” whispered Stellara.

Jude approached and stopped before them. His eyes wandered for a moment
to the body of Bohar and then came back and fastened themselves in a
steady gaze upon Stellara, apprising her from head to foot. There was a
crafty boldness in his gaze that disturbed Stellara even more than his
sullen scowl.

“Who is the woman?” he demanded, without taking his eyes from her face.

“My mate,” replied Tanar.

“Then she is going with us?” asked Jude.

“Of course,” replied the Sarian.

“And where are we going?” demanded Jude.

“Stellara and I will return to Paraht, where her father, Fedol, is
chief,” replied Tanar. “You may come with us if you wish. We will see
that you are received as a friend and treated well until you can find
the means to return to Hime.”

“Is he from Hime?” asked Stellara, and Tanar felt her shudder.

“I am from Hime,” said Jude, “but I do not care if I never return there
if your people let me live with them.”

“That,” said Tanar, “is something that must be decided by Fedol and his
people, but I can promise you that they will let you remain with them,
if not permanently, at least until you can find the means of returning
to Hime. And now, before we set out for Paraht, let us renew our
strength with food and sleep.”

Without weapons it was not easy to obtain game and they had traveled up
the mountain slopes for some distance before the two men were able to
bring down a brace of large birds, which they knocked over with well
aimed stones. The birds closely resembled wild turkeys, whose prototypes
were doubtless the progenitors of the wild turkeys of the outer crust.
The hunt had brought them to a wide plateau, just below the summit of
the hills. It was a rolling table-land, waist deep in lush grasses, with
here and there a giant tree or a group of trees offering shade from the
vertical rays of the noonday sun.

Beside a small stream, which rippled gayly downward toward the sea, they
halted to eat and sleep.

Jude gathered firewood while Tanar made fire by the primitive method of
rapidly revolving a sharpened stick in a tinder-filled hole in a larger
piece of dry wood. As these preparations were going forward Stellara
prepared the birds and it was not long before the turkeys were roasting
over a hot fire.

Their hunger appeased, the urge to sleep took possession of them, and
now Jude insisted that he stand the first watch, arguing that he had not
been subjected to the fatigue of battle as had Tanar, and so Stellara
and the Sarian lay down beneath the shade of the tree while the scowling
Himean stood watch.

Even in the comparative safety of Amiocap danger might always be
expected to lurk in the form of carnivorous beast or hunting man, but
the watcher cast no solicitous glances beyond the camp. Instead, he
squatted upon his haunches, devouring Stellara with his eyes. Not once
did he remove them from the beautiful figure of the girl except
occasionally to glance quickly at Tanar, where the regular rising and
falling of his breast denoted undisturbed slumber.

Whatever thoughts the beauty of the sleeping girl engendered in the
breast of the Himean, they were reflected only in the unremitting scowl
that never lifted itself from the man’s dark brows.

Presently he arose noiselessly and gathered a handful of soft grasses,
which he rolled into a small ball. Then he crept stealthily to where
Stellara lay and kneeled beside her.

Suddenly he leaned over her and grasped her by the throat, at the same
time clamping his other hand, in the palm of which lay the ball of
grass, over her mouth.

Thus rudely awakened from deep slumber, her first glance revealing the
scowling features of the Himean, Stellara opened her mouth to scream for
help, and, as she did so, Jude forced the ball of grass between her
teeth and far into her mouth, dragged her to her feet, and, throwing her
across his shoulder, bore her swiftly downward across the table-land.

Stellara struggled and fought to free herself, but Jude was a powerful
man and her efforts were of no avail against his strength. He held her
in such a way that both her arms were confined. The ball of grass
expanded in her mouth and she could not force it out with her tongue
alone. A single scream she knew would awaken Tanar and bring him to her
rescue, but she could not scream.

Down across the rolling table-land the Himean carried Stellara to the
edge of a steep cliff that overhung the sea at the upper end of a deep
cove which cut far into the island at this point. Here Jude lowered
Stellara to her feet, but he still clung tightly to one of her wrists.

“Listen, woman,” he growled, “you are coming to Hime to be the mate of
Jude. If you come peaceably, no harm will befall you and if you will
promise to make no outcry I shall remove the gag from your mouth. Do you
promise?”

Stellara shook her head determinedly in an unquestionable negative and
at the same time struggled to free herself from Jude’s grasp.

With an ugly growl the man struck her and as she fell unconscious he
gathered long grasses and twisted them into a rope and bound her wrists
and ankles; then he lifted her again to his shoulder and started down
over the edge of the cliff, where a narrow trail now became discernible.

It was evident that Jude had had knowledge of this path since he had
come to it so unerringly, and the ease and assurance with which he
descended it strengthened this conviction.

The descent was not over a hundred feet to a little ledge almost at the
water’s edge.

It was here that Stellara gained consciousness, and, as she opened her
eyes, she saw before her a water-worn cave that ran far back beneath the
cliff.

Into this, along the narrow ledge, Jude carried her to the far end of
the cavern, where, upon a narrow, pebbly beach, were drawn up a half
dozen dugouts—the light, well-made canoes of the Himeans.

In one of these Jude placed the girl, and, pushing it off into the deep
water of the cove, leaped into it himself, seized the paddle and
directed its course out toward the open sea.




                                   X
                                PURSUIT


Awakening from a deep and refreshing slumber, Tanar opened his eyes and
lay gazing up into the foliage of the tree above him. Happy thoughts
filled his mind, a smile touched his lip and then, following the trend
of his thoughts, his eyes turned to feast upon the dear figure of his
mate.

She was not there, where he had last seen her huddled snugly in her bed
of grasses, but still he felt no concern, thinking merely that she had
awakened before him and arisen.

Idly his gaze made a circuit of the little camp, and then with a
startled exclamation he leaped to his feet for he realized that both
Stellara and Jude had disappeared. Again he looked about him, this time
extending the field of his enquiring gaze, but nowhere was there any
sign of either the man or the woman that he sought.

He called their names aloud, but there was no response, and then he fell
to examining the ground about the camp. He saw where Stellara had been
sleeping and to his keen eyes were revealed the tracks of the Himean as
he had approached her couch. He saw other tracks leading away, the
tracks of Jude alone, but in the crushed grasses where the man had gone
he read the true story, for they told him that more than the weight of a
single man had bent and bruised them thus; they told him that Jude had
carried Stellara off, and Tanar knew that it had been done by force.

Swiftly he followed the well marked spoor through the long grass,
oblivious of all else save the prosecution of his search for Stellara
and the punishment of Jude. And so he was unaware of the sinister figure
that crept along the trail behind him.

Down across the table-land they went—the man and the great beast
following silently in his tracks. Down to a cliff overhanging the sea
the trail led, and here as Tanar paused an instant to look out across
the ocean he saw hazily in the distance a canoe and in the canoe were
two figures, but who they were he could only guess since they were too
far away for him to recognize.

As he stood there thus, stunned for a moment, a slight noise behind him
claimed his attention, recalled him momentarily from the obsession of
his sorrow and his rage so that he turned a quick, scowling glance in
the direction from which the interruption had come, and there, not ten
paces from him, loomed the snarling face of a great tarag.

The fangs of the saber-tooth gleamed in the sunlight; the furry snout
was wrinkled in a snarl of anger; the lashing tail came suddenly to
rest, except for a slight convulsive twitching of its tip; the beast
crouched and Tanar knew that it was about to charge.

Unarmed and single-handed as he was, the man seemed easy prey for the
carnivore; nor to right nor to left was there any avenue of escape.

All these things passed swiftly through the mind of the Sarian, yet
never did they totally obliterate the memory of the two figures in the
canoe far out at sea behind him; nor of the cliff overhanging the waters
of the cove beneath. And then the tarag charged.

A hideous scream broke from the savage throat as the great beast hurled
itself forward with lightning-like rapidity. Two great bounds it took,
and in mid-spring of the second Tanar turned and dove head foremost over
the edge of the cliff, for the only alternative that remained to him was
death beneath the rending fangs and talons of the sabertooth.

For all he knew jagged rocks might lie just beneath the surface of the
water, but there was one chance that the water was deep, while no chance
for life remained to him upon the cliff top.

The momentum of the great cat’s spring, unchecked by the body of his
expected prey, carried him over the edge of the cliff also so that man
and beast hurtled downward almost side by side to the water far below.

Tanar cut the water cleanly with extended hands and turning quickly
upwards came to the surface scarcely a yard from where the great cat had
alighted.

The two faced one another and at sight of the man the tarag burst again
into hideous screams and struck out swiftly toward him.

Tanar knew that he might outdistance the tarag in the water, but at the
moment that they reached the beach he would be at the mercy of the great
carnivore. The snarling face was close to his; the great talons were
reaching for him as Tanar of Pellucidar dove beneath the beast.

A few, swift strokes brought him up directly behind the cat and an
instant later he had reached out and seized the furry hide. The tarag
turned swiftly to strike at him, but already the man was upon his
shoulders and his weight was carrying the snarling face below the
surface.

Choking, struggling, the maddened animal sought to reach the soft flesh
of the man with his raking talons, but in the liquid element that filled
the sea its usual methods of offense and defense were worthless. Quickly
realizing that death stared it in the face, unless it could immediately
overcome this handicap, the tarag now strained its every muscle to reach
the solid footing of the land, while Tanar on his part sought to prevent
it. Now his fingers had crept from their hold upon the furry shoulders
down to the white furred throat and like claws of steel they sank into
the straining muscles.

No longer did the beast attempt to scream and the man, for his part,
fought in silence.

It was a grim duel; a terrible duel; a savage encounter that might be
enacted only in a world that was very young and between primitive
creatures who never give up the stern battle for life until the scythe
of the Grim Reaper has cut them down.

Deep into the gloomy cavern, beneath the cliff the tarag battled for the
tiny strip of beach at the far end and grimly the man fought to hold it
back and force its head beneath the water. He felt the efforts of the
beast weakening and yet they were very close to the beach. At any
instant the great claws might strike bottom and Tanar knew that there
was still left within that giant carcass enough vitality to rend him to
shreds if ever the tarag got four feet on solid ground and his head
above the water.

With a last supreme effort he tightened his fingers upon the throat of
the tarag and sliding from its back sought to drag it from its course,
and the animal upon its part made one, last supreme effort for life. It
reared up in the water and wheeling about struck at the man. The raking
talons grazed his flesh, and then he was back upon the giant shoulders
forcing the head once more beneath the surface of the sea. He felt a
spasm pass through the great frame of the beast beneath him; the muscles
relaxed and the tarag floated up.

A moment later Tanar dragged himself to the pebbly beach, where he lay
panting from exhaustion.

Recovered, nor did it take him long to recover, so urgent were the
demands of the pursuit upon which he was engaged, Tanar rose and looked
about him. Before him were canoes, such as he had never seen before,
drawn up upon the narrow beach. Paddles lay in each of the canoes as
though they but awaited the early return of their owners. Whence they
had come and what they were doing here in this lonely cavern, Tanar
could not guess. They were unlike the canoes of the Amiocapians, which
fact convinced him that they belonged to a people from some other
island, or possibly from the mainland itself. But these were questions
which did not concern him greatly at the time. Here were canoes. Here
was the means of pursuing the two that he had seen far out at sea and
whom he was convinced were none other than Jude and Stellara.

Seizing one of the small craft he dragged it to the water’s edge and
launched it. Then, leaping into it, he paddled swiftly down the cove out
towards the sea, and as he paddled he had an opportunity to examine the
craft more closely.

It was evidently fashioned from a single log of very light wood and was
all of one piece, except a bulkhead at each end of the cockpit, which
was large enough to accommodate three men.

Rapping with his paddle upon the surface of the deck and upon the
bulkheads convinced him that the log had been entirely hollowed out
beneath the deck and as the bulkheads themselves gave every appearance
of having been so neatly fitted as to be watertight, Tanar guessed that
the canoe was unsinkable.

His attention was next attracted by a well-tanned and well-worn hide
lying in the bottom of the cockpit. A rawhide lacing ran around the
entire periphery of the hide and as he tried to determine the purpose to
which the whole had been put his eyes fell upon a series of cleats
extending entirely around the edge of the cockpit, and he guessed that
the hide was intended as a covering for it. Examining it more closely he
discovered an opening in it about the size of a man’s body and
immediately its purpose became apparent to him. With the covering in
place and laced tightly around the cockpit and also laced around the
man’s body the canoe could ship no water and might prove a seaworthy
craft, even in severe storms.

As the Sarian fully realized his limitations as a seafaring man, he lost
no time in availing himself of this added protection against the
elements, and when he had adjusted it and laced it tightly about the
outside of the cockpit and secured the lacing which ran around the
opening in the center of the hide about his own body, he experienced a
feeling of security that he had never before felt when he had been
forced to surrender himself to the unknown dangers of the sea.

Now he paddled rapidly in the direction in which he had last seen the
canoe with its two occupants, and when he had passed out of the cove
into the open sea he espied them again, but this time so far out that
the craft and its passengers appeared only as a single dot upon the
broad waters. But beyond them hazily loomed the bulk of the island that
Jude had pointed out as Hime and this tended to crystallize Tanar’s
assurance that the canoe ahead of him was being guided by Jude toward
the island of his own people.

The open seas of Pellucidar present obstacles to the navigation of a
small canoe that would seem insurmountable to men of the outer crust,
for their waters are ofttimes alive with saurian monsters of a long past
geologic epoch and it was encounters with these that the Sarian
mountaineer apprehended with more acute concern than consideration of
adverse wind or tempest aroused within him.

He had noticed that one end of the long paddle he wielded was tipped
with a piece of sharpened ivory from the end of a tandor’s tusk, but the
thing seemed an utterly futile weapon with which to combat a tandoraz or
an azdyryth, two of the mightiest and most fearsome inhabitants of the
deep, but as far as he could see ahead the long, oily swells of a calm
ocean were unruffled by marine life of any description.

Well aware of his small experience and great deficiency as a paddler,
Tanar held no expectation of being able to overhaul the canoe manned by
the experienced Jude. The best that he could hope was that he might keep
it in view until he could mark the spot upon Hime where it landed. And
once upon solid ground again, even though it was an island peopled by
enemies, the Sarian felt that he would be able to cope with any
emergency that might arise.

Gradually the outlines of Hime took definite shape before him while
those of Amiocap became correspondingly vague behind.

And between him and the island of Hime the little dot upon the surface
of the sea told him that his quarry had not as yet made land. The
pursuit seemed interminable. Hime seemed to be receding almost as
rapidly as he approached it. He became hungry and thirsty, but there was
neither food nor water. There was naught but to bend his paddle
ceaselessly through the monotonous grind of pursuit, but at length the
details of the shore-line grew more distinct, He saw coves and inlets
and wooded hills and then he saw the canoe that he was following
disappear far ahead of him beyond the entrance of a cove. Tanar marked
the spot well in his mind and redoubled his efforts to reach the shore.
And then fate arose in her inexorable perversity and confounded all his
hopes and plans.

A sudden flurry on the surface of the water far to his right gave him
his first warning. And then, like the hand of a giant, the wind caught
his frail craft and turned it at right angles to the course he wished to
pursue. The waves rolled; the wind shrieked; the storm was upon him in
great fury and there was naught to do but turn and flee before it.

Down the coast of Hime he raced, parallel to the shore, further and
further from the spot where Jude had landed with Stellara, but all the
time Tanar was striving to drive his craft closer and closer to the
wooded slopes of Hime.

Ahead of him, and upon his right, he could see what appeared to be the
end of the island. Should he be carried past this he realized that all
would be lost, for doubtless the storm would carry him on out of sight
of land and if it did he knew that he could never reach Hime nor return
to Amiocap, since he had no means whatsoever of ascertaining direction
once land slipped from view in the haze of the upcurving horizon.

Straining every muscle, continuously risking being capsized, Tanar
strove to drive inward toward the shore, and though he saw that he was
gaining he knew that it was too late, for already he was almost abreast
of the island’s extremity, and still he was a hundred yards off shore.
But even so he did not despair, or if he did despair he did not cease to
struggle for salvation.

He saw the island slip past him, but there was yet a chance for in its
lee he saw calm water and if he could reach that he would be saved.

Straining every muscle the Sarian bent to his crude paddle. Suddenly the
breeze stopped and he shot out into the smooth water in the lee of the
island, but he did not cease his strenuous efforts until the bow of the
canoe had touched the sand of Hime.

Tanar leaped out and dragged the craft ashore. That he should ever need
it again he doubted, yet he hid it beneath the foliage of nearby bushes,
and alone and unarmed set forth to face the dangers of an unknown
country in what appeared even to Tanar as an almost hopeless quest for
Stellara.

To the Sarian it seemed wisest to follow the coast-line back until he
found the spot at which Jude had landed and then trace his trail inland,
and this was the plan that he proceeded to follow.

Being in a strange land and, therefore, in a land of enemies, and being
unarmed, Tanar was forced to move with great caution; yet constantly he
sacrificed caution to speed. Natural obstacles impeded his progress. A
great cliff running far out into the sea barred his way and it was with
extreme difficulty that he found a path up the face of the frowning
escarpment and then only after traveling inland for a considerable
distance.

Beyond the summit rolled a broad table-land dotted with trees. A herd of
thags grazed quietly in the sunlight or dozed beneath the shadowy
foliage of the trees.

At sight of the man passing among them these great horned cattle became
restless. An old bull bellowed and pawed the ground, and Tanar measured
the distance to the nearest tree. But on he went, avoiding the beasts as
best he could and hoping against hope that he could pass them
successfully without further arousing their short tempers. But the
challenge of the old bull was being taken up by others of his sex until
a score of heavy shouldered mountains of beef were converging slowly
upon the lone man, stopping occasionally to paw or gore the ground,
while they bellowed forth their displeasure.

There was still a chance that he might pass them in safety. There was an
opening among them just ahead of him, and Tanar accelerated his speed,
but just at that instant one of the bulls took it into his head to
charge and then the whole twenty bore down upon the Sarian like a band
of iron locomotives suddenly endowed with the venom of hornets.

There was naught to do but seek the safety of the nearest tree and
towards this Tanar ran at full speed, while from all sides the angry
bulls raced to head him off.

With scarcely more than inches to spare Tanar swung himself into the
branches of the tree just as the leading bull passed beneath him. A
moment later the bellowing herd congregated beneath his sanctuary and
while some contented themselves with pawing and bellowing, others placed
their heavy heads against the bole of the tree and sought to push it
down, but fortunately for Tanar it was a young oak and it withstood
their sturdiest efforts.

But now, having treed him, the thags showed no disposition to leave him.
For a while they milled around beneath him and then several deliberately
lay down beneath the tree as though to prevent his escape.

To one accustomed to the daily recurrence of the darkness of night,
following the setting of the sun, escape from such a dilemma as that in
which Tanar found himself would have seemed merely a matter of waiting
for the coming of night, but where the sun does not set and there is no
night, and time is immeasurable and unmeasured, and where one may not
know whether a lifetime or a second has been encompassed by the duration
of such an event, the enforced idleness and delay are maddening.

But in spite of these conditions, or perhaps because of them, the Sarian
possessed a certain philosophic outlook upon life that permitted him to
accept his fate with marked stoicism and to take advantage of the
enforced delay by fashioning a bow, arrows and a spear from the material
afforded by the tree in which he was confined.

The tree gave him everything that he needed except the cord for his bow,
and this he cut from the rawhide belt that supported his loin cloth—a
long, slender strip of rawhide which he inserted in his mouth and chewed
thoroughly until it was entirely impregnated with saliva. Then he bent
his bow and stretched the wet rawhide from tip to tip. While it dried,
he pointed his arrows with his teeth.

In drying the rawhide shrunk, bending the bow still further and
tightening the string until it hummed to the slightest touch.

The weapons were finished and yet the great bulls still stood on guard,
and while Tanar remained helpless in the tree Jude was taking Stellara
toward the interior of the island.

But all things must end. Impatient of delay, Tanar sought some plan
whereby he might rid himself of the short tempered beasts beneath him.
He hit upon the plan of yelling and throwing dead branches at them and
this did have the effect of bringing them all to their feet. A few
wandered away to graze with the balance of the herd, but enough remained
to keep Tanar securely imprisoned.

A great bull stood directly beneath him. Tanar jumped up and down upon a
small branch, making its leafy end whip through the air, and at the same
time he hurled bits of wood at the great thags. And then, suddenly, to
the surprise and consternation of both man and beast, the branch broke
and precipitated Tanar full upon the broad shoulders of the bull.
Instantly his fingers clutched its long hair as, with a bellow of
surprise and terror, the beast leaped forward.

Instinct took the frightened animal toward the balance of the herd and
when they saw him with a man sitting upon his back they, too, became
terrified, with the result that a general stampede ensued, the herd
attempting to escape their fellow, while the bull raced to be among
them.

Stragglers, that had been grazing at a considerable distance from the
balance of the herd, were stringing out to the rear and it was the
presence of these that made it impossible for Tanar to slip to the
ground and make his escape. Knowing that he would be trampled by those
behind if he left the back of the bull, there was no alternative but to
remain where he was as long as he could.

The thag, now thoroughly frightened because of his inability to dislodge
the man-thing from his shoulders, was racing blindly forward, and
presently Tanar found himself carried into the very midst of the lunging
herd as it thundered across the table-land toward a distant forest.

The Sarian knew that once they reached the forest he would doubtless be
scraped from the back of the thag almost immediately by some low hanging
limb, and if he were not killed or injured by the blow he would be
trampled to death by the thags behind. But as escape seemed hopeless he
could only await the final outcome of this strange adventure.

When the leaders of the herd approached the forest hope was rekindled in
Tanar’s breast, for he saw that the growth was so thick and the trees so
close together that it was impossible for the beasts to enter the woods
at a rapid gait.

Immediately the leaders reached the edge of the forest their pace was
slowed down and those behind them, pushing forward, were stopped by
those in front. Some of them attempted to climb up, or were forced up,
upon the backs of those ahead. But, for the most part, the herd slowed
down and contented itself with pushing steadily onward toward the woods
with the result that when the beast that Tanar was astride arrived at
the edge of the dark shadows his gait had been reduced to a walk, and as
he passed beneath the first tree Tanar swung lightly into its branches.

He had lost his spear, but his bow and arrows that he had strapped to
his back remained with him, and as the herd passed beneath him and he
saw the last of them disappear in the dark aisles of the forest, he
breathed a deep sigh of relief and turned once more toward the far end
of the island.

The thags had carried him inland a considerable distance, so now he cut
back diagonally toward the coast to gain as much ground as possible.

Tanar had not yet emerged from the forest when he heard the excited
growling of some wild beast directly ahead of him.

He thought that he recognized the voice of a codon, and fitting an arrow
to his bow he crept warily forward. What wind was blowing came from the
beast toward him and presently brought to his nostrils proof of the
correctness of his guess, together with another familiar scent—that of
man.

Knowing that the beast could not catch his scent from upwind, Tanar had
only to be careful to advance silently, but there are few animals on
earth that can move more silently than primitive man when he elects to
do so, and so Tanar came in sight of the beast without being discovered
by it.

It was, as he had thought, a huge wolf, a pre-historic but gigantic
counterpart of our own timber wolf.

No need had the codon to run in packs, for in size, strength, ferocity
and courage it was a match for any creature that it sought to bring
down, with the possible exception of the mammoth, and this great beast
alone it hunted in packs.

The codon stood snarling beneath a great tree, occasionally leaping high
against the bole as though he sought to reach something hidden by the
foliage above.

Tanar crept closer and presently he saw the figure of a youth crouching
among the lower branches above the codon. It was evident that the boy
was terror-stricken, but the thing that puzzled Tanar was that he cast
affrighted glances upward into the tree more often than he did downward
toward the codon, and presently this fact convinced the Sarian that the
youth was menaced by something above him.

Tanar viewed the predicament of the boy and then considered the pitiful
inadequacy of his own makeshift bow and arrow, which might only
infuriate the beast and turn it upon himself. He doubted that the arrows
were heavy enough, or strong enough, to pierce through the savage heart
and thus only might he hope to bring down the codon.

Once more he crept to a new position, without attracting the attention
either of the codon or the youth, and from this new vantage point he
could look further up into the tree in which the boy crouched and then
it was that he realized the hopelessness of the boy’s position, for only
a few feet above him and moving steadily closer appeared the head of a
great snake, whose wide, distended jaws revealed formidable fangs.

Tanar’s consideration of the boy’s plight was influenced by a desire to
save him from either of the two creatures that menaced him and also by
the hope that if successful he might win sufficient gratitude to enlist
the services of the youth as a guide, and especially as a go-between in
the event that he should come in contact with natives of the island.

Tanar had now crept to within seven paces of the codon, from the sight
of which he was concealed by a low shrub behind which he lay. Had the
youth not been so occupied between the wolf and the snake he might have
seen the Sarian, but so far he had not seen him.

Fitting an arrow to his crude bow and inserting four others between the
fingers of his left hand, Tanar arose quietly and drove a shaft into the
back of the codon, between its shoulders.

With a howl of pain and rage the beast wheeled about, only to receive
another arrow full in the chest. Then his glaring eyes alighted upon the
Sarian and, with a hideous growl, he charged.

With such rapidity do events of this nature transpire that they are over
in much less time than it takes to record them, for a wounded wolf,
charging its antagonist, can cover seven paces in an incredibly short
space of time; yet even in that brief interval three more arrows sank
deeply into the white breast of the codon, and the momentum of its last
stride sent it rolling against the Sarian’s feet—dead.

The youth, freed from the menace of the codon, leaped to the ground and
would have fled without a word of thanks had not Tanar covered him with
another arrow and commanded him to halt.

The snake, seeing another man and realizing, perhaps, that the odds were
now against him, hesitated a moment and then withdrew into the foliage
of the tree, as Tanar advanced toward the trembling youth.

“Who are you?” demanded the Sarian.

“My name is Balal,” replied the youth. “I am the son of Scurv, the
chief.”

“Where is your village?” asked Tanar.

“It is not far,” replied Balal.

“Will you take me there?” asked Tanar.

“Yes,” replied Balal.

“Will your father receive me well?” continued the Sarian.

“You saved my life,” said Balal. “For that he will treat you well,
though for the most part we kill strangers who come to Garb.”

“Lead on,” said the Sarian.




                                   XI
                                  GURA


Balal led Tanar through the forest until they came at last to the edge
of a steep cliff, which the Sarian judged was the opposite side of the
promontory that had barred his way along the beach.

Not far from the Cliff’s edge stood the stump of a great tree that
seemed to have been blasted and burned by lightning. It reared its head
some ten feet above the ground and from its charred surface protruded
the stub end of several broken limbs.

“Follow me,” said Balal, and leaping to the protruding stub, he climbed
to the top of the stump and lowered himself into the interior.

Tanar followed and found an opening some three feet in diameter leading
down into the bole of the dead tree. Set into the sides of this natural
shaft were a series of heavy pegs, which answered the purpose of ladder
rungs to the descending Balal.

The noonday sun lighted the interior of the tree for a short distance,
but their own shadows, intervening, blotted out everything that lay at a
depth greater than six or eight feet.

None too sure that he was not being led into a trap and, therefore,
unwilling to permit his guide to get beyond his reach, Tanar hastily
entered the hollow stump and followed Balal downward.

The Sarian was aware that the interior of the tree led into a shaft dug
in the solid ground and a moment later he felt his feet touch the floor
of a dark tunnel.

Along this tunnel Balal led him and presently they emerged into a cave
that was dimly lighted through a small opening opposite them and near
the floor.

Through this aperture, which was about two feet in diameter and beyond
which Tanar could see daylight, Balal crawled, followed closely by the
Sarian, who found himself upon a narrow ledge, high up on the face of an
almost vertical cliff.

“This,” said Balal, “is the village of Garb.”

“I see no village nor any people,” said Tanar.

“They are here though,” said Balal. “Follow me,” and he led the way a
short distance along the ledge, which inclined downward and was in
places so narrow and so shelving that the two men were compelled to
flatten themselves against the side of the cliff and edge their way
slowly, inch by inch, sideways.

Presently the ledge ended and here it was much wider so that Balal could
lie down upon it, and, lowering his body over the edge, he clung a
moment by his hands and then dropped.

Tanar looked over the edge and saw that Balal had alighted upon another
narrow ledge about ten feet below. Even to a mountaineer, such as the
Sarian was, the feat seemed difficult and fraught with danger, but there
was no alternative and so, lying down, he lowered himself slowly over
the edge of the ledge, clung an instant with his fingers, and then
dropped.

As he alighted beside the youth he was about to remark upon the perilous
approach to the village of Garb, but it was so apparent that Balal took
it as a matter of course and thought nothing of it that Tanar desisted,
realizing, in the instant, that among cliff dwellers, such as these, the
little feat that they had just accomplished was as ordinary and everyday
an occurrence as walking on level ground was to him.

As Tanar had an opportunity to look about him on this new level, he saw,
and not without relief, that the ledge was much wider and that the
mouths of several caves opened upon it. In places, and more especially
in front of the cave entrances, the ledge widened to as much as six or
eight feet, and here Tanar obtained his first view of any considerable
number of Himeans.

“Is it not a wonderful village?” asked Balal, and without waiting for an
answer, “Look!” and he pointed downward over the edge of the ledge.

Following the direction indicated by the youth, Tanar saw ledge after
ledge scoring the face of a lofty cliff from summit to base, and upon
every ledge there were men, women and children.

“Come,” said Balal, “I will take you to my father,” and forthwith he led
the way along the ledge.

As the first people they encountered saw Tanar they leaped to their
feet, the men seizing their weapons. “I am taking him to my father, the
chief,” said Balal. “Do not harm him,” and with sullen looks the
warriors let them pass.

A log into which wooden pegs were driven served as an easy means of
descent from one ledge to the next, and after descending for a
considerable distance to about midway between the summit and the ground
Balal halted at the entrance to a cave, before which sat a man, a woman
and two children, a girl about Balal’s age and a boy much younger.

As had all the other villagers they had passed, these, too, leaped to
their feet and seized weapons when they saw Tanar.

“Do not harm him,” repeated Balal. “I have brought him to you, Scurv, my
father, because he saved my life when it was threatened simultaneously
by a snake and a wolf and I promised him that you would receive him and
treat him well.”

Scurv eyed Tanar suspiciously and there was no softening of the lines
upon his sullen countenance even when he heard that the stranger had
saved the life of his son. “Who are you and what are you doing in our
country?” he demanded.

“I am looking for one named Jude,” replied Tanar.

“What do you know of Jude?” asked Scurv. “Is he your friend?”

There was something in the man’s tone that made it questionable as to
the advisability of claiming Jude as a friend. “I know him,” he said.
“We were prisoners together among the Coripies on the island of
Amiocap.”

“You are an Amiocapian?” demanded Scurv.

“No,” replied Tanar, “I am a Sarian from a country on a far distant
mainland.”

“Then what were you doing on Amiocap?” asked Scurv.

“I was captured by the Korsars and the ship in which they were taking me
to their country was wrecked on Amiocap. All that I ask of you is that
you give me food and show me where I can find Jude.”

“I do not know where you can find Jude,” said Scurv. “His people and my
people are always at war.”

“Do you not know where their country or village is?” demanded Tanar.

“Yes, of course I know where it is, but I do not know that Jude is
there.”

“Are you going to give him food,” asked Balal, “and treat him well as I
promised you would?”

“Yes,” said Scurv, but his tone was sullen and his shifty eyes looked
neither at Balal nor Tanar as he replied.

In the center of the ledge, opposite the mouth of the cave, a small fire
was burning beneath an earthen bowl, which was supported by three or
four small pieces of stone. Squatting close to this was a female, who,
in youth, might have been a fine looking girl, but now her face was
lined by bitterness and hate as she glared sullenly into the caldron,
the contents of which she was stirring with the rib of some large
animal.

“Tanar is hungry, Sloo,” said Balal, addressing the woman. “When will
the food be cooked?”

“Have I not enough to do preparing hides and cooking food for all of you
without having to cook for every enemy that you see fit to bring to the
cave of your father?”

“This is the first time I ever brought any one, mother,” said Balal.

“Let it be the last, then,” snapped the woman.

“Shut up, woman,” snapped Scurv, “and hasten with the food.”

The woman leaped to her feet, brandishing the rib above her head. “Don’t
tell me what to do, Scurv,” she shrilled. “I have had about enough of
you anyway.”

“Hit him, mother!” screamed a lad of about eleven, jumping to his feet
and dancing about in evident joy and excitement.

Balal leaped across the cook fire and struck the lad heavily with his
open palm across the face, sending him spinning up against the cliff
wall. “Shut up, Dhung,” he cried, “or I’ll pitch you over the edge.”

The remaining member of the family party, a girl, just ripening into
womanhood, remained silent where she was seated, leaning against the
face of the cliff, her large, dark eyes taking in the scene being
enacted before her. Suddenly the woman, turned upon her. “Why don’t you
do something, Gura?” she demanded. “You sit there and let them attack me
and never raise a hand in my defense.”

“But no one has attacked you, mother,” said the girl, with a sigh.

“But I will,” yelled Scurv, seizing a short club that lay beside him.
“I’ll knock her head off if she doesn’t keep a still tongue in it and
hurry with that food.” At this instant a loud scream attracted the
attention of all toward another family group before a cave, a little
further along the ledge. Here, a man, grasping a woman by her hair, was
beating her with a stick, while several children were throwing pieces of
rock, first at their parents and then at one another.

“Hit her again!” yelled Scurv.

“Scratch out his eyes!” screamed Sloo, and for the moment the family of
the chief forgot their own differences in the enjoyable spectacle of
another family row.

Tanar looked on in consternation and surprise. Never had he witnessed
such tumult and turmoil in the villages of the Sarians, and coming, as
he just had, from Amiocap, the island of love, the contrast was even
more appalling.

“Don’t mind them,” said Balal, who was watching the Sarian and had
noticed the expression of surprise and disgust upon his face. “If you
stay with us long you will get used to it, for it is always like this.
Come on, let’s eat, the food is ready,” and drawing his stone knife he
fished into the pot and speared a piece of meat.

Tanar, having no knife, had recourse to one of his arrows, which
answered the purpose quite as well, and then, one by one, the family
gathered around as though nothing unusual had happened, and fell, too,
upon the steaming stew with avidity.

During the meal they did not speak other than to call one another vile
names, if two chanced to reach into the caldron simultaneously and one
interfered with another.

The caldron emptied, Scurv and Sloo crawled into the dark interior of
their cave to sleep, where they were presently followed by Balal.

Gura, the daughter, took the caldron and started down the cliff toward
the brook to wash out the receptacle and return with it filled with
water.

As she made her precarious way down rickety ladders and narrow ledges,
little Dhung, her brother, amused himself by hurling stones at her.

“Stop that,” commanded Tanar. “You might hit her.”

“That is what I am trying to do,” said the little imp. “Why else should
I be throwing stones at her? To miss her?” He hurled another missile and
with that Tanar grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

Instantly Dhung let out a scream that might have been heard in Amiocap—a
scream that brought Sloo rushing from the cave.

“He is killing me,” shrieked Dhung, and at that the cave woman turned
upon Tanar with flashing eyes and a face distorted with rage.

“Wait,” said Tanar, in a calm voice. “I was not hurting the child. He
was hurling rocks at his sister and I stopped him.”

“What business have you to stop him?” demanded Sloo. “She is his sister,
he has a right to hurl rocks at her if he chooses.”

“But he might have struck her, and if he had she would have fallen to
her death below.”

“What if she did? That is none of your business,” snapped Sloo, and
grabbing Dhung by his long hair she cuffed his ears and dragged him into
the interior of the cave, where for a long time Tanar could hear blows
and screams, mingled with the sharp tongue of Sloo and the curses of
Scurv.

But finally these died down to silence, permitting the sounds of other
domestic brawls from various parts of the cliff village to reach the
ears of the disgusted Sarian.

Far below him Tanar saw the girl, Gura, washing the earthenware vessel
in a little stream, after which she filled it with fresh water and
lifted the heavy burden to her head. He wondered at the ease with which
she carried the great weight and was at a loss to know how she intended
to scale the precipitous cliff and the rickety, makeshift ladders with
her heavy load. Watching her progress with considerable interest he saw
her ascend the lowest ladder, apparently with as great ease and agility
as though she was unburdened. Up she came, balancing the receptacle with
no evident effort.

As he watched her he saw a man ascending also, but several ledges higher
than the girl. The fellow came swiftly and noiselessly to the very ledge
where Tanar stood. Paying no attention to the Sarian, he slunk
cautiously along the ledge to the mouth of the cave next to that of
Scurv. Drawing his stone knife from his loin cloth he crept within, and
a moment later Tanar heard the sounds of screams and curses and then two
men rolled from the mouth of the cave, locked in a deadly embrace. One
of them was the fellow whom Tanar had just seen enter the cave. The
other was a younger man and smaller and less powerful than his
antagonist. They were slashing desperately at one another with their
stone knives, but the duel seemed to be resulting in more noise than
damage.

At this juncture, a woman came running from the cave. She was armed with
the leg bone of a thag and with this she sought to belabor the older
man, striking vicious blows at his head and body.

This attack seemed to infuriate the fellow to the point of madness, and,
rather than incapacitating him, urged him on to redoubled efforts.

Presently he succeeded in grasping the knife hand of his opponent and an
instant later he had driven his own blade into the heart of his
opponent.

With a scream of anguish the woman struck again at the older man’s head,
but she missed her target and her weapon was splintered on the stone of
the ledge. The victor leaped to his feet and seizing the body of his
opponent hurled it over the cliff, and then grabbing the woman by the
hair he dragged her about, shrieking and cursing, as he sought for some
missile wherewith to belabor her.

As Tanar stood watching the disgusting spectacle he became aware that
someone was standing beside him and, turning, he saw that Gura had
returned. She stood there straight as an arrow, balancing the water
vessel upon her head.

“It is terrible,” said Tanar, nodding toward the battling couple.

Gura shrugged indifferently. “It is nothing,” she said. “Her mate
returned unexpectedly. That is all.”

“You mean,” asked Tanar, “that this fellow is her mate and that the
other was not?”

“Certainly,” said Gura, “but they all do it. What can you expect where
there is nothing but hate,” and walking to the entrance to her father’s
cave she set the water vessel down within the shadows just inside the
entrance. Then she sat down and leaned her back against the cliff,
paying no more attention to the matrimonial difficulties of her
neighbor.

Tanar, for the first time, noticed the girl particularly. He saw that
she had neither the cunning expression that characterized Jude and all
of the other Himeans he had seen; nor were there the lines of habitual
irritation and malice upon her face; instead it reflected an innate
sadness and he guessed that she looked much like her mother might have
when she was Gura’s age.

Tanar crossed the ledge and sat down beside her. “Do your people always
quarrel thus?” he asked.

“Always,” replied Gura.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know,” she replied. “They take their mates for life and are
permitted but one and though both men and women have a choice in the
selection of their mates they never seem to be satisfied with one
another and are always quarreling, usually because neither one nor the
other is faithful. Do the men and women quarrel thus in the land from
which you come?”

“No,” replied Tanar. “They do not. If they did they would be thrown out
of the tribe.”

“But suppose that they find that they do not like one another?” insisted
the girl.

“Then they do not live together,” replied Tanar. “They separate and if
they care to they find other mates.”

“That is wicked,” said Gura. “We would kill any of our people who did
such a thing.”

Tanar shrugged and laughed.

“At least we are all a very happy people,” he said, “which is more than
you can say for yourselves, and, after all, happiness, it seems to me,
is everything.”

The girl thought for some time, seemingly studying an idea that was new
to her.

“Perhaps you are right,” she said, presently. “Nothing could be worse
than the life that we live. My mother tells me that it was not thus in
her country, but now she is as bad as the rest.”

“Your mother is not a Himean?” asked Tanar.

“No, she is from Amiocap. My father captured her there when she was
young.”

“That accounts for the difference,” mused Tanar.

“What difference?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are not like the others, Gura,” he replied. “You
neither look like them nor act like them—neither you nor your brother,
Balal.”

“Our mother is an Amiocapian,” she replied. “Perhaps we inherited
something from her and then again, and most important, we are young and,
as yet, have no mates. When that time comes we shall grow to be like the
others, just as our mother has grown to be like them.”

“Do many of your men take their mates from Amiocap?” asked Tanar.

“Many try to, but few succeed for as a rule they are driven away or
killed by the Amiocapian warriors. They have a landing place upon the
coast of Amiocap in a dark cave beneath a high cliff and of ten Himean
warriors who land there scarce one returns, and he not always with an
Amiocapian mate. There is a tribe living along our coast that has grown
rich by crossing to Amiocap and bringing back the canoes of the
warriors, who have crossed for mates and have died at the hands of the
Amiocapian warriors.”

For a few moments she was silent, absorbed in thought. “I should like to
go to Amiocap,” she mused, presently.

“Why?” asked Tanar.

“Perhaps I should find there a mate with whom I might be happy,” she
said.

Tanar shook his head sadly. “That is impossible, Gura,” he said.

“Why?” she demanded. “Am I not beautiful enough for the Amiocapian
warriors?”

“Yes,” he replied, “you are very beautiful, but if you went to Amiocap
they would kill you.”

“Why?” she demanded again.

“Because, although your mother is an Amiocapian, your father is not,”
explained Tanar.

“That is their law?” asked Gura, sadly.

“Yes,” replied Tanar.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “then I suppose I must remain here and
seek a mate whom I shall learn to hate and bring children into the world
who will hate us both.”

“It is not a pleasant outlook,” said Tanar.

“No,” she said, and then after a pause, “unless—”

“Unless, what?” asked the Sarian.

“Nothing,” said Gura.

For a time they sat in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts,
Tanar’s being filled to the exclusion of all else by the face and figure
of Stellara.

Presently the girl looked up at him. “What are you going to do after you
find Jude?” she asked.

“I am going to kill him,” replied Tanar.

“And then?” she queried.

“I do not know,” said the Sarian. “If I find the one whom I believe to
be with Jude we shall try to return to Amiocap.”

“Why do you not remain here?” asked Gura. “I wish that you would.”

Tanar shuddered. “I would rather die,” he said.

“I do not blame you much,” said the girl, “but I believe there is a way
in which you might be happy even in Hime.”

“How?” asked Tanar.

Gura did not answer and he saw tears come to her eyes. Then she arose
hurriedly and entered the cave.

Tanar thought that Scurv would never be done with his sleep. He wanted
to talk to him and arrange for a guide to the village of Jude, but it
was Sloo who first emerged from the cave.

She eyed him sullenly. “You still here?” she demanded.

“I am waiting for Scurv to send a guide to direct me to the village of
Jude,” replied the Sarian. “I shall not remain here an instant longer
than is necessary.”

“That will be too long,” growled Sloo, and turning on her heels she
reëntered the cave.

Presently Balal emerged, rubbing his eyes. “When will Scurv send me on
my way?” demanded Tanar.

“I do not know,” replied the youth. “He has just awakened. When he comes
out you should speak to him about it. He has just sent me to fetch the
skin of the codon you killed. He was very angry to think that I left it
lying in the forest.”

After Balal departed, Tanar sat with his own thoughts for a long while.

Presently Gura came from the cave. She appeared frightened and excited.
She came close to Tanar and, kneeling, placed her lips close to his ear.
“You must escape at once,” she said, in a low whisper. “Scurv is going
to kill you. That is why he sent Balal away.”

“But why does he want to kill me?” demanded Tanar. “I saved the life of
his son and I have only asked that he direct me to the village of Jude.”

“He thinks Sloo is in love with you,” explained Gura, “for when he
awakened she was not in the cave. She was out here upon the ledge with
you.”

Tanar laughed. “Sloo made it very plain to me that she did not like me,”
he said, “and wanted me to be gone.”

“I believe you,” said Gura, “but Scurv, filled with suspicion and hatred
and a guilty conscience, is anxious to believe anything bad that he can
of Sloo, and as he does not wish to be convinced that he is wrong it
stands to reason that nothing can convince him, so that your only hope
is in flight.”

“Thank you, Gura,” said Tanar. “I shall go at once.”

“No, that will not do,” said the girl. “Scurv is coming out here
immediately. He would miss you, possibly before you could get out of
sight, and in a moment he could muster a hundred warriors to pursue you,
and furthermore you have no proper weapons with which to start out in
search of Jude.”

“Perhaps you have a better plan, then,” said Tanar.

“I have,” said the girl. “Listen! Do you see where the stream enters the
jungle,” and she pointed across the clearing at the foot of the cliff
toward the edge of a dark forest.

“Yes,” said Tanar, “I see.”

“I shall descend now and hide there in a large tree beside the stream.
When Scurv comes out, tell him that you saw a deer there and ask him to
loan you weapons, so that you may go and kill it. Meat is always welcome
and he will postpone his attack upon you until you have returned with
the carcass of your kill, but you will not return. When you enter the
forest I shall be there to direct you to the village of Jude.”

“Why are you doing this, Gura?” demanded Tanar.

“Never mind about that,” said the girl. “Only do as I say. There is no
time to lose as Scurv may come out from the cave at any moment,” and
without further words she commenced the descent of the cliff face.

Tanar watched her as, with the agility and grace of a chamois, the girl,
oftentimes disdaining ladders, leaped lightly from ledge to ledge.
Almost before he could realize it she was at the bottom of the cliff and
moving swiftly toward the forest beyond, the foliage of which had
scarcely closed about her when Scurv emerged from the cave. Directly
behind him were Sloo and Dhung, and Tanar saw that each carried a club.

“I am glad you came out now,” said Tanar, losing no time, for he sensed
that the three were bent upon immediate attack.

“Why?” growled Scurv.

“I just saw a deer at the edge of the forest. If you will let me take
weapons, perhaps I can repay your hospitality by bringing you the
carcass.”

Scurv hesitated, his stupid mind requiring time to re-adjust itself and
change from one line of thought to another, but Sloo was quick to see
the advantage of utilizing the unwelcome guest and she was willing to
delay his murder until he had brought back his kill. “Get weapons,” she
said to Dhung, “and let the stranger fetch the deer.”

Scurv scratched his head, still in a quandary, and before he had made up
his mind one way or the other, Dhung reappeared with a lance and a stone
knife, which, instead of handing to Tanar, he threw at him, but the
Sarian caught the weapons, and, without awaiting further permission,
clambered down the ladder to the next ledge and from thence downward to
the ground. Several of the villagers, recognizing him as a stranger,
sought to interfere with him, but Scurv, standing upon the ledge high
above watching his descent, bellowed commands that he be left alone, and
presently the Sarian was crossing the open towards the jungle.

Just inside the concealing verdure of the forest he was accosted by
Gura, who was perched upon the limb of a tree above him.

“Your warning came just in time, Gura,” said the man, “for Scurv and
Sloo and Dhung came out almost immediately, armed and ready to kill me.”

“I knew that they would,” she said, “and I am glad that they will be
disappointed, especially Dhung—the little beast! He begged to be allowed
to torture you.”

“It does not seem possible that he can be your brother,” said Tanar.

“He is just like Scurv’s mother,” said the girl. “I knew her before she
was killed. She was a most terrible old woman, and Dhung has inherited
all of her venom and none of the kindly blood of the Amiocapians, which
flows in the veins of my mother, despite the change that her horrid life
has brought over her.”

“And now,” said Tanar, “point the way to Jude’s village and I shall be
gone. Never, Gura, can I repay you for your kindness to me—a kindness
which I can only explain on the strength of the Amiocapian blood which
is in you. I shall never see you again, Gura, but I shall carry the
recollection of your image and your kindness always in my heart.”

“I am going with you,” said Gura.

“You cannot do that,” said Tanar.

“How else may I guide you to the village of Jude then?” she demanded.

“You do not have to guide me; only tell me the direction in which it
lies and I shall find it,” replied Tanar.

“I am going with you,” said the girl, determinedly. “There is only hate
and misery in the cave of my father. I would rather be with you.”

“But that cannot be, Gura,” said Tanar.

“If I went back now to the cave of Scurv he would suspect me of having
aided your escape and they would all beat me. Come, we cannot waste time
here for if you do not return quickly, Scurv will become suspicious and
set out upon your trail.” She had dropped to the ground beside him and
now she started off into the forest.

“Have it as you wish, then, Gura,” said Tanar, “but I am afraid that you
are going to regret your act—I am afraid that we are both going to
regret it.”

“At least I shall have a little happiness in life,” said the girl, “and
if I have that I shall be willing to die.”

“Wait,” said Tanar, “in which direction does the village of Jude lie?”
The girl pointed. “Very well,” said Tanar, “instead of going on the
ground and leaving our spoor plainly marked for Scurv to follow, we
shall take to the trees, for after having watched you descend the cliff
I know that you must be able to travel as rapidly among the branches as
you do upon the ground.”

“I have never done it,” said the girl, “but wherever you go I shall
follow.”

Although Tanar had been loath to permit the girl to accompany him,
nevertheless he found that her companionship made what would have been
otherwise a lonely adventure far from unpleasant.




                                  XII
                             “I HATE YOU!”


The companions of Bohar the Bloody had not waited long for him after he
had set out in pursuit of Stellara and had not returned. They hastened
the work upon their boat to early completion, and, storing provisions
and water, sailed out of the cove on the shores of which they had
constructed their craft and bore away for Korsar with no regret for
Bohar, whom they all cordially hated.

The very storm that had come near to driving Tanar past the island of
Hime bore the Korsars down upon the opposite end, carried away their
rude sail and finally dashed their craft, a total wreck, upon the rocks
at the upper end of Hime.

The loss of their boat, their provisions and one of their number, who
was smashed against a rock and drowned, left the remaining Korsars in
even a more savage mood than was customary among them, and the fact that
the part of the island upon which they were wrecked afforded no timber
suitable for the construction of a boat made it necessary for them to
cross over land to the opposite shore.

They were faced now with the necessity of entering a land filled with
enemies in search of food and material for a new craft, and, to cap the
climax of their misfortune, they found themselves with wet powder and
forced to defend themselves, if necessity arose, with daggers and
cutlasses alone.

The majority of them being old sailors they were well aware of where
they were and even knew a great deal concerning the geography of Hime
and the manners and customs of its people, for most of them had
accompanied raiding parties into the interior on many occasions when the
Korsar ships had fallen upon the island to steal furs and hides, in the
perfect curing and tanning of which the Himean women were adept with the
result that Himean furs and skins brought high prices in Korsar.

A council of the older sailors decided then to set off across country
toward a harbor on the far side of the island, where the timber of an
adjoining forest would afford them the material for building another
craft with the added possibility of the arrival of a Korsar raider.

As these disgruntled men plodded wearily across the island of Hime, Jude
led the reluctant Stellara toward his village, and Gura guided Tanar in
the same direction.

Jude had been compelled to make wide detours to avoid unfriendly
villagers; nor had Stellara’s unwilling feet greatly accelerated his
pace, for she constantly hung back, and, though he no longer had to
carry her, he had found it necessary to make a leather thong fast about
her neck and lead her along in this fashion to prevent the numerous,
sudden breaks for liberty that she had made before he had devised this
scheme.

Often she pulled back, refusing to go further, saying that she was tired
and insisting upon lying down to rest, for in her heart she knew that
wherever Jude or another took her, Tanar would seek her out.

Already in her mind’s eyes she could see him upon the tail behind them
and she hoped to delay Jude’s march sufficiently so that the Sarian
would overtake them before they reached his village and the protection
of his tribe.

Gura was happy. Never before in all her life had she been so happy, and
she saw in the end of their journey a possible end to this happiness and
so she did not lead Tanar in a direct line to Carn, the village of Jude,
but led him hither and thither upon various excuses so that she might
have him to herself for as long a time as possible. She found in his
companionship a gentleness and an understanding that she had never known
in all her life before.

It was not love that Gura felt for Tanar, but something that might have
easily been translated into love had the Sarian’s own passion been
aroused toward the girl, but his love for Stellara precluded such a
possibility and while he found pleasure in the company of Gura he was
yet madly impatient to continue directly upon the trail of Jude that he
might rescue Stellara and have her for himself once more.

The village of Carn is not a cliff village, as is Garb, the village of
Scurv. It consists of houses built of stone and clay and, entirely
surrounded by a high wall, it stands upon the top of a lofty mesa
protected upon all sides by steep cliffs, and overlooking upon one hand
the forests and hills of Hime, and upon the other the broad expanse of
the Korsar Az, or Sea of Korsar.

Up the steep cliffs toward Carn climbed Jude, dragging Stellara behind
him. It was a long and arduous climb and when they reached the summit
Jude was glad to stop and rest. He also had some planning to do, since
in the village upon the mesa Jude had left a mate, and now he was
thinking of some plan whereby he might rid himself of her, but the only
plan that Jude could devise was to sneak into the city and murder her.
But what was he to do with Stellara in the meantime? And then a happy
thought occurred to him.

He knew a cave that lay just below the summit of the cliff and not far
distant and toward this he took Stellara, and when they had arrived at
it he bound her ankles and her wrists.

“I shall not leave you here long,” he said. “Presently I shall return
and take you into the village of Carn as my mate. Do not be afraid.
There are few wild beasts upon the mesa, and I shall return long before
any one can find you.”

“Do not hurry,” said Stellara. “I shall welcome the wild beast that
reaches me before you return.”

“You will think differently after you have been the mate of Jude for a
while,” said the man, and then he left her and hurried toward the walled
village of Carn.

Struggling to a sitting posture Stellara could look out across the
country that lay at the foot of the cliff and presently, below her, she
saw a man and a woman emerge from the forest.

For a moment her heart stood still, for the instant that her eyes
alighted upon him she recognized the man as Tanar. A cry of welcome was
upon her lips when a new thought stilled her tongue.

Who was the girl with Tanar? Stellara saw how close she walked to him
and she saw her look up into his face and though she was too far away to
see the girl’s eyes or her expression, there was something in the
attitude of the slim body that denoted worship, and Stellara turned her
face and buried it against the cold wall of the cave and burst into
tears.

Gura pointed upward toward the high mesa. “There,” she said, “just
beyond the summit of that cliff lies Carn, the village where Jude lives,
but if we enter it you will be killed and perhaps I, too, if the women
get me first.”

Tanar, who was examining the ground at his feet, seemed not to hear the
girl’s words. “Someone has passed just ahead of us,” he said; “a man and
a woman. I can see the imprints of their feet. The grasses that were
crushed beneath their sandals are still rising slowly—a man and a
woman—and one of them was Stellara and the other Jude.”

“Who is Stellara?” asked the girl.

“My mate,” replied Tanar.

The habitual expression of sadness that had marked Gura’s face since
childhood, but which had been supplanted by a radiant happiness since
she had left the village of Garb with Tanar, returned as with
tear-filled eyes she choked back a sob, which went unnoticed by the
Sarian as he eagerly searched the ground ahead of them. And in the cave
above them warm tears bathed the unhappy cheeks of Stellara, but the
urge of love soon drew her eyes back to Tanar just at the moment that he
turned and called Gura’s attention to the well marked spoor he was
following.

The eyes of the Sarian noted the despair in the face of his companion
and the tears in her eyes.

“Gura!” he cried. “What is the matter? Why do you cry?” and impulsively
he stepped close to her and put a friendly arm about her shoulders, and
Gura, unnerved by kindness, buried her face upon his breast and wept.
And this was what Stellara saw—this scene was what love and jealousy put
their own interpretation upon—and the eyes of the Amiocapian maiden
flashed with hurt pride and anger.

“Why do you cry, Gura?” demanded Tanar.

“Do not ask me,” begged the girl. “It is nothing. Perhaps I am tired;
perhaps I am afraid. But now we may not think of either fatigue or fear,
for if Jude is taking your mate toward the village of Carn we must
hasten to rescue her before it is too late.”

“You are right,” exclaimed Tanar. “We must not delay,” and, followed by
Gura, he ran swiftly toward the base of the cliff, tracing the spoor of
Jude and Stellara where it led to the precarious ascent of the
cliffside. And as they hastened on, brutal eyes watched them from the
edge of the jungle from which they had themselves so recently emerged.

Where the steep ascent topped the summit of the cliff bare rock gave
back no clew to the direction that Jude had taken, but twenty yards
further on where the soft ground commenced again Tanar picked up the
tracks of the man to which he called Gura’s attention.

“Jude’s footprints are here alone,” he said.

“Perhaps the woman refused to go further and he was forced to carry
her,” suggested Gura.

“That is doubtless the fact,” said Tanar, and he hastened onward along
the plain trail left by the Himean.

The way led now along a well marked trail, which ran through a
considerable area of bushes that grew considerably higher than a man’s
head, so that nothing was visible upon either side and only for short
distances ahead of them and behind them along the winding trail. But
Tanar did not slacken his speed, his sole aim being to overhaul the
Himean before he reached his village.

As Tanar and Gura had capped the summit of the cliff and disappeared
from view, eighteen hairy men came into view from the forest and
followed their trail toward the foot of the cliff.

They were bushy whiskered fellows with gay sashes around their waists
and equally brilliant cloths about their heads. Huge pistols and knives
bristled from their waist cloths, and cutlasses dangled from their
hips—fate had brought these survivors of The Cid’s ship to the foot of
the cliffs below the village of Carn at almost the same moment that
Tanar had arrived. With sensations of surprise, not unmingled with awe,
they had recognized the Sarian who had been a prisoner upon the ship and
whom they thought they had seen killed by their musket fire at the edge
of the natural well upon the island of Amiocap.

The Korsars, prompted by the pernicious stubbornness of ignorance, were
moved by a common impulse to recapture Tanar. And with this end in view
they waited until Gura and the Sarian had disappeared beyond the summit
of the cliff, when they started in pursuit.

The walls of Carn lie no great distance from the edge of the table-land
upon which it stands. In timeless Pellucidar events, which are in
reality far separated, seem to follow closely, one upon the heels of
another, and for this reason one may not say how long Jude was in the
village of Carn, or whether he had had time to carry out the horrid
purpose which had taken him thither, but the fact remained that as Tanar
and Gura reached the edge of the bushes and looked across the clearing
toward the walls of Carn they saw Jude sneaking from the city. Could
they have seen his face they might have noticed a malicious leer of
triumph and could they have known the purpose that had taken him thus
stealthily to his native village they might have reconstructed the
scenes of the bloody episode which had just been enacted within the
house of the Himean. But Tanar only saw that Jude, whom he sought, was
coming toward him, and that Stellara was not with him.

The Sarian drew Gura back into the concealment of the bushes that lined
the trail which Jude was approaching.

On came the Himean and while Tanar awaited his coming, the Korsars were
making their clumsy ascent of the cliff, while Stellara, sick from
jealousy and unhappiness, leaned disconsolately against the cold stone
of her prison cave.

Jude, unconscious of danger, hastened back toward the spot where he had
left Stellara and as he came opposite Tanar, the Sarian leaped upon him.

The Himean reached for his knife, but he was helpless in the grasp of
Tanar, whose steel fingers closed about his wrists with such strength
that Jude dropped his weapon with a cry of pain as he felt both of his
arms crushed beneath the pressure of the Sarian’s grip.

“What do you want?” he cried. “Why do you attack me?”

“Where is Stellara?” demanded Tanar.

“I do not know,” replied Jude. “I have not seen her.”

“You lie,” said Tanar. “I have followed her tracks and yours to the
summit of the cliff: Where is she?” He drew his knife. “Tell me, or
die.”

“I left her at the edge of the cliff while I went to Carn to arrange to
have her received in a friendly manner. I did it all for her protection,
Tanar. She wanted to go back to Korsar and I was but helping her.”

“Again you lie,” said the Sarian; “but lead me to her and we shall hear
her version of the story.”

The Himean held back until the point of Tanar’s knife pressed against
his ribs; then he gave in. “If I lead you to her will you promise not to
kill me?” asked Jude. “Will you let me return in peace to my village?”

“I shall make no promises until I learn from her own lips how you have
treated her,” replied the Sarian.

“She has not been harmed,” said Jude. “I swear it.”

“Then lead me to her,” insisted Tanar.

Sullenly the Himean guided them back along the path toward the cave
where he had left Stellara, while at the other edge of the bushes
eighteen Korsars, warned by the noise of their approach, halted,
listening, and presently melted silently from view in the surrounding
shrubbery.

They saw Jude and Gura and Tanar emerge from the bushes, but they did
not attack them; they waited to see for what purpose they had returned.
They saw them disappear over the edge of the cliff at a short distance
from the summit of the trail that led down into the valley. And then
they emerged from their hiding places and followed cautiously after
them.

Jude led Tanar and Gura to the cave where Stellara lay and when Tanar
saw her, her dear wrists and ankles bound with thongs and her cheeks
still wet with tears, he sprang forward and gathered her into his arms.

“Stellara!” he cried. “My darling!” But the girl turned her face away
from him.

“Do not touch me,” she cried. “I hate you.”

“Stellara!” he exclaimed in amazement. “What has happened?” But before
she could reply they were startled by a hoarse command from behind them,
and, turning, found themselves looking into the muzzles of the pistols
of eighteen Korsars.

“Surrender, Sarian!” cried the leader of the Korsars.

Gazing into the muzzles of about thirty-six huge pistols, which equally
menaced the lives of Stellara and Gura, Tanar saw no immediate
alternative but to surrender.

“What do you intend to do with us if we do surrender?” he demanded.

“That we shall decide later,” growled the spokesman for the Korsars.

“Do you expect ever to return to Korsar?” asked Tanar.

“What is that to you, Sarian?” demanded the Korsar.

“It has a considerable bearing upon whether or not we surrender,”
replied Tanar. “You have tried to kill me before and you have found that
I am hard to kill. I know something about your weapons and your powder
and I know that even at such close quarters I may be able to kill some
of you before you can kill me. But if you answer my question fairly and
honestly and if your answer is satisfactory I shall surrender.”

At Tanar’s mention of his knowledge of their powder the Korsars
immediately assumed that he knew that it was wet whereas he was only
alluding to its uniformly poor quality and so the spokesman decided that
it would be better to temporize for the time being at least. “As soon as
we can build a boat we shall return to Korsar,” he said, “unless in the
meantime a Korsar ship anchors in the bay of Carn.”

“Good,” commented the Sarian. “If you will promise to return the
daughter of The Cid safe and unharmed to her people in Korsar I will
surrender. And you must also promise that no harm shall befall this
other girl and that she shall be permitted to go with you in safety to
Korsar or to remain here among her own people as she desires.”

“How about the other man?” demanded the Korsar.

“You may kill him when you kill me,” replied Tanar.

Stellara’s eyes widened in fearful apprehension as she heard the words
of the Sarian and she found that jealousy was no match for true love.

“Very well,” said the Korsar. “We accept the condition. The women shall
return to Korsar with us, and you two men shall die.”

“Oh, no,” begged Jude. “I do not wish to die. I am a Himean. Carn is my
home. You Korsars come there often to trade. Spare me and I shall see
that you are furnished with more hides than you can pack in your boat,
after you have built it.”

The leader of the band laughed in his face. “Eighteen of us can take
what we choose from the village of Carn,” he said. “We are not such
fools as to spare you that you may go and warn your people.”

“Then take me along as a prisoner,” wailed Jude.

“And have to feed you and watch you all the time? No, you are worth more
to us dead than alive.”

As Jude spoke he had edged over into the mouth of the cave, where he
stood half behind Stellara as though taking shelter at the expense of
the girl.

With a gesture of disgust, Tanar turned toward the Korsars. “Come,” he
said, impatiently. “If the bargain is satisfactory there is no use in
discussing it further. Kill us, and take the women in safety to Korsar.
You have given your word.”

At the instant that Tanar concluded his appeal to the Korsars, Jude
turned before any one could prevent him and disappeared into the cave
behind him. Instantly Korsars leaped in pursuit, while the others
awaited impatiently their return with Jude. But when they emerged they
were empty handed.

“He escaped us,” said one of those who had gone after the Himean. “This
cave is the mouth of a dark, long tunnel with many branches. We could
see nothing and fearful that we should become lost, we returned to the
opening. It would be useless to try to find the man within unless one
was familiar with the tunnel which honeycombs the cliff beyond this
cave. We had better kill this one immediately before he has an
opportunity to escape too,” and the fellow raised his pistol and aimed
it at Tanar, possibly hoping that his powder had dried since they had
set out from the beach upon the opposite side of the island.

“Stop!” cried Stellara, jumping in front of the man. “As you all know I
am the daughter of The Cid. If you return me to him in safety you will
be well rewarded. I will see to that. You all knew that The Cid was
taking this man to Korsar, but possibly you did not know why.”

“No,” said one of the Korsars, who, being only common sailors, had had
no knowledge of the plans of their commander.

“He knows how to make firearms and powder far superior to ours and The
Cid was taking him back to Korsar that he might teach the Korsars the
secrets of powder making and the manufacture of weapons, that we do not
know. If you kill him The Cid will be furious with you, and you all know
what it means to anger The Cid. But if you return him, also, to Korsar
your reward will be much larger.”

“How do we know that The Cid is alive?” demanded one of the Korsars;
“and if he is not, who is there who will pay reward for your return, or
for the return of this man?”

“The Cid is a better sailor than Bohar the Bloody—that you all know. And
if Bohar the Bloody brought his boat safely through to Amiocap there is
little doubt but that The Cid took his safely to Korsar. But even if he
did not, even if The Cid perished, still will you receive your reward if
you return me to Korsar.”

“Who will pay it?” demanded one of the sailors.

“Bulf,” replied Stellara.

“Why should Bulf pay a reward for your return?” asked the Korsar.

“Because I am to be his mate. It was The Cid’s wish and his.”

By no change of expression did the Sarian reveal the pain that these
words inflicted like a knife thrust through his heart. He merely stood
with his arms folded, looking straight ahead. Gura’s eyes were wide in
surprise as she looked, first at Stellara and then at Tanar, for she
recalled that the latter had told her that Stellara was his mate, and
she had known, with woman’s intuition, how much the man loved this
woman. Gura was mystified and, too, she was saddened because she guessed
the pain that Stellara’s words had inflicted upon Tanar, and so her kind
heart prompted her to move close to Tanar’s side and to lay her hand
gently upon his arm in mute expression of sympathy.

For a time the Korsars discussed Stellara’s proposition in low whispers
and then the spokesman addressed her. “But if The Cid is dead there will
be no one to reward us for returning the Sarian; therefore, we might as
well kill him for there will be enough mouths to feed during the long
journey to Korsar.”

“You do not know that The Cid is dead,” insisted Stellara; “but if he
is, who is there better fitted to be chief of the Korsars than Bulf? And
if he is chief he will reward you for returning this man when I explain
to him the purpose for which he was brought back to Korsar.”

“Well,” said the Korsar, scratching his head, “perhaps you are right. He
may be more valuable to us alive than dead. If he will promise to help
us work the boat and not try to escape we shall take him with us. But
how about the girl here?”

“Keep her until we are ready to sail,” growled one of the other Korsars,
“and then turn her loose.”

“If you wish to receive any reward for my return you will do nothing of
the sort,” said Stellara with finality, and then to Gura, “What do you
wish to do?” Her voice was cold and haughty.

“Where Tanar goes there I wish to go,” replied Gura.

Stellara’s eyes narrowed and for an instant they flashed fire, but
immediately they resumed their natural, kindly expression, though tinged
with sadness. “Very well, then,” she said, turning sadly away, “the girl
must return with us to Korsar.”

The sailors discussed this question at some length and most of them were
opposed to it, but when Stellara insisted and assured them of a still
greater reward they finally consented, though with much grumbling.

The Korsars marched boldly across the mesa, past the walls of Carn,
their harquebuses ready in their hands, knowing full well the fear of
them that past raids had implanted in the breasts of the Himeans. But
they did not seek to plunder or demand tribute for they still feared
that their powder was useless.

As they reached the opposite side of the mesa, where they could look out
across the bay of Carn, a hoarse shout of pleasure arose from the
throats of the Korsars, for there, at anchor in the bay, lay a Korsar
ship. Not knowing how soon the vessel might weigh anchor and depart, the
Korsars fairly tumbled down the precipitous trail to the beach, while in
their rear the puzzled villagers watched them over the top of the wall
of Carn until the last man had disappeared beyond the summit of the
cliff.

Rushing to the edge of the water the Korsars tried to discharge their
harquebuses to attract attention from the vessel. A few of the charges
had dried and the resulting explosion awakened signs of life upon the
anchored ship. The sailors on the shore tore off sashes and
handkerchiefs, which they waved frantically as signals of distress, and
presently they were rewarded by the sight of the lowering of a boat from
the vessel.

Within speaking distance of the shore the boat came to a stop and an
officer hailed the men on shore.

“Who are you,” he demanded, “and what do you want?”

“We are part of the crew of the ship of The Cid,” replied the sailors’
spokesman. “Our ship was wrecked in mid-ocean and we made our way to
Amiocap and then to Hime, but here we lost the boat that we built upon
Amiocap.”

Assured that the men were Korsars the officer commanded that the boat
move in closer to the shore and finally it was beached close to where
the party stood awaiting its coming.

The brief greetings and explanations over, the officer took them all
aboard and shortly afterward Tanar of Pellucidar found himself again
upon a Korsar ship of war.

The commander of the ship knew Stellara, and after questioning them
carefully he approved her plan and agreed to take Tanar and Gura back to
Korsar with them.

Following their interview with the officer, Tanar found himself
momentarily alone with Stellara.

“Stellara!” he said. “What change has come over you?”

She turned and looked at him coldly. “In Amiocap you were well enough,”
she said, “but in Korsar you would be only a naked barbarian,” and,
turning, she walked away from him without another word.




                                  XIII
                               PRISONERS


The voyage to Korsar was uneventful and during its entire extent Tanar
saw nothing of either Stellara or Gura for, although he was not confined
in the dark hold, he was not permitted above the first deck, and
although he often looked up at the higher deck at the stern of the ship
he never caught a glimpse of either of the girls, from which he
concluded that Gura was confined in one of the cabins and that Stellara
deliberately avoided him or any sight of him.

As they approached the coast of Korsar Tanar saw a level country curving
upward into the mist of the distance. He thought that far away be
discerned the outlines of hills, but of that he could not be certain. He
saw cultivated fields and patches of forest land and a river running
down to the sea—a broad, winding river upon the shore of which a city
lay, inland a little from the ocean. There was no harbor at this point
upon the coast, but the ship made directly for the mouth of the river,
up which it sailed toward the city, which, as he approached it, he saw
far surpassed in size and the pretentiousness of its buildings any
habitation of man that he had ever seen upon the surface of Pellucidar,
not even excepting the new capital of the confederated kingdoms of
Pellucidar that the Emperor David was building.

Most of the buildings were white with red-tiled roofs, and there were
some with lofty minarets and domes of various colors—blue and red and
gold, the last shining in the sunlight like the jewels in the diadem of
Dian the Empress.

Where the river widened the town had been built and here there rode at
anchor a great fleet of ships of war and many lesser craft—fishing boats
and river boats and barges. The street along the riverfront was lined
with shops and alive with people.

As their ship approached cannon boomed from the deck of the anchored
warships, and the salute was returned by their own craft, which finally
came to anchor in midstream, opposite the city.

Small boats put out from the shore and were paddled rapidly toward the
warship, which also lowered some of her own boats, into one of which
Tanar was ordered under charge of an officer and a couple of sailors. As
he was taken to shore and marched along the street he excited
considerable attention among the crowds through which they passed, for
he was immediately recognized as a barbarian captive from some
uncivilized quarter of Pellucidar.

During the debarkation Tanar had seen nothing of either Stellara or Gura
and now he wondered if he was ever to see them again. His mind was
filled with the same sad thoughts that had been his companions during
the entire course of the long journey from Hime to Korsar and which had
finally convinced him that he had never known the true Stellara until
she had avowed herself upon the deck of the ship in the harbor of Carn.
Yes, he was all right upon Amiocap, but in Korsar he was only a naked
savage, and this fact was borne in upon him now by the convincing
evidence of the haughty contempt with which the natives of Korsar stared
at him or exchanged rude jokes at his expense.

It hurt the Sarian’s pride to think that he had been so deceived by the
woman to whom he had given all his love. He would have staked his life
upon his belief that here was the sweetest and purest and most loyal of
characters, and to learn at last that she was shallow and insincere cut
him to the quick and his suffering was lightened by but a single
thought—his unquestioned belief in the sweet and enduring friendship of
Gura.

It was with such thoughts that his mind was occupied as he was led into
a building along the waterfront, which seemed to be in the nature of a
guardhouse.

Here he was turned over to an officer in charge, and, after a few brief
questions, two soldiers conducted him into another room, raised a heavy
trap door in the floor and bade him descend a rude ladder that led
downward into darkness below.

No sooner had his head descended below the floor joists than the door
was slammed down above him. He heard the grating of a heavy bolt as the
soldiers shut it and then the thud of their footsteps as they left the
room above.

Descending slowly for about ten feet Tanar came at last to the surface
of a stone floor. His eyes becoming accustomed to the change, he
realized that the apartment into which he had descended was not in total
darkness, but that daylight filtered into it from a small, barred window
near the ceiling. Looking about him he saw that he was the only occupant
of the room.

In the wall, opposite the window, he discerned a doorway and crossing to
it he saw that it opened into a narrow corridor, running parallel with
the length of the room. Looking up and down the corridor he discerned
faint patches of light, as though other open doorways lined one side of
the hallway.

He was about to enter upon a tour of investigation when the noise of
something scurrying along the floor of the corridor attracted his
attention, and looking back to his left he saw a dark form creeping
toward him. It stood about a foot in height and was, perhaps, three feet
long, but in the shadows of the corridor it loomed too indistinctly for
him to recognize its details. But presently he saw that it had two
shining eyes that seemed to be directed upon him.

As it came boldly forward Tanar stepped back into the room he was about
to quit, preferring to meet the thing in the lesser darkness of the
apartment rather than in the gloomy corridor, if it was the creature’s
intent to attack him.

On the thing came and turning into the doorway it stopped and surveyed
the Sarian. In his native country Tanar had been familiar with a species
of wood rat, which the Sarian considered large, but never in all his
life had he dreamed that a rat could grow to the enormous proportions of
the hideous thing that confronted him with its bold, gleaming, beady
eyes.

Tanar had been disarmed when he had been taken aboard the Korsar ship,
but even so he had no fear of a rodent, even if the thing should elect
to attack him, which he doubted. But the ferocious appearance of the rat
gave him pause as he thought what the result might be if a number of
them should attack a man simultaneously.

Presently the rat, still standing facing him, squealed. For a time there
was silence and then the thing squealed again and, as from a great
distance, Tanar heard an answering squeal, and then another and another,
and presently they grew louder and greater in volume, and he knew that
the rat of the Korsar dungeon was calling its fellows to the attack and
the feast.

He looked about him for some weapon of defense, but there was nothing
but the bare stone of the floor and the walls. He heard the rat pack
coming, and still the scout that had discovered him stood in the
doorway, waiting.

But why should he, the man, wait? If he must die, he would die fighting
and if he could take the rats as they came, one by one, he might make
them pay for their meal and pay dearly. And so, with the agility of a
tiger, the man leaped for the rodent, and so sudden and unexpected was
his spring that one hand fell upon the loathsome creature before it
could escape. With loud squeals it sought to fasten its fangs in his
flesh, but the Sarian was too quick and too powerful. His fingers closed
once upon the creature’s neck. He swung its body around a few times
until the neck broke and then he hurled the corpse toward the advancing
pack that he could already see in the distance through the dim light in
the corridor, in the center of which Tanar now stood awaiting his
inevitable doom, but he was prepared to fight until he was dragged down
by the creatures.

As he waited he heard a noise behind him and he thought that another
pack was taking him in the rear, but as he glanced over his shoulder he
saw the figure of a man, standing in front of a doorway further down the
corridor.

“Come!” shouted the stranger. “You will find safety here.” Nor did Tanar
lose any time in racing down the corridor to where the man stood, the
rats close at his heels.

“Quick, in here,” cried his savior, and seizing Tanar by the arm he
dragged him through the doorway into a large room in which there were a
dozen or more men.

At the doorway the rat pack stopped, glaring in, but not one of them
crossed the threshold.

The room in which he found himself was lighted by two larger windows
than that in the room which he had just quitted and in the better light
he had an opportunity to examine the man who had rescued him. The fellow
was a copper-colored giant with fine features.

As the man turned his face a little more toward the light of the
windows, Tanar gave an exclamation of surprise and delight. “Ja!” he
cried, and before Ja could reply to the salutation, another man sprang
forward from the far end of the room.

“Tanar!” exclaimed the second man. “Tanar, the son of Ghak!” As the
Sarian wheeled he found himself standing face to face with David Innes,
Emperor of Pellucidar.

“Ja of Anoroc and the Emperor!” cried Tanar. “What has happened? What
brought you here?”

“It is well that we were here,” said Ja, “and that I heard the rat pack
squealing just when I did. These other fellows,” and he nodded toward
the remaining prisoners, “haven’t brains enough to try to save the
newcomers that are incarcerated here. David and I have been trying to
pound it into their stupid heads that the more of us there are the safer
we shall be from the attacks of the rats, but all they think of is that
they are safe now, and so they do not care what becomes of the other
poor devils that are shoved down here; nor have they brains enough to
look into the future and realize that when some of us are taken out or
die there may not be enough left to repel the attacks of the hungry
beasts. But tell us, Tanar, where you have been and how you came here at
last.”

“It is a long story,” replied the Sarian, “and first I would hear the
story of my Emperor.”

“There is little of interest in the adventures that befell us,” said
David, “but there may be points of great value to us in what I have
managed to learn from the Korsars concerning a number of problems that
have been puzzling me.

“When we saw the Korsars’ fleet sail away with you and others of our
people, prisoners aboard them, we were filled with dismay and as we
stood upon the shore of the great sea above The Land of Awful Shadow, we
were depressed by the hopelessness of ever effecting your rescue. It was
then that I determined to risk the venture which is responsible for our
being here in the dungeon of the capital of Korsar.

“From all those who volunteered to accompany me I selected Ja, and we
took with us to be our pilot a Korsar prisoner named Fitt. Our boat was
one of those abandoned by the Korsars in their flight and in it we
pursued our course toward Korsar without incident until we were
overwhelmed by the most terrific storm that I have ever witnessed.”

“Doubtless the same storm that wrecked the Korsars’ fleet that was
bearing us away,” said Tanar.

“Unquestionably,” said David, “as you will know in a moment. The storm
carried away all our rigging, snapping the mast short off at the deck,
and left us helpless except for two pairs of oars.

“As you may know, these great sweeps are so heavy that, as a rule, two
or three men handle a single oar, and as there were only three of us we
could do little more than paddle slowly along with one man paddling on
either side while the third relieved first one and then the other at
intervals, and even this could be accomplished only after we had cut the
great sweeps down to a size that one man might handle without undue
fatigue.

“Fitt had laid a course which my compass showed me to be almost due
north and this we followed with little or no deviation after the storm
had subsided.

“We slept and ate many times before Fitt announced that we were not far
from the island of Amiocap, which he says is half way between the point
at which we had embarked and the land of Korsar. We still had ample
water and provisions to last us the balance of our journey if we had
been equipped with a sail, but the slow progress of paddling threatened
to find us facing starvation, or death by thirst, long before we could
hope to reach Korsar. With this fate staring us in the face we decided
to land on Amiocap and refit our craft, but before we could do so we
were overtaken by a Korsar ship and being unable either to escape or
defend ourselves, we were taken prisoners.

“The vessel was one of those that had formed the armada of The Cid, and
was, as far as they knew, the only one that had survived the storm.
Shortly before they had found us they had picked up a boat-load of the
survivors of The Cid’s ship, including The Cid himself, and from The Cid
we learned that you and the other prisoners had doubtless been lost with
his vessel, which he said was in a sinking condition at the time that he
abandoned it. To my surprise I learned that The Cid had also abandoned
his own daughter to her fate and I believe that this cowardly act
weighed heavily upon his mind, for he was always taciturn and moody,
avoiding the companionship of even his own officers.”

“She did not die,” said Tanar. “We escaped together, the sole survivors,
as far as we knew, of The Cid’s ship, though later we were captured by
the members of another boat crew that had also made the island of
Amiocap and with them we were brought to Korsar.”

“In my conversation with The Cid and also with the officers and men of
the Korsar ship I sought to sound them on their knowledge of the extent
of this sea, which is known as the Korsar Az. Among other things I
learned that they possess compasses and are conversant with their use
and they told me that to the west they had never sailed to the extreme
limits of the Korsar Az, which they state reaches on, a vast body of
water, for countless leagues beyond the knowledge of man. But to the
east they have followed the shore-line from Korsar southward almost to
the shore upon which they landed to attack the empire of Pellucidar.

“Now this suggests, in fact almost proves, that Korsar lies upon the
same great continent as the empire of Pellucidar and if we can escape
from prison, we may be able to make our way by land back to our own
country.”

“But there is that ‘if,’” said Ja. “We have eaten and slept many times
since they threw us into this dark hole, yet we are no nearer escape now
than we were at the moment that they put us here; nor do we even know
what fate lies in store for us.”

“These other prisoners tell us,” resumed David, “that the fact that we
were not immediately killed, which is the customary fate of prisoners of
war among the Korsars, indicates that they are saving us for some
purpose; but what that purpose is I cannot conceive.”

“I can,” said Tanar. “In fact I am quite sure that I know.”

“And what is it?” demanded Ja.

“They wish us to teach them how to make firearms and powder such as
ours,” replied the Sarian. “But where do you suppose they ever got
firearms and powder in the first place?”

“Or the great ships they sail,” added Ja; “ships that are even larger
than those which we build? These things were unknown in Pellucidar
before David and Perry came to us, yet the Korsars appear to have known
of them and used them always.”

“I have an idea,” said David; “yet it is such a mad idea that I have
almost hesitated to entertain it, much less to express it.”

“What is it?” asked Tanar.

“It was suggested to me in my conversations with the Korsars
themselves,” replied the Emperor. “Without exception they have all
assured me that their ancestors came from another world—a world above
which the sun did not stand perpetually at zenith, but crossed the
heavens regularly, leaving the world in darkness half the time. They say
that a part of this world is very cold and that their ancestors, who
were seafaring men, became caught with their ships in the frozen waters;
that their compasses turned in all directions and became useless to them
and that when finally they broke through the ice and sailed away in the
direction that they thought was south, they came into Pellucidar, which
they found inhabited only by naked savages and wild beasts. And here
they set up their city and built new ships, their numbers being
augmented from time to time by other seafaring men from this world from
which they say they originally came.

“They intermarried with the natives, which in this part of Pellucidar
seemed to have been of a very low order.” David paused.

“Well,” asked Tanar, “what does it all mean?”

“It means,” said David, “that if their legend is true, or based upon
fact, that their ancestors came from the same outer world from which
Perry and I came, but by what avenue?—that is the astounding enigma.”

Many times during their incarceration the three men discussed this
subject, but never were they able to arrive at any definite solution of
the mystery. Food was brought them many times and several times they
slept before Korsar soldiers came and took them from the dungeon.

They were led to the palace of The Cid, the architecture of which but
tended to increase the mystery of the origin of this strange race in the
mind of David Innes, for the building seemed to show indisputable proof
of Moorish influence.

Within the palace they were conducted to a large room, comfortably
filled with bewhiskered Korsars decked out in their gaudiest raiment,
which far surpassed in brilliancy of coloring and ornamentation the
comparatively mean clothes they had worn aboard ship. Upon a dais, at
one end of the room, a man was seated upon a large, ornately carved
chair. It was The Cid, and as David’s eyes fell upon him his mind
suddenly grasped, for the first time, a significant suggestion in the
title of the ruler of the Korsars.

Previously the name had been only a name to David. He had not considered
it as a title; nor had it by association awakened any particular train
of thought, but now, coupled with the Moorish palace and the carved
throne, it did.

The Cid! Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar—El Campeandor—a national hero of eleventh
century Spain. What did it mean? His thoughts reverted to the ships of
the Korsars—their motley crews with harquebuses and cutlasses—and he
recalled the thrilling stories he had read as a boy of the pirates of
the Spanish Main. Could it be merely coincidence? Could a nation of
people have grown up within the inner world, who so closely resembled
the buccaneers of the seventeenth century, or had their forebears in
truth found their way hither from the outer crust? David Innes did not
know. He was frankly puzzled. But now he was being led to the foot of
The Cid’s throne and there was no further opportunity for the delightful
speculation that had absorbed his mind momentarily.

The cruel, cunning eyes of The Cid looked down upon the three prisoners
from out his brutal face. “The Emperor of Pellucidar!” he sneered. “The
King of Anoroc! The son of the King of Sari!” and then he laughed
uproariously. He extended his hand, his fingers parted and curled in a
clutching gesture. “Emperor! King! Prince!” he sneered again, “and yet
here you all are in the clutches of The Cid. Emperor—bah! I, The Cid, am
the Emperor of all Pellucidar! You and your naked savages!” He turned on
David. “Who are you to take the title of Emperor? I could crush you
all,” and he closed his fingers in a gesture of rough cruelty. “But I
shall not. The Cid is generous and he is grateful, too. You shall have
your freedom for a small price that you may easily pay.” He paused as
though he expected them to question him, but no one of the three spoke.
Suddenly he turned upon David. “Where did you get your firearms and your
powder? Who made them for you?”

“We made them ourselves,” replied David.

“Who taught you to make them?” insisted The Cid. “But never mind; it is
enough that you know and we would know. You may win your liberty by
teaching us.”

David could make gunpowder, but whether he could make any better
gunpowder than the Korsars he did not know. He had left that to Perry
and his apprentices in The Empire, and he knew perfectly well that he
could not reconstruct a modern rifle such as was being turned out in the
arsenals at Sari, for he had neither the drawings to make the rifles,
nor the machinery, nor the drawings to make the machinery, nor the shops
in which to make steel. But nevertheless here was one opportunity for
possible freedom that might pave the way to escape and he could not
throw it away, either for himself or his companions, by admitting their
inability to manufacture modern firearms or improve the powder of the
Korsars.

“Well,” demanded The Cid, impatiently, “what is your answer?”

“We cannot make powder and rifles while a man eats,” replied David; “nor
can we make them from the air or from conversation. We must have
materials; we must have factories; we must have trained men. You will
sleep many times before we are able to accomplish all this. Are you
willing to wait?”

“How many times shall we sleep before you have taught our people to make
these things?” demanded The Cid.

David shrugged. “I do not know,” he said. “In the first place I must
find the proper materials.”

“We have all the materials,” said The Cid. “We have iron and we have the
ingredients for making powder. All that you have to do is to put them
together in a better way than we have been able to.”

“You may have the materials, but it is possible that they are not of
sufficiently good quality to make the things that will alone satisfy the
subjects of the Emperor of Pellucidar. Perhaps your niter is low grade;
there may be impurities in your sulphur; or even the charcoal may not be
properly prepared; and there are even more important matters to consider
in the selection of material and its manufacture into steel suitable for
making the firearms of the Pellucidarians.”

“You shall not be hurried,” said The Cid. He turned to a man standing
near him. “See that an officer accompanies these men always,” he said.
“Let them go where they please and do what they please in the
prosecution of my orders. Furnish them with laborers if they desire
them, but do not let them delay and do not let them escape, upon pain of
death.” And thus ended their interview with The Cid of Korsar.

As it chanced, the man to be detailed to watch them was Fitt, the fellow
whom David had chosen to accompany him and Ja in their pursuit of the
Korsar fleet, and Fitt, having become well acquainted with David and Ja
and having experienced nothing but considerate treatment from them, was
far from unfriendly, though, like the majority of all other Korsars, he
was inclined to be savage and cruel.

As they were passing out of the palace they caught a glimpse of a girl
in a chamber that opened onto the corridor in which they were. Fitt, big
with the importance of his new position and feeling somewhat like a
showman revealing and explaining his wonders to the ignorant and
uninitiated, had been describing the various objects of interest that
they had passed as well as the personages of importance, and now he
nodded in the direction of the room in which they had seen the girl,
although they had gone along the corridor so far by this time that they
could no longer see her. “That,” he said, “is The Cid’s daughter.” Tanar
stopped in his tracks and turned to Fitt.

“May I speak to her?” he asked.

“You!” cried Fitt. “You speak to the daughter of The Cid!”

“I know her,” said Tanar. “We two were left alone on the abandoned ship
when it was deserted by its officers and crew. Go and ask her if she
will speak to me.”

Fitt hesitated. “The Cid might not approve,” he said.

“He gave you no orders other than to accompany us,” said David. “How are
we to carry on our work if we are to be prevented from speaking to
anyone whom we choose? At least you will be safe in leading us to The
Cid’s daughter. If she wishes to speak to Tanar the responsibility will
not be yours.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Fitt. “I will ask her.” He stepped to the
doorway of the apartment in which were Stellara and Gura, and now, for
the first time, he saw that a man was with them. It was Bulf. The three
looked up as he entered.

“There is one here who wishes to speak to The Cid’s daughter,” he said,
addressing Stellara.

“Who is he?” demanded Bulf.

“He is Tanar, a prisoner of war from Sari.”

“Tell him,” said Stellara, “that The Cid’s daughter does not recall him
and cannot grant him an interview.”

As Fitt turned and quit the chamber, Gura’s ordinarily sad eyes flashed
a look of angry surprise at Stellara.




                                  XIV
                                TWO SUNS


David, Ja, and Tanar were quartered in barracks inside the palace wall
and immediately set to work to carry out a plan that David had suggested
and which included an inspection, not only of the Korsars’ powder
factory and the arsenals in which their firearms were manufactured, but
also visits to the niter beds, sulphur deposits, charcoal pits and iron
mines.

These various excursions for the purpose of inspecting the sources of
supply and the methods of obtaining it aroused no suspicion in the mind
of the Korsar, though their true purpose was anything other than it
appeared to be.

In the first place David had not the slightest intention of teaching the
Korsars how to improve their powder, thereby transforming them into a
far greater menace to the peace of his empire than they could ever
become while handicapped by an inferior grade of gunpowder that failed
to explode quite as often as it exploded. These tours of inspection,
however, which often took them considerable distances from the city of
Korsar, afforded an excuse for delaying the lesson in powder making,
while David and his companions sought to concoct some plan of escape
that might contain at least the seed of success. Also they gave the
three men a better knowledge of the surrounding country, familiarized
them with the various trails and acquainted them with the manners and
customs of the primitive tribes that carried on the agriculture of
Korsar and all of the labor of the mines, niter beds and charcoal
burning.

It was not long before they had learned that all the Korsars lived in
the city of Korsar and that they numbered about five hundred thousand
souls, and, as all labor was performed by slaves, every male Korsar
above the age of fifteen was free for military service, while those
between ten and fifteen were virtually so since this included the period
of their training, during which time they learned all that could be
taught them of seamanship and the art of piracy and raiding. David soon
came to realize that the ferocity of the Korsars, rather than their
number, rendered them a menace to the peace of Pellucidar, but he was
positive that with an equal number of ships and men he could overcome
them and he was glad that he had taken upon himself this dangerous
mission, for the longer the three reconnoitered the environs of Korsar
the more convinced they became that escape was possible.

The primitive savages from whom the Korsars had wrested their country
and whom they had forced into virtual slavery were of such a low order
of intelligence that David felt confident that they could never be
successfully utilized as soldiers or fighting men by the Korsars, whom
they outnumbered ten to one; their villages, according to his Korsar
informant, stretching away into the vast hinterland, to the farthest
extremities of which no man had ever penetrated.

The natives themselves spoke of a cold country to the north, in the
barren and desolate wastes of which no man could live, and of mountains
and forests and plains stretching away into the east and southeast to,
as they put it, “the very shores of Molop Az”—the flaming sea of
Pellucidarian legend upon which the land of Pellucidar floats.

This belief of the natives of the uninterrupted extent of the land mass
to the south and southeast corroborated David’s belief that Korsar lay
upon the same continent as Sari, and this belief was further carried out
by the distinct sense of perfect orientation which the three men
experienced the moment they set foot upon the shores of Korsar; or
rather which the born Pellucidarians, Ja and Tanar, experienced, since
David did not possess this inborn homing instinct. Had there been an
ocean of any considerable extent separating them from the land of their
birth, the two Pellucidarians felt confident that they could not have
been so certain as to the direction of Sari as they now were.

As their excursions to various points outside the city of Korsar
increased in number the watchfulness of Fitt relaxed, so that the three
men occasionally found themselves alone together in some remote part of
the back country.

Tanar, wounded by the repeated rebuffs of Stellara, sought to convince
himself that he did not love her. He tried to make himself believe that
she was cruel and hard and unfaithful, but all that he succeeded in
accomplishing was to make himself more unhappy, though he hid this from
his companions and devoted himself as assiduously as they to planning
their escape. It filled his heart with agony to think of going away
forever from the vicinity of the woman he loved, even though there was
little or no hope that he might see her should he remain, for gossip of
the approaching nuptials of Stellara and Bulf was current in the
barracks where he was quartered.

The window of the room to which he had been assigned overlooked a
portion of the garden of The Cid—a spot of great natural beauty in which
trees and flowers and shrubs bordered gravelled pathways and a miniature
lake and streamlet sparkled in the sunlight.

Tanar was seldom in his apartment and when he was he ordinarily gave no
more than casual attention to the garden beyond the wall, but upon one
occasion, after returning from an inspection of an iron mine, he had
been left alone with his own sad thoughts, and, seating himself upon the
sill of the window, he was gazing down upon the lovely scene below when
his attention was attracted by the figure of a girl as she came into
view almost directly before him along one of the gravelled paths. She
was looking up toward his window and their eyes met simultaneously. It
was Gura.

Placing her finger to her lips, cautioning him to silence, she came
quickly forward until she reached a point as close to his window as it
was possible for her to come.

“There is a gate in the garden wall at the far end of your barracks,”
she said in a low whisper attuned to reach his ears. “Come to it at
once.”

Tanar stopped to ask no questions. The girl’s tone had been peremptory.
Her whole manner bespoke urgency. Descending the stairway to the ground
floor Tanar left the building and walked slowly toward its far end.
Korsars were all about him, but they had been accustomed to seeing him,
and now he held himself to a slow and careless pace that aroused no
suspicion. Just beyond the end of the barracks he came to a small,
heavily planked door set in the garden wall and as he arrived opposite
this, it swung open and he stepped quickly within the garden, Gura
instantly closing the gate behind him.

“At last I have succeeded,” cried the girl, “but I thought that I never
should. I have tried so hard to see you ever since Fitt took you from
The Cid’s palace. I learned from one of the slaves where your quarters
were in the barracks and whenever I have been free I have been always
beneath your window. Twice before I saw you, but I could not attract
your attention and now that I have succeeded, perhaps it is too late.”

“Too late! What do you mean? Too late for what?” demanded Tanar.

“Too late to save Stellara,” said the girl.

“She is in danger?” asked Tanar.

“The preparations for her marriage to Bulf are complete. She cannot
delay it much longer.”

“Why should she wish to delay it?” demanded the Sarian. “Is she not
content with the man she has chosen?”

“Like all men, you are a fool in matters pertaining to a woman’s heart,”
cried Gura.

“I know what she told me,” said Tanar.

“After all that you had been through together; after all that she had
been to you, how could you have believed that she loved another?”
demanded Gura.

“You mean that she does not love Bulf?” asked Tanar.

“Of course she does not love him. He is a horrid beast.”

“And she still loves me?”

“She has never loved anyone else,” replied the girl.

“Then why did she treat me as she did? Why did she say the things that
she said?”

“She was jealous.”

“Jealous! Jealous of whom?”

“Of me,” said Gura, dropping her eyes.

The Sarian stood looking dumbly at the dark-haired Himean girl standing
before him. He noted her slim body, her drooping shoulders, her attitude
of dejection. “Gura,” he asked, “did I ever speak words of love to you?
Did I ever give Stellara or another the right to believe that I loved
you?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said, “and I told Stellara that when I
found out what she thought. I told her that you did not love me and
finally she was convinced and asked me to find you and tell you that she
still loves you. But I have another message for you from myself. I know
you, Sarian. I know that you are not planning to remain here contentedly
a prisoner of the Korsars. I know that you will try to escape and I have
come to beg you to take Stellara with you, for she will kill herself
before she will become the mate of Bulf.”

“Escape,” mused Tanar. “How may it be accomplished from the heart of The
Cid’s palace?”

“That is the man’s work,” said Gura. “It is for you to plan the way.”

“And you?” asked Tanar. “You wish to come away with us?”

“Do not think of me,” said Gura. “If you and Stellara can escape, I do
not matter.”

“But you do matter,” said the man, “and I am sure that you do not wish
to stay in Korsar.”

“No, I do not wish to remain in Korsar,” replied the girl, “and
particularly so now that The Cid seems to have taken a fancy to me.”

“You wish to return to Hime?” asked Tanar.

“After the brief taste of happiness I have had,” replied the girl, “I
could not return to the quarrels, the hatred and the constant
unhappiness that constitute life within the cave of Scurv and which
would be but continued in some other cave were I to take a mate in
Hime.”

“Then come with us,” said the Sarian.

“Oh, if I only might!” exclaimed Gura.

“Then that is settled,” exclaimed Tanar. “You shall come with us and if
we reach Sari I know that you can find peace and happiness for yourself
always.”

“It sounds like a dream,” said the girl, wistfully, “from which I shall
awaken in the cave of Scurv.”

“We shall make the dream come true,” said the Sarian, “and now let us
plan on how best we can get you and Stellara out of the palace of The
Cid.”

“That will not be so easy,” said Gura.

“No, it is the most difficult part of our escape,” agreed the Sarian;
“but it must be done and I believe that the bolder the plan the greater
its assurance of success.”

“And it must be done at once,” said Gura, “for the wedding arrangements
are completed and Bulf is impatient for his mate.”

For a moment Tanar stood in thought, seeking to formulate some plan that
might contain at least a semblance of feasibility. “Can you bring
Stellara to this gate at once?” he asked Gura.

“If she is alone, yes,” replied the girl.

“Then go and fetch her and wait here with her until I return. My signal
will be a low whistle. When you hear it, unlatch the gate.”

“I shall return as quickly as possible,” said Gura, and, as Tanar
stepped through the doorway into the barrack yards, he closed and
latched the gate behind him.

The Sarian looked about him and was delighted to note that apparently no
one had seen him emerge from the garden. Instead of returning along the
front of the barracks the way he had come, he turned in the opposite
direction and made his way directly to one of the main gates of the
palace. And this strategy was prompted also by another motive—he wished
to ascertain if he could pass the guard at the main gate without being
challenged.

Tanar had not adopted the garments of his captors and was still
conspicuous by the scant attire and simple ornaments of a savage warrior
and already his comings and goings had made him a familiar figure around
the palace yard and in the Korsar streets beyond. But he had never
passed through a palace gate alone before; nor without the ever present
Fitt.

As he neared the gate he neither hastened nor loitered, but maintained a
steady pace and an unconcerned demeanor. Others were passing in and out
and as the former naturally received much closer scrutiny by the guards
than the latter, Tanar soon found himself in a Korsar street outside the
palace of The Cid.

Before him were the usual sights now grown familiar—the narrow, dusty
street, the small open shops or bazaars lining the opposite side, the
swaggering Korsars in their brilliant kerchiefs and sashes, and the
slaves bearing great burdens to and fro—garden truck and the fruits of
the chase coming in from the back country, while bales of tanned hides,
salt and other commodities, craved by the simple tastes of the
aborigines, were being borne out of the city toward the interior. Some
of the bales were of considerable size and weight, requiring the
services of four carriers, and were supported on two long poles, the
ends of which rested on the shoulders of the men.

There were lines of slaves carrying provisions and ammunition to a fleet
of ships that was outfitting for a new raid, and another line bearing
plunder from the hold of another ship that had but recently come to
anchor in the river before the city.

All this activity presented a scene of apparent confusion, which was
increased by the voices of the merchants hawking their wares and the
shrill bickering of prospective purchasers.

Through the motley throng the Sarian shouldered his way back toward
another gate that gave entrance to the palace ground close to the far
end of the long, rambling barracks. As this was the gate through which
he passed most often he was accorded no more than a glance as he passed
through, and once within he hastened immediately to the quarters
assigned to David. Here he found both David and Ja, to whom he
immediately unfolded a plan that he had been perfecting since he left
the garden of The Cid.

“And now,” he said, “before you have agreed to my plan, let me make it
plain that I do not expect you to accompany me if you feel that the
chances of success are too slight. It is my duty, as well as my desire,
to save Stellara and Gura. But I cannot ask you to place your plans for
escape in jeopardy.”

“Your plan is a good one,” replied David, “and even if it were not it is
the best that has been suggested yet. And as for our deserting either
you or Stellara or Gura, that, of course, is not even a question for
discussion. We shall go with you and I know that I speak for Ja as well
as myself.”

“I knew that you would say that,” said the Sarian, “and now let us start
at once to put the plan to test.”

“Good,” said David. “You make your purchases and return to the garden
and Ja and I will proceed at once to carry out our part.”

The three proceeded at once toward the palace gate at the far end of the
barracks, and as they were passing through the Korsar in charge stopped
them.

“Where now?” he demanded.

“We are going into the city to make purchases for a long expedition that
we are about to make in search of new iron deposits in the back country,
further than we have ever been before.”

“And where is Fitt?” demanded the captain of the gate.

“The Cid sent for him, and while he is gone we are making the necessary
preparations.”

“All right,” said the man, apparently satisfied. “You may pass.”

“We shall return presently with porters,” said David, “for some of our
personal belongings and then go out again to collect the balance of our
outfit. Will you leave word that we are to be passed in the event that
you are not here?”

“I shall be here,” said the man. “But what are you going to carry into
the back country?”

“We expect that we may have to travel even beyond the furthest
boundaries of Korsar, where the natives know little or nothing of The
Cid and his authority, and for this reason it is necessary for us to
carry provisions and articles of trade that we may barter with them for
what we want, since we shall not have sufficient numbers in our party to
take these things by force.”

“I see,” said the man; “but it seems funny that The Cid does not send
muskets and pistols to take what he wants rather than spoil these
savages by trading with them.”

“Yes,” said David, “it does seem strange,” and the three passed out into
the street of Korsar.

Beyond the gate David and Ja turned to the right toward the market
place, while Tanar crossed immediately to one of the shops on the
opposite side of the street. Here he purchased two large bags, made of
well tanned hide, with which he returned immediately to the palace
grounds and presently he was before the garden gate where he voiced a
low whistle that was to be the signal by which the girls were to know
that he arrived.

Almost immediately the gate swung open and Tanar stepped quickly within.
As Gura closed the gate behind him, Tanar found himself standing face to
face with Stellara. Her eyes were moist with tears, her lips were
trembling with suppressed emotion as the Sarian opened his arms and
pressed her to him.

The market place of the city of Korsar is a large, open square where the
natives from the interior barter their agricultural produce, raw hides
and the flesh of the animals they have taken in the chase, for the
simple necessities which they wish to take back to their homes with
them.

The farmers bring in their vegetables in large hampers made of reed
bound together with grasses. These hampers are ordinarily about four
feet in each dimension and are borne on a single pole by two men if
lightly loaded, or upon two poles and by four carriers if the load is
heavy.

David and Ja approached a group of men whose hampers were empty and who
were evidently preparing to depart from the market, and after
questioning several of the group they found two who were returning to
the same village, which lay at a considerable distance almost due north
of Korsar.

By the order of The Cid, Fitt had furnished his three prisoners with
ample funds in the money of Korsar that they might make necessary
purchases in the prosecution of their investigations and their
experiments.

The money, which consisted of gold coins of various sizes and weights,
was crudely stamped upon one side with what purported to be a likeness
of The Cid, and upon the other with a Korsar ship. For so long a time
had gold coin been the medium of exchange in Korsar and the surrounding
country that it was accepted by the natives of even remote villages and
tribes, so that David had little difficulty in engaging the services of
eight carriers and their two hampers to carry equipment at least as far
as their village, which in reality was much further than David had any
intention of utilizing the services of the natives.

Having concluded his arrangements with the men, David and Ja led the way
back to the palace gate, where the officer passed them through with a
nod.

As they proceeded along the front of the barracks toward its opposite
end their only fear was that Fitt might have returned from his interview
with The Cid. If he had and if he saw and questioned them, all was lost.
They scarcely breathed as they approached the entrance to their
quarters, which were also the quarters of Fitt. But they saw nothing of
him as they passed the doorway and hastened on to the door in the garden
wall. Here they halted, directing the bearers to place the baskets close
to the doorway. David Innes whistled. The door swung in, and at a word
from Tanar the eight carriers entered, picked up two bundles just inside
the gate and deposited one of them in each of the hampers waiting beyond
the wall. The lids were closed. The slaves resumed their burden, and the
party turned about to retrace its steps to the palace gate through which
the carriers had just entered with their empty hampers.

Once again apprehension had chilled the heart of David Innes for fear
that Fitt might have returned, but they passed the barracks and reached
the gate without seeing him, and here they were halted by the Korsar in
charge.

“It did not take you long,” he said. “What have you in the hampers?” and
he raised the cover of one of them.

“Only our personal belongings,” said David. “When we return again we
shall have our full equipment. Would you like to inspect it all at the
same time?”

The Korsar, looking down at the skin bag lying at the bottom of the
hamper, hesitated for a moment before replying. “Very well,” he said, “I
will do it all at the same time,” and he let the cover drop back into
place.

The hearts of the three men had stood still, but David Innes’s voice
betrayed no unwonted emotion as he addressed the captain of the gate.
“When Fitt returns,” he said, “tell him that I am anxious to see him and
ask him if he will wait in our quarters until we return.”

The Korsar nodded a surly assent and motioned for them to pass on
through the gate.

Turning to the right, David led the party down the narrow street toward
the market place. There he turned abruptly to the left, through a
winding alleyway and double-backed to the north upon another street that
paralleled that upon which the palace fronted. Here were poorer shops
and less traffic and the carriers were able to make good time until
presently the party passed out of the city of Korsar into the open
country beyond. And then, by dint of threats and promises of additional
pieces of gold, the three men urged the carriers to accelerate their
speed to a swinging trot, which they maintained until they were forced
to stop from exhaustion. A brief rest with food and they were off again;
nor did they slacken their pace until they reached the rolling, wooded
country at the foothills of the mountains, far north of Korsar.

Here, well within the shelter of the woods, the carriers set down their
burdens and threw themselves upon the ground to rest, while Tanar and
David swung back the covers of the hampers and untying the stout thongs
that closed the mouths of the bags revealed their contents. Half
smothered and almost unable to move their cramped limbs, Stellara and
Gura were lifted from the baskets and revealed to the gaze of the
astounded carriers.

Tanar turned upon the men. “Do you know who this woman is?” he demanded.

“No,” said one of their number.

“It is Stellara, the daughter of The Cid,” said the Sarian. “You have
helped to steal her from the palace of her father. Do you know what that
will mean if you are caught?”

The men trembled in evident terror. “We did not know she was in the
basket,” said one of them. “We had nothing to do with it. It is you who
stole her.”

“Will the Korsars believe you when we tell them of the great quantities
of gold we paid you if we are captured?” asked Tanar. “No, they will not
believe you and I do not have to tell you what your fate will be. But
there is safety for you if you will do what I tell you to do.”

“What is that?” demanded one of the natives.

“Take up your hampers and hasten on to your village and tell no one, as
long as you live, what you have done, not even your mates: If you do not
tell, no one will know for we shall not tell.”

“We will never tell,” cried the men in chorus.

“Do not even talk about it among yourselves,” cautioned David, “for even
the trees have ears, and if the Korsars come to your village and
question you tell them that you saw three men and two women traveling
toward the east just beyond the borders of the city of Korsar. Tell them
that they were too far away for you to recognize them, but that they may
have been The Cid’s daughter and her companion with the three men who
abducted them.”

“We will do as you say,” replied the carriers.

“Then be gone,” demanded David, and the eight men hurriedly gathered up
their hampers and disappeared into the forest toward the north.

When the two girls were sufficiently revived and rested to continue the
journey, the party set out again, making their way to the east for a
short distance and then turning north again, for it had been Tanar’s
plan to throw the Korsars off the trail by traveling north, rather than
east or south. Later they would turn to the east, far north of the area
which the Korsars might be expected to comb in search of them, and then
again, after many marches, they would change their direction once more
to the south. It was a circuitous route, but it seemed the safest.

The forest changed to pine and cedar and there were windswept wastes
dotted with gnarled and stunted trees. The air was cooler than they had
ever known it in their native land, and when the wind blew from the
north they shivered around roaring camp fires. The animals they met were
scarcer and bore heavier fur, and, nowhere was there sign of man.

Upon one occasion when they stopped to camp Tartar pointed at the ground
before him. “Look!” he cried to David. “My shadow is no longer beneath
me,” and then, looking up, “the sun is not above us.”

“I have noticed that,” replied David, “and I am trying to understand the
reason for it, and perhaps I shall with the aid of the legends of the
Korsars.”

As they proceeded their shadows grew longer and longer and the light and
heat of the sun diminished until they traveled in a semi-twilight that
was always cold.

Long since they had been forced to fashion warmer garments from the
pelts of the beasts they had killed. Tanar and Ja wanted to turn back
toward the southeast, for their strange homing instinct drew them in
that direction toward their own country, but David asked them to
accompany him yet a little further for his mind had evolved a strange
and wonderful theory and he wished to press on yet a little further to
obtain still stronger proof of its correctness.

When they slept they rested beside roaring fires and once, when they
awoke, they were covered by a light mantle of a cold, white substance
that frightened the Pellucidarians, but that David knew was snow. And
the air was full of whirling particles and the wind bit those portions
of their faces that were exposed, for now they wore fur caps and hoods
and their hands were covered with warm mittens.

“We cannot go much further in this direction,” said Ja, “or we shall all
perish.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said David. “You four turn back to the
southeast and I will go yet a little further to the north and overtake
you when I have satisfied myself that a thing that I believe is true.”

“No,” cried Tanar, “we shall remain together. Where you go we shall go.”

“Yes,” said Ja, “we shall not abandon you.”

“Just a little further north, then,” said David, “and I shall be ready
to turn back with you,” and so they forged ahead over snow covered
ground into the deepening gloom that filled the souls of the
Pellucidarians with terror. But after a while the wind changed and blew
from the south and the snow melted and the air became balmy again, and
still further on the twilight slowly lifted and the light increased,
though the midday sun of Pellucidar was now scarcely visible behind
them.

“I cannot understand it,” said Ja. “Why should it become lighter again,
although the sun is ever further away behind us?”

“I do not know,” said Tanar. “Ask David.”

“I can only guess,” said David, “and my guess seems so preposterous that
I dare not voice it.”

“Look!” cried Stellara, pointing ahead. “It is the sea.”

“Yes,” said Gura, “a gray sea; it does not look like water.”

“And what is that?” cried Tanar. “There is a great fire upon the sea.”

“And the sea does not curve upward in the distance,” cried Stellara.
“Everything is wrong in this country and I am afraid.”

David had stopped in his tracks and was staring at the deep red glow
ahead. The others gathered around him and watched it, too. “What is it?”
demanded Ja.

“As there is a God in heaven it can be but one thing,” replied David;
“and yet I know that it cannot be that thing. The very idea is
ridiculous. It is impossible and outlandish.”

“But what might it be?” demanded Stellara.

“The sun,” replied David.

“But the sun is almost out of sight behind us,” Gura reminded him.

“I do not mean the sun of Pellucidar,” replied David; “but the sun of
the outer world, the world from which I came.”

The others stood in silent awe, watching the edge of a blood red disc
that seemed to be floating upon a gray ocean across whose reddened
surface a brilliant pathway of red and gold led from the shoreline to
the blazing orb, where the sea and sky seemed to meet.




                                   XV
                                MADNESS


“Now,” said Stellara, “we can go no further;” nor indeed could they for
east and west and north stretched a great, sullen sea and along the
shore-line at their feet great ice cakes rose and fell with sullen roars
and loud reports as the sea ground the churning mass.

For a long time David Innes, Emperor of Pellucidar, stood staring out
across that vast and desolate waste of water. “What lies beyond?” he
murmured to himself, and then, shaking his head, he turned away. “Come,”
he said, “let us strike back for Sari.”

His companions received his words with shouts of joy. Smiles replaced
the half troubled expressions that had marked their drawn faces since
the moment that they had discovered that their beloved noonday sun was
being left behind them.

With light steps, with laughter and joking, they faced the long, arduous
journey that lay ahead of them.

During the second march, after they had turned back from the northern
sea, Gura discovered a strange object to the left of their line of
march.

“It looks as though it might be some queer sort of native hut,” she
said.

“We shall have to investigate it,” said David, and the five made their
way to the side of the strange object.

It was a large, heavy, wicker basket that lay inverted upon the barren
ground. All about it were the rotted remnants of cordage.

At David’s suggestion the men turned the basket over upon its side.
Beneath it they found well preserved remnants of oiled silk and a
network of fine cord.

“What is it?” asked Stellara.

“It is the basket and all that remains of the gas bag of a balloon,”
said David.

“What is a balloon,” asked the girl, “and how did it get here?”

“I can explain what a balloon is,” said David; “but if I were positive
that I was correct in my conjecture as to how it came here, I would hold
the answer to a thousand questions that have puzzled the men of the
outer crust for ages.” For a long time he stood silently contemplating
the weather-worn basket. His mind submerged in thought was oblivious to
all else. “If I only knew,” he mused. “If I only knew, and yet how else
could it have come here? What else could that red disc upon the horizon
of the sea have been other than the midnight sun of the arctic regions.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” demanded Gura.

“The poor devils,” mused David, apparently oblivious of the girl’s
presence. “They made a greater discovery than they could have hoped for
in their wildest dreams. I wonder if they lived to realize it.” Slowly
he removed his fur cap and stood facing the basket with bowed head, and
for some unaccountable reason, which they could not explain, his
companions bared their heads and followed his example. And after they
had resumed their journey it was a long time before David Innes could
shake off the effects of that desolate reminder of one of the world’s
most pathetic tragedies.

So anxious were the members of the party to reach the cheering warmth of
the beloved Pellucidar that they knew, that they pressed on toward the
south with the briefest of rests; nor were they wholly content until
once more their shadows lay directly beneath them.

Sari, lying slightly east of south, their return from the north took
them over a different route from that which they had followed up from
Korsar. Of course the Pellucidarians did not know these points of
compass as north or south, and even David Innes carried them in his mind
more in accordance with the Pellucidarian scheme than that with which he
had been familiar upon the outer crust.

Naturally, with the sun always at zenith and with no stars and no moon
and no planets, the Pellucidarians have been compelled to evolve a
different system of indicating direction than that with which we are
familiar. By instinct they know the direction in which their own country
lies and each Pellucidarian reckons all directions from this base line,
and he indicates other directions in a simple and ingenious manner.

Suppose you were from Sari and were traveling from the ice girt sea
above Korsar to any point upon Pellucidar, you would set and maintain
your course in this manner. Extend the fingers of your right hand and
hold it in a horizontal position, palm down, directly in front of your
body, your little finger pointing in the direction of Sari—a direction
which you know by instinct—and your thumb pointing to the left directly
at right angles to the line in which your little finger is pointing. Now
spread your left hand in the same way and lower it on top of your right
hand, so that the little finger of your left hand exactly covers the
little finger of your right hand.

You will now see the fingers and thumbs of your two hands cover an arc
of one hundred and eighty degrees.

Sari lies southeast of Korsar, while The Land of Awful Shadow lies due
south. Therefore a Sarian pointing in the direction toward The Land of
Awful Shadow would say that he was traveling two left fingers from Sari,
since the middle finger of the left hand would be pointing about due
south toward The Land of Awful Shadow. If he were going in the opposite
direction, or north, he would merely add the word “back,” saying that he
was traveling two left fingers back from Sari, so that by this plan
every point of compass is roughly covered, and with sufficient accuracy
for all the requirements of the primitive Pellucidarians. The fact that
when one is traveling to the right of his established base line and
indicates it by mentioning the fingers of his left hand might, at first,
be deemed confusing, but, of course, having followed this system for
ages, it is perfectly intelligible to the Pellucidarians.

When they reached a point at which the city of Korsar lay three right
fingers back from Sari, they were, in reality, due east of the Korsar
city. They were now in fertile, semi-tropical land teeming with animal
life. The men were armed with pistols as well as spears, bows and arrows
and knives; while Stellara and Gura carried light spears and knives, and
seldom was there a march that did not witness an encounter with one or
more of the savage beasts of the primeval forests, verdure clad hills or
rolling plains across which their journey led them.

They long since had abandoned any apprehension of pursuit or capture by
the Korsars and while they had skirted the distant hinterland claimed by
Korsar and had encountered some of the natives upon one or two
occasions, they had seen no member of the ruling class with the result
that for the first time since they had fallen into the clutches of the
enemy they felt a sense of unquestioned freedom. And though the other
dangers that beset their way might appear appalling to one of the outer
world, they had no such effect upon any one of the five, whose
experiences of life had tended to make them wholly self-reliant, and,
while constantly alert and watchful, unoppressed by the possibility of
future calamity. When danger suddenly confronted them, they were ready
to meet it. After it had passed they did not depress their spirits by
anticipating the next encounter.

Ja and David were anxious to return to their mates, but Tanar and
Stellara were supremely happy because they were together, and Gura was
content merely to be near Tanar. Sometimes she recalled Balal, her
brother, for he had been kind to her, but Scurv and Sloo and Dhung she
tried to forget.

Thus they were proceeding, a happy and contented party, when, with the
suddenness and unexpectedness of lightning out of a clear sky, disaster
overwhelmed them.

They had been passing through a range of low, rocky hills and were
descending a narrow gorge on the Sari side of the range when, turning
the shoulder of a hill, they came face to face with a large party of
Korsars, fully a hundred strong. The leaders saw and recognized them
instantly and a shout of savage triumph that broke from their lips was
taken up by all their fellows.

David, who was in the lead, saw that resistance would be futile and in
the instant his plan was formed. “We must separate,” he said. “Tanar,
you and Stellara go together. Ja, take Gura with you, and I shall go in
a different direction, for we must not all be captured. One, at least,
must escape to return to Sari. If it is not I, then let the one who wins
through take this message to Ghak and Perry. Tell Perry that I am
positive that I have discovered that there is a polar opening in the
outer crust leading into Pellucidar and that if he ever gets in radio
communication with the outer world, he must inform them of this fact.
Tell Ghak to rush his forces by sea on Korsar, as well as by land. And
now, good-bye, and each for himself.”

Turning in their tracks the five fled up the gorge and being far more
active and agile than the Korsars, they outdistanced them, and though
the rattle of musketry followed them and bits of iron and stone fell
about them, or whizzed past them, no one was struck.

Tanar and Stellara found and followed a steep ravine that led upward to
the right, and almost at the same time Ja and Gura diverged to the left
up the course of a dry waterway, while David continued on back up the
main gorge.

Almost at the summit and within the reach of safety, Tanar and Stellara
found their way blocked by a sheer cliff, which, while not more than
fifteen feet in height, was absolutely unscalable; nor could they find
footing upon the steep ravine sides to the right or left, and as they
stood there in this cul-de-sac, their backs to the wall, a party of
twenty or thirty Korsars, toiling laboriously up the ravine, cut off
their retreat; nor was there any place in which they might hide, but
instead were compelled to stand there in full view of the first of the
enemy that came within sight of them, and thus with freedom already
within their grasp they fell again into the hands of the Korsars. And
Tanar had been compelled to surrender without resistance because he did
not dare risk Stellara’s life by drawing the fire of the enemy.

Many of the Korsars were for dispatching Tanar immediately, but the
officer in command forbade them for it was The Cid’s orders that any of
the prisoners that might be recaptured were to be returned alive. “And
furthermore,” he added, “Bulf is particularly anxious to get this Sarian
back alive.”

During the long march back to Korsar, Tanar and Stellara learned that
this was one of several parties that The Cid had dispatched in search of
them with orders never to return until they had rescued his daughter and
captured her abductors. They also had impressed upon them the fact that
the only reason for The Cid’s insistence that the prisoners be returned
alive was because he and Bulf desired to mete out to them a death
commensurate with their crime.

During the long march back to Korsar, Tanar and Stellara were kept apart
as a rule, though on several occasions they were able to exchange a few
words.

“My poor Sarian,” said Stellara upon one of these. “I wish to God that
you had never met me for only sorrow and pain and death can come of it.”

“I do not care,” replied Tanar, “if I die tomorrow, or if they torture
me forever, for no price is too high to pay for the happiness that I
have had with you, Stellara.”

“Ah, but they will torture you—that is what wrings my heart,” cried the
girl. “Take your life yourself, Tanar. Do not let them get you. I know
them and I know their methods and I would rather kill you with my own
hands than see you fall into their clutches. The Cid is a beast, and
Bulf is worse than Bohar the Bloody. I shall never be his mate; of that
you may be sure, and if you die by your own hand I shall follow you
shortly. And if there is a life after this, as the ancestors of the
Korsars taught them, then we shall meet again where all is peace and
beauty and love.”

The Sarian shook his head. “I know what is here in this life,” he said,
“and I do not know what is there in the other. I shall cling to this,
and you must cling to it until some other hand than ours takes it from
us.”

“But they will torture you so horribly,” she moaned.

“No torture can kill the happiness of our love, Stellara,” said the man,
and then guards separated them and they plodded on across the weary,
interminable miles. How different the country looked through eyes of
despair and sorrow from the sunlit paradise that they had seen when they
journeyed through it, hand in hand with freedom and love.

But at last the long, cruel journey was over, a fitting prelude to its
cruel ending, for at the palace gate Stellara and Tanar were separated.
She was escorted to her quarters by female attendants whom she
recognized as being virtually her guards and keepers, while Tanar was
conducted directly into the presence of The Cid.

As he entered the room he saw the glowering face of the Korsar
Chieftain, and standing below the dais, just in front of him, was Bulf,
whom he had seen but once before, but whose face no man could ever
forget. But there was another there whose presence brought a look of
greater horror to Tanar’s face than did the brutal countenances of The
Cid or Bulf, for standing directly before the dais, toward which he was
being led, the Sarian saw David I, Emperor of Pellucidar. Of all the
calamities that could have befallen, this was the worst.

As the Sarian was led to David’s side he tried to speak to him, but was
roughly silenced by the Korsar guards; nor were they ever again to be
allowed to communicate with one another.

The Cid eyed them savagely, as did Bulf. “For you, who betrayed my
confidence and abducted my daughter, there is no punishment that can fit
your crime; there is no death so terrible that its dying will expiate
your sin. It is not within me to conceive of any form of torture the
infliction of which upon you would give me adequate pleasure. I shall
have to look for suggestions outside of my own mind,” and his eyes ran
questioningly among his officers surrounding him.

“Let me have that one,” roared Bulf, pointing at Tanar, “and I can
promise you that you will witness such tortures as the eyes of man never
before beheld; nor the body of man ever before endured.”

“Will it result in death?” asked a tall Korsar with cadaverous face.

“Of course,” said Bulf, “but not too soon.”

“Death is a welcome and longed for deliverance from torture,” continued
the other. “Would you give either one of these the satisfaction and
pleasure of enjoying even death?”

“But what else is there?” demanded The Cid.

“There is a living death that is worse than death,” said the cadaverous
one.

“And if you can name a torture worse than that which I had in mind,”
exclaimed Bulf, “I shall gladly relinquish all my claims upon this
Sarian.”

“Explain,” commanded The Cid.

“It is this,” said the cadaverous one. “These men are accustomed to
sunlight, to freedom, to cleanliness, to fresh air, to companionship.
There are beneath this palace dark, damp dungeons into which no ray of
light ever filters, whose thick walls are impervious to sound. The
denizens of these horrid places, as you know, would have an effect
opposite to that of human companionship and the only danger, the only
weak spot in my plan, lies in the fact that their constant presence
might deprive these criminals of their reason and thus defeat the very
purpose to which I conceive their presence necessary. A lifetime of
hideous loneliness and torture in silence and in darkness! What death,
what torture, what punishment can you mete out to these men that would
compare in hideousness with that which I have suggested?”

After he had ceased speaking the others remained in silent contemplation
of his proposition for some time. It was The Cid who broke the silence.

“Bulf,” he said, “I believe that he is right, for I know that as much as
I love life I would rather die than be left alone in one of the palace
dungeons.”

Bulf nodded his head slowly. “I hate to give up my plan,” he said, “for
I should like to inflict that torture upon this Sarian myself. But,” and
he turned to the cadaverous one, “you are right. You have named a
torture infinitely worse than any that I could conceive.”

“Thus is it ordered,” said The Cid, “to separate palace dungeons for
life.”

In utter silence, unbroken by the Korsar assemblage, Tanar and David
were blindfolded; Tanar felt himself being stripped of all his ornaments
and of what meager raiment it was his custom to wear, with the exception
of his loin cloth. Then he was pushed and dragged roughly along, first
this way and then that. He knew when they were passing through narrow
corridors by the muffled echoes and there was a different reverberation
of the footsteps of his guards as they crossed large apartments. He was
hustled down flights of stone steps and through other corridors and at
last he felt himself lowered into an opening, a guard seizing him under
each arm. The air felt damp and it smelled of mold and must and of
something else that was disgusting, but unrecognizable to his nostrils.
And then they let go of him and he dropped a short distance and landed
upon a stone flagging that felt damp and slippery to his bare feet. He
heard a sound above his head—a grating sound as though a stone slab had
been pushed across a stone floor to close the trap through which he had
been lowered. Then Tanar snatched the bandage from his eyes, but he
might as well have left it there for he found himself surrounded by
utter darkness. He listened intently, but there was no sound, not even
the sounds of the retreating footsteps of his guards—darkness and
silence—they had chosen the most terrible torture that they could
inflict upon a Sarian—silence, darkness and solitude.

For a long time he stood there motionless and then, slowly, he commenced
to grope his way forward. Four steps he took before he touched the wall
and this he followed two steps to the end, and there he turned and took
six steps to cross before he reached the wall on the opposite side, and
thus he made the circuit of his dungeon and found that it was four by
six paces—perhaps not small for a dungeon, but narrower than the grave
for Tanar of Pellucidar.

He tried to think—to think how he could occupy his time until death
released him. Death! Could he not hasten it? But how? Six paces was the
length of his prison cell. Could he not dash at full speed from one end
to the other, crushing his brains out by the impact? And then he
recalled his promise to Stellara, even in the face of her appeal to him
to take his own life—“I shall not die of my own hand.”

Again he made the circuit of his dungeon. He wondered how they would
feed him, for he knew that they would feed him because they wished him
to live as long as possible, as only thus might they encompass his
torture. He thought of the bright sun shining down upon the table-lands
of Sari. He thought of the young men and the maidens there free and
happy. He thought of Stellara, so close, up there above him somewhere,
and yet so infinitely far away. If he were dead, they would be closer.
“Not by my own hand,” he muttered.

He tried to plan for the future—the blank, dark, silent future—the
eternity of loneliness that confronted him, and he found that through
the despair of utter hopelessness his own unconquerable spirit could
still discern hope, for no matter what his plans they all looked forward
to a day of freedom and he realized that nothing short of death ever
could rob him of this solace, and so his plan finally developed.

He must in some way keep his mind from dwelling constantly upon the
present. He must erase from it all consideration of the darkness, the
silence and the solitude that surrounded him. And he must keep fit,
mentally and physically, for the moment of release or escape. And so he
planned to walk and to exercise his arms and the other muscles of his
body systematically to the end that he might keep in good condition and
at the same time induce sufficient fatigue to enable him to sleep as
much as possible, and when he rested preparatory to sleep he
concentrated his mind entirely upon pleasant memories. And when he put
the plan into practice he found that it was all that he had hoped that
it would be. He exercised until he was thoroughly fatigued and then he
lay down to pleasant day dreams until sleep claimed him. Being
accustomed from childhood to sleeping upon hard ground, the stone
flagging gave him no particular discomfort and he was asleep in the
midst of pleasant memories of happy hours with Stellara.

But his awakening! As consciousness slowly returned it was accompanied
by a sense of horror, the cause of which gradually filtered to his
awakening sensibilities. A cold, slimy body was crawling across his
chest. Instinctively his hand seized it to thrust it away and his
fingers closed upon a scaly thing that wriggled and writhed and
struggled.

Tanar leaped to his feet, cold sweat bursting from every pore. He could
feel the hairs upon his head rising in horror. He stepped back and his
foot touched another of those horrid things. He slipped and fell, and,
falling, his body encountered others—cold, clammy, wriggling. Scrambling
to his feet he retreated to the opposite end of his dungeon, but
everywhere the floor was covered with writhing, scaly bodies. And now
the silence became a pandemonium of seething sounds, a black caldron of
venomous hisses.

Long bodies curled themselves about his legs and writhed and wriggled
upward toward his face. No sooner did he tear one from him and hurl it
aside than another took its place.

This was no dream as he had at first hoped, but stark, horrible reality.
These hideous serpents that filled his cell were but a part of his
torture, but they would defeat their purpose. They would drive him mad.
Already he felt his mind tottering and then into it crept the cunning
scheme of a madman. With their own weapons he would defeat their ends.
He would rob them quickly of the power to torture him further, and he
burst into a shrill, mirthless laugh as he tore a snake from around his
body and held it before him.

The reptile writhed and struggled and very slowly Tanar of Pellucidar
worked his hand upward to its throat. It was not a large snake for
Pellucidar, measuring perhaps five feet in length with a body about six
inches in diameter.

Grasping the reptile about a foot below its head with one hand, Tanar
slapped it repeatedly in the face with the other and then held it close
to his breast. Laughing and screaming, he struck and struck again, and
at last the snake struck back, burying its fangs deep in the flesh of
the Sarian.

With a cry of triumph Tanar hurled the thing from him, and then slowly
sank to the floor upon the writhing, wriggling forms that carpeted it.

“With your own weapons I have robbed you of your revenge,” he shrieked,
and then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Who may say how long he lay thus in the darkness and silence of that
buried dungeon in a timeless world. But at length he stirred; slowly his
eyes opened and as consciousness returned he felt about him. The stone
flagging was bare. He sat up. He was not dead and to his surprise he
discovered that he had suffered neither pain nor swelling from the
strike of the serpent.

He arose and moved cautiously about the dungeon. The snakes were gone.
Sleep had restored his mental equilibrium, but he shuddered as he
realized how close he had been to madness, and he smiled somewhat
shamefacedly, as he reflected upon the futility of his needless terror.
For the first time in his life Tanar of Pellucidar had understood the
meaning of the word fear.

As he paced slowly around his dungeon one foot came in contact with
something lying on the floor in a corner—something which had not been
there before the snakes came. He stooped and felt cautiously with his
hand and found an iron bowl fitted with a heavy cover. He lifted the
cover. Here was food and without questioning what it was or whence it
came, he ate.




                                  XVI
                          THE DARKNESS BEYOND


The deadly monotony of his incarceration dragged on. He exercised; he
ate; he slept. He never knew how the food was brought to his cell, nor
when, and after a while he ceased to care.

The snakes came usually while he slept, but since that first experience
they no longer filled him with horror. And after a dozen repetitions of
their visit they not only ceased to annoy him, but he came to look
forward to their coming as a break in the deadly monotony of his
solitude. He found that by stroking them and talking to them in low
tones he could quiet their restless writhing. And after repeated
recurrences of their visits he was confident that one of them had become
almost a pet.

Of course in the darkness he could not differentiate one snake from
another, but always he was awakened by the nose of one pounding gently
upon his chest, and when he took it in his hands and stroked it, it made
no effort to escape; not ever again did one of them strike him with its
fangs after that first orgy of madness, during which he had thought and
hoped that the reptiles were venomous.

It took him a long time to find the opening through which the reptiles
found ingress to his cell, but at length, after diligent search, he
discovered an aperture about eight inches in diameter, some three feet
above the floor. Its sides were worn smooth by the countless passings of
scaly bodies. He inserted his hand in the opening and feeling around
discovered that the wall at this point was about a foot in thickness,
and when he inserted his arm to the shoulder he could feel nothing in
any direction beyond the wall. Perhaps there was another chamber
there—another cell like his—or possibly the aperture opened into a deep
pit that was filled with snakes. He thought of many explanations and the
more he thought the more anxious he became to solve the riddle of the
mysterious space beyond his cell. Thus did his mind occupy itself with
trivial things, and the loneliness and the darkness and the silence
exaggerated the importance of the matter beyond all reason until it
became an obsession with him. During all his waking hours he thought
about that hole in the wall and what lay beyond in the Stygian darkness
which his eyes could not penetrate. He questioned the snake that rapped
upon his chest, but it did not answer him and then he went to the hole
in the wall and asked the hole. And he was on the point of becoming
angry when it did not reply when his mind suddenly caught itself, and
with a shudder he turned away, realizing that this way led to madness
and that he must, above all else, remain master of his mind.

But still he did not abandon his speculation; only now he conducted it
with reason and sanity, and at last he hit upon a shrewd plan.

When next his food was brought and he had devoured it he took the iron
cover from the iron pot, which had contained it, and hurled it to the
stone flagging of his cell, where it broke into several pieces. One of
these was long and slender and had a sharp point, which was what he had
hoped he would find in the débris of the broken cover. This piece he
kept; the others he put back into the pot and then he went to the
aperture in the wall and commenced to scratch, slowly, slowly, slowly at
the hard mortar in which the stones around the hole were set.

He ate and slept many times before his labor was rewarded by the
loosening of a single stone next to the hole. And again he ate and slept
many times before a second stone was removed.

How long he worked at this he did not know, but the time passed more
quickly now and his mind was so engrossed with his labors that he was
almost happy.

During this time he did not neglect his exercising, but he slept less
often. When the snakes came he had to stop his work, for they were
continually passing in and out through the hole.

He wished that he knew how the food was brought to his cell, that he
might know if there was danger that those who brought it could hear him
scraping at the mortar in the wall, but as he never heard the food
brought he hoped that those who brought it could not hear him and he was
quite sure that they could not see him.

And so he worked on unceasingly until at last he had scratched away an
opening large enough to admit his body, and then for a long time he sat
before it, waiting, seeking to assure himself that he was master of his
mind, for in this eternal night of solitude that had been his existence
for how long he could not even guess, he realized that this adventure
which he was facing had assumed such momentous proportions that once
more he felt himself upon the brink of madness. And now he wanted to
make sure that no matter what lay beyond that aperture he could meet it
with calm nerves and a serene and sane, mind, for he could not help but
realize that keen disappointment might be lying in wait for him, since
during all the long periods of his scratching and scraping since he had
discovered the hole through which the snakes came into his cell he had
realized that a hope of escape was the foundation of the desire that
prompted him to prosecute the work. And though he expected to be
disappointed he knew how cruel would be the blow when it fell.

With a touch that was almost a caress he let his fingers run slowly over
the rough edges of the enlarged aperture. He inserted his head and
shoulders into it and reached far out upon the other side, groping with
a hand that found nothing, searching with eyes that saw nothing, and
then he drew himself back into his dungeon and walked to its far end and
sat down upon the floor and leaned back against the wall and
waited—waited because he did not dare to pass that aperture to face some
new discouragement.

It took him a long time to master himself, and then he waited again. But
this time, after reasoned consideration of the matter that filled his
mind.

He would wait until they brought his food and had taken away the empty
receptacle—that he might be given a longer interval before possible
discovery of his absence, in the event he did not return to his cell.
And though he went often to the corner where the food was ordinarily
deposited, it seemed an eternity before he found it there. And after he
had eaten it, another eternity before the receptacle was taken away; but
at last it was removed. And once again he crossed his cell and stood
before the opening that led he knew not where.

This time he did not hesitate. He was master of his mind and nerves.

One after the other he put his feet through the aperture until he sat
with his legs both upon the far side of the wall. Then, turning on his
stomach, he started to lower himself, because he did not know where the
floor might be, but he found it immediately, on the same level as his
own. And an instant later he stood erect and if not free, at least no
longer a prisoner within his own cell.

Cautiously he groped about him in the darkness, feeling his way a few
inches at a time. This cell, he discovered, was much narrower than his
own, but it was very long. By extending his hands in both directions he
could touch both walls, and thus he advanced, placing a foot cautiously
to feel each step before he took it.

He had brought with him from his cell the iron sliver that he had broken
from the cover of the pot and with which he had scratched himself thus
far toward freedom. And the possession of this bit of iron imparted to
him a certain sense of security, since it meant that he was not entirely
unarmed.

Presently, as he advanced, he became convinced that he was in a long
corridor. One foot came in contact with a rough substance directly in
the center of the tunnel. He took his hands from the walls and groped in
front of him.

It was a rough-coated cylinder about eight inches in diameter that rose
directly upward from the center of the tunnel, and his fingers quickly
told him that it was the trunk of a tree with the bark still on, though
worn off in patches.

Passing this column, which he guessed to be a support for a weak section
of the roof of the tunnel, he continued on, but he had taken but a
couple of steps when he came to a blank wall—the tunnel had come to an
abrupt end.

Tanar’s heart sank within him. His hopes had been rising with each
forward step and now they were suddenly dashed to despair. Again and
again his fingers ran over the cold wall that had halted his advance
toward hoped for freedom, but there was no sign of break or crevice, and
slowly he turned back toward his cell, passing the wooden column and
retracing his steps in utter dejection. But as he moved sadly along he
mustered all his spiritual forces, determined not to let his expected
disappointment crush him. He would go back to his cell, but he would
still continue to use the tunnel. It would be a respite from the
monotony of his own four walls. It would extend the distance that he
might walk and after all he would make it worth the effort that had been
necessary to gain ingress to it.

Back in his own cell again he lay down to sleep, for he had denied
himself sleep a great deal of late that he might prosecute the work upon
which he had been engaged. When he awoke the snakes were with him again
and his friend was tapping gently on his chest, and once again he took
up the dull monotony of his existence, altered only by regular
excursions into his new found domain, the black interior of which he
came to know as well as he did his own cell, so that he walked briskly
from the hole he had made to the wooden column at the far end of the
tunnel, passed around it and walked back again at a brisk gait and with
as much assurance as though he could see plainly, for he had counted the
paces from one end to the other so many times that he knew to an instant
when he had covered the distance from one extremity to the other.

He ate; he slept; he exercised; he played with his slimy, reptilian
companion; and he paced the narrow tunnel of his discovery. And often
when he passed around the wooden column at its far end, he speculated
upon the real purpose of it.

Once he went to sleep in his own cell thinking about it, and when he
awoke to the gentle tapping of the snake’s snout upon his breast he sat
up so suddenly that the reptile fell hissing to the flagging, for clear
and sharp upon the threshold of his awakening mind stood an idea—a
wonderful idea—why had he not thought of it before?

Excitedly he hastened to the opening leading into the tunnel. Snakes
were passing through it, but he fought for precedence with the reptilian
horde and tumbled through head first upon a bed of hissing snakes.
Scrambling to his feet he almost ran the length of the corridor until
his outstretched hands came in contact with the rough bole of the tree.
There he stood quite some time, trembling like a leaf, and then,
encircling the column with his arms and legs, he started to climb slowly
and deliberately aloft. This was the idea that had seized him in its
compelling grip upon his awakening.

Upward through the darkness he went, and pausing now and then to grope
about with his hands, he found that the tree trunk ran up the center of
a narrow, circular shaft.

He climbed slowly upward and at a distance of about thirty feet above
the floor of the tunnel, his head struck stone. Feeling upward with one
hand he discovered that the tree was set in mortar in the ceiling above
him.

This could not be the end! What reason could there be for a tunnel and a
shaft that led nowhere? He groped through the darkness in all directions
with his hand and he was rewarded by finding an opening in the side of
the shaft about six feet below the ceiling. Quitting the bole of the
tree he climbed into the opening in the wall of the shaft, and here he
found himself in another tunnel, lower and narrower than that at the
base of the shaft. It was still dark, so that he was compelled to
advance as slowly and with as great caution as he had upon that occasion
when he first explored his tunnel below.

He advanced but a short distance when the tunnel turned abruptly to the
right, and ahead of him, beyond the turn, he saw a ray of light!

A condemned man snatched from the jaws of death could not have greeted
salvation with more joyousness than Tanar of Pellucidar greeted this
first slender ray of daylight that he had seen for a seeming eternity.
It shone dimly through a tiny crevice, but it was light, the light of
heaven that he had never expected to again behold.

Enraptured, he walked slowly toward it, and as he reached it his hand
came in contact with rough, unpainted boards that blocked his way. It
was through a tiny crack between two of these boards that the light was
filtering.

As dim as the light was it hurt his eyes, so long unaccustomed to light
of any kind. But by turning them away so that the light did not shine
directly into them, he finally became accustomed to it, and when he did
he discovered that as small as the aperture was through which the light
came it let in sufficient to dispel the utter darkness of the interior
of the tunnel and he also discovered that he could discern objects. He
could see the stone walls on either side of the tunnel, and by looking
closely he could see the boards that formed the obstacle that barred his
further progress. And as he examined them he discovered that at one side
there was something that resembled a latch, an invention of which he had
been entirely ignorant before he had come aboard the Korsar ship upon
which he had been made prisoner, for in Sari there are no locks nor
latches.

But he knew the thing for what it was and it told him that the boards
before him formed a door, which opened into light and toward liberty,
but what lay immediately beyond?

He clinched his ear to the door and listened, but he heard no sound.
Then very carefully he examined the latch, experimenting with it until
he discovered how to operate it. Steadying his nerves, he pushed gently
upon the rough planks. As they swung away from him slowly a flood of
light rushed into the first narrow crack, and Tanar covered his eyes
with his hands and turned away, realizing that he must become accustomed
to this light slowly and gradually, or he might be permanently blinded.

With closed eyes he listened at the crack, but could hear nothing. And
then with utmost care he started to accustom his eyes to the light, but
it was long before he could stand the full glare that came through even
this tiny crack.

When he could stand the light without pain he opened the door a little
further and looked out. Just beyond the door lay a fairly large room, in
which wicker hampers, iron and earthen receptacles and bundles sewed up
in hides littered the floor and were piled high against the walls.
Everything seemed covered with dust and cobwebs and there was no sign of
a human being about.

Pushing the door open still further Tanar stepped from the tunnel into
the apartment and looked about him. Everywhere the room was a litter of
bundles and packages with articles of clothing strewn about, together
with various fittings for ships, bales of hide and numerous weapons.

The thick coating of dust upon everything suggested to the Sarian that
the room had not been visited lately.

For a moment he stood with his hand still on the open door and as he
started to step into the room his hand stuck for an instant where he had
grasped the rough boards. Looking at his fingers to ascertain the cause
he discovered that they were covered with sticky pitch. It was his left
hand and when he tried to rub the pitch from it he found that it was
almost impossible to do so.

As he moved around the room examining the contents everything that he
touched with his left hand stuck to it—it was annoying, but unavoidable.

An inspection of the room revealed several windows along one side and a
door at one end.

The door was equipped with a latch similar to that through which he had
just passed and which was made to open from the outside with a key, but
which could be operated by hand from the inside. It was a very crude and
simple affair, and for that Tanar would have been grateful had he known
how intricate locks may be made.

Lifting the catch Tanar pushed the door slightly ajar and before him he
saw a long corridor, lighted by windows upon one side and with doors
opening from it upon the other. As he looked a Korsar came from one of
the doorways and, turning, walked down the corridor away from him and a
moment later a woman emerged from another doorway, and then he saw other
people at the far end of the corridor. Quickly Tanar of Pellucidar
closed and latched the door.

Here was no avenue of escape. Were he back in his dark cell he could not
have been cut off more effectually from the outer world than he was in
this apartment at the far end of a corridor constantly used by Korsars;
for with his smooth face and his naked body, he would be recognized and
seized the instant that he stepped from the room. But Tanar was far from
being overwhelmed by discouragement. Already he had come much further on
the road to escape than he had previously dreamed could be possible and
not only this thought heartened him, but even more the effect of
daylight, which had for so long been denied him. He had felt his spirit
and his courage expand beneath the beneficent influence of the light of
the noonday sun, so that he felt ready for any emergency that might
confront him.

Turning back once more into the room he searched it carefully for some
other avenue of escape. He went to the windows and found that they
overlooked the garden of The Cid, but there were many people there, too,
in that part of the garden close to the palace. The trees cut off his
view of the far end from which he had helped Stellara and Gura to
escape, but he guessed that there were few, if any, people there, though
to reach it would be a difficult procedure from the windows of this
storeroom.

To his left, near the opposite side of the garden, he could see that the
trees grew closely together and extended thus apparently the full length
of the enclosure.

If those trees had been upon this side of the garden he guessed that he
might have found a way to escape; at least as far as the gate in the
garden wall close to the barracks, but they were not and so he must
abandon thought of them.

There seemed, therefore, no other avenue of escape than the corridor
into which he had just looked; nor could he remain indefinitely in this
chamber where there was neither food nor water and with a steadily
increasing danger that his absence from the dungeon would be discovered
when they found that he did not consume the food they brought him.

Seating himself upon a bale of hide Tanar gave himself over to
contemplation of his predicament and as he studied the matter his eyes
fell upon some of the loose clothing strewn about the room. There he saw
the shorts and shirts of Korsar, the gay sashes and head handkerchiefs,
the wide topped boots, and with a half smile upon his lips he gathered
such of them as he required, shook the dust from them and clothed
himself after the manner of a Korsar. He needed no mirror though to know
that his smooth face would betray him.

He selected pistols, a dirk and a cutlass, but he could find neither
powder nor balls for his firearms.

Thus arrayed and armed he surveyed himself as best he might without a
mirror. “If I could keep my back toward all Korsar,” he mused, “I might
escape with ease for I warrant I look as much a Korsar as any of them
from the rear, but unless I can grow bushy whiskers I shall not deceive
anyone.”

As he sat musing thus he became aware suddenly of voices raised in
altercation just outside the door of the storeroom. One was a man’s
voice; the other a woman’s.

“And if you won’t have me,” growled the man, “I’ll take you.”

Tanar could not hear the woman’s reply, though he heard her speak and
knew from her voice that it was a woman.

“What do I care for The Cid?” cried the man. “I am as powerful in Korsar
as he. I could take the throne and be Cid myself, if I chose.”

Again Tanar heard the woman speak.

“If you do I’ll choke the wind out of you,” threatened the man. “Come in
here where we can talk better. Then you can yell all you want for no one
can hear you.”

Tanar heard the man insert a key in the lock and as he did so the
Pellucidarian sought a hiding place behind a pile of wicker hampers.

“And after you get out of this room,” continued the man, “there will be
nothing left for you to yell about.”

“I have told you right along,” said the woman, “that I would rather kill
myself than mate with you, but if you take me by force I shall still
kill myself, but I shall kill you first.”

The heart of Tanar of Pellucidar leaped in his breast when he heard that
voice. His fingers closed upon the hilt of the cutlass at his side, and
as Bulf voiced a sneering laugh in answer to the girl’s threat, the
Sarian leaped from his concealment, a naked blade shining in his right
hand.

At the sound behind him Bulf wheeled about and for an instant he did not
recognize the Sarian in the Korsar garb, but Stellara did and she voiced
a cry of mingled surprise and joy.

“Tanar!” she cried. “My Tanar!”

As the Sarian rushed him Bulf fell back, drawing his cutlass as he
retreated. Tanar saw that he was making for the door leading into the
corridor and he rushed at the man to engage him before he could escape,
so that Bulf was forced to stand and defend himself.

“Stand back,” cried Bulf, “or you shall die for this,” but Tanar of
Pellucidar only laughed in his face, as he swung a wicked blow at the
man’s head, which Bulf but barely parried, and then they were at one
another like two wild beasts.

Tanar drew first blood from a slight gash in Bulf’s shoulder and then
the fellow yelled for help.

“You said that no one could hear Stellara’s cries for help from this
apartment,” taunted Tanar, “so why do you think that they can hear
yours?”

“Let me out of here,” cried Bulf. “Let me out and I will give you your
freedom.” But Tanar rushed him into a corner and the sharp edge of his
cutlass sheared an ear from Bulf’s head.

“Help!” shrieked the Korsar. “Help! it is Bulf. The Sarian is killing
me.”

Fearful that his loud cries might reach the corridor beyond and attract
attention, Tanar increased the fury of his assault. He beat down the
Korsar’s guard. He swung his cutlass in one terrible circle that clove
Bulf’s ugly skull to the bridge of his nose, and with a gurgling gasp
the great brute lunged forward upon his face. And Tanar of Pellucidar
turned and took Stellara in his arms.

“Thank God,” he said, “that I was in time.”

“It must have been God Himself who led you to this room,” said the girl.
“I thought you dead. They told me that you were dead.”

“No,” said Tanar. “They put me in a dark dungeon beneath the palace,
where I was condemned to remain for life.”

“And you have been so near me all this time,” said Stellara, “and I
thought that you were dead.”

“For a long time I thought that I was worse than dead,” replied the man.
“Darkness, solitude and silence—God! That is worse than death.”

“And yet you escaped!” The girl’s voice was filled with awe.

“It was because of you that I escaped,” said Tanar. “Thoughts of you
kept me from going mad—thought and hope urged me on to seek some avenue
of escape. Never again as long as life is in me shall I feel that there
can be any situation that is entirely hopeless after what I have passed
through.”

Stellara shook her head. “Your hope will have to be strong, dear heart,
against the discouragement that you must face in seeking a way out of
the palace of The Cid and the city of Korsar.”

“I have come this far,” replied Tanar. “Already have I achieved the
impossible. Why should I doubt my ability to wrest freedom for you and
for me from whatever fate holds in store for us?”

“You cannot pass them with that smooth face, Tanar,” said the girl,
sadly. “Ah, if you only had Bulf’s whiskers,” and she glanced down at
the corpse of the fallen man.

Tanar turned, too, and looked down at Bulf, where he lay in a pool of
blood upon the floor. And then quickly he faced Stellara. “Why not?” he
cried. “Why not?”




                                  XVII
                            DOWN TO THE SEA


“What do you mean?” demanded Stellara.

“Wait and you shall see,” replied Tanar, and drawing his dirk he stooped
and turned Bulf over upon his back. Then with the razor-sharp blade of
his weapon he commenced to hack off the bushy, black beard of the dead
Korsar, while Stellara looked on in questioning wonder.

Spreading Bulf’s headcloth flat upon the floor, Tanar deposited upon it
the hair that he cut from the man’s face, and when he had completed his
grewsome tonsorial effort he folded the hair into the handkerchief, and,
rising, motioned for Stellara to follow him.

Going to the door that led into the tunnel through which he had escaped
from the dungeon, Tanar opened it, and, smearing his fingers with the
pitch that exuded from the boards upon the inside of the door, he
smeared some of it upon the side of his face and then turned to
Stellara.

“Put this hair upon my face in as natural a way as you can. You have
lived among them all your life, so you should know well how a Korsar’s
beard should look.”

Horrible as the plan seemed and though she shrank from touching the hair
of the dead man, Stellara steeled herself and did as Tanar bid. Little
by little, patch by patch, Tanar applied pitch to his face and Stellara
placed the hair upon it until presently only the eyes and nose of the
Sarian remained exposed. The expression of the former were altered by
increasing the size and bushiness of the eyebrows with shreds of Bulf’s
beard that had been left over, and then Tanar smeared his nose with some
of Bulf’s blood, for many of the Korsars had large, red noses. Then
Stellara stood away and surveyed him critically. “Your own mother would
not know you,” she said.

“Do you think I can pass as a Korsar?” he asked.

“No one will suspect, unless they question you closely as you leave the
palace.”

“We are going together,” said Tanar.

“But how?” asked Stellara.

“I have been thinking of another plan,” he said. “I noticed when I was
living in the barracks that sailors going toward the river had no
difficulty in passing through the gate leaving the palace. In fact, it
is always much easier to leave the palace than to enter it. On many
occasions I have heard them say merely that they were going to their
ships. We can do the same.”

“Do I look like a Korsar sailor?” demanded Stellara.

“You will when I get through with you,” said Tanar, with a grin.

“What do you mean?”

“There is Korsar clothing here,” said Tanar; “enough to outfit a dozen
and there is still plenty of hair on Bulf’s head.”

The girl drew back with a shudder. “Oh, Tanar! You cannot mean that.”

“What other way is there?” he demanded. “If we can escape together is it
not worth any price that we might have to pay?”

“You are right,” she said. “I will do it.”

When Tanar completed, his work upon her, Stellara had been transformed
into a bearded Korsar, but the best that he could do in the way of
disguise failed to entirely hide the contours of her hips and breasts.

“I am afraid they will suspect,” he said. “Your figure is too feminine
for shorts and a shirt to hide it.”

“Wait,” exclaimed Stellara. “Sometimes the sailors, when they are going
on long voyages, wear cloaks, which they use to sleep in if the nights
are cool. Let us see if we can find such a one here.”

“Yes, I saw one,” replied Tanar, and crossing the room he returned with
a cloak made of wide striped goods. “That will give you greater height,”
he said. But when they draped it about her, her hips were still too much
in evidence.

“Build out my shoulders,” suggested Stellara, and with scarfs and
handkerchiefs the Sarian built the girl’s shoulders out so that the
cloak hung straight and she resembled a short, stocky man, more than a
slender, well-formed girl.

“Now we are ready,” said the Sarian. Stellara pointed to the body of
Bulf.

“We cannot leave that lying there,” she said. “Someone may come to this
room and discover it and when they do every man in the palace—yes, even
in the entire city—will be arrested and questioned.”

Tanar looked about the room and then he seized the corpse of Bulf and
dragged it into a far corner, after which he piled bundles of hides and
baskets upon it until it was entirely concealed, and over the blood
stains upon the floor he dragged other bales and baskets until all signs
of the duel had been erased or hidden.

“And now,” he said, “is as good a time as another to put our disguises
to the test.” Together they approached the door. “You know the least
frequented passages to the garden,” said Tanar. “Let us make our way
from the palace through the garden to the gate that gave us escape
before.”

“Then follow me,” replied Stellara, as Tanar opened the door and the two
stepped out into the corridor beyond. It was empty. Tanar closed the
door behind him, and Stellara led the way down the passage.

They had proceeded but a short distance when they heard a man’s voice in
an apartment to the left.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“I do not know,” replied a woman’s voice. “She was here but a moment ago
and Bulf was with her.”

“Find them and lose no time about it,” commanded the man, sternly. And
he stepped from the apartment just as Tanar and Stellara were
approaching.

It was The Cid. Stellara’s heart stopped beating as the Korsar ruler
looked into the faces of Tanar and herself.

“Who are you?” demanded The Cid.

“We are sailors,” said Tanar, quickly, before Stellara could reply.

“What are you doing here in my palace?” demanded the Korsar ruler.

“We were sent here with packages to the storeroom,” replied Tanar, “and
we are but now returning to our ship.”

“Well, be quick about it. I do not like your looks,” growled The Cid as
he stamped off down the corridor ahead of them.

Tanar saw Stellara sway and he stepped to her side and supported her,
but she quickly gained possession of herself, and an instant later
turned to the right and led Tanar through a doorway into the garden.

“God!” whispered the man, as they walked side by side after quitting the
building. “If The Cid did not know you, then your disguise must be
perfect.”

Stellara shook her head for even as yet she could not control her voice
to speak, following the terror induced by her encounter with The Cid.

There were a number of men and women in the garden close to the palace.
Some of these scrutinized them casually, but they passed by in safety
and a moment later the gravel walk they were following wound through
dense shrubbery that hid them from view and then they were at the
doorway in the garden wall.

Again fortune favored them here and they passed out into the barracks
yards without being noticed.

Electing to try the main gate because of the greater number of people
who passed to and fro through it, Tanar turned to the right, passed
along the full length of the barracks past a dozen men and approached
the gate with Stellara at his side.

They were almost through when a stupid looking Korsar soldier stopped
them. “Who are you,” he demanded, “and what business takes you from the
palace?”

“We are sailors,” replied Tanar. “We are going to our ship.”

“What were you doing in the palace?” demanded the man.

“We took packages there from the captain of the ship to The Cid’s
storeroom,” explained the Sarian.

“I do not like the looks of you,” said the man. “I have never seen
either one of you before.”

“We have been away upon a long cruise,” replied Tanar.

“Wait here until the captain of the gate returns,” said the man. “He
will wish to question you.”

The Sarian’s heart sank. “If we are late in returning to our ship, we
shall be punished,” said he.

“That is nothing to me,” replied the soldier.

Stellara reached inside her cloak and beneath the man’s shorts that
covered her own apparel and searched until she found a pouch that was
attached to her girdle. From this she drew something which she slipped
into Tanar’s hands. He understood immediately, and stepping close to the
soldier he pressed two pieces of gold into the fellow’s palm. “It will
go very hard with us if we are late,” he said.

The man felt the cool gold within his palm. “Very well,” he said,
gruffly, “go on about your business, and be quick about it.”

Without waiting for a second invitation Tanar and Stellara merged with
the crowd upon the Korsar street. Nor did either speak, and it is
possible that Stellara did not even breathe until they had left the
palace gate well behind.

“And where now?” she asked at last.

“We are going to sea,” replied the man.

“In a Korsar ship?” she demanded.

“In a Korsar boat,” he replied. “We are going fishing.”

Along the banks of the river were moored many craft, but when Tanar saw
how many men were on or around them he realized that the plan he had
chosen, which contemplated stealing a fishing boat, most probably would
end disastrously, and he explained his doubts to Stellara.

“We could never do it,” she said. “Stealing a boat is considered the
most heinous crime that one can commit in Korsar, and if the owner of a
boat is not aboard it you may rest assured that some of his friends are
watching it for him, even though there is little likelihood that anyone
will attempt to steal it since the penalty is death.”

Tanar shook his head. “Then we shall have to risk passing through the
entire city of Korsar,” he said, “and going out into the open country
without any reasonable excuse in the event that we are questioned.”

“We might buy a boat,” suggested Stellara.

“I have no money,” said Tanar.

“I have,” replied the girl. “The Cid has always kept me well supplied
with gold.” Once more she reached into her pouch and drew forth a
handful of gold pieces. “Here,” she said, “take these. If they are not
enough you can ask me for more, but I think that you can buy a boat for
half that sum.”

Questioning the first man that he approached at the river side, Tanar
learned that there was a small fishing boat for sale a short way down
the river, and it was not long before they had found its owner and
consummated the purchase.

As they pushed off into the current and floated down stream, Tanar
became conscious of a sudden conviction that his escape from Korsar had
been effected too easily; that there must be something wrong, that
either he was dreaming or else disaster and recapture lay just ahead.

Borne down toward the sea by the slow current of the river, Tanar
wielded a single oar, paddlewise from the stern, to keep the boat out in
the channel and its bow in the right direction, for he did not wish to
make sail under the eyes of Korsar sailors and fishermen, as he was well
aware that he could not do so without attracting attention by his
bungling to his evident inexperience and thus casting suspicion upon
them.

Slowly the boat drew away from the city and from the Korsar raiders
anchored in mid—stream and then, at last, he felt that it would be safe
to hoist the sail and take advantage of the land breeze that was
blowing.

With Stellara’s assistance the canvas was spread and as it bellied to
the wind the craft bore forward with accelerated speed, and then behind
them they heard shouts and, turning, saw three boats speeding toward
them.

Across the waters came commands for them to lay to.

The pursuing boats, which had set out under sail and had already
acquired considerable momentum, appeared to be rapidly overhauling the
smaller craft. But presently, as the speed of the latter increased, the
distance between them seemed not to vary.

The shouts of the pursuers had attracted the attention of the sailors on
board the anchored raiders, and presently Tanar and Stellara heard the
deep boom of a cannon and a heavy shot struck the water just off their
starboard bow.

Tanar shook his head. “That is too close,” he said. “I had better come
about.”

“Why?” demanded Stellara.

“I do not mind risking capture,” he said, “because in that event no harm
will befall you when they discover your identity, but I cannot risk the
cannon shots for if one of them strikes us, you will be killed.”

“Do not come about,” cried the girl. “I would rather die here with you
than be captured, for capture would mean death for you and then I should
not care to live. Keep on, Tanar, we may outdistance them yet. And as
for their cannon shots, a small, moving boat like this is a difficult
target and their marksmanship is none too good.”

Again the cannon boomed and this time the ball passed over them and
struck the water just beyond.

“They are getting our range,” said Tanar.

The girl moved close to his side, where he sat by the tiller. “Put your
arm around me, Tanar,” she said. “If we must die, let us die together.”

The Sarian encircled her with his free arm and drew her close to him,
and an instant later there was a terrific explosion from the direction
of the raider that had been firing on them. Turning quickly toward the
ship, they saw what had happened—an overcharged cannon had exploded.

“They were too anxious,” said Tanar.

It was some time before another shot was fired and this one fell far
astern, but the pursuing boats were clinging tenaciously to their wake.

“They are not gaining,” said Stellara.

“No,” said Tanar, “and neither are we.”

“But I think we shall after we reach the open sea,” said the girl. “We
shall get more wind there and this boat is lighter and speedier than
theirs. Fate smiled upon us when it led us to this boat rather than to a
larger one.”

As they approached the sea their pursuers, evidently fearing precisely
what Stellara had suggested, opened fire upon them with harquebuses and
pistols. Occasionally a missile would come dangerously close, but the
range was just a little too great for their primitive weapons and poor
powder.

On they sailed out into the open Korsar Az, which stretched onward and
upward into the concealing mist of the distance. Upon their left the sea
ran inward forming a great bay, while almost directly ahead of them,
though at so great a distance that it was barely discernible, rose the
dim outlines of a headland, and toward this Tanar held his course.

The chase had settled down into a dogged test of endurance. It was
evident that the Korsars had no intention of giving up their prey even
though the pursuit led to the opposite shore of the Korsar Az, and it
was equally evident that Tanar entertained no thought of surrender.

On and on they sped, the pursued and the pursuers. Slowly the headland
took shape before them, and later a great forest was visible to the left
of it—a forest that ran down almost to the sea.

“You are making for land?” asked Stellara.

“Yes,” replied the Sarian. “We have neither food nor water and if we had
I am not sufficiently a sailor to risk navigating this craft across the
Korsar Az.”

“But if we take to the land, they will be able to trail us,” said the
girl.

“You forget the trees, Stellara,” the man reminded her.

“Yes, the trees,” she cried. “I had forgotten. If we can reach the trees
I believe that we shall be safe.”

As they approached the shore inside the headland, they saw great combing
rollers breaking among the rocks and the angry, sullen boom of the sea
came back to their ears.

“No boat can live in that,” said Stellara.

Tanar glanced up and down the shore-line as far as he could see and then
he turned and let his eyes rest sadly upon his companion.

“It looks hopeless,” he said. “If we had time to make the search we
might find a safer landing place, but within sight of us one place seems
to be as good as another.”

“Or as bad,” said Stellara.

“It cannot be helped,” said the Sarian. “To beat back now around that
promontory in an attempt to gain the open sea again, would so delay us
that we should be overtaken and captured. We must take our chances in
the surf, or turn about and give up.”

Behind them their pursuers had come about and were waiting, rising and
falling upon the great billows.

“They think that they have us,” said Stellara. “They believe that we
shall tack here and make a run for the open sea around the end of that
promontory, and they are ready to head us off.”

Tanar held the boat’s nose straight for the shoreline. Beyond the angry
surf he could see a sandy beach, but between lay a barrier of rock upon
which the waves broke, hurling their spume far into the air.

“Look!” exclaimed Stellara, as the boat raced toward the smother of
boiling water. “Look! There! Right ahead! There may be a way yet!”

“I have been watching that place,” said Tanar. “I have been holding her
straight for it, and if it is a break in the rocky wall we shall soon
know it, and if it is not—”

The Sarian glanced back in the direction of the Korsars’ boats and saw
that they were again in pursuit, for by this time it must have become
evident to them that their quarry was throwing itself upon the rocky
shore-line in desperation rather than to risk capture by turning again
toward the open sea.

Every inch of sail was spread upon the little craft and the taut,
bellowing canvas strained upon the cordage until it hummed, as the boat
sped straight for the rocks dead ahead.

Tanar and Stellara crouched in the stern, the man’s left arm pressing
the girl protectingly to his side. With grim fascination they watched
the bowsprit rise and fall as it rushed straight toward what seemed must
be inevitable disaster.

They were there! The sea lifted them high in the air and launched them
forward upon the rocks. To the right a jagged finger of granite broke
through the smother of spume. To the left the sleek, water-worn side of
a huge boulder revealed itself for an instant as they sped past. The
boat grated and rasped upon a sunken rock, slid over and raced toward
the sandy beach.

Tanar whipped out his dirk and slashed the halyards, bringing the sail
down as the boat’s keel touched the sand. Then, seizing Stellara in his
arms, he leaped into the shallow water and hastened up the shore.

Pausing, they looked back toward the pursuing Korsars and to their
astonishment saw that all three boats were making swiftly toward the
rocky shore.

“They dare not go back without us,” said Stellara, “or they would never
risk that surf.”

“The Cid must have guessed our identity, then, when a search failed to
reveal you,” said Tanar.

“It may also be that they discovered your absence from the dungeon, and
coupling this with the fact that I, too, was missing, someone guessed
the identity of the two sailors who sought to pass through the gate and
who paid gold for a small boat at the river,” suggested Stellara.

“There goes one of them on the rocks,” cried Tanar, as the leading boat
disappeared in a smother of water.

The second boat shared the same fate as its predecessor, but the third
rode through the same opening that had carried Tanar and Stellara to the
safety of the beach and as it did the two fugitives turned and ran
toward the forest.

Behind them raced a dozen Korsars and amidst the crack of pistols and
harquebuses Tanar and Stellara disappeared within the dark shadows of
the primeval forest.

The story of their long and arduous journey through unknown lands to the
kingdom of Sari would be replete with interest, excitement and
adventure, but it is no part of this story.

It is enough to say that they arrived at Sari shortly before Ja and Gura
made their appearance, the latter having been delayed by adventures that
had almost cost them their lives.

The people of Sari welcomed the Amiocapian mate that the son of Ghak had
brought back to his own country. And Gura they accepted, too, because
she had befriended Tanar, though the young men accepted her for herself
and many were the trophies that were laid before the hut of the
beautiful Himean maiden. But she repulsed them all for in her heart she
held a secret love that she had never divulged, but which, perhaps,
Stellara had guessed and which may have accounted for the tender
solicitude which the Amiocapian maid revealed for her Himean sister.




                               CONCLUSION


As Perry neared the end of the story of Tanar of Pellucidar, the sending
became weaker and weaker until it died out entirely, and Jason Gridley
could hear no more.

He turned to me. “I think Perry had something more to say,” he said. “He
was trying to tell us something. He was trying to ask something.”

“Jason,” I said, reproachfully, “didn’t you tell me that the story of
the inner world is perfectly ridiculous; that there could be no such
place peopled by strange reptiles and men of the stone age? Didn’t you
insist that there is no Emperor of Pellucidar?”

“Tut-tut,” he said. “I apologize. I am sorry. But that is past. The
question now is what can we do.”

“About what?” I asked.

“Do you not realize that David Innes lies a prisoner in a dark dungeon
beneath the palace of The Cid of Korsar?” he demanded with more
excitement than I have ever known Jason Gridley to exhibit.

“Well, what of it?” I demanded. “I am sorry, of course; but what in the
world can we do to help him?”

“We can do a lot,” said Jason Gridley, determinedly.

I must confess that as I looked at him I felt considerable solicitude
for the state of his mind for he was evidently laboring under great
excitement.

“Think of it!” he cried. “Think of that poor devil buried there in utter
darkness, silence, solitude—and with those snakes! God!” he shuddered.
“Snakes crawling all over him, winding about his arms and his legs and
his body, creeping across his face as he sleeps, and nothing else to
break the monotony—no human voice, the song of no bird, no ray of
sunlight. Something must be done. He must be saved.”

“But who is going to do it?” I asked.

“I am!” replied Jason Gridley.

       *       *       *       *       *

                          TANAR OF PELLUCIDAR

Pellucidar—the hollow center of the Earth, a land of savage men and
prehistoric beasts—is the scene of this exciting novel.

In Pellucidar dwell the Buried People; here is the Land of Awful Shadow;
here the terrible Korsars terrorize the oceans, while dinosaurs and
saber-tooth tigers terrorize the lands.

This is the story of Tanar, a young chieftain and the cave girl
Stellara, and of their struggle for survival against a myriad dangers.

This is an epic of adventure by Tarzan’s creator.

       *       *       *       *       *

            A CAVEMAN CHIEF IN THE WORLD OF THE EARTH’S CORE

When the hard-won peace of the primitive Empire of Pellucidar was
shattered by the invasion of the fierce Korsar sea-rovers, David Innes
sent his caveman horde to battle. One of the bravest of his
club-swinging warriors was Tanar the Fleet One.

Despite the strange weapons of the invaders, David and his skin-clad
band thrust back the Korsars and forced them to flee in their ships—but
with them they took several captives including Tanar.

But that bronzed Sarian was no easy prisoner to keep. The story of how
he outwitted his captors, kidnapped one of their maidens, and fought to
find his way home across unmapped jungles is an adventure novel worthy
of Tarzan’s creator.

       *       *       *       *       *

                    EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS (1875-1950)

Edgar Rice Burroughs is renowned for his many
novels of fantastic adventure. Unquestionably his best
known creation is that of the jungle hero, Tarzan the
Ape Man, but almost as well known are his stories of
other planets and of Pellucidar beneath the Earth's crust.

Born in Chicago in 1875, he tried his hand at many
businesses without notable success, until at the age of
thirty-five, he turned to writing. With the publication
of Tarzan of the Apes and A Princess of Mars, his career
was assured. The gratitude of a multitude of readers
who found in his imagination exactly the kind of escape
reading they loved assured him of a well-earned fortune.

By the time of his death, in 1950, at his home in a
town bearing the name of his brain child, Tarzana, California,
his name was a byword in literature. Over
40,000,000 copies of his books have appeared in 58
different languages.

       *       *       *       *       *




                          Transcriber’s Notes

--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
  dialect unchanged.

--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
  HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)